Page 68 of Read My Lips

“Like what?” Simon wasn’t that guy. Whatever else he got up to, I trusted him to do right by me.

“I don’t know…” Exasperation rose in his voice. “Deep-fry your testicles?”

“That’s a bit...” dick-wiltingly unsexy. “Off side?”

Out on the river, tourist boats shuttled back and forth. My brain buzzed blank static. “Do you want to deep-fry my testicles?”

“No.” A ripple of frustration chased across the muscles of his jaw. “But getting you to participate in a sex tape is pretty much on a par.”

To think, yesterday going on about Jonathan Creek murder rooms had seemed like crossing a line. I sniggered, and tried to stuff it down. I could picture him standing in Richard’s giant kitchen, with a pan on the hob, apron on.

“Don’t. You only agreed because you didn’t want to be fired, which makes me a total creep.”

“No…” I grimaced. “Okay, maybe? But seriously, you don’t look like a cannibal.”

“Tell me Ben,” his brow arched up, all superior and hoity, like he thought he’d won. “What do cannibals look like? You have no idea what I might force you into. That’s my point.”

I wanted to throttle him. One minute he was all vengeful towards Mel because she’d dared to make my name more interesting, and now he was telling me we shouldn’t even be messing about in case he went power mad.

“Simon. If you decide to Hannibal Lecter me because I didn’t explicitly say I expect not to be cannibalised, I will take full responsibility. Scout’s honour. All that garbage. But right now, the way I see it, we’re just two blokes who happen to be pretending to be dating for career purposes, who’d quite like to get off.” I swallowed. “Aren’t we?”

He eyeballed me like he expected the truth to geyser out if he stared long enough. But who needed romance? This man cared so much about doing right by me he’d burn his own life to the ground instead of taking advantage.

“You’re impossible. Ben I’m trying to get you to understand how morally reprehensible I’m⁠—”

“Oh fuck that narrative.”

I rolled him against the high stone base of the nearest lamppost, and all the air oomphed out of his lungs.

“—being.”

I pinned him, stretching up to kiss under the sharp corner of his jaw and his hands dragged down the line of my spine, pulling me into the core of him on this gloriously surprised little “oh”.

“Yeah. Alright.” I leaned back, so I knew he could read me. “You’re reprehensible.”

The world narrowed – just him and me, humming like a tuning fork, vibrating from the buzz of sheer chemistry anywhere our body heat bled together.

A double-decker bus roared past, up on the bridge a hundred yards away, throwing out diesel fumes. Eau de duck pond wafted up from the low tide mud. I tongued bluntly at the pulse jumping in his neck, guarding my teeth until I wanted to bite him too much.

Maybe it didn’t matter if I was a disaster if he liked it. Maybe he didn’t need me to be perfect. Maybe I didn’t need romance at all, as long as we got to sort this mess out together.

Simon fisted my bum hard enough to make me gasp. I peeled back, angling to look at him.

“And, I’m well upset about all this.”

“You should be.”

“I am. Full-on devastated.”

Simon laughed. My skin prickled under the dip of his eyes, tracking the bob of my Adam’s apple, and the way he waited, like it was obvious to him I hadn’t finished speaking. Like he wanted to know what conclusion I’d come to. This was what being listened to felt like.

“So,” I whispered, “I really think you’d better take me home.”

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

Simon took me home.