Page 18 of The Passion

“Don’t hold it in.” But as much as I’m trying to reassure her, I can hear the change in her breathing. It’s slowing down and the movement of her body heaving with each sob is subsiding.

“I’m okay.” Her voice is still raw and no more than a mumble from where her lips are against my chest. But as she starts to lift her head to look up at me, the words are stronger. “I’m sorry. I should go.”

“Not a chance. We’re not moving.” I release her a little so she can sag into the couch, but there is no way I’m taking my hands off her completely. With a softness I didn’t know I had, I push the loose strands of her deep brown hair back off her wet face, and it’s then that I realize she has no makeup on. And it’s the last nail in the coffin, confirming to me how unhinged she must be feeling tonight. Such a pillar of high-society fashion would never be seen so bare. The dressing down was one thing, but arriving to a man’s home with no makeup on and her emotions on display is pure vulnerability, but more importantly, she is giving me her greatest gift—her trust.

Something I didn’t know how badly I wanted until now.

“But I shouldn’t be here, not like this.” Her voice is a mere whisper.

I sweep the stray tears off her cheeks with my thumb while not letting her look away from me.

“Why? You are safe here. Deep down you knew that, or you never would have come.” The acknowledgment in her eyes shows me she knows it’s true.

“I just couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know what else to do.” Her face drops slightly as she tries to look down from me, feeling ashamed that she isn’t as strong tonight as she would want anyone else to see.

“Which is why, you stubborn woman, I wanted you here for dinner so we could talk this out. Because your tears are your release, and I’ve now got sore knuckles from that damn punching bag that had your father’s face all over it every time I connected a punch.” Groaning, I kiss her forehead.

“Today was fucked up.” I know I’m fighting a losing battle of letting her move, and as much as it kills me, I move my arm to lie on my side, and as soon as I do, she pushes herself to sit up.

Laughter bubbles out of me as she struggles to maneuver out of the small gap when I’m not moving an inch to help her.

“Jerk. Move.” With her hand on my chest, she gives me a shove, trying to push me off the couch. But she will need to try harder than that.

“Oh, what, nopleasewith that request?” It’s amazing how quickly she can turn the tears off and put her tough-girl face back on.

Too busy trying to antagonize her and watching her face full of frustration, I wasn’t ready for her secret weapon.

The moment her knee connects with my cock, that is already hard as a rock, has me keening as I fall backward, and my ass hits the floor hard, my hands covering the most important asset I own.

“What the fuck!” I yell, rolling onto my side almost in the fetal position.

“Oh, shit, I forgot,pleasemove, Flynn.” I hear her standing behind me and then see her step over me and watch her walking toward the bag she dropped on the floor when she walked in.

“How old are you, woman? Seriously, I don’t think I’ve been dick punched since high school.” Slowly I push myself up off thefloor, even though I’m still throbbing and want to pull it out to check there is no damage.

“Element of surprise. Works every time on men who don’t listen.” The smirk of satisfaction on her face is contrary to the moisture that can still be seen on her cheeks from the tears. She has shut down the heartache and is back full of snark.

“Should I be worried that you have had to use this before on some dickface who wouldn’t take no for an answer?” Straightening up, I suck up the pain that is still lingering in my groin.

“Don’t worry, tough guy, I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. I learnt very early on that you can’t rely on others. You need to be able to protect yourself in life.” Plonking herself back down on the couch next to where I’m standing, she crosses her legs in front of her, the paper bag from Turnips in her lap. I can’t picture Felisha in her high heels down in Borough Markets with all the people. Whereas for someone like me, who is a foodie, I love food markets like that. The smells that waft around me as I walk along make me want to try it all.

I want to ask more, but I can see she is moving on from this conversation and is expecting me to do the same.

“It makes me laugh every time I see the name on the bag. I mean, who likes to eat turnips, they are disgusting. The restaurant’s marketing gives nothing away for the absolute mouthwatering dessert that is inside.” I decide that I just need to run with where she is going with this conversation and that we can circle back for the serious topic later.

Felisha pulls out a large plastic cup full of bright red strawberries covered in chocolate sauce.

“Forks?” She looks at me like I’m one of her staff. She could almost snap her fingers in the air right now, but I really wouldn’t advise she does. I’m nobody’s servant.

Returning from my kitchen with two dessert forks, I see she is already licking chocolate off her fingers from where she has placed the first cup on the coffee table. It didn’t exactly survive the drop onto the floor that well, and the sauce is all over the sides of the cup, thick and slowly moving down the sides at the speed of volcanic lava.

“You know, these world-famous strawberries and chocolate are just that, a fruit and runny chocolate. Not sure you can really claim it’s a dessert.” I pass her a fork and the napkin that I also grabbed off the kitchen counter, knowing this was going to be messy.

She gasps, holding the fork and napkin in her free hand to her chest. “How dare you! People travel the world for this dessert. You obviously have no idea about food.”

I grab my cup off the table where she left it and take the first bite of a strawberry that isn’t bad but would have been better when it was fresh earlier today.

“You can’t tell me that this is the best culinary delight you’ve tasted in all the very pricy five-star restaurants you have dined in.” I try not to laugh at the fact that she obviously has no idea who I was before my life in the hotel industry in London. And to be honest, why would she? We slept together one night, and that was supposed to be all it was. Other than that, I’m just someone who works for her biggest competitor.

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