Page 41 of Lovers in Lockdown

Which actually makes sense, now I come to think about it, since I told her I was suffering from a bad case of the shits. In fairness to her, I probably wouldn’t touch food that had been prepared by someone with diarrhoea either.

But I’m still wounded by the repulsed look on her face. And I can’t help feeling a little defensive over my smiley little pancake dude.

‘Breakfast?’ I blink.

Honey scowls, unimpressed. ‘Yes,obviouslyit’s breakfast, but what is it doing in my room?’

I rest my ankle on the opposite knee and lean back into the couch. The more relaxed I seem, the less suspicious she’ll be.

But I know her panic has nothing to do with her defending her privacy andeverythingto do with a certain portrait of a certain someone.

Her eyes search mine, looking for signs that I’ve discovered her secret, but I’ve played a lot of poker in my time and I know how to keep a straight face.

‘I made it for you. Didn’t realise you found breakfast particularly offensive. So sorry, I know now, won’t happen again.’ I shouldn’t tease her, but I can’t help it. That scowl of hers is so damn cute, especially when her brow furrows and she pouts her lips like a stroppy toddler.

‘No, fuck nuts,’ she stomps her foot like the adorable little rhino she is. ‘Of course, I’m not bloody offended by breakfast, but what were you doing in my room?’

‘Fuck nuts?’ I smirk.

Her scowl deepens and I relish in the way her skin burns bright red as her anger with me grows. Because anger is far better than sadness.

I saw the tears swelling in Honey’s eyes earlier, despite her clear efforts to hide them from me, and though I don’t completely understand what I did to put them there, I hate myself for it anyway.

Because Honey and crying are just two things that should never go together.

‘I’m going to ask you one more time,’ she spits. ‘What. Were. You. Doing. In. My. Room?’

She looks insanely hot standing there and seething at me. Her hair is messy and half-dried, like she’s taken a swim in the sea and let the sun dry off the salt water. Her satin pyjamas aren’t skin-tight, but they cling to her roundest parts, reminding me of what it felt like to trace those curves with my tongue. The softness of her skin. The sweetness of her sweat.

I made a real mistake bringing up that stupid bet.

What kind of dumbass cockblocks himself? My balls are now so blue, they look like they’ve contracted pneumonia.

‘Jeez, will you relax?’ I uncross my legs and rest my feet on the table in front of me. ‘I made you breakfast, came to give it to you, but you weren’t in. So, I left it on the closest surface. What’s the big deal?’

Her eyes narrow into slits, assessing me with such scrutinization that I’m surprised she doesn’t burn a hole through my clothes. Her hand rests on her hip and she tilts her head to one side.

‘Let me make something perfectly clear. My room is an anti-Noah zone. You are not to take one step inside without my permission, or else.’

I contemplate just telling her that I’ve seen the painting, so that she can deal with it now, take a few deep breaths and calm the fuck down. But if she’s this irate about just the prospect of me seeing it, I don’t want to imagine the sort of damage she’ll inflict on me if she finds out that her fears are actually reality.

She’s remarkably intimidating for such a tiny person. And don’t think I’ve forgotten that she knocked me clean on my ass the first time we met.

I stand and stretch, my throat suddenly dry as sandpaper, and move towards the kitchen, Honey trailing behind me. But before I make it to the fridge, she drops between my legs and pops back up in front of me, stabbing a pointed finger at my chest.

My hand snaps up to wrap around it, a reflex I’m not aware has happened until I feel the softness of her finger enclosed in my palm.

Her eyes widen, startled by the sudden contact, the feeling of my skin on hers. I watch her pupils dilate, hear her breath catch, and my heart does a little jump in response to her visceral reaction.

She may be hurt, she may be mad, but she can’t stop the heat spreading through her body as a result of our brief contact. I know, because I’m battling the very same thing, trying with all my might to swallow my body’s reaction to her touch in an attempt to remain in control.

But my heart still thuds like thunder at the feeling of her finger encased in mine.

‘Or else?’ I force myself to ask, cocking an eyebrow in amusement at her threat.

‘You heard.’ Her breathing is shallow, I can hear it.

‘Or else what?’

---