He looks down at our joined hands. ‘I’m touching you.’
‘You know what I mean. You’re punishing me.’
‘Why would I do that, Ava?’ He pulls me into the elevator. He knows damn well what my point is.
I look up at him. ‘I want you to touch me.’
‘I know you do.’ He punches in the code.
‘But you won’t?’
‘Give me what I want, and I will.’ He doesn’t look at me.
I don’t believe this. ‘An apology?’
‘I don’t know, Ava. Do you need to apologise?’ He still keeps his focus straight ahead. Even in the reflection of the doors, he still won’t meet my eyes.
‘I’m sorry.’ I practically spit. I can’t believe he’s doing this. And I can’t believe I’m this desperate for the contact.
‘Now, if you’re going to apologise, at least sound sorry.’
‘I’m sorry.’
His eyes meet mine in the mirror. ‘Are you?’
‘Yes, I’m sorry.’
‘You want me to touch you?’
‘Yes.’
He turns into me fast, pushing me up against the mirrored wall and completely blanketing me with his body. I feel instantly better. That wasn’t too hard at all. ‘You’re beginning to understand, aren’t you?’ His lips hover over mine, his hips pushing into my lower stomach.
‘I understand.’ I pant.
He takes my mouth, my hands finding his shoulders, my nails digging straight into his muscles. Yes, that’s much better. I meet his tongue, melting into him completely.
‘Happy?’ he asks, breaking our kiss.
‘Yes.’
‘Me too. Let’s go.’
We pull up in Camden for breakfast after Jesse got his way and drove. It’s a beautiful day, and I’m already too warm in my cardigan, but I’ll suffer for a little longer. There’s still scope for him to take me home in disgrace and make me change.
Jesse collects me from the pavement, leading me across the road to a lovely little quaint café. ‘You’ll love it here. We’ll sit outside.’ He pulls out a large wicker chair for me.
‘Why will I love it?’ I ask as I sit on the polka dot cushion.
‘They do the best Eggs Benedict.’ He smiles brightly at me when he sees my eyes light up.
The waitress approaches on a dribble when she spots Jesse in all his manly Godliness, but he’s completely oblivious.
‘Can we have two of the Eggs Benedict,’ He points at the menu, ‘a strong black coffee and a cappuccino with an extra shot, no chocolate or sugar, please.’ He turns his face up to the waitress, blasting her with one of his smiles, reserved only for women. ‘Thank you.’
She appears to stagger slightly. I laugh to myself. Yes, he had that exact same affect on me.
She eventually finds her voice. ‘Would you like ham or salmon with your eggs?’
He hands her the menu, taking off his Wayfarers so she gets the full impact of his stunning face. ‘Salmon, please.’
I shake my head in dismay and check my phone, while the waitress makes a meal of writing out our basic order. I wonder how Victoria and Drew got on. I’m not so bothered about Tom – he’s undoubtedly in love again with the latest soul mate.
‘White or granary?’
‘Sorry?’ I glance up from my phone and find the waitress still hovering.
‘Would you like white or granary bread?’ Jesse repeats on a small smile.
‘Oh, granary, please,’
He returns his glorious greens to the wilting waitress. ‘Both granary, thank you,’
She flashes her most willing smile before finally leaving us. The woman’s reaction to Jesse reminds me of how many others would have been before me. It makes me feel crap. Was he as unreasonable and controlling with all the others? Christ, I bet there have been a few. I place my phone on the table and look across at Jesse, who’s watching me closely, chewing his lip. What’s he considering?
‘How are your legs?’ he asks, but I know that’s not what’s got him chomping on his bottom lip.
‘Fine, do you run often?’ I already know the answer to this. No one gets up in the middle of the night to run fourteen miles unless they’re serious about it.
‘It distracts me.’ He shrugs, sitting back in his chair, his expression thoughtful.
‘Distracts you from what?’
He keeps his eyes on me. ‘You,’
I scoff. He’s obviously not running very much at the moment then, because he’s spending most of his time trampling all over me. ‘Why do you need distracting from me?’
‘Because, Ava…’ He sighs. ‘I can’t seem to stay away from you and, more worryingly, I don’t won’t to.’ His tone harbours frustration. Is he frustrated with me or with himself?
The waitress places our coffees on the table and lingers for a while, but she doesn’t get blessed with another knock out smile. He’s focused on me alone. His statement is bitter sweet. I’m delighted that he can’t stay away from me, but slightly affronted that it seems to annoy him.
‘Why would that be worrying?’ I ask nonchalantly, while stirring my cappuccino and mentally pleading for some satisfactory answers. After a few moments have passed, he still hasn’t answered so I glance up, discovering the cogs whirling at a hundred miles an hour and his bottom lip getting a punishing chew.
He eventually exhales noisily, dropping his eyes. ‘It’s worrying because I feel out of control,’ He returns his eyes to me, penetrating me with his fixed, green stare. ‘Feeling out of control is not something I do well, Ava. Not where you’re concerned.’
Ah! Is he admitting that he’s a complete unreasonable control freak? It’s bloody obvious that he doesn’t cope when he’s defied – I’ve seen hard evidence of that.
‘If you were more reasonable, you wouldn’t feel out of control very often. Are you like this with all your women?’
His eyes widen, then narrow. ‘I’ve never cared enough about anyone else to feel like this,’ He picks up his coffee. ‘It’s just fucking typical that I would go and find the most defiant woman on the planet to…’
‘Try and control?’ I raise my eyebrows at him, and he deepens his scowl on me. ‘What about other relationships?’
‘I don’t have relationships. I’m not interested in getting involved. Anyway, I don’t have time.’
‘You’ve devoted enough time to trampling all over me.’ I blurt over my coffee cup. If this isn’t involved, then I don’t know what is.
He shakes his head. ‘You’re different. I told you, Ava, I’ll trample anyone who tries to get in my way. Even you.’
This I know. I’ve been trampled already when I refused to stay in. I’m glad my trampling ritual is a little different to that of others who have had the pleasure. Poor Cockney springs to mind immediately. He’s not interested in relationships? Where’s this going then?
Our breakfast lands on the table, smelling divine. Tucking in, I ponder his declaration of being out of control. The solution is pretty simple – stop being so unreasonable and challenging. He’ll keel over from a stress induced heart attack if he carries on the way he has.
‘Why am I so different?’ I ask. My voice is small.
He calves his way through his salmon. ‘I don’t know, Ava.’ he says quietly.
‘You don’t know much, do you?’ It’s all he bloody says when I try and determine a reason for his controlling ways. I spark “all sorts of feelings”. What am I supposed to make of all this?
‘I know that I’ve never wanted to fuck a woman more than once. You, though, I really do.’
I recoil in horror, nearly choking on a piece of toast.
He has the decency to look apologetic. ‘That came out wrong.’ He puts his fork down, closing his eyes and rubbing his temples. ‘What I’m trying to say is that…well…I’ve never cared about a woman enough to want more than sex. Not until I met you,’ His head rub gets more aggressive. ‘I can’t explain it, but you felt it, didn’t you?’ He looks at me. I think I see desperation for confirmation. ‘When we met, you felt it.’
I smile lightly. ‘Yes, I felt it.’ I’ll never forget it.