Flowers for Him by Marie Sexton & Rowan Speedwell

Author:Marie Sexton & Rowan Speedwell [Sexton, Marie & Speedwell, Rowan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Six

Neil We cleaned ourselves up as best we could, but it really didn’t matter that much—my car was paint-spattered from years of carrying half-full paint cans and used dropcloths. Chandler sank into the passenger seat and laid his head wearily against the headrest, but he was smiling. I reached over and laced my fingers through his. “Tired?” I asked.

“Yeah, but in a good way.” He looked over at me, his dark eyes sleepy and sated. “I don’t know what was more fun, the painting or making love out in the open.” Then he closed his eyes, oblivious to my shock.

Not about his having fun. About his choice of words. Not fucking, not screwing, not having sex. Making love. I looked at his serene, sleeping face, so different from the uptight, chilly expression he’d worn the first time I’d met him, and thought…love?

Nah. Couldn’t be.

But I kept my fingers laced in his the whole ride back to his monstrosity of a mansion, up the long curving drive and under the overhang in front of his door. He didn’t move the whole way, just slept. I hated to wake him, but he’d end up with a backache sleeping all night in a bucket seat. “Chan?” I squeezed his hand. “Chandler?”

His eyes popped open, startled and disoriented. “What?”

“You’re home. Go on, go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

He sat up, scrubbed his hands through his hair then looked at his palms. “Oh. Right. I guess I’d better get cleaned up. I have a board meeting tomorrow.” He frowned as he looked at me. “Will it disturb you?”

I grinned. We’d come a long way from ‘you’ll need to absent yourself’. “Nah. Just tell me when to beat feet, and I will.”

Still frowning, he said, “I wish I didn’t have to have the meeting.”

“Chan.”

When he looked up, I kissed him. “It’s okay. But it’s also late—go to bed. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

He nodded, got out of the car and shambled sleepily up to the door. The house stretched into the darkness, its size unknowable, half the windows glowing with lamplight. The light reflected off a three-storey curved window at one corner—a three-fucking-storey window. Probably a library, or a conservatory or something. As Chandler went through the door, I caught a glimpse into an entrance hall bigger than my whole apartment, all marble and black curving staircase and a table in the middle with an enormous flower arrangement. It looked like a movie set.

And in that one split second I realised how hopelessly fucking outclassed I was.

I had been so psyched at the beginning of the adventure that I hadn’t really noticed the house—it had just been a big dark thing behind him. I’d seen only him in the porch light— no, it wasn’t a porch, what would they—what would he call it? A terrace? A landing? A what? I didn’t know. I hadn’t cared, not before. It had been Chandler, waiting in the light, smiling, in his ridiculous fancy-ass jacket. I hadn’t seen anything but him.

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