“Here.” He comes around and takes over. “This one here.” He points to a button. “Push it twice, and then when it comes down just add a little cold water.” He moves to the tap and puts a little cold water into his cup. “Or else you will burn my lips.”
I smirk as I watch him take a sip of his foul tasting coffee. How does he drink it like that? This poor bastard has no idea what he is getting himself into here. I can’t even make fucking black coffee. He takes a seat at the counter and I serve up our breakfast.
“Thank you.” He smiles as I pass it over.
I smile proudly. I can’t cook for shit, but I know I make a mean breakfast. I sit next to him at the bench and take a large mouthful.
He notices a key on the bench and he slides it over to me. “I got you a key cut yesterday.”
I frown around my full mouth. “Why?” I continue to chew.
“Well, you need a key to your own house.”
I swallow my food whole. “Twinkle.” I hesitate, I don’t want this to come out the wrong way and sound ungrateful. “I can’t move in here permanently.”
He puts his knife and fork down with a clang. “Why not?’
I shake my head. God, this man is all or nothing. “Because it’s a damn hex on our relationship, me moving in with you when we don’t even know each other properly yet.”
He frowns, horrified. “We know each other.”
“Alastar...” I sigh.
He smiles sexily and cups my face in his hand. “I don’t want to be away from you for a moment.” He lips gently dust over mine. Who am I kidding? I don’t want to be anywhere else, either. I pull back from his kiss.
“I will stay with you for a little while to see how it goes. A couple of weeks, maybe.” His eyes hold mine.
“And I would like to pay rent, please.”
He frowns. “No.”
“Alastar.”
“I’m not accepting rent from you. I want you to live here as my girlfriend, not a fucking tenant.”
“Ali.”
“Stop fucking Ali-ing me,” he snaps.
God, I turn back to my breakfast. Frigging hell, talk about overreacting.
“You will be living here as my girlfriend. You will not be paying anything and I will not have it any other way. Discussion over.”
I raise an eyebrow at him. The bossy bastard is peeking his head back in. “Don’t tell me the discussion is over, Alastar. I’m not your daughter.”
He pushes his food into his mouth from his fork. “I know that. So don’t make me discipline you.”
I smirk around my fork. “Stop talking now. That big mouth of yours is going to get you into trouble.”
“You stop talking.” He smirks.
I roll my eyes. This conversation is going nowhere. I’m not going to win and he is not backing down. I will change the subject. “So, we are going to your parents this weekend still?”
His face instantly softens. “Yes.”
I smile. “Fun,” I whisper nervously.
“It’s going to be cold. You will need to buy some warmer clothes.” He stands and goes to his wallet and retrieves a card. “I got this for you yesterday.” He slides it across the bench to me and I frown.
It’s a credit card with the name Emerson Mathews on it. Huh?
“What the hell?” I frown as my eyes meet his. “You don’t need to buy me things.”
“I know, baby. I want to.”
This is getting out of hand. “Alastar.” He wraps his arms around me and kisses my face.
“I have money. Please… let me,” he pleads.
My eyes hold his and I slide the card back to him.
“I don’t need nice things, Twinkle. I’m not materialistic.” I sigh.
He kisses me gently on the lips. “I know you are not, and believe me, it’s such an endearing quality of yours. But I need you to have nice things. I want to spoil you. I don’t want you to want for anything.”
“I can buy them for myself,” I reply.
“I want to buy them.”
“Why?”
“I just do,” he replies. “I want you to stay here in London and I want you to be happy. You have left everything in Australia for me and I am going to make sure I look after you.”
“I didn’t leave Australia for you. I came here with my own free will.”
His face drops.
I can tell this means a lot to him. I begrudgingly take the card and kiss him gently on the lips. “Thank you,” I whisper as my hands rub through his two-day growth. His beautiful eyes watch me. “Look after me. That’s all I want. The money means nothing.” I smile gratefully.
He kisses me and his tongue sweeps gently through my mouth. “I do love you, Emmaline,” he whispers into my mouth.
I smile broadly. “And I love you, my Irish Fiasco.”
* * *
The day at the work is dreary until I am summoned to Mark’s office to see the detectives.
Knock, knock.
“Come in,” calls Mark.
I swallow the nervous lump in my throat. The two men who were sitting stand to shake my hand.
“This is Detective Peters and Detective Sloan,” Mark introduces them.
“Hello.” I nervously shake their hands.
“Please take a seat.”
I sit down.
“We have been investigating the artwork that you noticed was missing and have a few leads that we wanted to share with you.”