Page 61 of Wanting Mr Black

“Why don’t you ask that Italian Stallion boyfriend of yours about it?”

I’m about to ask what’s with all the secrecy when we’re interrupted.

“Why don’t you ask that Italian Stallion boyfriend of yours about what?” Art’s propped against the bathroom doorframe with his arms folded, wearing nothing but smart tailored black shorts. He’s obviously been earwigging our conversation.

Her mouth drops, and she adopts that wide-eyed look again. I can’t really blame her. I’ve seen him with his top off loads of times, and I still haven’t gotten used to it.

“About some boat trip,” I say.

I swear I see Art and Lucy exchange a brief glance.

“We’re going on a boat trip,” he replies.

“When did you organise that?”

“On the flight here.”

He doesn’t waste a second, does he?

“I’ll leave you to it. See you later.” Lucy clasps her clothes to her chest and flashes him an apologetic look before scuttling out of the room.

What the hell’s going on?

I frown as I stare at the closed door she just walked out of. “She’s acting odd.”

“Too much sex will do that to you.” He laughs.

“Then, I must permanently act odd.”

He flicks me a grin and slides his hands around my waist, and I breathe in the freshly showered scent of him.

“I like you wearing my clothes.”

He’s got that look in his eye, and I know if I don’t move, we’ll end up back in bed.

“I need a shower.”

“I like the smell of you.” He pulls me to him and kisses me on the lips. “You smell of me and sex. You smell of us.”

I definitely need to move. “I need to get ready for the secret boat trip no one’s telling me anything about.”

He gives me a long look. “It’s not a secret, but you’re right; we need to get ready.”

“Well, you’d better let me go then.”

“Never.” He places a chaste kiss on my lips, reluctantly releases his hands from round my waist, and playfully smacks my bottom as I walk past him into the bathroom.

Thirty-One

Ishower, pull on the strappy black bikini Lucy’s lent me, leave my hair to dry naturally because it’s far too hot to blow-dry it, and apply the make-up that I actually remembered to pack. I spy a foil packet of paracetamol on the white marble bathroom counter that Lucy left behind, and my memory leaps into action.

My birth control pills.

Shit!

With everything else that happened yesterday, I forgot to take one. If I take one right away, I’ll be fine.

Thank God I remembered.

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