It’s past seven and I head upstairs to start getting ready for tonight, showering and pulling on a new dress. I am going red, in a slinky, loose and floaty number that is more summer days than nightwear, but I am not in the mood for figure hugging and sexy. I still feel weird and out of sorts, and I am doing everything in my power to not think about Feral. Jackson took care of it. It’s done and I need to forget it as a nothing in my life. My bruised heart will heal, and it will only serve to help lock it up tight in its metal coffin once more. Every new scar just hardens my resolve to never care again.
I cared too much for something that shouldn’t have mattered and now I need to get over it.
I am not in the mood for playing seductive hostess tonight. I want people to leave me alone, so I can just do my job without pandering to anyone or anything. I’m agitated and prickly all over and just trying to get through my day.
I jump when Alexi walks in the door, catching me straightening my hair, by the mirror in the lounge that hangs on the outside of his bedroom wall. I prefer doing my hair out here as the socket is directly below it for easy access, and he smiles when he sees me. Seems he’s in a very casually cheerful mood tonight.
‘You look nice, as always.’ He looks me over and walks closer, still dressed in sportswear from this morning, but he smells freshly showered and his hair is damp. I guess he was having a boxing training day or something physical.
I have learned that Alexi has a lot of excess energy and he uses sport to keep himself level. Boxing is the preferred hobby, according to Jackson. He does that sometimes to let off steam and hone his skills as a cold-blooded thug who beats up men in nightclubs.
Yes, I’m still smarting over Miami. He has still not apologised either.
‘It’s new.’ I give it a little sway side to side as the skirt swishes around me gracefully, admiring my reflection as he passes behind me and tugs my hair as he does so. A juvenile reaction that highlights the great mood he is most definitely in.
‘Hey.’ I aim a slap for him, but he’s too fast and bobs into his room with a laugh, calling out innocently once he is out of sight.
‘I have to get changed, can you pour me a drink, please.’ His voice comes from further into his room because he has left the door open and I roll my eyes at his expectancy that I should serve him, yet find myself putting down my straighteners anyway and head for the kitchen. No idea why I am being so obedient and non-combative. Maybe because he's infectious when he is like this. And he did say please.
‘Booze or coffee?’ I yell and jump when his head pops out with a completely naked upper torso. All that tanned muscle and tattoos on show and it has the same effect as mildly tasering me in the vajayjay.
Jesus Christ, Alexi!
‘Coffee … I need a clear head tonight.’ He throws me a charming, drool worthy smile, oblivious to my squirming hot knickers, smiles, and then slides back out of sight as I am left dazed and lingering at all that muscle and skin he just flashed at me.
Boy still makes my underwear get tight. He has a seriously unfair advantage with looking how he does, and I push down all those niggling urges with anger at myself, for being so weak.
Arsehole.
‘Why you changing here anyway?’ I yell in afterthought at him—diverting my horny brain to safer topics.
‘I thought you had an apartment in upper Manhattan you live out of?’ I ask him, confused that he has come here just to get changed. Normally he comes in and out in various attires that he definitely does not keep here. I am under no illusion that this apartment is not one he calls home.
‘I left my tux here to get cleaned … easier to just come change here.’ He wanders out wearing an open shirt over black trousers and is in the process of buttoning up as he wanders towards me confidently, not bothered at all about his state of undress around me.
I have already boiled the kettle and make him instant coffee rather than set up the coffee pot like he normally would. He seems like he’s in a hurry and doesn’t say anything when he sees the jar. I know he’s usually a coffee bean snob.
I cannot tear my eyes off that expanse of sexy chest and physically have to rip myself away to turn around and look anywhere but at him. Body heating up with the sizzling effect of his proximity, and I almost forget how to breathe.
His hair is damp and messy from pulling off clothes over his head, ruffled gorgeously even though it’s mostly short. That lip biting, yummy body on show, with little hints of black ink on a tight, toned surface, which does crazy things to my internals. Full-on electric horny vibrations pummelling me in the nether regions and I sigh in total frustration. BOB has been a pale comparison to that hunk of male flesh between my thighs. The cravings for sex have never been as much of a problem as they have been since the day I met this man.
Does he have any idea how much of an alluring sight he is when walking around like this?
‘I am coming back here after dinner. I want an early start on stuff I need to do in the office, so makes more sense to sleep here.’ He comes up beside me, sliding his arm around to pick up his coffee in front of me and throws me a charming smile, face so close he’s almost in mine, and the air gets painfully thin between us.
I just smile awkwardly, aware that his sudden close assault has my skin prickling sensually, and I stiffen in discomfort.
‘You smell nice,’ he utters in a soft but heavy tone, those eyes locked on mine so my body tingles, then moves away and takes a drink of his coffee as he goes to the table and lays it down. He straightens to button up his shirt, disappointingly putting all those carved abs under wraps, and pulls a bow tie from his back pocket which had been dangling there.
I watch him expertly tuck himself in and wander to my mirror to put it on and tie it, mesmerised with the way a bow can neatly appear from such a strange shape and note that it’s something I have never learned to do. I’ve never had a need to put one on a man and watch him a little too intensely—A practised skill.
He already has shoes on and when he walks back into his room to get his jacket I hear a blast of a drier as he quickly sorts his hair out. In the couple minutes of quiet, I can almost visualise him with his hair gel, taming hints of waves into scruffy neatness.
I love Alexi’s most recent haircut. All short back and sides now and a little unruly on top, which leaves enough hair to run your fingernails through and grip onto in the throes of passion. Not that I will be, it’s just a preferred thing.