Beneath This Man (This Man, #2)(98)

‘Don’t look at me like that, young lady.’ he admonishes me.

I flutter my eye lashes, and he tries his best not to smile, but the corners of his mouth are twitching. I’ve nearly got him. ‘What’s your favourite tipple?’ I ask. Old boys’ are a sucker for a good whiskey. He glances up from the post he is sorting out.

Bingo!

‘I don’t mind a Glenmorangie Port wood finish.’ His eyes light up.

‘Done,’ I say, and he smiles. ‘I really am very sorry. I don’t know what got into me.’ I do know what got into me; Jesse Ward got into me.

‘Consider it forgotten. Here’s your post.’ He hands me a couple of envelopes.

‘Thanks, Clive.’

I turn and walk out into the sunshine, putting my sunglasses on and shoving the envelopes in my bag. It’s a lovely day, and I’m looking forward to spending all of it with Mr Challenging.

‘You’ll have to talk to her,’ Jesse strides out of the foyer of Lusso. ‘She’s asking about favourite foods, toiletries and all sorts.’ He’s clearly exasperated.

Watching him approach, I take him in, all six foot three inches of lean loveliness. I smile to myself. I will never tire of admiring him. His stonewashed jeans hang low on his hips and the white t-shirt is gripping his biceps slightly. He has his Wayfarers on and he’s not shaved. I could eat him.

‘What are you grinning at?’ he asks, completely amused as he approaches me.

‘Do you not find it strange that you don’t know those things?’ My voice is critical and intended to be. It’s ridiculous that we don’t know these basic facts about each other.

He grabs my hand and leads on. ‘Your point being?’

‘My point is that we don’t know much about each other.’ I say. He can’t argue with that. It’s a perfectly accurate statement.

He pulls me to a stop. ‘What’s your favourite food?’

I frown. ‘Smoked salmon.’

‘I knew that,’ he smiles. ‘What deodorant do you use?’

I roll my eyes. ‘Vaseline.’

He looks up to the heavens and blows out a fake, relieved breath before returning his eyes to mine. ‘I feel like I know you so much better now,’ he mocks. ‘Happy?’

He thinks he’s clever. He just won’t admit that it’s unusual not to know these things. ‘We’re driving?’ I ask as he opens the passenger door for me to get in.

‘Well, I’m not walking and I don’t do public transport, so yes, we’re driving. Anyway, we need to shoot over to The Manor to check everything is in place for tonight.’

I think I just about disguise my inward groan. Great, I get a day off work to spend with Jesse, and I’m being dragged to The Manor day and night. I get in and wait for Jesse to slide in beside me.

We take off towards the city, the morning rush hour traffic not bothering Jesse in the slightest. Oasis sing Morning Glory, and I watch Jesse as he hums along, tapping his steering wheel and performing his usual swerving, cutting in and general poor road manners. He looks so trouble free and happy with himself. This is the easygoing Jesse who everyone keeps telling me about. After the more recent revelations, I feel like a weight has been lifted. I know he has a history and a pretty sordid one at that, but it’s in his past. He loves me. I don’t doubt it for a minute.

‘What?’ He glances across, catching me studying him.

‘I was just thinking about how much I love you.’ I say casually as I let the window down a bit. It’s hot in here.

‘I know you do,’ He reaches over and grasps my bare knee. ‘Where am I heading then?’

Well that’s easy. ‘Oxford Street,’ I reply. ‘All of the stores I like are on Oxford Street.’

His face screws up disapprovingly. ‘All of the stores?’

‘Yes.’ What’s the matter with him?

‘Isn’t there just one shop you go to?’

Just one shop? He thinks I’m going to find a dress in the first shop I walk in? ‘I want some new shoes as well. And maybe a bag. You won’t find it all in one store.’

‘I would!’ he says, stunned at my intention to drag him around more than one shop. I can’t imagine Jesse shopping for clothes. Men’s shopping is a lot simpler than women’s. If he’s expecting a similar experience to when he goes shopping, then he’s in for a shock.

‘Where do you go?’ I ask.

‘Harrods. Zoe sorts me out every time. It’s quick and pain free.’

‘Yes, that’s because you pay for the service you get.’ I reply dryly.

‘The service is second to none and worth every penny. They’re the best at what they do.’ he says firmly. ‘Anyway, you’re not buying the dresses, so I get to choose the shopping style.’

My head snaps up. ‘One dress, Jesse, you owe me one dress.’ I remind him. He shrugs, completely ignoring me. ‘One dress.’ I affirm.

‘Lots of dresses.’ he says to himself.

Oh no! He is not buying my clothes. I’ve had one shopping experience with him, and he nearly had an epileptic fit over the length of my dress. Yes, I only bought the stupidly expensive thing in a childish revenge fit, but the point is; he thought he could dictate what I wear. He wants to buy my clothes so he can choose them.