Shut Your Eyes (The You Don't Know Me Trilogy Book 3)

by Lee, Mandy

  Pulling on a fresh shirt from the wardrobe, I send Lucy a quick text, the third one today.

  Are you okay?

  I don’t know why I’m bothering. I scroll back to the first text.

  How’s it going?

  Ignored.

  And then the second.

  Are you still angry with me?

  Also ignored.

  I wait for a minute or two, hoping she’s calmed down by now and forgiven me. When nothing comes, I finally give up and go in search of Dan.

  The living area’s deserted, breakfast dishes cleared away and roses glowing in the bright New York winter light. I hear water running in the kitchen and go to join him, quietly padding across the floor in bare feet. I find him at the sink, hands clenched on the worktop, shoulders stooped, head down. At first I can’t make out what’s going on, but then I spot an open bottle of tablets in front of him.

  ‘Dan?’

  He jolts, switches off the tap and straightens up, suppressing a grimace.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So, what’s this?’ Before he can stop me, I grab the bottle and examine the label. ‘Codeine?’

  ‘Like I said, nothing.’

  He moves to the breakfast bar and sits on a stool.

  ‘Nothing?’ Still holding the bottle, I turn. ‘This isn’t paracetamol, Dan. It’s strong stuff.’

  He stares at me, doing his best to bring down the mask. But it isn’t working, not today.

  ‘Don’t give me the hero act,’ I admonish him. ‘You’re in pain.’

  ‘It’s not that bad.’

  And that’s a lie.

  ‘I want the truth.’

  He draws in a breath.

  ‘Okay, it’s my leg.’ The words catch as he exhales. ‘It’s not worth talking about. I’m fine.’

  ‘Oh, stop it.’ I slam down the bottle next to the sink. He jolts again. I’m furious, but not with Dan. I’m angry with the man who’s caused all of this. ‘Stop it now. I need to know.’

  He says nothing, and he doesn’t need to. It’s all there in the pallid skin and taut lips. And I can hear it too. His breathing’s shallow, uneven. Two things are completely obvious: the man I love is suffering, and this isn’t the time for anger.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me last night?’ I ask, softening my tone.

  ‘It wasn’t this bad last night,’ he admits, adjusting his position on the stool.

  ‘But you showed me the scars.’

  ‘They’re difficult to hide.’

  ‘And you thought you could hide the pain?’

  He watches as I move towards him, halting just out of his reach. And then he fixes his attention on my throat, avoiding all eye contact.

  ‘I don’t want you keeping things from me,’ I go on. ‘It doesn’t protect me and it doesn’t stop me worrying. It only makes things worse.’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘So, why didn’t you say anything?’

  ‘I thought I could manage it.’ He pauses, still staring at my throat. ‘I was scared … still am.’

  ‘Of what?’

  He clamps his lips together, refusing to answer, but he’s already gone too far. There’s only one thing that scares him and I know exactly what it is.

  ‘You thought you’d lose me. You thought I’d give up on you.’

  His eyes meet mine. He seems shattered now, almost despondent.

  ‘You’ve already dealt with enough of my shit.’

  ‘True,’ I answer briskly. ‘And just for the record, I’m thoroughly prepared for more. How bad is the pain?’

  ‘Bearable. Mostly.’ He runs a hand through his hair.

  ‘The truth, Dan.’

  I move closer and touch him on the arm.

  ‘Okay.’ His eyelids flicker. ‘It’s worse in the mornings. There are days when I can barely get out of bed.’

  ‘Like today?’

  He nods.

  ‘Days when I want to shut myself away, and I’m not exactly a pleasure to be around.’

  He lowers his head again, as if he’s totally ashamed of his confession. I stop him in his tracks. Placing a finger under his chin, I coax his head back up and wait for his eyes to meet mine.

  ‘How often?’

  He closes his eyes. ‘There’s no pattern.’ He blows out a breath. ‘But it’s not been this bad for a while.’

  I make a decision.

  ‘It’s all the sex.’

  Panic appears in his eyes.

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’ll have to cut down.’

  ‘Maya, I’m not doing that.’

  ‘And I’m not walking away.’

  ‘Well, you should.’ He falters, breathes deeply again. ‘It’s not fair on you. I’m not the man you fell in love with. I shouldn’t have asked you to marry me.’

  I’m stunned. I can barely believe what I’m hearing. We’ve been engaged for half a day and he’s already trying to pull out? I’d give the man a damn good slap if he wasn’t in agony.

  ‘You bloody idiot,’ I growl.

  And then I stop. Mouth open, I stare into his face. If I’m not much mistaken, he’s on the verge of tears … and I’m not having that. This is self-doubt, pure and simple, the very same thing I saw in the mirror a few minutes ago. And as far as I’m concerned, it can take a hike … because it’s outstayed its welcome.

  ‘You really are a piece of work, Dan. You made me an offer and I accepted. That’s called a contract and you’re not getting out of it. I didn’t fall in love with Mr Perfection or Mr I’m-always-in-control. I fell in love with you.’

  He frowns a little. Clearly, I need to set a few things straight.

  ‘Okay, so you can be a little overbearing and bossy, and you’re always in a rush to get everything done, but I can deal with that.’ I wave a hand. ‘The truth is, underneath it all, you’re kind and thoughtful, funny and intelligent, caring, protective, loving, faithful …’

  I stall.

  ‘Run out of adjectives?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m not finished yet, not by a long shot.’ I point at him, panicking slightly because although there’s plenty to say, it’s all jumbled up in my head. In the absence of any clarity, I opt for the first ridiculous things that come to mind. ‘You look after me and I like it. You’re a bloody good cook. You tidy up after me and never complain. You let me have the remote control when we’re watching telly. You buy me knickers and tampons …’

  A smile hovers on his lips.

  ‘You fell in love with me because I bought you tampons?’

  ‘Of course not.’

  Oh dear, I really am making a prime mess of this. I need to home in on something a little more substantial.

  ‘You understand me and believe in me. You want me to be happy. You want me to be myself. You love me because I’m me, and that’s priceless. That’s the man I fell in love with, and he’s still in here.’

  I prod the side of his head. The smile deepens. I’m almost there. Just a little stroke of his ego, and I’ll have him locked down.

  ‘And I’ll tell you something else. He might have a few scars and he might be struggling with pain right now, but he can still deliver the best orgasm known to womankind.’

  He gives me a can’t-disagree-with-that kind of look.

  ‘And just in case he’s in any doubt, he’s still a bloody gorgeous sex god.’

  Life flickers back to his eyes.

  ‘I couldn’t even think about another man after you. It’d be like swapping an Aston Martin for a Ford Fiesta.’

  ‘Ford Fiestas are very reliable.’

  Well, at least he’s joking again.

  ‘Oh shut up.’ Standing between his legs, I take his face in my hands. ‘I’m not giving up on you, and that’s that. Capiche?’

  ‘Capiche,’ he whispers.

  Thank God. Crisis averted for now. I motion him into my arms and hold him for an age, gently running a hand across his back. At first, the tension’s obvious
. I can feel it in his taut muscles, the occasional shiver, the quick rise and fall of his chest. But gradually, the muscles relax, the shivers die away and his breathing returns to a regular rhythm.

  ‘I fucking love you,’ he mumbles at last.

  ‘And I fucking love you too.’ I pull back, smooth his hair and almost lose myself in those eyes. ‘Is there nothing you can do about the pain?’

  ‘The pills help … eventually. And physio.’ He thinks for a moment before he reveals the facts. ‘It’s where they put the plates in. They can take some of them out, fuse the bones in places. It might help.’

  ‘Then that’s what you’ll have done.’

  He shakes his head.

  ‘It’s another operation. Another six weeks in plaster. I haven’t got time …’

  ‘You’ll make time.’

  He stares at me.

  ‘I’m not going back on crutches, not while Boyd’s around. If I need to deal with him, I want to be able to move.’

  ‘But you don’t need to deal with him. You said so yourself. You’ve got Bill’s people. You’ve got Foultons. Forget about Boyd and get yourself sorted.’

  ‘When the time’s right.’

  I know him well enough to realise he won’t back down on this.

  ‘Fair enough, but as soon as Boyd’s out of the picture, you’re having that operation. And then if you’re still in pain, we’ll find ways to deal with it … together.’

  He nods. His eyes soften.

  ‘The pills are kicking in.’

  ‘Good.’ And I know something else that might help. ‘Because we’re having a bath.’

  I step back.

  ‘But you just had a shower.’

  ‘And you’ve been sweating your bollocks off all morning. I want you cleaned up before we go in for more.’

  ‘But …’

  ‘No arguing. We’re bath virgins, Foster. It’s about time we had a soak.’

  I gaze in despair at the mountain of unruly suds obscuring the huge, round, sunken tub. It’s been almost half an hour since I turned on the taps and it’s finally ready. At least I think it is. After pouring in far too much expensive hotel bubble bath, I’m now presented with something that looks like an over-the-top Ibiza foam party. I’ve no idea where the water level is.

  ‘We’re not going to be able to see each other in that,’ Dan remarks, curling an arm around my waist. ‘I could just take a quick shower and see you in the bedroom.’

  I lean back against his chest.

  ‘Okay, so I misjudged the bubbles.’

  ‘No shit?’

  ‘Get your clothes off and stop complaining. It’ll be romantic. Erotic … probably.’

  I break his grip and move away, making it perfectly clear I mean business. With a reluctant shrug, he removes his T-shirt and throws it onto a vanity unit. The joggers follow quickly. I take a moment to ogle his body in all its naked glory. Resisting a sudden urge to drag him back to the bedroom, I pull the shirt over my head and let it fall to the floor.

  ‘Now, that’s erotic.’ Coming towards me, he wraps me in his arms, brings a hand to my buttocks and presses me in against his crotch.

  ‘In the tub,’ I order, determined to see this through. ‘Now.’

  As soon as I’m released, I navigate a path down the marble steps into the water, relieved that at least I’ve managed to get the temperature right. Dropping to my knees, I shuffle to the far end and position myself on a ledge. Past the mountain range of suds, I can just about see Dan. He’s still standing at the side.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ I laugh. ‘Haven’t you ever taken a bath?’ Immediately, I curse myself for my own stupidity. That’s not something you ask of a person who was banned from the family bathroom as a child.

  ‘Of course I have.’ He steps into the water, hesitantly. ‘A few years ago. I’ve just never taken a bath in a giant, deformed meringue.’ He shrugs. ‘I’m a shower man really. Quick and efficient.’

  ‘Well, I’m going to transform you into a bath man. What do you think about that?’

  ‘Try your best.’

  Picking up on my reference to our first walk together, he smiles as he lowers himself into the water, immediately disappearing behind a wall of foam.

  ‘Maya,’ he calls. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Yes,’ I call back. ‘Follow the sound of my voice.’

  ‘I think I’m going snow blind.’

  ‘Stay with me. You can do it.’

  The water surges, bubbles move and part, and there he is, edging towards me on his knees, complete with a soapy beard.

  I snigger.

  ‘Hello Santa.’

  ‘Hello.’ Deepening his voice, he widens his eyes. ‘Have you been a good girl this year?’

  ‘I’m afraid not.’

  He moves up close, slipping a hand around my back and pulling me onto his lap. A tidal wave of bubbles escape the bath.

  ‘Oh dear, what have you been up to?’

  ‘Kinky sex. Lots of it,’ I announce proudly. ‘I’ve even had anal.’

  ‘Naughty.’ He taps the end of my nose. ‘No presents for you.’

  The arms tighten, and I’m drawn in for a kiss, bubbles tickling at my chin. When he’s done, he piles foam on top of my head.

  ‘There you go. A crown for my queen.’ He pecks me on the lips.

  I can’t help but laugh, content that he’s relaxing, forgetting the worries, having fun.

  ‘Any sign of the soap?’

  I shake my head. ‘I last saw it about half an hour ago. I could go in search.’

  His grip tightens.

  ‘No way. We might never find each other again.’ He sweeps a hand through the water. ‘Bingo.’ He holds up a sponge. ‘This’ll do. Let’s clean you up, you filthy woman.’

  Before I can remind him I’ve already showered this morning, I’m swept around, temporarily disorientated by a haze of white foam and swishing of water. Within seconds, I find myself back on his lap. Only this time, he’s settled onto the ledge, legs stretched out, and I’m held in place against his chest, facing away from him. His left hand comes to my inner thigh, urging my legs apart before it clamps back across my stomach. Resting his chin on my shoulder, he sets about sliding the sponge along my thighs, firmly here, softly there, lulling me into a world of pleasure and taking full control of the situation.

  ‘So,’ he murmurs into my ear. ‘Where do you want to get married?’

  I try to look at him, but I’m held tight. I can only see his chin, and that’s nowhere near good enough. I need to see the rest of his face, judge his expression, because I can’t tell anything from his voice. I need to know if he’s serious, if he’s really asking me what I want, or stringing me along while he sorts it all out behind my back.

  ‘I get to choose?’ I ask.

  ‘Why not? But I’d like to point out that Bermuda’s the perfect location.’

  Although I can hear the humour in his voice, I’m not entirely sure he’s joking. I know what Bermuda means to him, but it’s off the cards. It’s too far away. I want everyone to witness our wedding day, everyone who’s near and dear to us, including Sara. And if that’s going to happen, then it needs to happen in England. There’s only one choice. It’s the perfect, obvious decision. I’d love nothing more than to get married at our new home.

  ‘Thoughts?’

  The sponge comes to my groin, tickling across my labia. Closing my eyes, I give out a tiny groan. If I’m not careful, he’ll have me mesmerised, hypnotised and caving in to his will.

  ‘In England,’ I murmur. ‘Surrey. At the house.’

  I’m half expecting him to come back at me with another delicious touch of the sponge and a quick ‘Are you sure?’ But his answer comes immediately.

  ‘Done.’

  ‘Done?’ This time I turn so quickly, he doesn’t have a chance to hold me in place. I fix my eyes on his face and what I see there perplexes me even more. He’s deadly serious.

  ‘And dusted,’
he adds. ‘When?’

  I narrow my eyes and think again. The Daniel Foster I’m used to would want this tied up as quickly as possible, but I’m in no rush. I’d like to savour the build-up. I’m going to test this apparent change of character a little further. If he’s faking, then he won’t be able to keep it up for long.

  ‘Next summer.’ I watch his face for signs of impatience, and find none. ‘When the sweet peas are out.’

  His lips curve upwards.

  ‘Perfect.’ He kisses me again.

  Leaning my head back against his chest, I decide this is too good to be true. There’s no way Mr Foster’s asking me what I want, and then simply giving it to me. I’m going to test him a little more. He touches the sponge along the length of my right thigh, in and out, finally reaching my crotch again. Pressing it firmly against my clit, he sends me into a spin. At the same time, his left hand comes to my right breast, gently tugging at my nipple.

  ‘I want my family there,’ I manage to breathe. ‘And yours too. Your sisters.’

  ‘We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.’

  The sponge has gone now. Fingers are working at my clit, slowly, patiently. Fighting back the surge of warmth in my groin, I resolve not to let him distract me with pleasure.

  ‘I suppose you’ve made a start on the studio.’

  I tilt my head back, to one side. He touches his lips against my ear lobe.

  ‘I’m waiting for you to look at the plans. No rush.’

  ‘And the decorating?’

  ‘Your home. Your choices. I’ve done nothing.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Really.’

  And now seems to be just the right time to ask about the personality transplant.

  ‘What’s going on?’

  The finger stops.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  His arms relax, allowing me to face him. I readjust my position, straddling his lap and holding his shoulders. He brings his hands to the small of my back.

  ‘Well, if I’m not much mistaken, you’re listening to me and taking my lead.’

  ‘That’s because my future wife gets whatever she wants.’

  ‘But I thought you got whatever you wanted.’

  ‘And all I want is you. I’ve already got it.’