3. Three
Three
T he old manager's office is located on the third and very top floor of the sprawling manor house. In the three years I've worked here, the third floor has been mainly used for storage purposes for bed linen and cleaning equipment and the manager's office hasn't been used for years, not since the late owner frequented the hotel. George prefers to use the office at the back of reception as it allows him to "keep his finger on the pulse" of the day-to-day running of the place.
I send Lucy to round up Olly and the others as instructed by Mr Arrogant, choosing to break the news to George myself. He's pedantic, but he's got a good heart and I fear Lucy's blunt approach might finish him off. Not that my own is any better.
"I just don't understand," he witters for the tenth time in sixty seconds as we reach the very top of the wooden staircase and the door to the third floor. "I've received no communication about a transfer of ownership whatsoever. No letter. No email. I mean, who is he?" His cheeks are flushed and tiny beads of perspiration glisten across the top of his head as he pushes open the door to the top floor.
The musty smell of damp, stale air hits the back of my throat as I follow George along the corridor to the office. God knows how long it's been since anyone's been up here. It's not exactly inviting.
"This is highly inconvenient," George murmurs, wiping a hand across his brow. "To tie up staff today, when we have a wedding on."
"I did try to tell him, but he wasn't having any of it. He doesn't seem the type who's used to being told no very often," I say. In fact, I get the distinct impression the guy is used to getting whatever he wants whenever he wants it.
Mismatching chairs have been crammed into a semi-circle facing the old, battered wooden desk to the left of the office and everyone else is already seated when we arrive. Olly, Tina, the cleaning team manager, and Rob, the head chef, are looking as anxious as I feel as I enter the office. Out of my peripheral vision, I see him propped against the desk as I cross the room and take the empty chair beside Lucy, purposefully avoiding looking his way.
Her wide eyes stare at me with pleading. "Who is the Italian Stallion and who put him in charge?" she whispers out the corner of her mouth.
I roll my eyes. She's not going to be much use in helping me keep my sensible head on.
"How lovely to meet you. Let me introduce myself, I'm George Middleton, the assistant manager. I've been here for five years," George simpers, holding out a hand for the guy to shake.
His lovely bottom is perched on the edge of the desk and his long legs are stretched out in front of him, his right foot crossed over his left.
He looks at George's outstretched hand and smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Great. Could you close the door, please?"
George's shoulders sag in defeat at the snub. He retracts his hand and closes the door, flopping down into a chair and straightening his tie.
Who the fuck does this guy think he is ?
"I'm here to introduce myself," the guy announces with confident ease as his dark eyes scan the room, checking he's got everyone's undivided attention. He likes this, I can tell. The power and control. He enjoys being the centre of attention with all eyes on him and I have a feeling that's what he's used to, from women anyhow. "I'm Art Black, the new owner of the hotel. I'll tell you a little about me then we'll go around the room and you can tell me a little about yourselves, as I'd like to get to know you better." His dark eyes hover on me momentarily and I shift in my seat, uncomfortable again. "I've inherited the place from my late uncle, James Black. I don't have loads of experience in the hospitality industry, but I do own a chain of successful gyms."
Is that all he's divulging? I can't help but feel a little short-changed.
"Go Fitness!" Olly suddenly announces from the other side of the line of chairs. He wags a finger in recognition. "I'm a member of the local gym, and I thought I recognised you from the photo in reception."
Of course, I've heard of Go Fitness but have never stepped into a gym in my life. It's all slotting into place. The exceptional physique, the fact he doesn't look like your average hotel manager. I frown as I rewind back over what Olly has just said. This guy has his own photo displayed in the reception areas of his gyms. How narcissistic.
Art breaks into a broad smile, revealing a set of perfect white teeth, and by this stage, I don't expect them to be anything less. Everything about this guy's appearance is perfect and it's pissing me off because it's making it rather difficult to be annoyed at him.
"Excellent. Keep going," he encourages Olly, who waffles on about his role. I throw furtive glances in Art's direction, studying his side profile, determined to find a flaw. His nose is poker straight and draws into a point ever so slightly at the tip, but it only seems to accentuate his handsome face. Damn it. A squiggle of desire ignites deep inside of me as I admire how the material of his polo shirt pulls taut across his pecs and six-pack giving the promise of lean, toned golden flesh beneath. My eyes travel upwards and a bolt of shock tears through me as I find him watching me. There's a ghost of a smile dancing across his lips which confirms he knows exactly the effect he's having on me .
Shit!
I immediately snap my eyes to the floor and focus on the brown stain on the grey carpet tiles beneath the toes of my patent shoes. I focus on breathing in and out and I'm relieved to see he's no longer looking at me when I finally glance up and find Tina is now talking.
I push myself straight in the chair and cross my legs, noticing his eyes dart in my direction momentarily when he should be focussing on Tina. Within a few seconds, my eyes betray me once more and drop to his large tanned hands, splayed out on the desk either side of him. He's wearing a very expensive black watch and I notice his long fingers are ringless. He's not married. Surely a guy this attractive and this successful should be married? Or maybe that's how he likes it. The expensive watch, the flash sports car, the immaculate clothes, the painful good looks all scream Playboy lifestyle. Why should he commit to one woman when he can have a different one every night?
The sound of Lucy's voice beside me pulls me back into the moment. It's my turn next. I shift in my seat and place my hands in my lap, the heat from my clammy palms warming my thighs through my dress. I need to prepare for the full velocity of his intense gaze fixed on me in a moment because I'm determined not to make myself look like a prat in front of my colleagues." So, that's it, really," Lucy's final words filter into my thoughts and I turn to see her beaming across the office and batting her eyelashes at him.
I take a deep breath in to quell the jumble of nerves in my stomach and look up to find him already staring at me, his dark eyebrows raised a fraction in anticipation.
"I'm Sophie Ward," I say in a clear, confident voice. "I'm the wedding planner and I've worked here for three years." His eyes study me, as if he's waiting for me to carry on and tell him more. I'm not going to. I'll provide the same stripped back overview as he did.
"Sophie Ward." He says my name as though he's testing how it sounds on his lips and I bite the inside of my mouth to stifle a moan that threatens to escape. My confident fa?ade is slipping through my fingers and if he says my name one more time, he'll bulldoze it to the ground. Thankfully he doesn't.
"So, you're a party planner." His rude statement about my role has me stalling momentarily. I didn't hear him take a dig at anyone else.
Arrogant git.
Irritation at his rudeness spurs me on. "I've organised one hundred and twenty-six parties that have all gone without a hitch and the hotel is a very popular wedding venue, so I must be doing something right." I stress the word parties and frown, waiting for his comeback. George has turned puce at my feisty retaliation. I don't care. I'm no longer willing to endure put-downs and snarky digs from men, any men. That's firmly in my past.
Art's eyes slide over me and his mouth quirks into a smile. Is he enjoying this? "And weddings are the main source of income for the hotel." It's not a question, it's a statement. His head tilts a fraction to the left, and he suddenly looks deep in thought. "I'd better not let you go then, Sophie."
His words and the sound of my name on his lips entangle together and set off a peculiar fluttery sensation in my nether regions. What's this guy doing to me?
I'm relieved when his gaze shifts to George.
Once George has finished his overview, Art turns his attention back to the rest of us." That's given me a better idea of your roles. You'll see me around the hotel a little more because I want to get a real sense of what's going on here."
What's going on here? What does that mean?
George slides to the edge of his chair. "Excuse me, Mr Black."
"Art," he responds, causing George's cheeks to turn red.
"Oh... sorry, Art. I think it would be helpful for the staff team if you could at least give us some insight into what it is you intend to do with the hotel. I presume you're going to keep it and not sell," he laughs nervously. "We've all got bills to pay and mouths to feed."
Art drags a hand across his jawline and examines us as if he's gauging the reaction he's about to receive. "I can't make you any promises at this stage, I'm afraid. "
I hear a couple of moans from around the room and anxiety coils within my stomach. "You're seriously considering selling?" I blurt unable to help myself.
His dark brown eyes harden at my challenge. It's clear it's not something he's used to. "I need time to look at the books. Work things through." He addresses the rest of the room. "Once I've come to a decision, you'll be the first to know. I'm sorry I can't give you anything concrete today. It was good to meet you all." And just like that, we're dismissed. He folds his arms and lowers his gaze to the floor signalling the end of the conversation.
A hum of conversation descends as the others start to rise to their feet and disappear from the room.
"Great." Lucy heaves a resigned sigh and climbs to her feet. "Looks like I might not have a venue to get married in. And there was me thinking it would be less hassle to get married here."
"We don't know that." My half-hearted attempt at assurance is met by a weak smile and I can't think of anything else to say to make it better so keep quiet.
"I'd like a guided tour of the hotel now," I hear Art announce to George over the din of chatter as the staff file out of the door.
"Yes, yes of course." George jumps to his feet with purpose. "Let me lead the way."
"I want Sophie to do it." Art's eyes land on me.
The three of us are the only ones left in the office.
He's got to be kidding. He's just told us that he can't confirm whether we'll all have jobs soon, and now he expects me to be all nice and polite.
George's eyes dart to me and widen in surprise. "Oh, of course..."
"I can't." I cut him off mid-sentence. "We've a wedding and I need to be downstairs with the guests."
"George can oversee things," he retorts, his eyes fixed on my face.
He's not giving up without a fight.
"It's where I should be." I meet his gaze straight on. I'm feeling brave.
"I insist. "
George gulps audibly, his eyes jumping from Art to me. "I'll go and keep an eye on things, Sophie. No problem at all." He smooths a hand down the front of his tie. "And if you need anything at all, Art, please let me know."
"Of course," he replies, not taking his eyes from my face.
I watch George hurry out of the office and almost want to shout "No, come back". I don't want to be on my own with this man because he turns me into a nervous ball of sexual energy and I don't know how to act around him.
He puts his hands in his pockets, pushes himself off the desk and walks straight up to me, standing as close as he can without physically touching me. My throat tightens and my breathing labours at the sudden proximity. He's so close I can smell him. There's a scent of mint and a subtle hint of sandalwood. Not aftershave, it's too delicate—an expensive body wash perhaps.
He towers over me. In heels, I come level with his shoulders, so in flats I'd feel completely dwarfed by his presence. Despite his size, obvious raw strength, and the fact I barely know him, I don't feel intimidated. His eyes are locked on mine and I realise that they're flecked with gold and are a mesmerising sight to behold. His full lips are parted slightly and as his gaze lowers to my mouth, my stomach begins to churn. He could so easily kiss me. And if he did, I'd be a goner. He's beautiful. The sort of guy I'd expect to see on the cover of Vogue or in a Dolce and Gabbana aftershave commercial. And this is entirely inappropriate. He's my boss. I'm determined not to show him how nervous he makes me feel.
"This tour," I begin confidently, but as soon as I begin I realise my mouth has dried and the words stick in the back of my throat. I run my tongue over my dry lips and there's a flash of something in his gaze as he hones in on the small action. "Where would you like to start?"
His striking eyes slowly travel up my face and come to a stop on my forehead. "I'd like to start right at the top." They slide down my face and my heart misses a few beats, I'm sure of it. "And then go all the way down," he carries on, his dark gaze roaming south over my throat, my collarbone, my breasts, my ribcage, my waist. My skin puckers as he carries on and I feel a quiver between my thighs. "To the very bottom."
His gaze returns to my face and his right eyebrow arches, his perfect lips pull into a half smile. He knows the effect he's having on me and my cheeks flush at the thought. Alarm bells ring very loudly in the back of my head. Any guy who exudes this much machismo is bad news. He's beautiful and dangerous. I need to step away.
Snap out of it, Soph.
I pull at the slim belt of my dress and straighten up, determined to pull the conversation back onto a professional footing. "There's nothing much to show you on the top floor. Shall we?" And without waiting for a response I spin round on my heel and hurry out of the room.
I hear the thud of his heavy footsteps coming down the stairs close behind me.
"Would you like to be shown the second and first floors?" I pause on the landing outside the door to the second floor. "There are only bedrooms on these floors." I'm hoping he will say no but I have a feeling he won't.
"I'd very much like for you to show me the bedrooms." There's a glint in his eyes which I choose to ignore.
I prevent myself from dwelling on it any further by pushing open the door and walking along the corridor, dodging round the laundry carts outside the rooms being cleaned.
"On this floor, we have the Superior Rooms and Suites which are our premium rooms. I can't show you inside as I don't have a pass key. George would have been a far better tour guide as he has access to all areas," I say pointedly, not looking back to see whether he's keeping up. I'm certain those long legs of his won't let him down. I need this to be over with as quickly as possible, so I can go back to my actual job. As I arrive at the end of the corridor, I draw to a halt and finally decide to chance a glance over my shoulder.
He's a few yards back, watching me, his hands still pushed into his pockets as he swaggers up to where I'm stood.
"I don't mean to rush you, but I've a job to do," I say curtly .
He tilts his head slightly to the right and a smile flickers on his face. "I was admiring your dress."
I've never been flirted with by a guy this attractive before. I don't know what to say, so I say nothing. He's got me on the back foot again. I can't allow myself to be drawn in. He's bad news, I can just feel it. And I've had enough of that to last a lifetime.
I conduct the tour of the first floor in the same whistle-stop fashion and come down the side staircase into the bar.
It's empty, the wedding party are in the Summer Room enjoying their meal, so I lead him through into the Orangery and catch him sizing up the place again.
"This is a favourite room for weddings along with the Summer Room—these tend to be the most popular choice for ceremonies."
I can almost see the cogs turning in his brain as he surveys the room. Probably realising the value of the property, I think cynically.
"Which is your favourite room?"
The question throws me slightly. "Why does it matter?"
He's watching me carefully. "I'm curious. If you were to get married here, which room would you pick?"
I glance towards the closed double doors of the Summer Room. "The Summer Room, I guess. It's light and airy and overlooks the gardens."
He nods once, seemingly satisfied with my answer. "Where is this Summer Room?"
"It's through those double doors, but we can't go in—there's a wedding meal taking place in there as we speak."
His brows pull into a frown, and he glares at the closed doors as if he isn't having any of it. He's definitely not used to being told no. "I own the place. I can take a look."
I find myself hurrying after him, swearing under my breath. Before I can stop him, his hand is already on one of the brass doorknobs, and he's turning it.
I reluctantly follow him in, sliding through the door and positioning myself at the back of the room to his left. The meal is in full flow and the hum of chatter and the clatter of cutlery against china plates fills the air. I can't help but observe the stares and double-takes he receives from the female guests. He must get this all the time, I tell myself.
"You're right, this is a great room," he agrees and for the first time he sounds genuinely impressed.
I'm about to provide him with a little more history about the room when the hairs on my arms stand to attention as he moves closer. He's standing so close now his body is actually touching mine. I can feel his chest pressing against my arm, sending a twinge shooting between my thighs. My breathing becomes irregular and I think I'm actually panting as his left hip nudges into my right arse cheek and I feel his chinos against the back of my calf. He's warm and firm all over and I can't help the sigh that escapes my lips. I feel warm breath tickle my right ear and the hairs on the back of my neck prickle as I sense his mouth is tantalisingly close and I briefly close my eyes.
I know it's inappropriate. God knows what I'd think if Olly did this. It makes me uncomfortable, the way I already feel like he's making me want him.
"We should go," his deep, rich voice is a mere whisper and I open my eyes. I realise with a stab of alarm that at this moment I'd probably do whatever he suggested.
He steps backwards and the moment is gone and I follow him out of the room, watching his beautiful behind slide through the doorway. I take a deep breath to try and still the flurry of excitement in my stomach.
I keep my eyes straight ahead as I leave the room and I overtake him, walking through the bar area and into reception.
"So, that's the tour over," I say sharply. This guy needs to get in his car and go because I need time to get my head around all this. "I need to get back to my day job, now."
He follows me slowly into the reception hall, casting glances about the place, as if he's got all the time in the world. "Show me out front, please."
"Out front? But you've seen out front? "
He cocks an eyebrow at the challenge. "Show me out front." It's not a request. It's a demand. I glance at the desk to see Lucy watching us wide-eyed, her eyes darting between me and Art as if she's watching a tennis match.
He's being unreasonable. I heave an impatient sigh to let him know he's pissing me off and walk out of the front door.
Thankfully, the sun has moved round to the west side of the building so it isn't as hot outside on the cream gravel as it would have been earlier in the day. I meander over to the left and spy his Aston Martin parked on the far side of the driveway. It looks as flash as I suspected and is as immaculately presented as its owner.
"The front of the hotel," I say in as arsey a tone as I can muster. "Which you've already seen."
He stands beside me and seems oblivious to my pissed-off tone. Either that or he's ignoring it. He slides a packet of Marlboro Gold cigarettes from his back pocket, peeling back the white cardboard lid. He pulls out a cigarette between his thumb and index finger, pushes it in the left-hand corner of his mouth, and then offers me the packet.
Aha! Finally. A flaw.
I scrunch up my face in disgust and shake my head. Theo used to smoke twenty Benson & Hedges a day. The smell of cigarette smoke can take me back there sometimes. I fold my arms and suppress a shudder at the memory. "No thanks. I can't stand them."
He looks at me thoughtfully for a moment then plucks the cigarette from between his lips and slides it back into the packet. "I've been meaning to give up." He closes the packet and slides it back into his back pocket.
What the hell does that mean?
"Shouldn't you be the image of healthy living, given that you own a chain of gyms?" I say, unable to help myself with the dig.
He turns his body to face mine and the light from the clear blue sky above makes his brown eyes glow. "They're a vice." His gaze slides from my eyes to my neck, all the way down to my feet and a wall of heat hits my body as I stand pinned beneath his captivating stare. "What are yours?"
I'm not going to be drawn into this.
I tear my eyes from him and stare down the driveway. "I don't have any," I tell him, aware that I need to get the conversation back onto a safer topic. "Are you going to sell the hotel?"
"Like I've said, I don't know yet." There's a mild irritation in his voice and I get the feeling he doesn't like me pushing him, but I'm not buying it. He's a businessman, he must have an inkling about what he's going to do with the hotel. He does, I'm sure of it.
"You're going to sell and use the profit for your own businesses, aren't you? You've admitted you don't have much experience in the hospitality industry, so why would you want to keep it?"
"The place is making a fucking loss." His jaw twitches. "It's not good business sense to keep it."
Anger seeps into my thoughts as his statement confirms my worst fears. "So, you're going to sell it without a second thought for the employees, some of whom have worked here for decades?" I shake my head. "How do you sleep at night?"
"It's not personal, it's business."
If that's meant to make me feel better, it has the opposite effect. "Oh, that's okay, then," I snap. "Isn't the property part of your family history? Doesn't that mean anything to you? It would take a special kind of cold, heartless git to sell a property that's been in his family for God knows how many hundreds of years."
I'm aware that my mouth is running away with me and I've just managed to insult the guy who gets to decide whether or not I keep or lose my job, but I can't help it. I get the distinct impression no one ever challenges or stands up to him and it makes me want to do it even more.
There's a twitch in his jaw again. "You don't know anything about me, or my family." He's right, and I absolutely don't want to.
"And I don't know anything about you, but I want to. "
And just like that he's shoved me on the back foot again. Thirty seconds ago, I offended him and now he wants to get to know me better?
I stare back at him blankly. My brain launches into overdrive along with my pulse as he steps towards me, putting us within touching distance. "Are you seeing anyone?"
I frown even though my heart is jumping around in my chest like a demented frog. What planet is this guy on? He's just told me I'm probably going to lose my job because of him and now he's asking questions about my relationship status. "What the hell has my private life got to do with you?"
"I need to know if there's anything standing in the way."
I'm more confused than ever. "Standing in the way of what?"
"Of me having you."
A red flag pops up in my head. I'm blindsided by his directness. My brain, mouth, and common-sense stall as I shake my head in response to his question. What the hell am I doing? His full lips break out into a broad smile, only the second I've seen since we've met and his dark eyes sparkle in the sunlight, lighting up his beautiful face. He's perfection.
"Good. Because if there was, I'd have them removed."
"You can't…" I falter and force my brain into gear to say the right thing. "You can't have me. I work for you. You're my boss. HR would have a field day not to mention what the other staff would think. It's entirely inappropriate…"
"Fuck what everyone else thinks. I run the place. HR do as I say."
"Oh, really?" I say sarcastically. "So, one minute you're talking about selling and rendering me potentially jobless and the next you're—"
"I'm what?"
"Whatever this is."
"What do you think it is?"
"I don't know. It's obnoxious, and it's making me uncomfortable."
His smile remains but the look in his eyes switches from amusement to dark and predatory, and in that moment I can almost feel raw need emanating from him. Desire blazes fiercely in his eyes, as if he might combust if he doesn't have me. I bite my lip to control my breathing because a man has never looked at me like this before. "I can have anything I want."
I don't doubt that for a moment. Yet another red flag pops up in my head, telling me to step away. "I'm not a possession," I counter.
"No, you're much more than that." His voice has taken on a delicious, deep tone and it's making my legs wobble. "But I will have you."
I don't know whether to feel offended or excited.
"Come to dinner with me." The words hang in the air between us, and he's studying my face, trying to gauge my reaction.
Excitement and nerves dance in my stomach. This dangerously sexy guy is asking me out. The cynical side of my brain swiftly kicks in and dampens my excitement. Of course, he's asking me out. He wants to make me another notch on his bedpost. And I bet he's got a very tall bedpost.
"No," I blurt. "I don't want to." I sound almost childish and it's a blatant lie, but it's the best response my brain's giving me at the moment.
He tilts his head again and smiles back. He doesn't look offended by my rebuke, it's almost as if he'd anticipated it. "Okay. But you will change your mind and I will have you."
The conviction in his tone sends tingles shooting between my legs and I'm pretty sure he shouldn't have this effect on me. Before I can assure him that he won't have me thank you very much, he puts out his right hand for me to shake.
I glance down at his forearm, toned and golden with a smattering of black hairs, then to his large hands and long fingers. My mind starts to wonder what it would feel like to be wrapped in those arms.
When I don't respond, he retracts his hand and holds me by the shoulders, then leans forward. For a second, I stop breathing as I think he's going to kiss me, but he presses his right cheek against mine and I feel the heat of his breath in my right ear.
"It's been my pleasure, Sophie. Until next time. "
I close my eyes and bask in the sensation of his warm skin sliding against mine. The brush of his stubble against my cheek is soft rather than coarse and I can't prevent a small moan escaping my lips. He draws his head back and removes his hands from my shoulders. For a moment he stands staring at me, a slight frown on his brow. He seems lost in his own world, then he shakes his head lightly and runs a hand down the front of his polo shirt as if collecting himself.
He throws a smile in my direction then saunters past me towards his car, his shoes crunching on the gravel. When I finally turn around, he's nearly reached his car, and he's looking over his shoulder at me, wearing his Ray-Bans. He opens the driver's door, climbs, and starts the car engine, all without taking his eyes off me. The thud of bass rips through the quietness once more as the car roars into life, then he speeds off down the gravel driveway leaving a cloud of dust in his wake.
I head back into the hotel in a daze as I try to work out what the hell's just happened. "You lucky cow!" Lucy cries, practically jumping out of her seat.
I frown. "What?" I ask innocently in a bid to play things down.
"What?" she cries as if I've asked the most ridiculous question in the world. "The totally hot new boss is into you, that's what."
I shake my head. I'm still processing the events of the afternoon. "He's an arrogant shit," I say. "And he smokes."
"But think of all the hot sex you'll have." Her eyes widen like saucers.
I press a palm against my forehead. I could do without this level of excitement from my best friend.
"He couldn't take his eyes off you when he arrived, he couldn't stop looking at you in the staff meeting, and then he asked for you to give him the tour. And out there..." She flings an arm in the direction of the front door. "I thought he was going in for the kiss. I mean I've heard about sexual tension but never actually seen it with my own eyes before."
My eyes snap to Lucy, and she gives a shrug only looking mildly guilty. "So? I watched you. What did Mr Tall Dark and Handsome say to you, then? "
I roll my eyes. "You spied, you mean. And Mr Tall Dark and Handsome is far too cocky."
"Define 'too cocky'?" Lucy asks curiously, chewing the top of her biro.
I fold my arms and heave a weary sigh. I feel physically wrung out. "He's good-looking and he knows it. He asked me if I've got a boyfriend, then he said if I'd said yes, he would 'have them removed'." Lucy almost chokes on the pen she's chewing. "He said he's going to have me, then asked me out, and when I said no, he told me I'd change my mind."
"You said no!" Lucy bangs her hand down on the desk in exasperation. "You and I are going to fall out. You should go out with him." She waggles her eyebrows suggestively. "Let him have you, I say."
Butterflies swirl my stomach at the thought of getting close to him. "I can't, Luce. He's too much, too intense, too full on."
She stares off into the distance and I know I've lost her. "Fucking hell, Soph. I bet he's one of those controlling dominant types in bed, but it's okay because the sex is hot."
I briefly close my eyes as a bolt of alarm runs through me. I've already escaped one controlling relationship and I'm not about to get involved with another. Before my thoughts can go any further, the rational part of my brain kicks in and tells me to stop being so bloody na?ve.
Men like Art Black don't want a relationship. He just wants to get inside my knickers.