Beneath This Man (This Man, #2)(93)

‘Words will never be enough, Ava.’ He’s so serious.

‘Is that why you test me with your challenging ways?’ I ask, in an attempt to lighten him up. I don’t like how downhearted he looks. I wish he wouldn’t worry about me leaving, me loving him, and wondering if I know how much he loves me. All those ships have long sailed.

‘Everything I do is because I am so crazy mad in love with you. I’ve never felt like this before, not ever.’ He’s almost scowling at me, like he’s mad that he feels this way. ‘I lose my head just at the thought of losing you. It makes me a total madman. Believe me, I’m aware of that.’ He drops a kiss on my lips. ‘I drive you insane, don’t I?’

Oh good Lord above! Is he admitting that he’s challenging? ‘You are very challenging, but you’re my challenging man and I love you, so you’re worth the frustration.’

‘You’re pretty challenging yourself, lady.’ he says dryly.

My eyes bulge. ‘Me?’ The man is a bloody nutcase!

‘But I love you too, and you are so, so worth the headache.’

I want to…well, challenge him. No sooner has he given me what I want – an admission – he tramples it with his own accusations.

Me? Challenging?

I start to make my case, but he hushes me with his lush lips, and I’m distracted instantly. He knows what he’s doing. I relax my aching, overworked tongue and fall into his slow, lapping rhythm, my hands still pinned above my head. His mouth is the most marvelous thing in the world.

He pecks my lips. ‘I knew you were the one the second I laid eyes on you.’

‘The one?’ I’m intrigued. His persistence and insistence that I belonged with him at the beginning of our relationship has always been confusing to me.

He nuzzles my ear. ‘The one to bring me back to life.’ he says in that matter-of-fact tone – the one that basically means he is saying something only he understands. Was he dead?

‘How did you know?’ He’s talking. I need to extract as much from him as possible.

He looks me straight in the eyes. They are bursting with meaning. ‘Because my heart started beating again.’ he whispers.

A lump jumps into my throat as I look up, completely stunned by his admission. That is some serious deep, and I’m totally overwhelmed by it. I don’t know what to say. He’s looking down at me, this devastating man, like I’m the only thing that exists.

I pull at his grip on my wrists until he lets go and throw my arms around his body, my legs around his waist, holding onto him like he is the only thing that exists.

He is, for me.

I don’t know the whys and wherefores of that statement, but the power of those words really does say it all. He can’t live without me. Well, I couldn’t live without him either. This man is my world.

He lays still over me and lets me squeeze him until my muscles ache. ‘Can I feed you?’ I ask when my thigh muscles start to scream in protest. He lifts me from the bed, still coiled around his body, and carries me from the bedroom, down the stairs. ‘I’m going to forget how to use my legs.’ I say as he reaches the bottom and heads for the kitchen.

‘Then I’ll carry you everywhere.’

‘You would like that, wouldn’t you?’ It would be a perfect excuse for him to have me nailed to him.

‘I would love it.’ He smirks at me and parks me on the cold marble, the coldness radiating through my backside reminding me that we’re both stark, bollock naked. I admire his perfect arse as he walks over to the fridge and collects an assortment of breakfast things and a jar of peanut butter.

I slide off the island. ‘I’m supposed to be making you breakfast.’ I shove him out of the way. ‘Sit.’ I command in my most demanding tone. He grins and grabs the jar of peanut butter, before tweaking my nipple and doing a runner to the stool. ‘What do you want?’ I ask as I shove some bread in the toaster. I turn and see him diving into his fresh jar.

‘Fried eggs.’ he says around a finger, blatantly trying to suppress a grin.

I look down at my naked form. I might have to get dressed if he wants fried anything. Looking back up to him, I find he has lost the battle and is grinning, his face delighted. ‘I’ll cook yours, if you cook mine.’ I run my eyes down his naked chest and raise my eyebrows.

He pulls his finger out. ‘Savage.’

Both of our heads snap towards the kitchen archway when we hear the front door opening. I flick my wide eyes back to Jesse who has a finger suspended in mid-air on its way to his mouth. He is looking as equally who-the-f*ck?

Jumping up, he knocks his jar of peanut butter flying off the island, sending it crashing to the floor. It smashes, scattering glass everywhere. I’m panicking now.

‘Fucking hell!’ He looks at me, all wide eyed. ‘It’s Cathy!’

Oh good God help me!

I ripped her head off last night and now I’m going to flash her! And to top it off, her burnt lasagna is sat on the side, bold as brass. She’s going to hate me. There is no way out of this kitchen without going towards the source of our distress. I stare at Jesse. He’s frozen on the spot, looking as torn as I am. Cathy probably won’t mind copping a load of him. I smile, but then snap back to the here and now. I finish ogling my finely tuned man and peg it across the kitchen.