I grab his hand and hold it against my stomach. ‘With me and these two little people.’
His eyes drift up my body and his other hand grabs my waist, pulling me down. ‘With you and those two little people.’ he confirms. ‘Our little people.’
Jesse’s reaction to our news is understandable now, and the more he speaks of his parents, the more I dislike them. The unreasonable need to keep up appearances tore their family apart. ‘What about Amalie?’ I ask.
‘Amalie would marry well and be a good wife and mother, and I believe she might have fulfilled her obligation. It said Doctor David, didn’t it?’
‘It did.’
‘There you are, then.’ His tone carries an air of bitterness which I can’t help but feel, too.
I don’t want to ever meet Jesse’s parents. My mind is building up an image of a stuffy English gentleman with a pocket watch, a shotgun and some plaid trousers tucked into wellington boots. That would be Jesse’s Dad. His Mum? Probably a two-piece wearing lady, with a set of real pearls and an extra stiff upper lip, who only serves tea in proper English bone china at the correct time of day. I bet it has to be Earl Grey, too. I smile on the inside at the thought of their faces and Jesse’s constant cursing. And The Manor. He really did go all out after Jake died, like he was on a defiance mission to make up for Jake’s absence; like, in a weird kind of way, he was avenging his brother’s death. He was doubling up on the delinquencies, making up for Jake’s absence and ensuring he didn’t break the pact. Although I hope to God Jesse’s dream wasn’t to become a hedonistic playboy. His interest in superbikes is clear now, though.
‘You started spending more time with Carmichael after Jake’s death?’
‘I did. Carmichael knew the score. He’d been through it himself with my Granddad.’ His hands slip all over my back. ‘Are you comfy?’
‘Yes, I’m fine.’ I brush off his concern quickly, wanting him to continue.
‘It was a relief. I escaped the daily reminder that Jake wasn’t with me anymore, and I distracted myself with jobs that my uncle gave me around The Manor.’ He shifts a little. ‘Are you sure you’re comfy?’
‘I’m bloody comfy!’ I tweak his nipple, and he laughs. This is good. He’s at ease sharing this with me.
‘She’s comfy.’ he muses.
‘She is. What jobs did you do?’
‘Everything. I’d collect the glasses in the bar, mow the lawns. My Dad went through the roof, but I didn’t let him stop me. Then they announced that we were moving to Spain.’
‘And you refused to go.’
‘Yes, I hadn’t ventured into the rooms of The Manor at that point. I was still a Manor virgin.’ He’s grinning, I know he is. ‘But on my eighteenth birthday, Carmichael let me loose in the bar. Worst thing he could’ve done. I slipped right in. It came naturally. Too naturally.’ I look up at him. The grin has gone. ‘If simply being at The Manor took my mind away from all of my troubles, then being drunk and having sex at The Manor eliminated them completely.’
‘Escapism.’ I whisper. He escaped the guilt that his parents landed on him by drinking excessively and dabbling with too many women. ‘What did Carmichael think to all of this?’
He smiles. ‘He thought it was a phase, that it would pass. Then he went and died on me, too.’
‘And your parents tried to make you sell The Manor.’ I already know all of this.
‘Yes, they soon flew home from Spain at the news of my uncle’s death. They found me, a younger version of the family black sheep, lording it up, drinking and gorging on women. I’d experienced freedom, without them trying to mould me into suitable son material. I’d grown cocky and confident, and now I was also extremely wealthy.’ His lips press into a straight line. He is full to the brim with resentment. It really isn’t fixable. ‘I told them where to shove their ultimatum. The Manor was Carmichael’s life, and then it became mine. End of.’
What do I say to that? I thought so much was clear, but today’s tub-talk has put all other enlightenment to shame. Two of the most important people in his life where taken prematurely from him, both involving cars, so why the hell does he drive like a complete nut-job? I don’t know, but all of this adds to the explanation of his over-protectiveness.
‘Our children will be whoever they want to be,’ I bite his chin. ‘As long as they don’t want to be playboys.’
My bum cheeks are clenched in his palms and squeezed tightly. ‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.’
‘I think it does.’ I retort quietly.
‘You’re right, it does.’ He slides me up and kisses my nipple. ‘My mark is fading.’
‘Freshen it up, then.’ I push my chest into him, like the little temptress he knows me to be, and he wraps his lips around my puckered bud and laps gently. I moan, long, low and deeply satisfied, my nose rubbing through his wet locks and taking a hit of his delicious scent.
‘Nice?’ he asks, clamping down with his teeth.