All That Mullarkey (Middledip series Book 2) by Sue Moorcroft

Author:Sue Moorcroft [Moorcroft, Sue]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Choc Lit Contemporary Romance: A Joffe Books Company
Published: 2024-02-13T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Justin stretched the small amount that was possible in the ridiculously small space allowed by economy air travel, and longed to be home in his flat.

The past eighteen months had been great, an experience he’d never forget or regret and just what he’d needed, but now he was ready for home. He was sick of snow and bitter, biting cold that had made wearing great fat coats and fleecy hats and gloves a necessity during the iron winter.

Heathrow was below; home was only a couple of hours from there, no doubt in the grip of typically British drizzle — but home.

Funny: cramped in his aircraft seat he’d dreamt of Cleo, presumably because he had had his mind fixed on home. He’d dreamt of her living alone in the little house in Middledip.

Unlikely! He grinned, glad he could remember her now without rancour. Cleo was quite a girl; if she’d given her husband the heave-ho she would’ve found other entertainment. What a prat he’d been over her, storming out in a huff, yelling all that crap about her getting to him and him minding. Inwardly, he groaned. Must’ve had a rush of blood. Must’ve mistaken lust for ‘lurve’ or something. Blimey.

But, considering he’d been curled uncomfortably onto his meal tray with his back bent and his toes bent and his arms bent, what a dream it’d been. A dream of dissolving clothes and hot hands. He’d woken up abashed, his erection making him feel still more crowded. Not that anybody would’ve noticed, all barricaded in by their own seat backs and chair arms.

Better when he was back in his own bed, his own flat. Maybe, in a few days, he’d even look Cleo up and make peace. Be the nice guy, now she was no longer important and out of his system. She was a loose end and he kind of liked loose ends tied out of the way.

Finally, after the long descent and the endless burdens of disembarkation and homeward travel, Justin barged through the door of his flat, keys swinging from his teeth because his hands were full of cases.

He was stunned to find a man and a woman there, eating a Saturday lunchtime takeaway on trays in front of the television. A dopey couple: the girl peering from between peroxide hair curtains, the lad sticking his chin out.

They all gazed at one another for several silent moments.

Then Justin dropped his cases and keys and groaned. They must be his tenants, the ones that the agent assured him would be out ten days ago. ‘There must’ve been some slip-up,’ he began, tolerantly enough. ‘The agent said your tenancy ended last week.’

‘We-ell . . .’ The couple exchanged glances. The girl smirked. ‘But we never had nowhere lined up. He never gave us time.’

Justin tried to shake his head clear of jet lag. ‘And the agent let you stay?’

The girl shrugged. ‘We had a spare key cut. We come back.’ She shrugged again, grinning now, triumphant.

The man stood up to demonstrate his size.

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