His Irresistible Darling - Sarah Randall Page 0,59

of the water.

His facial expression changed to one of bewilderment as his brows narrowed and he pointed. “Is that a glass of wine floating in there with you?”

She tried to cover herself with her hands. “Do you mind?” she cried, her eyes wide.

“Not at all,” he responded, glibly, leaning his body against the wall and crossing his good arm over his chest. He smiled like a cheeky schoolboy.

Her look conveyed that she wasn’t impressed but secretly she loved this playful side of him. His smile was a revelation. He held his hand up in defeat and pushed away from the wall. “Okay, okay. I’m going,” he said, turning away to leave. “Sure you don’t want me to scrub your back?” he checked and managed to dodge the damp loofah she hurled at him. It hit the back of the door.

“Hope you enjoyed the view, Jumal,” she shouted so he’d hear through the closed door. “It’s the last freebie you’re getting!”

She could still hear the bastard chuckling as she lay back down in the water so abruptly that some sloshed over her shoulders to the marble floor. She steadied her wine glass and ducked her head under the water to hide the treacherous smile that threatened to creep to her lips. Living with Jumal certainly hadn’t been dull, despite her earlier fears.

She raised her wine glass. “A toast,” she declared.

“And to what shall we toast, Miss Darling?” he asked, reaching for his glass.

She took a moment. “To us,” she replied, adding, “and the fact we haven’t killed each other yet. How very grown up are we.”

He bowed his head slightly. “To us,” he agreed, tapping his crystal glass against hers.

Tonight was the first time since his accident that he’d drunk alcohol. He wasn’t entirely sure that it was a good idea to mix the strong painkillers with alcohol but decided that it couldn’t do too much harm… He’d only have a glass with their dinner. Just to be social.

He tracked her movements as she forked some of the paella into her mouth and closed her eyes, and he shifted in his chair as his body reacted in its usual but oh so reliable and inconvenient way. “Hmm, Jumal this is really delicious,” she complimented him and he tried not to be offended by the surprise in her voice.

He took a long drink from his glass before replying to make sure his voice wouldn’t betray him. “Glad you like it, but it was a joint effort. So seriously, what’s with the glass of wine in the bath?” he asked randomly whilst peeling a large prawn and popping it into his mouth.

“Well, it keeps the red wine nice and warm and it just bobs there in the water like a magic trick. You should try it sometime,” she suggested, biting into her own prawn; his eyes now darting to her lips to follow the path of a trickle of garlic butter until her tongue finally caught it before she licked the butter from her fingers—one by one, making a delicious popping sound each time. Jumal swallowed deeply to try and free his mind of the erotic sight and his yearning to reach out and finish the task for her. Instead he reached again for his goblet, downing the dregs in one gulp before reaching for the already half empty bottle and topping up both their glasses.

A couple of hours later Jumal’s head was completely fuzzy from a mixture of the prescribed horse-sized painkillers, alcohol, sleep deprivation and the late hour. They were both in his bed, wow correction, on his bed. Big difference, he mused. Like the major difference between loving someone like a parent, sibling or faithful Labrador and being in love with someone…

He was resting with his head against the bank of pillows and one supported his injured arm, his eyes half closed as Pippa lay on her tummy, facing away from him as they watched a late-night film. Correction, Pippa watched the film; he watched Pippa. Jumal had no idea what the film was. She’d told him but she’d bounced around to get comfortable on his bed, at which point he had zoned out completely.

She rested her chin in her cupped hands, elbows propped up on the bed, knees bent and ankles crossed. She kept lowering and raising her crossed ankles—from the bed to her backside and repeat. Jumal’s head fuzz had started when he’d first spotted the crease, at the top of her thighs, right where her backside cheeks