I nod, pain twisting in my chest. I’m getting the brush-off.
“But I’d like to keep seeing you, Elly. To explore this.” I bite my lip to contain the grin.
“If we see each other, we can’t see anyone else,” I say in a small, firm voice.
“As if I would want to.” He rolls the blankets down. “Come on, I don’t want you to be tired for your mum’s birthday. Is this a single bed?”
“No!” I say crossly. “It’s a double. Stop complaining, or you can sleep on the floor.”
“I suppose the smaller it is, the harder it is for you to escape,” he grumbles, climbing into the bed behind me. “What is this made from? Bamboo sticks?” I hit his chest.
He wraps his body around mine, his strong arms pulling me flush against him. This man could win awards for his spooning.
***
“Who the fuck are you?” says Tristan in a low growl beside me.
I rub my eyes and peer out into the darkness.
What’s going on? Is it 5 a. m. already?
Feeling my way in the dark, I find the bedside lamp and switch it on.
I squint my eyes, adjusting to the light. There’s a girl hovering at the bottom of the bed. She claws at the duvet in an attempt to get under the covers.
“Someone has escaped from the looney bin,” Tristan yells, his voice thick with sleep. Both of us sit up topless in bed. “Is this one of your housemates?”
She sees us then releases a half giggle, half burp. Beer gas assaults me.
“This isn’t…” she slurs, swaying to imaginary music.
“He’s called Frank,” I say in a groggy voice, covering my bare breasts with the duvet.
Her glazed eyes give Tristan the once-over. “Oh.”
I’m momentarily distracted by Tristan’s naked muscular chest. “Not him,” I hiss. “The guy you went home with is Frank. Frank’s room is upstairs.”
“Get out of here,” Tristan snaps, catapulting out of bed.
Despite being saturated with alcohol up to her eyeballs, her jaw hangs slack as she takes in the well-endowed naked man. She stumbles backwards a few times. Finally, she gets the message that three is a crowd and zigzags towards the door. With the last of her motor skills, she yanks the door open and staggers out.
Tristan strides forward, closing the door.
“No way to lock it.” He pinches his eyes in confusion and moves a chest of drawers towards the door.
“It’s fine.” I wave my hand in the air, too tired to react further. “She won’t come back.”
“It’s not fine,” he barks. “I’ll get you a new rental tomorrow, Elly. This isn’t safe.”
“Stop being ridiculous.” I suppress a grin as he barricades us into the room. “If anything, you’re the one not safe from her, not me. Is that why you’re barricading us in?”
He ignores me. “I hope there’s a fire escape in this building. There should be, with this many bedrooms. Now we’re going to burn to a crisp because of some mad lady.”
“Where, Tristan? Did you see a slide or a pole?” I snort. I fling myself back down onto the bed, refusing to engage in this conversation. My phone says 3:30. My alarm will be going off in 1. 5 hours.
“Having flatmates is worse than having children,” he mutters, climbing back into bed. “Coming into your room at all hours demanding attention.”
I shake my head. He may be a hotshot CEO, but he wouldn’t last a minute in a hostel.
He lies flat on his back taking up most of the bed. I climb on top of him. It’s either this position or curling into a small ball in the corner. His strong arms envelop me and he lets out a long sleepy sigh. I bury my face in his chest, listening to the rhythm of his heartbeat. Our bodies mesh together, warmth flowing from his body into mine. There is nothing more sexy or intimate than lying on top of a sleeping Tristan Kane and feeling every inch of his skin touch mine.
When his hand loosens from where it is intertwined in my hair and his breathing slows, I know he is asleep. And then I lie there, my breasts rising and falling on his chest, breathing in his musk and I wonder how I’m ever going to sleep bursting with this much happiness.
Somehow, after many minutes, maybe hours, I close my eyes and drift off to sleep, smiling.
18
Elly
An obnoxious buzzing sound pierces my ears. I lie rigid, willing it to stop. It can’t be time to get up. I’m so disoriented I’m not sure if I slept at all. I hear a grunt, and the noise stops.
“Elly,” Tristans says in a gruff voice in the darkness. He gently shakes my shoulders.
“Yes?” I say sorrowfully, my eyes closed. What I mean is fuck off and let me sleep!
“You need to get up.” His voice is sterner this time. In an unwelcome embrace, he shakes me a bit harder.
My eyes flit open and I fix on Tristan’s shadow rummaging through the room.
“Tristan?” I bolt upright and turn on the bedside lamp, squinting as the light floods the room.
“There’s no toothpaste in your bathroom,” he says with a grunt. “And you had two bodies in your living room when I went to get a glass of water.” Only two? A quiet Friday night, then.
“Did you sleep?” I ask, knowing the answer from his murderous expression.
“Not enough.” He perches on the edge of the bed and nudges me. “I was too busy protecting you from the mad woman, remember? Anyway, it’s 5. You need to get a move on.”
I let out a long drawn-out sigh. “Yes, Daddy.” I groan. Interesting. I’m vaguely turned on by his new nickname. Perhaps I have disappearing-daddy issues. “Sorry for waking you. Feel free to sleep in.”
“Not a fucking chance.” He grimaces. “I’ve called a car. It will drop you at Paddington station on the way.”
With a moan I throw back the duvet and dramatically fling my legs off the bed. It’s pitch-black outside. This is an inhumane time to get up on a Saturday. What didn’t I just say yes to a lift in a helicopter? Goddamn stupid pride. Next time someone offers me a chopper, I’ll say that sounds lovely, thank you.
***
The last thing I want to do this morning is the four-hour trek to Wales after two hours of sleep.
Besides the fact we spent a large proportion of the night shagging, when we finally laid our heads down, Tristan proved to be a very distracting presence.
Not only because I was on high alert after the gas-inducing dinner but because his body is so large, he takes up the majority of the bed.
And he snores.
My train journey is a clusterfuck of emotions as I process last night’s events. I have a two-hour train to Swansea then I have to change onto the slowest train in the world to get to my village. Torture.
My inner harlot revels in the fulfilment of a fantasy I’ve had since I boarded the flight from Athens -to be shagged senseless by an unattached Tristan. My inner nun is freaking out over the fact I’m a dirty gullible grad who slept with the CEO.
Oh, who cares? Right now I’m too tired to give a shit.