Page 100 of Duplicity

And I can’t bear it.

CHAPTER 47

Marlowe

When I’m all clean, Brendan leads me out of the shower and dries me off with brisk movements. I notice that he keeps his eyes off my body as much as he can, even if he’s still impressively hard. It’s a considerate gentlemanly gesture, and I appreciate it. It couldn’t be more of a departure from how he treated me last week.

He holds up a fluffy robe and I thread my arms through it. Only after he’s tied it tightly around me does he manage eye contact. ‘You got a hairbrush on you?’

‘In my bag, but I can?—’

‘Nope.’ He takes my shoulders and walks me through to the bedroom. ‘You’re not doing a bloody thing.’

I have to work on stifling my smile as I sit at the fancy dressing table and surreptitiously watch this big, hot guy, wearing nothing but a white towel fastened around his waist, brushing my hair as carefully as if it’s made of spun gold. He really can be very sweet when he wants to be.

My eyes wander around the mirror image of the room behind him. It’s as impersonal as it is luxurious. I could be anywhere in the world. It feels so, so wrong to have left Tabby at the hospital, even if she’s in the care of the most capable person I know. I’mafraid our relationship is pretty co-dependent, and our anxious attachment to each other has ratcheted up this week, amid the stress and uncertainty and unfamiliarity. For all its faults, GOSH is practically a second home to us. This hospital is massive.

Brendan takes a towel and squeezes out my hair when he’s done brushing it. We gaze at each other through the mirror.

‘Food first, or sleep?’ he asks gruffly. There’s an undoubted awkwardness between us. For my part, I’m mortified by my little breakdown back there, and I suspect he has no idea how to behave towards me in a hotel room he hasn’t dragged me to for sex.

I’m considering my options when my stomach growls loudly, and it gets a smile out of him.

‘Some real food would be amazing,’ I admit with a sigh. ‘I’ve been living off protein bars and disgusting sandwiches.’

Brendan’s idea ofreal foodis pretty epic. He puts me in a huge whiteSullivan Constructiont-shirt, props me up on a mound of pillows in his huge bed and proceeds to feed me a platter of fruit that’s far riper and tastier than the imported shit we get in London supermarkets. I’ve never tasted mango like it. And when I sayfeed, I mean that he sits on the edge of the bed and feeds me forkfuls like I’m an invalid.

He’s so solicitous, so tender, that it moves me. He’s put on running shorts and a t-shirt, and I’m not above perving over him as he serves me. He’s such a beautiful man, and when he’s quiet and thoughtful like this, he’s almost irresistible.

If only this was his sole personality.

After the fruit come perfectly poached eggs and fans of sliced avocado on some delicious seeded bread, which he again holds to my mouth as if I’ve lost the use of my hands. And tea—really good loose-leaf breakfast tea served in a silver pot. It’s unrecognisable from the shit the hospital vending machines spitout and so exactly what I need that I consider requesting an IV full of it.

‘Thanks,’ I tell him, wiping my mouth with my hand when I’m done mainlining the hotel’s entire food supply. ‘God, I needed that.’

‘And now you need a nap,’ he says, standing so he can move the huge tray away. ‘As do I. I’ll grab the sofa outside.’

I sit bolt upright. ‘No you bloody well will not. This is your bed. Come and lie with me, you doofus.’

I’m not used to seeing him so uncertain. ‘Really?’

‘Really. We’ve been in far more compromising positions than this, haven’t we?’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. I might get confused in my sleep. What if you wake up to find me dry-humping you?’

He looks so worried that I laugh. ‘I’m sure whatever you do to me, I’ll sleep right through it.’

‘Rude,’ he grumbles, but he pulls back the covers on his side and climbs in.

The memory of the last time I was in bed with Brendan is such a happy one. I may have been horrified when I woke up to find I’d slept through the lunchtime rendezvous he was paying me for, but I also rejoiced in the amazing, unfamiliar feeling of having a gorgeous man’s warm limbs wrapped around mine.

That can’t happen today.

We settle on our sides, facing each other. I tuck my hand between my cheek and the pillow.

‘I have some things I need to say,’ he says. ‘I wanted to say them as soon as I got you alone, but I also didn’t want to dump on you. I need you to know how sorry I am for the way I behaved last week—the way I treated you. It was fucking disgusting.’

I stare at him. The regret on his face is undoubtedly genuine.

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