True Colours (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 2) (6 page)

‘Fuck it,’ he growls.

Finally reaching breaking point, he ratchets up the tempo.  With his eyes fixed on mine, his pupils dilated and his lips open, he drives into me relentlessly, and spurred on by the intensity of his pounding, a second climax builds in my core.  Sensing the tension in his back, I hold my breath, feel him jolt as I come to the boil.  Knowing that it’s time, I release myself again, tripping over the edge into pure bliss while he empties himself inside me.

‘Jesus!’ he cries out, continuing to thrust.

For a minute or so, he slows the rhythm, bringing us both down from an intense high.  Steadying me in his grip, he kisses me tenderly, riding through the aftershocks until we both begin to slide into a post-coital fug.  At last he flops on top of me, digging his head into my neck.  I run my fingers up and down his back, through his hair, and I feel it again, that incredible attachment between us.  At times like this, we’re one.

‘You’re rubbish at tantric sex,’ I grin.

He lifts his head.  ‘It’s you.  You make me want to go hell for leather.’

He nudges his face back into my neck.

‘I love you, Dan.  You’re the most infuriating man I’ve ever met, but I bloody love you.’

I feel his smile against my skin and I wait for the words to be returned.  Surely, this is the moment.  But nothing comes.  When he finally pushes himself up, balancing on his elbows, he’s already super serious.

‘Remember what I said on Friday?’

I flick through the memories but thanks to Boyd’s involvement, it’s all a blur.

He helps me out.  ‘I want you to move in.  Here.  With me.’

I’m flummoxed, again.

‘And I want you to slow down,’ I counter.  ‘It’s too soon.  Three weeks.’

‘I’m sure other people do it in three weeks.’

‘But …’

‘Listen.’  He shifts slightly, moving his weight onto his left elbow and sliding his right hand onto my chest, just above my heart.  ‘In here, does it feel like the right thing to do?’

‘Yes, but I hardly know you.’

Because you’re a puzzle, Mr Foster.  And I want every last part of it in place before we go any further with this.

‘You know me better than anyone else.  You didn’t say no on Friday.’

‘That was before …’  I trail off into silence, spotting the concern on his face.  That was before Limmingham.  I watch the shadows settle in his eyes.  ‘It’s not that,’ I add quickly.  ‘It’s not because of where you came from.’

‘Then what is it?’

‘I just want to know more before I commit to something like that.  I just wonder how many more Dan bombshells you’ve got to drop on me.’

‘Bombshells?’

I gaze up into his eyes, but I just can’t work out what I’m seeing there now.

‘I want you to open up to me.  I don’t want any more surprises.’

The seconds tick by as he watches me, and God knows what he’s thinking about.  In all probability, he’s rifling his way through all the secrets he’s keeping, wondering which bombshells he can drop and which ones to keep stored away.  Finally, he pecks me on the lips and withdraws.

‘I understand.’  Reaching into a bedside cabinet drawer, he takes out a tissue and cleans me up.  When he’s happy with his work, he flops back onto the pillow and holds out an arm, inviting me into his embrace.  I snuggle up to him, wondering how he can still smell this good, even after breaking into a full-blown sweat.

‘So, how do we do this?’ he asks.

‘How do we do what?’

‘Get to the point where you say yes?’

I stare at him, incredulous, and then I remember.  He’s never done anything like this before.  He really doesn’t have a clue.

‘It’s very simple,’ I explain.  ‘We spend time with each other and we talk.  Small talk.  Big talk.  That sort of thing.’

He grimaces, bites his lip and claps me on the arm before edging his way out of bed.  ‘Fair enough.’  He bends down and grabs his jeans.  ‘I’ll give you the small talk and the big talk, but you can do it my way.’

‘Which is?’

‘Ever heard of fast-tracking?’

‘You can’t fast-track a relationship.’

‘Think outside the box, Miss Scotton.’

‘Think inside the box, Mr Foster.’

He ruffles his hair.  ‘Never.’

While he searches for his T-shirt and pulls it on, I chuckle to myself and close my eyes.  I let out a yawn, content to be back in his bed and back in his life.  The world is locked out and we’re locked in.  And right now I just don’t care.  Feeling the bed dip, I open my eyes to find him sitting next to me.  He draws a finger down my cheek. 

‘You’re tired.’

‘I didn’t sleep last night.’

‘I know.’

‘How?  Have you got Lucy spying on me?’

The same finger runs lightly across my bottom lip.  He watches its progress.  ‘I asked Lucy how you were.  That’s not spying.’  Rain drops patter against the skylight.  It’s an age before he lifts his eyes to mine.  ‘I was worried about you yesterday.  When the storm broke, I just wanted to hold you.’

‘I wish you’d been with me.’

‘I’m with you now.’  He leans down and lands a gentle kiss on my mouth.  ‘Take a nap.  I’ll go and rustle up some dinner.’

I’m smiling like a village idiot as I close my eyes again, brim-full with contentment, and before I know it, I’m back in a world of dreams.  But this time, there are no nightmares.  Instead, I’m in a kitchen garden, sitting on a bench beneath a shower of sweet peas.

And Dan is by my side.

When I wake up, I find a crisp white shirt laid out on the bed next to me.  Taking the hint, I put it on, stumble into the bathroom and retrieve my toothbrush from the space age cabinet.  I’m half way through brushing my teeth when I notice a host of toiletries arranged next to the sink.  Swilling out my mouth, I leave the toothbrush on the side and the cabinet door wide open while I set about sorting through the bottles and tubes of shower crème, face wash, moisturiser and God knows what else.  It’s all brand new, distinctly expensive and definitely female.  And all part of the dastardly plan to move me in.  Grinning to myself, I survey the bathroom: the marbled floor, the vanity unit that stretches along the length of one wall, the sleek mirrors hanging above it and the huge walk-in shower that I’ve already experienced, Dan style.  But no bath, and that will never do.  Making a mental note to add it to my list of requirements, I wander back into the bedroom and take a look out of the window, watching as a cruiser makes its way downriver, an oasis of light against the black glass of the water.  The Houses of Parliament are glowing now against the darkness and according to Big Ben’s illuminated face, it’s just after eleven.  A strange time for dinner … but never mind, I’m ravenous.

I find him in the living area.  With his back to me and his shoulders hunched, he’s looking out over the river, talking quietly.  For a split second, I wonder if he’s talking to himself, and then I quickly come to my senses.  That’s a mobile clasped to his ear.  A bloody mobile.  I’d love to ambush him, grab the mobile out of his hand and demand to know why he lied to me, but he’s listening intently to someone at the other end of the line, and I want to hear what he says next.

‘So, where is he now?’  He pauses.  ‘You don’t know?’  Another pause.  ‘Bank accounts.  Withdrawals.  Come on, you can get access to all that.’  He listens again.  ‘How can I be patient?’  Finally, he turns and spots me.  ‘Dig some more,’ he says coldly.  ‘Everything.  I need to go.’  He hangs up and throws the mobile onto a sofa.

‘So, I see you’ve got your phone.’

‘Oh, that.’  He prowls towards me.  The closer he gets, the more my body seems to sparkle.  ‘Yes, I forgot.  It wasn’t in my car after all.’  He reaches out and skims a finger down my arm, sending a rush of adrenalin right through me.  Fight it, my brain calls out.  He’s bloody well distracting you.

‘You lied to me.’

‘It got the job done.’  Slipping a hand round my waist, he guides me into his chest and holds me firm.  Shit, he’s smelling good.  Clearly, while I was in the land of nod, he managed to fit in a quick shower.

‘And who were you talking to?’

‘A private investigator.  The best in the business.’

‘But why?’

‘Why do you think?’  He watches me for a moment, his face impassive.  ‘I need to know about Boyd.  After Friday night, I want to know everything about him.’

‘You scared him off.’

‘And I want to make sure he doesn’t come back.’

‘He won’t come back.’

I’m pretty sure of that.  Boyd might have more than just a slight touch of the psychopath about him, but he doesn’t have a death wish.  He’d be a complete idiot to come anywhere near me after his spat with Dan.  Placing my palms flat against his chest, I push away with all the strength I can muster, but I don’t get far.  I’m held tight in his grip.

‘Just leave it with me.  No arguments,’ he warns.  ‘It’s going to happen whether you like it or not.’

The determination etched across his face tells me everything.  I’d better change the subject.

‘So, where’s my phone?’ I ask.

‘In the cupboard.’

Nuzzling his mouth against my neck, he kisses a spot just below my ear lobe.

‘Which cupboard?’ I gasp, fighting off an attack of quivers.

‘That one.’  He nods towards a cupboard next to the fridge.  ‘Just behind the muesli.’ He grins.  ‘I figured toast woman would never go anywhere near a healthy breakfast cereal.’

After a second fruitless attempt to prise myself free, I give up on the struggle.

‘You don’t need it.’  He lowers his face to mine, studying my lips.

‘You’re a complete ….’ I get nowhere near the end of my complaint.  Before I know it, his mouth is on mine and I’m absent without leave.  A hand comes to the back of my head, holding me tight while he kisses me, pressing his hard-on against my crotch.

At last, he pulls away.

‘Fucking hell.  You turn me on constantly.’

I’m about to tell him that he has exactly the same effect on me when a loud growling sound interrupts us.  Releasing me, he takes a step back and glances down at my stomach.

‘Somebody’s hungry.  I think we’d better get some food into you.’

‘Food can wait.’

‘No, it can’t.  Once I get started again, I won’t be able to stop.  And besides, the pasta’s ready.’  He holds up his hands, as if in surrender.  ‘I’m not touching you again until we’ve eaten.’

Leaving me disappointed, he saunters off to the hob and lifts the lid on a pan.  Whatever it is, it smells divine.

‘Five minutes,’ he calls, lifting the lid on a second pan.

More than enough time to check my mobile.  I head straight for the cupboard, push aside the muesli, and there it is.  Grabbing my phone and leaving the cupboard door open, I settle onto a stool and check for messages.  Three from my mum, along with a handful of missed calls.  And a text from Sara.  I open it up.

Are you OK? x

With a sigh, I look up, catching a momentary glimpse of life with Daniel Foster.  Quietly humming to himself, he’s busy stirring the contents of a pan.  Places have already been set at the granite bar: plates, cutlery, two empty glasses and a bottle of red wine, uncorked and breathing.  Another plate sits at the centre of the counter, complete with a focaccia loaf.  I’m smiling now because I really could get used to this.  Tearing myself out of idiot mode, I text back.

I’m fine.  Back with Dan.  Tell Mum for me.  See you soon. x

‘Anything interesting?’ he asks.

‘Just my sister.’

He still has his back to me, but there’s an instant change in his stance: his shoulders tighten and his back stiffens, just a little.  I watch in silence as he takes the first pan and drains it over the sink, releasing a cloud of steam.  When he’s finished, he transfers the contents to a bowl.

‘You two are going to have to talk at some point.’  I slide my mobile onto the counter.

I’m pretty sure he shakes his head at that.  Moving to one side, he takes the second pan, adds the contents to the bowl and then he sets about stirring it all up with a huge wooden spoon.  I’m half tempted to just enjoy the sight of a sex god making me dinner, but I’ve got work to do.

‘I know it’s not easy for you.’

He turns, bowl in hands.

‘Puttanesca.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Spaghetti alla Puttanesca.’  Joining me at the counter, he slides the bowl onto the top and kisses the end of his fingers, Italian style.  ‘Just for you.’

‘You’re not going to distract me with food.’

‘If I wanted to distract you, I wouldn’t use food.’  He takes a seat on a stool opposite me.

‘You’ve got to talk to her.’

‘And I will.’  Picking up a pair of huge silver spoons, he dishes out a serving for me, tears off a piece of bread and places it onto my side plate.  ‘Eat.’

He watches me, and I watch him right back, incapable of working out what’s going on behind that perfect face of his.  At last, his features soften.

‘I’ll do it, Maya.  I promise.  But let’s not talk about it tonight.  Let’s just eat.’  He pushes the plate further towards me.  ‘And then let’s fuck.’

I’m not entirely sure if it’s his words that cause it, or the way he’s looking at me right now, his eyes dancing with promise, lips curled up into a knowing smile, but suddenly, for some reason, something seems to be pulsating between my legs.

‘How romantic,’ I comment.

‘Eat.’

This time, I do exactly as I’m told.  Picking up a fork, I twirl it through the spaghetti, silently triumphant when I finally manage to catch a single strand.  Before it can escape, I shovel it into my mouth, savouring the taste.

‘This is gorgeous,’ I mutter, going in for more with a spoon.  ‘What’s in it?’

‘Tomatoes, anchovies, capers, garlic, chili peppers.’  Dishing out his own serving, he reels off the list as if it’s nothing.

I gobble up another mouthful, this time managing to collect spaghetti and sauce.  God, I’m so hungry.  A single fish finger sandwich in over twenty-four hours just doesn’t cut it, especially when you’re halfway through a shag fest with Mr Foster.

‘So, you can cook?’

‘A bit.’

‘How come?’

‘Betty taught me the basics.’  He takes a mouthful of pasta and chews.  ‘And I went from there.’

‘Mmm,’ I muse.  ‘I’ve landed on my feet.’

‘Of course you have.’

While we settle into a comfortable silence, devouring the piles of spaghetti, I take every opportunity to admire the man in my life.  At last, I just can’t hold it in any longer.  Egged on by a contented stomach, my heart brims over with happiness and I’m suddenly consumed by a need to let Dan know how bloody wonderful he is.

‘I’ve got the perfect man,’ I muse.

He looks up from his plate.  ‘How come?’

‘Well, for a start, he’s good in bed.’

‘Excellent in bed,’ he corrects me.

‘And he’s fucking gorgeous.’

‘If you say so.’

‘With a perfect backside.’

‘Is it?’  He shifts to one side, pretending to inspect his bottom.

‘God, yes.  Those receptionists in the lobby eye it up whenever they can.’

‘Remind me to sack them.’

He levels his gaze at me.

‘And he can cook.  He’s the real deal.’

‘Of course he is.’  He points his fork at me.  ‘And you should move in with him.’

I should have seen myself walking straight into that one.

‘Are we heading towards a yes?’ he asks, expertly gathering up strands of spaghetti.

‘No.’

Pausing mid-chew, he rolls his eyes.  ‘Che la dura.’

‘What?’

He chews some more, swallows and then explains.  ‘Persistence pays off.’

I lay down my cutlery.  Somewhere in the depths of my brain, a light flickers.  He’s at it again, speaking Italian as if it rolls of his tongue.  And here I am, seriously considering the prospect of moving in with a man I barely know.

‘Italian,’ I state simply.

‘What about it?’

‘You speak Italian.’

A frown appears.  ‘Just a smattering.’

A smattering?  Oh come off it, Mr Foster.  Rifling back through the last few days, my thoughts land on our visit to Gabriel’s Wharf and his little chat with the Italian barista.

‘It’s more than that.  When did you learn?  It wasn’t at university …’

‘No, it wasn’t.’  He rests an elbow on the table.  ‘It was after I left.’

‘After you got thrown out.’

He eyes me suspiciously.  Shit.  I shouldn’t have spewed that one out.  Not yet.

‘Lily told me,’ I explain sheepishly.

‘Of course she did.’  He picks up the wine bottle, pouring a half glass for each of us.  ‘So exactly what is this?  Small talk or big talk?’

‘It all depends on what you tell me.  What happened after you left university?’

‘Not a lot.’

‘Lily told me …’

‘Lily’s got a big mouth.’

I pick up my glass.  Suddenly, I seem to be in need of some Dutch courage.  ‘If you want me to move in,’ I take a sip, ‘then you’ve got to give me a bit more than that.’

He leans back, sucks in a deep breath and stares at me.  It takes a few seconds for him to make his decision.

‘Okay.’  He cocks his head to one side.  ‘I travelled.  I took off for a couple of years and I just travelled.  I was a mess.  I needed to sort my head out.’

‘And you did?’

‘Yes.’  He picks up his own glass and gulps down a mouthful of wine.

‘But Lily said …’

While I trail off into silence, wondering if I’m going too far too soon, he stares at me some more, waiting, holding the glass in mid-air.  And then he lifts an eyebrow, as if to say ‘go on.’  Gathering my resolve, and a whole pack of words along with it, I push it all out at once.

‘She said you were different when you came back.  Did something happen?’

His lips tighten.  Putting down the glass, he picks up his fork and jabs at his pasta.  ‘People just change.’

‘Maybe …’

‘Maybe what?’

‘Maybe losing your parents changed you?  Your adoptive parents.’

‘Maybe.’

Deep in thought, he stares at his plate, absent-mindedly shoving food around.  Within the space of a minute, I’ve transformed him from playful to deadly serious and I really should leave it now, but intrigue has elbowed its way into my head, barging right past common sense and knocking it to the floor.