He turns around and starts walking to the kitchen, the muscles of his gorgeous muscular back tense under a thin cashmere. No way in hell you are mincing after him like a puppy that peed on a carpet and now is wagging its tail for forgiveness! You have nothing to apologise for. It was more than eight weeks ago, and nothing happened. Phil offered you to get back together, you said ‘no.’ And he called your first magical weekend with John ‘shagfest.’ Wanker.
“What was it all about? Why did your sister come?” you yell after him. There’s no answer from the kitchen. Really? What is he, twelve? Can he be more passive-aggressive?
You come in, and he is pouring water in a kettle.
“What did Deadre want to talk about?”
He is very preoccupied with mugs and tea leaves suddenly, and mutters, “Killian.”
Are you supposed to drag every word out of him? You give him a pointed stare, which is wasted since he’s not looking at you.
“He has an affair with an older woman. She’s a widow, very liberal, and apparently ‘not good for him.'” John mimics his sister’s melodic voice, and it sounds endlessly hilarious. If only his eyes weren’t that tense. Bugger, bugger, panic mode!
You honestly don’t know what is the right approach to such situation.
And then the meaning reaches you poor squawking brain.
“What?! He is gay!”
That at least shook him out of his brooding. The blue eyes fly at you, black brows hiked up.
“What? You didn’t know?” you ask.
“You slept with him!” Oh right… You haven’t talked about it.
“I haven’t. We went on a date, through which we talked about the girl he sort of fancied at the time, since I think he still doesn’t realize himself. We snogged and stuff, and it’s funny, because it is plain as day, and Lan said…”
“What about Philip?” Interrupting is very rude, John!
You blink, and ask, “What about him? Him I did shag, you sort of walked on us once, remember?”
He’s glaring at you. That stopped being scary a while ago. Sure thing, you love him and don’t want to aggravate him in any way, that’s why you care what you say and how he takes it, but he’s just not intimidating anymore, probably since you know he is ticklish on the inside of his knees and mumbles Steven Tyler’s lyrics in his sleep. And makes funny half sobbing, half chuckling noises during ejaculation.
“That picture is forever etched in my brain. What did Dea mean?” Oh, now we’re getting somewhere. So His Majestic Highness is finally asking.
Alrighty, there are two ways out of it. You can agree that he has the right to question you this way and tell him exactly what happened. Or let your temper flare up and tell him to shove his question… where the sun don’t shine. You’re pondering, he is boiling. You honestly do not know.
You sit on a chair, and sigh. You think the following is the adult way.
“I’ll be frank with you now, John. I don’t know if you have the right to give me this look right now. Do you honestly think I’m hiding an affair with Phil from you here? Or do you think it is your innate right as my master and commander to punish any male who has the bold nerve in his body to look at me? Or you are genuinely concerned that your nephew who is a player but otherwise a decent person most of the time has hurt me in some way?”
He does what any man would do in this situation. Picks one small detail and latches on it. Pillock.
“Decent person?!” He bangs his palm into the counter. “I specifically remember you behaving like a recent rape victim in the fields around the mansion after he had a heart to heart conversation with you.”
You narrow your eyes. That was bloody low. Then comes the natural reaction, you start hissing.
“That is not what we are talking about at the moment, John. This is between me and Phil. We were talking about the fact that you let your manipulative sister make you doubt me. Do you honestly think I would purposefully hide something important from you?”
He’s leaning on the counter, his palms pressed in it, head lowered, and this is the moment of truth.
He exhales sharply and lifts his face. It is soft, and his eyes are apologetic.
“Forgive me. I was…”
“Rash,” he corrects you. You chuckle.
“That is one way to put it.” He sighs.
“You did date Philip.”
“Yes, I did. Such a pity you were a pure innocent virgin when I took you by the hand and led you to my lair of sin.”
He laughs. You so much love this laughter, his shoulders shaking, and blue irises hiding behind lashes.
He walks around the bar counter and stands in front of you. You are on a barstool and still have to look up. He tenderly kisses you, hands on your shoulders, and you playfully claw on his chest.
“I have an issue with you and Philip talking.”
What?! You inhale full lungs to start raving. He presses his index finger to your lips.
“Don’t be me, Wren. Listen before judging.” He is smiling, and you are frozen with round cheeks full of air. And then he does the most unexpected thing in the world. Dr John Crispin Thorington gently pokes your cheeks with his index fingers making you do the ‘poopf.’ You’re staring at him in disbelief. That causes another bout of guffawing. You’re glad he is having fun.
“I don’t like you talking with him because I am a jealous imbecile, and because I am worried he will hurt you somehow. Not physically obviously, but unlike you I don’t think he is a decent person.” You open your mouth to object. The finger is on your lips again. “He has a good heart, but he is weak. He allows his mother make choices for him and doesn’t ever think about consequences. If he had followed through, you would have been engaged to him by now, although marrying him would be the worst thing for you.”
That is not quite alright. “And you do know what is the best thing for me?” Your tone is acidic.
“Of course not, but you were in love with me already and yet you let him drag you into relationship, Wren.” You do want to get it straight, you are barmy about him but even through the pink mist of your enamoured mushiness and the shivers that his large delectable body sends through your neurons you notice the flaw in his logic. Chauvinistic pig.
“It sounds as if I had no say in it, John. I wouldn’t have accepted his proposal. That would be just mental.”
“But you did start dating him, and that is after you fell for me. He sounds very pleased with himself.
“I started dating after you offered me to become your doxy, and I told you to arse off. Twice.”
“That you did,” he murmurs, lowering his mouth to your neck. “Good girl.”
That was very condescending and definitely doesn’t call for any encouraging behaviour. Such as tilting your head so that he can kiss that very spot on your throat.
“You really need to get better soon, Wren… I am dying here.” His hot mouth is sliding on the tendons of your neck, while one arm snakes around your middle.
“You just had three rounds of small death, John.” You just can’t help it with puns, but let’s face it, this one was just asking for it.
“As much as I appreciate your talented mouth, darling…” His palm lies between your legs, and you drop your head back. “Nothing compares to this. That is where I belong.” That wasn’t even very proprietary. You’d say, that was beautiful in some very dirty way. You approve. “Also, I think our engagement asks for more celebration.”
Your eyes fly open. Yeah, you sort of forgot about that… Bollocks.