That look and those words have my knees quivering and coils of craving springing into every crevice of my body. I watch as he pushes himself up from my bed and walks slowly over to me, turning me to face my wardrobe. Reaching over one of my shoulders, he flicks through the rails of clothes, pulling out my cream shirt dress.

‘Put this on,’ he breathes in my ear. ‘And make sure there’s lace underneath it.’

I clench my eyes shut. I was thinking more along the lines of jeans and a t-shirt, but I’m more than happy to go with that. I reach forward, taking the hanger from him, moaning when his hand falls down and brushes over my breast, his hips rolling forward into my lower back.

Oh, good Lord, STOP!

‘Be quick.’ He slaps my bum lightly and stalks out, leaving me a wobbly mess and holding onto my cream dress for support. I shake myself back to life, shiver on a little gasp and finish getting myself ready.

Pulling out every handbag I own, I proceed to search for my pills, but they’re nowhere to be found. I find Kate in the kitchen making tea, still in just a t-shirt.

‘Have you seen my pills?’ I rummage through the junk drawer in the kitchen, housing everything from batteries and phone chargers to lipsticks and nail polish.

‘Aren’t they in your bag?’

‘No,’ I slam the drawer on a frown.

‘Have you checked all your bags?’ Kate asks, walking out of the kitchen with two mugs of tea.

‘Yes,’ I proceed to delve through every other drawer in the kitchen, even though I know they can’t possibly be in among the cutlery or utensils.

‘Problem?’

I look up, finding Jesse filling the doorway. ‘I can’t find my pills.’ I try, in complete vain, searching through my bag again, but they’re definitely not there.

‘Find them later, come on.’ He puts his hand out. ‘I like your dress.’ he says softly, running his gaze up and down me as I walk towards him. Of course he does; he picked it.

He reaches under the hem to run his forefinger up the inside of my thigh, watching me as my lips clamp together and my hands fly up to his chest. He smirks dirtily and sweeps his finger under my knickers seam, brushing my sex softly. I sigh.

‘Wet.’ he whispers, circling me slowly. I could weep with pleasure. ‘Later.’ He withdraws his finger and licks it clean.

I scowl at him. ‘You have to stop doing that.’

‘Never,’ He grins, yanking me out of the kitchen. ‘Say goodbye to your friend.’

‘Bye!’ I shout. ‘She’s your friend too, isn’t she?’ I haven’t hit him with the little exchange he and Kate had in the bar last night. He looks at me, his frown line skipping across his forehead. ‘At the bar, whispering in her ear.’ I add casually.

He opens the front door, ushering me out. ‘She gave me a dig for fucking off, and I apologised. I don’t offer apologies very often, so don’t push it.’

I laugh. I don’t expect he does. But he did – for me. He still hasn’t explained where he disappeared to, though.

Chapter 21

We drive out of the city, towards the Surrey Hills. I catch a glimpse of him, every now and then, watching me instead of the road. Each time, he smiles and squeezes my knee, which has had his palm spread on it for most of the journey. I start thinking about how little I know about him. He’s intense, quite volatile, incredibly self-assured and extremely rich. Oh, and he’s wild in the sex department. But that’s all I know. I don’t even know how old he is.

‘How long have you owned The Manor?’ I ask.

He throws me a curious, arched eyebrow and turns down the music via the controls on his steering wheel. ‘Since I was twenty one,’

‘That young?’ I blurt, my tone clearly displaying my shock at his answer.

He smiles brightly at me. ‘I inherited The Manor from my Uncle Carmichael.’

‘He died?’

His smile disappears. ‘Yes.’

Okay, now I really want to know more. ‘How old are you, Jesse?’

‘Twenty seven.’ he says, completely impassive.

I sigh. ‘Why won’t you tell me how old you are?’

He looks over at me, grinning. ‘Because, you might think I’m too old for you and run a mile.’

I eye him suspiciously across the car. He can’t be that old. I want to scream at him that I won’t be running anywhere. ‘Okay, how many times have I got to ask you before we get to your real age?’ I’ve tried this before and got nowhere.

He grins. ‘A few,’

‘I’m twenty six.’ I try for a bit of give and take as I watch him closely.

He glances at me. ‘I know.’

‘How?’

‘Your licence,’

‘You went through my bag as well as my phone?’ I cry incredulously, but he just shrugs. I shake my head in dismay. It’s an unwritten rule. This man really doesn’t have any manners. ‘Do you think you’re too old for me?’ Given what he has done to me, I’m guessing the answer is no, but as it seems like such an issue, it’s worth an ask.

‘No, I don’t.’ He keeps his eyes on the road. ‘My issue is your issue.’

I frown. ‘I don’t have an issue.’

He turns his handsome face towards me, all smoky eyed and glorious. ‘Then stop asking me.’

I rest my head back against the seat on a huff, watching the countryside pass us by. His age doesn’t bother me in the slightest – not now, anyway. I don’t think there’s anything that could change my mind on this.

I turn towards him. ‘What about your parents?’

The straight line his lips form has me immediately regretting the question. ‘I don’t see them.’ His tone is dismissive.

I sit back and say no more. His contemptuous approach makes me all the more curious, but it also makes me shut my trap.

We pull up at The Manor and Jesse flips a switch on the dash, opening the gates. As we approach the courtyard, I see Big John getting out of his Range Rover, in his usual black suit and wraparound sunglasses. He nods in greeting as I get out of the car and walk around to Jesse’s side.

‘What’s happening, John?’ Jesse asks, taking my hand and leading me up the steps to The Manor’s entrance. I shiver, thinking about the last time I was here. I did a runner, and I never thought I would be back. But here I am. I look up at Jesse as he claps hands with Big John. He’s turned all business like.

‘S’all good,’ John rumbles, allowing Jesse and me to pass before following us through to the restaurant. I’m surprised how quiet it is for ten o’clock on a Sunday morning in a hotel. Isn’t it breakfast time?

Jesse stops, turning to face me. ‘What would you like to eat?’ He’s even talking to me all business like.

‘I’m not fussed.’ I shrug. I’m feeling uncomfortable and beginning to wish I stayed on the sofa with a huge mug of coffee and a duvet. What am I going to do while he works, anyway?

His expression softens. ‘What do you really fancy?’

Oh, well, that’s really easy. ‘Smoked salmon,’

‘Bagel?’ he asks, and I nod. ‘Coffee?’