5. Five

Five

I blink open my eyes in the fading light, and for a second, I have no clue where I am. The soft yellow glow from the floor lamp behind the sofa casts a warm hue around the living room, and realisation comes flooding back to me.

My eyes slide to Art. He's still stretched out on the sofa, but now, he's watching me.

I straighten up in the chair, suddenly self-conscious. "How long have you been awake?"

"Ages." He unfolds his long legs and places his bare feet on the floor, sitting up. He rests his elbows on his knees and rubs his palms together, glancing in my direction. "You came back."

I fix him with a firm stare. "Big Steve asked me to help. He couldn't get in, and he couldn't get hold of you. Don't think the fact that I'm here means all's forgiven."

He lowers his eyes to the floor. "I'm sorry if I scared you last night. I don't remember exactly what I said. All I remember is that you ran away and I punched the wall." He traces his fingertips over the bruised knuckles of his hand.

"And smashed a bottle," I point out.

He glances towards the kitchen counter and frowns, as if trying to recall. "Now, you know why I don't drink."

The vision of the empty-eyed husk of a man I watched stagger around the previous evening flashes into my mind. "Are you always like that when you drink?"

He fleetingly looks in my direction but keeps his head down. "It depends how much I drink. Last night, I drank a lot."

I twist my fingers in my lap, listening to his defence. "Alcohol doesn't solve problems."

"No, but it helps numb the pain for a while."

I raise my eyebrows, unable to help my disapproving tone. "Is this how you cope whenever something bad happens? Hit the bottle straight away?"

"No," he replies firmly, still not meeting my eyes. When he speaks again, his voice is weak. "But you finished it. You said we were over."

I fold my arms. "Because you'd lied to me. The big issue isn't that you own a strip club. It's not even about the fact that you employ a woman you've slept with and who still clearly has a thing for you. Yes, it's a shock, but the main problem is the lying. I told you about my ex and how he lied and cheated, and you still did it anyway."

He stares at the floor as the weight of my words hit him. "I'm sorry."

"That's not good enough. I know we both don't yet know every little thing about one another, but this is pretty big. You lied to me about something huge."

"I worried you wouldn't want anything to do with me. I could tell you were freaked out because I used to go to Savage, and I thought telling you about the strip club would be one step too far. I couldn't … I didn't want you to run again."

I shake my head at his feeble explanation. "So, you decided to take the easy option and lie."

"It wasn't the easy option. I hated not being honest with you. I wanted to tell you, but I was scared of losing you."

He was scared of losing me before he even got me?

The thought makes my resolve waver, and I push it from my mind. "Why do you even own a club like that?"

"I heard about it through a guy I met at Savage. It was on the market, I had the money, and I was looking for a new venture. I invested a lot of money, bringing it up to scratch." He fixes me with a firm look. "I own it; I don't run it. I'm not there every week, getting my kicks, watching the dancers perform."

Memories of our time together filter into my thoughts and cast doubt over his statement. "You asked me to strip for you. You accused me of looking like a stripper and then fucked me against the wall. You expect me to believe that you don't get turned on by it all?"

Anger flashes in his eyes, and his voice rises to meet mine. "I asked you to strip for me, and I got turned on by you when you were dressed in that stupid fucking outfit. Don't you see what the common theme is here?" He pauses to make his point. "It's you . It's always you , Sophie."

His words threaten my defences, and I jump to my feet and pace over to the other side of the living room, as if creating some space between us will help my faltering determination to stay mad at him. I haven't finished with the questions yet.

"I don't understand … you hate me wearing revealing clothes even though what I wear is none of your business. Yet you own a strip club, where women take their clothes off for money."

"I don't care what they do. They're not mine; you are."

I fly round to face him. "Am I?"

For a moment, I think he's going to say something, but he clamps his lips together, and his jaw twitches with tension, as if he's holding back.

"How come Tara works there?"

He looks me straight in the eye, and I know he's trying to prove to me that he has nothing to hide. "I have no idea. I didn't employ her. The manager did."

"Did you know she was a stripper when you slept with her?"

"No. She started working at the club about six months after we met."

"Isn't that a bit of a coincidence?"

His forehead creases with irritation as he leaps up, and I can tell the small amount of patience he did possess has vanished. "So what if it is? I've told you before, I'm not fucking interested in her. I'm not your ex. I'm not going to cheat on you. I'm not interested in anyone else … no one even comes close to you."

His words hit home, and I shake my head to dislodge them and force myself to focus.

"If you don't go to the club very often, why were you there last night?"

He sinks back down onto the sofa and scrapes his palms together. "We've had a few problems with drug dealing. I want to keep an eye on it because the club's got a reputation to uphold, and I want to make sure the manager's keeping on top of it."

"Drugs?" I ask worriedly.

"Yes. I thought I'd dealt with it a few weeks ago when we caught one of them red-handed in the men's toilets, but they're back."

I look at the scrapes across his knuckles. This isn't the first time I've seen bruises on his hands. Uneasiness takes hold of me at the thought of him tackling drug dealers. I sink down onto the far edge of the sofa, keeping my distance because I don't trust myself.

"You'd hurt your hand the day you helped me move into my apartment," I say.

"Yes." His pained gaze meets mine. The dark circles beneath his eyes are fading, and the usual golden tan is slowly returning to his cheeks, but the frown remains. "I'm sorry for not being honest with you. Please, Sophie."

I know what he's asking me without saying it. He wants me to give us another chance. I drag my eyes from his because I can't focus when he looks at me, and I fiddle with the edge of my jumper.

He slips off the sofa and kneels on the floor in front of me, resting his hands on my thighs. "The way I feel about you, Sophie …" He trails off, shaking his head, as if trying to find the right words. "I existed before I met you. I had superficial encounters, hoping they'd fill the hole in my empty life but they didn't because they weren't what I wanted or needed. Because they weren't you. Please …"

Dark eyes hold mine, and his words entwine themselves around my heart. This hulk of a man is on his knees, pleading with me. But I can't get hurt again.

"There'd better not be anything else. No more surprises. Tell me there's nothing else, Art."

His hands slide up my thighs. "There's nothing."

"Because if there is …"

He presses two fingers against my lips and silences me. "There's nothing."

Intent flashes in his eyes, and I feel a tug between my legs as he slowly withdraws his fingers from my lips.

I want him.

And he wants me.

I'm weak, and I hate myself for it. I need to go. Staying will lead to the inevitable, and I'm not ready.

"I should go."

A look of anguish flits across his face, and his hands curl around mine, keeping me in my seat. "Stay."

I look down at his hands covering mine in my lap. I want to. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"You know why not," I reply without looking at him. "And it's too soon."

"Please, stay." His voice is barely a whisper, and hope-filled eyes study my reaction. "I can't spend another night without you."

My heart turns over, and I link my fingers through his. I don't want to spend another night without him either. He lowers his eyes to our hands, where they lie in my lap, and a sliver of a smile creeps across his face. I'm not quite ready for everything to snap back to how things were. If I'm staying, then it can't be in the same bed as him.

"Okay, but I'll sleep in the guest room."

He frowns again, clearly not totally at ease with the suggestion but he'll go with the compromise. "No, I'll take the guest room. I insist."