Beneath This Man (This Man, #2)(69)

‘Drinking. There. That’s what I was doing. I was trying to drown out thoughts and images of you with vodka. Are you happy now?’ He tries to shift me from his body, but I tense from top to toe in an attempt to make myself a dead weight.

He was drinking? Was he unconscious for four days like he was when I found him on Friday? Oh, now I just feel incredibly guilty.

I fight with him, pushing his slippery body back down into the bath. He gives in and lets me. I know he could overpower me if he wanted to, so he doesn’t really want to escape. I slide my body up his so our noses meet.

He lifts his eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ he whispers, and I fall apart all over him, taking his mouth urgently, a silent message that I don’t care. ‘I’m so sorry, baby.’

‘Please, don’t.’ I push myself into him, tackling his mouth, desperate for him to know that I couldn’t care less. I feel responsible…guilty.

‘When I saw those bruises on your arms, I realised I was in deep, Ava. Way too deep.’

‘Shhhh.’ I hush him, covering his whole face with my mouth, kissing every square inch of him. ‘Enough, now.’

He cups my bum and pulls me up, burying his face between my breasts. ‘It won’t happen again, I’ll kill myself before hurting you again.’

He doesn’t have to use such strong words. I understand. He’s regretful. I am too. I should never have walked away from him. I should have stayed, thrown him in a cold shower and sobered him up. ‘I said enough, Jesse.’

‘I love you.’

‘I know you do. I’m sorry too.’

He releases his hold and I slide back down his body until we’re eye to eye. ‘What have you got to be sorry for?’

I shrug. ‘I wish I hadn’t left you.’

‘Ava, I don’t blame you for walking out on me. I deserved that, and if anything, it will only make me more determined not to drink. Knowing I could lose you is enough of a motivation, trust me.’

‘I’ll never walk away from you again. Never.’ I affirm.

He smiles lightly. ‘I hope you don’t because I’d be finished.’

‘I would be finished too.’ I say quietly, running my hands through his hair. I need him to know the feeling is completely mutual.

‘Okay, neither of us is walking away. That’s clear.’ He pushes his lips to mine softly.

‘Are you hungry?’ I ask against his lips. We need to change the direction of this conversation. We’ve said enough.

‘Yes, are you going to cook me a well-balanced meal?’

I smile around his lips. ‘I’m tired. Can we get a well-balanced take away?’

‘Absolutely. You soak, I’ll order dinner.’ He props me up and gets out of the bath.

Tub talk today has been insightful and strangely satisfying. He’s opening up.



After a not so well-balanced Chinese takeaway, I curl up on the sofa under Jesse’s arm. He strokes my hair as he watches some MotoGP programme. It’s obviously a passion, judging by the intensity of his concentration on the television. I snuggle and wonder what tomorrow will bring. He’s already negotiated lunch with one of his mind boggling sense f*cks. I could refuse, but then I would only be setting myself up for a reminder f*ck. Would that be so bad?

I start to doze off and my semi-conscious mind homes in on his unknown activities at The Manor. Is it really compulsory for me to know every little detail? I believe him when he says I’m the only woman for him, I really do, so picking his brains on ex-lovers is not going to get me anywhere, apart from unreasonably jealous. The thought of him with another woman makes me feel physically sick. He’s a full grown man of a certain age – of which I now know – and a mouthwatering one at that. His sexual conflicts are probably plentiful, but they are in the past, just like he said. Here and now is all that matters, and I am here, and I’m now.

‘Come on, lady.’ I’m gathered up into his arms and carried upstairs to bed. I hardly stir as he strips me down and deposits me in his bed, climbing in next to me and pulling me into his hard chest. ‘I love you.’ he whispers, and because speech has evaded me, I just snuggle closer to him.



I open my eyes and it’s still dark. I’m vaguely aware of the bed vibrating under me, and I’m wet.

What the hell?

It takes me a few moments, but when awareness finally hits me, it really hits me hard. I scramble over to flick the lamp on and the light slams into my eyes like gravel. I squint to gain focus and find Jesse sat up in bed rocking back and forth with his knees clenched to his chest. Holy shit, he’s drenched and his pupils are huge black saucers. He looks petrified. I throw myself over to him. Should I cuddle him?

‘Jesse?’ I speak quietly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t respond. He just continues with the rocking, but then he starts mumbling.

‘I need you.’ he says quietly.

‘Jesse?’ I place my hand on his arm and shake him gently. He looks so scared. ‘Jesse?’

‘I need you, I need you, I need you.’ He repeats the mantra over and over. I want to cry.

‘Jesse, please,’ I plead. ‘Stop, I’m here.’ I can’t bear to see him like this. He’s shaking uncontrollably and sweat is pouring from his brow, his frown line by far the deepest I have ever seen it. I try to position myself in his line of sight, but he doesn’t acknowledge me. He just carries on with the rocking and mumbling, staring straight through me. He’s asleep. I pull his legs down away from his body and climb onto his lap, wrapping my arms around his sodden back, holding him as tight as I can. I don’t know if he is aware, but his arms come up and grip me, and his face buries deep into my neck.