Page 167 of Pretty Mess

It’s nice to be missed in the same way I miss him, but it’s a fact that this house is too quiet without him. He has a way of infusing a place with his presence, so even if he’s in his study working, I know he’s there, and something eases in me. And I’m making it my life’s work to chase him out of that room and into the sunlight—to laugh and love. I gave him that silver sunflower for a reason after all.

Sighing, I head towards the stairs. I’m going to shower, nuke something in the microwave, and fall into bed at five pm like the pensioner I apparently now am.

I have one foot on the stairs when the sound registers. It’s a sibilant hissing noise. I freeze and then realise what it is. It’s our shower.

For a wild second, I think someone has broken in and is having a wash before they start raiding the home. Realisation dawns as I notice the suitcase and suit bag thrown over the chair in the hallway. I can’t believe I missed them.

“Mac.”

My heart seems to start and stop, and before I know it, I’m racing up the stairs, taking them two at a time. I burst into our big bedroom, nearly falling over his shoes, abandoned with a pile of clothing by the sofa in the room. Stumbling and catching myself just in time, I crash into the bathroom, nearly taking out a vase of tulips on the counter.

Mac is in the shower, his hands resting on the tiles and his head bent under the spray, but at my entrance, he jerks and turns to me. The water pours down, sliding over that fantastic body. He puts up his hand, smoothing the black silk of his hair back, showing the stark beauty of his bone structure, and then raises one eyebrow. “Are you incapable of entering a room normally?”

“You’reback,” I gasp.

“I see your gift of observance is getting better.”

“You’re so sneaky. How did you get here when our boat was still moored over there?”

“I got a lift with Bill. What are you doing?”

I pause. “Getting naked,” I say in ad’ohvoice and carry on stripping, throwing a few things for good measure. I ignore the fact that my boxers are now hanging from the light fitting and slide open the glass door of the huge shower enclosure. I pause there, taking his beloved face in. “You’re really here.”

His whole face softens. “And so are you, darling.”

I step into the cubicle, feeling the rainfall shower soak me instantly. I’ve never been gladder that we bought such a huge shower than I am now, as I step into his arms and feel them band tightly around me.

“I missed yousomuch,” I say frantically. I try to tell him more of how I’ve felt, but he stops the torrent of my words by kissing me.

My thoughts stop instantly, and we sway together, kissing as the water flows over us. Our tongues tangle, and I feel the weight of his cock against mine, the strength of his arms, and the heat of his body. Eventually, the need for air separates us, and I grin up at him, twining my hands behind his neck.

“Well,hello, Mr Reilly.”

He shakes his head, his eyes intent on my face as if he hasn’t seen me in years and needs to itemise my appearance. “It’s Mac to you and always will be.”

I kiss him again for that and pout when he puts me away. However, I notice he hasn’t let me go far, his hands on my hips clutching tight. I reach up and tug on the beard he grew recently. The black hairs feel tickly against my skin. The beard suits him—highlighting those blue eyes and making him look dashing. “My pirate.”

A wry expression crosses his face. “A rather pathetic pirate. All I own is that ridiculous rowing boat you made me buy last week.”

“You’d still find some way to plunder,” I say affectionately. “You’d probably have a flotilla of boats by Friday.”

He drags me close, burying his head in my neck and blowing a raspberry that makes me shriek with laughter. “I missed you.” He raises one hand to push the wet mass of my hair back. “So fuckingmuch.”

“I missed you too.”

“We’re not doing this again.”

“And how will you make that happen, my lord and master?”

“I’ve put in a new manager in the Paris office, and Jimmy is going to move out there and oversee it.”

Jimmy is Mac’s second in charge. He’s a quiet man with an undoubtable knack for getting things to go his and Mac’s way. “That’s a good choice. Does he mind?”

He shakes his head. “The divorce is getting him down, so he’s glad of a change of scenery, which is a relief because otherwise, I’d have sold the whole office and never looked back.”

I gape at him. “You’d have sold the Paris office? But your godfather set that up.”

He turns off the shower, steps out, grabs a towel, and gestures to me to join him. I obey, and he starts to dry me,ignoring his own wet body. His touch is tender and almost reverent, and I smile, helplessly in love with him as always.