Page 40 of Wanting Mr Black

And just like that, the anger and rawness from a few seconds earlier have vanished and are replaced by soothing words and softness. I hear rustling from behind me and then feel a tissue in between my legs as he tenderly cleans my thighs with a tender touch. Once he’s finished, he pulls my thong back up and straightens my dress down, helping me to my feet.

Even though we’ve just done what we’ve done, a part of me is still a tiny bit annoyed. “Is that how we’re going to sort out every argument?” I enquire, smoothing down my hair.

He tucks his white shirt into his chinos and lifts his eyes to mine. “If I have my way.”

“It’s just …” I can’t help wondering whether I’m wasting my time, trying to make him see sense. “If another guy tries it on, you don’t have to mark your territory. Trust me to deal with it.”

“I don’t want you to have to deal with it.”

“I understand it’s because you care, but you go from zero to one hundred pretty quickly and bulldoze anyone who’s in the way.”

“It’s the way I handle things.”

“Well, it’s not always the best way,” I snap, irritated that he’s still not really listening to me.

Art’s eyes search my face as he considers what I said, and then he gently cups my jaw in his hands. “I’m sorry if I come over as an irrational fuck sometimes.”

At least he can accept that his behaviour is unreasonable even if he does need to have it pointed out to him.

“But I’m not going to apologise for punching that twat. He deserved it. I’m not going to stand by and watch while some guy makes lewd comments at you and feels you up.”

And I wouldn’t want him to. “Okay,” I agree. “But you overreacted when I didn’t come up here. Why?”

He looks me in the eye. “I know I can get jealous and possessive, but I need you to know that I’m nothing like your ex. I meant what I said – I’ll never hurt you.”

“I know you’re not.” I nod. “I know you’d never mean to hurt me.”

He frowns, looking awkward. “I haven’t felt scared or vulnerable since I was a kid. I don’t like feeling this way; it’s not something I’m used to dealing with.”

I didn’t expect that. “Why do you feel like that now?”

He lowers his gaze to the floor. “The way I feel about you, I’ve never felt this way before about anyone. This whole thing is new to me. It’s uncharted territory. I feel as if I need to protect you; it’s instinctive. Because you’re so fucking special to me, andI can’t bear the thought of anything bad happening to you. But I’m not good at showing it. It comes across in fucked up ways, like me beating the shit out of any guy who looks at you twice or not wanting you to show too much flesh.” He steals a glance at me. “I’m new to this relationship thing. I know I can be unreasonable, and I also know that doesn’t excuse it. I’ve got this fear that one day, I’ll wake up, and you’ll be gone, or you’ll realise what a fuck-up I am and leave. I’m waiting for something to come along and fuck this up because I still can’t believe I found you.”

My heart turns over. “Is that why you were so pissed off that I didn’t come up here? You thought I’d changed my mind about you? About us?”

He doesn’t reply, but the pained look in his eyes tells me I’m right.

I know this is all to do with his past, and I want to make it right, but I know it’s not that easy.

I take his hands in mine. “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here as long as you want me.”

He pulls me to him. “I want you forever.”

My heart dances in my chest as his mouth meets mine, and he kisses me languidly, quietening my racing brain.

He pulls away and smiles. “Now, come on. We should get back to the wedding of the year.”

The dance floor is heaving, and the party is in full flow by the time we get downstairs. I doubt my absence has even been noticed.

Hand in hand, we walk through the clusters of guests all having the time of their lives. Art gives a disapproving nod towards a corner of the bar, where Mark is drunkenly slumped, passed out over a table.

“Ahhh … you two!” Lucy appears through the throng of guests, a glass of wine in her hand. “My favourite couple.” She peers at us both with a vacant look in her eyes, and I know it’s not her first glass. “You know, you two are going to have very pretty babies.”

“Lucy!” I can’t look at Art. God knows what he must be thinking. It’sdefinitelytoo soon for talking babies. “I think you need to slow down with the drinking.”

“Like my wonderful hubby has? No way,” she scoffs, swaying ever so slightly.

The cheesy dance tune blaring out of the speakers morphs into Van Morrison’s “Someone Like You”, and she pulls a face at the DJ’s choice of music, clearly in no mood for a good old romantic ballad.

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