By CLARE LONDON by NOVELS

Author:NOVELS [NOVELS]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fifteen

I FINALLY got up and dressed at about ten o’clock. My polo shirt was dry, though probably creased beyond recovery, and my jeans were stiff, but I managed to pull them on. The night before, I’d emptied my jeans pockets out on the side table—now I scooped up my phone, keys and wallet, loose change, and the red lighter with the Arsenal crest on it, and padded down the hallway in bare feet to find some coffee. I made a quick and quiet call to work to say I wouldn’t be in until later in the day. I didn’t like doing it, but I knew I wasn’t going to make it across town in time to clock in this morning. I didn’t often let them down—I was one of the most reliable contract workers they had. And even after the beating up, I’d gone back into work as soon as possible. I needed the money, but more than that, I wanted to do right by them.

I stood in the kitchen doorway and looked around. A bag of ground beans and a coffeemaker were two of the more familiar things I spotted. Otherwise it looked more like a showroom. Seve had all the latest gadgets—dishwasher, bread maker, food processor—but there was little evidence of cooking. And after I’d taken a nose around the fridge, not a lot of food, either. I found more bottled beers and only the basics: bread, cooked meat, and cheese. I supposed he ate out most of the time. The empty cartons from last night’s Chinese meal were still piled up on the counter.

To be honest, I wasn’t hungry, the taste and imprint of Seve’s cock and tongue still vivid in my mouth. I poked at the settings on the coffeemaker for a while, trying to find points of contact with Louis’s rather less sophisticated model, and eventually got it going. Then I went back to browsing around the cupboards while I waited for it to heat up. There were expensive-looking preserves, packets of dried pasta, bottles of oil with herbs suspended in them, and a couple of jars of something that looked like caviar. Definitely nothing I’d ever seen in my local supermarket. The coffee grounds had a Spanish name on the packet, and I nearly missed the sugar because it was a tin of solid brown crystals rather than the common granules I was used to. On the quest for milk, I examined an impressive store of red wine in a rack by the fridge. Some of them had names I’d only heard about in those celebrity dinner parties they show on reality TV.

Seve appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, smoothing his hair down, scratching his beard. Smart pair of sweats. Barefoot, no shirt. I wanted to jump him there and then.

“Not much for breakfast, Seve,” I joked. “What do you offer guests?”

“I don’t have guests,” he replied.

I was going to laugh, but then I realized it wasn’t a joke. I bit my tongue and placed a cup of coffee for him on the table.

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