Page 88 of Pretty Mess

“You probably need to look that word up in the dictionary,” I say tartly. I recoil, laughing, when he pinches me. “Ouch, that hurt.”

“Serves you right.” Silence falls again, and then he stirs. “What were you reading?”

“Eh?” I’m preoccupied with the feel of him under my hands. It’s like stroking a tiger who might turn around and bite my head off at any minute. “Oh, it’sThe Da Vinci Code.”

“Good grief, that’s old. Why are you reading that?”

“A tutor at uni was on about it, and it sounded interesting. Ironic, really, because he was criticising it. It’s been ages since I read a fiction book because of my uni work, so I downloaded it earlier.”

“The Rosslyn Chapel is beautiful and a fascinating place. I must take you at some point—” He stops talking abruptly as if he hadn’t meant to make that offer.

“That would be nice. I’m really enjoying the book. Have you read it?”

“No, I never had the time either. I haven’t picked up a book in a while, which is sad, because I used to love reading.” He stills when I start to open his shirt. “What are you doing?” The last word is muffled by a yawn.

“Pushing your shirt to one side so I can get at your shoulders. They’re as tense as a nun in a nightclub.”

He chuckles and leans forward, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off.

“Even better,” I say approvingly at the sight of his broad shoulders and silky skin. I fill my hands with more lotion and start to rub his shoulders.

“You have a nice touch, Wes.”

I smile. “I used to massage my mum’s shoulders when I was little. I’m sure at times I was half crippling her because I was a very enthusiastic child, but she never let on.”

“Maybe she was enjoying just being with you.” There’s a funny note in his voice. He says quickly, “So have you seen anything of Paris, or have you been in the suite all this time?”

“When you left, I went for a long walk to stretch my legs and get the layout of the place. I found the Louvre and the Tuileries Gardens. They’re beautiful. I think I’m going there tomorrow. Then it started to rain, so I came back here, and Pierre got my dinner.”

“The butler?”

“That’s him. Nice bloke.”

“What did you have?”

“Oh, some lush langoustines to start, followed by sea bass in a green sauce which was nice, despite the colour, and then a profiterole éclair which was even nicer.”

“Despite the colour?” There’s a note of amusement in his voice.

“Well, usually if food is green, it’s not a good sign.”

“After your dinner, I presume the hotel ordered an emergency supply of ingredients to replenish its depleted stores.”

“So many words for such a little laugh.” I pinch him, enjoying his laughter.

He looks up at me, and the lines have gone from his face. He looks rumpled and almost sweet if you could ever use that word about him. His eyebrow rises, and I realise I’ve been staring at him for too long.

“Did you eat?” I ask quickly.

He grimaces. “I had a bit of dinner. I wasn’t very hungry. What are you doing?”

I’ve reached to grab the phone and the room service menu. “Ordering some dessert for a midnight snack.”

“Oh no. I don’t want anything.”

He stands up and stretches, and I swallow hard as I watch the muscles move in his long body. I quickly bring my mind back to task and order some desserts.

He shakes his head when I put the phone down. “That’s enough dessert for an army.”