Page 5 of Lovers in Lockdown

Of course, he did.

‘You didn’t realise how spectacularly clean the apartment is?’

‘I thought Marie Kondo did it.’

Christ.

A breeze sweeps into the hallway from an open window, casting a chill over my skin and reminding me of my nakedness, but the equally naked Noah is blocking my way back to the bedroom. ‘Can you please get me a towel?’

‘Oh, yes, right,’ he ducks into the bedroom and comes back with two towels. He throws one at my face and ties the other around his waist. It’s not ideal and I’d much rather get dressed into clothes, but I guess I should just be thankful that my tits are no longer on full display. And that his wrecking ball testicles are now safely tucked away.

Jesus, those things really could take down a building.

And for some Godforsaken reason, I’m finding myself missing the skyscraper that was swinging between his legs before. Now that I’ve calmed down and am no longer in survival mode, I’m annoyed that I didn’t get that good of a look while I had the chance. Eighteen-year-old me would be distraught.

And Christ, if I thought he was hot the last time I saw him, he’s molten lava now. His hair is longer than I remember too. It’s short at the sides, but long and wild on top, and the darkness of it contrasts starkly against the bright green of his eyes. A cocky half-smile permanently tugs at his lips, and did I mention how big this man is? Seriously. He’s like a man-mountain.

‘Shit,’ he touches his lip and winces. ‘You ramming into me like a bull split my lip open.’

I dismiss the fact that he just compared me to angry cattle and motion for him to follow me into the bathroom. He cocks his brow again.

Gah,since when were eyebrows sexy?

‘Don’t get any ideas, I’m just going to try and stop the bleeding.’

He takes a seat on the side of the bath and I situate myself between his legs, dabbing a clump of damp tissue over his lip. The intimacy of our position isn’t lost on me. I haven’t seen the man for seven years, and yet here I am, nursing him back to health in nothing but a fluffy white towel.

Scratch that.

It used to be a fluffy white towel. It’s now patterned polka-dot as a result of Noah’s bleeding lip.

‘Jesus. Have you got some kind of blood thinning disorder or something?’

‘No, why?’ More blood pours onto the towel with the movement of his mouth as he talks.

‘There is a concerning amount of blood.’

‘It’s fine.’

‘No, really, I was reading online the other day about this autoimmune disease that makes your immune system basically attack itself and stop your blood from blocking and I think you might have it.’

‘I seriously doubt that.’

I shrug, ‘Your funeral.’

I dab at his lip with the wet tissue, wrapping a hand around his head to hold him still. His hair is soft beneath my fingers and I can smell the musky scent of his sweat because we’re standing so close together. It should be gross, but it’s masculine and heady and it does things to my body that make me worried about the fact that I’m not wearing any underwear.

His eyes meet mine and my skin breaks out in goosebumps. The blood is finally drying up and I lower my hand, tossing the stained tissue into the sink without breaking eye contact. He’s not blinking and neither am I. We’re wrapped up in an enchanting and surprisingly arousing stare off, and I’m not sure whether to melt into a pool of lust, or beat the motherfucker at our spontaneous staring contest.

But my body decides for me.

Because my eyes are suddenly closing, my lips are parting, my head is tilting to one side and I can feel the gentle whisper of his breath across my mouth.

Holy shit.

I’m about to kiss Noah.

Bad Honey.

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