Still on a roll with this one, so may as well go with the flow while the muse is being kind …

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Chapter 4

When she made her way into the kitchen later that morning he was already up and dressed, and she eyed him in some confusion.

"It's Saturday, Gene. Do you always wear a suit, even at the weekend?"

"Couple of things I need ter see to at work, luv. There's tea in the pot, bread for toast, bacon and eggs in the fridge if you want …"

"Toast's fine, thanks. I never eat that much first thing."

She tried not to drool, noticing how the moss coloured shirt he was wearing emphasised the subtle sea greens in his eyes. They were mesmerising, changing from one moment to the next, unpredictable and endlessly fascinating like the man himself.

As he headed towards the door she followed him, tucking her thumbs into her pockets, feeling slightly awkward.

"I'd … um … like to cook you dinner later, Gene. As a way of saying thankyou for everything."

He turned in the doorway with a hint of a smile and her heart fluttered in her chest.

"That would be very nice, Lady Bols."

"Just one problem, though. I'm a bit financially embarrassed at the moment."

She looked down at her feet, and he was quick to pick up on her discomfort.

"No problem, luv."

As he reached for his wallet, she peered behind him through the rain and her brow furrowed.

"Looks like you've got a flat, Guv."

He spun round and bent to examine the nearside front tyre, cursing under his breath.

"It's been slashed. Bloody kids again …"

Just before she reached for an umbrella she thought she saw him retrieve something from under the windscreen wiper. She shrugged dismissively. Probably just an advertising flyer.

She insisted on holding the umbrella over him while he changed the tyre, despite his protests about it being just a bit of light drizzle, and when he'd finished he passed her a house key and a roll of notes.

"I don't need all this, Gene."

"Get yerself some new clothes while yer out shoppin', Bols. Can't live in that same outfit forever now, can yer?"

He swayed back on his heels, his hands thrust deep in his pockets, and she couldn't help herself, clutching his lapels as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

"You'll get it back eventually, I promise."

He was nonplussed for a second and then he flashed her a lop-sided grin.

"I'll accept payment in kind, luv."

She gazed up into those captivating bedroom eyes and a shiver ran down her spine.

"In your dreams, Guv."

"Oh yeah …"

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As she set off to catch a bus into the centre of town she had the uncomfortable sensation of being watched, but she shrugged it off and turned her mind to what she was going to prepare for dinner.

By the time Gene arrived back late that afternoon there was a chicken casserole cooking slowly in the oven and she'd made a good start on sorting out the spare room. He wandered into the kitchen and sniffed appreciatively before slipping his jacket off and calling up the stairs.

"Lady Bols? You in?"

"I'll be down in a minute …"

Pouring himself a beer, he sat back on the sofa and switched the TV on to catch what was left of the afternoon sport, kicking his shoes off with a sigh. He might look relaxed but inside he was a worried man, puzzling again over the note he'd found on the windscreen that morning.

"Dump the tart, Guv, or there will be consequences."

The letters were all cut from the Manchester Gazette so there was no clue as to who might have left it, and he had no immediate idea whether the 'consequences' might apply to him or Alex, or to both of them. His mind was swirling with possibilities, most of which he really didn't want to contemplate, but it seemed he'd inadvertently trodden on some toes by taking her in. Was she involved with somebody else and if so, why didn't they come forwards? Part of the criminal fraternity, maybe? Even worse was the inference that she might be a high class prostitute. He'd met a few over the years and she didn't seem like the type, but he'd only known her for a short time, after all.

She certainly wasn't local to the area, of that he was sure. Had she run away from someone? There was no obvious evidence of violence but it might explain the memory loss. Round and round it went in his head with too many possibilities and no immediate answers.

"I hope you don't mind, I made a start on the spare room. Don't want you to have to spend another uncomfortable night on the sofa."

She startled him out of his reverie, and he smiled as she wiped a grubby hand over her damp forehead.

"Course I don't mind, luv. Less boxes fer me ter hump about later."

He had to choose that word, she thought. Somehow the vision that sprang into her head had plenty to do with bedrooms and very little to do with boxes. She couldn't resist flirting with him.

"I'm making such good progress there'll probably be no need for you to do any 'humping' at all, Guv."

She waggled her fingers, and his eyes gleamed wickedly.

"What happened ter payment in kind then?"

"Oh, I think I'm being very kind. There's a lot of boxes, plus dinner's in the oven."

"Cook in the kitchen's fine, Bols, but maid in the bedroom? That's not how it goes."

Her lips twitched. She shouldn't be enjoying the banter so much.

"Not even a French one? I'd better take the outfit back then."

"Tease …"

He chuckled as she turned on her heel and headed back upstairs, and then he fell serious again, familiar pout firmly back in place. Whore in the bedroom? Surely there must be some other explanation …

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He distinctly remembered settling down on the sofa with a beer, replete after a more than decent meal. He clearly recalled her joining him with a glass of wine and the two of them taking the piss out of some terrible game show. And that was pretty much it until he woke in the early hours with the TV still on and Alex practically wrapped around him, her face nestled into his neck, one slim leg slung over his thigh. Her hand had slipped inside the open neck of his shirt to rest over his heart and he was aware of a soft, full breast crushed against his chest. His arm was cocooning her almost possessively, his fingers resting on her hip as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

He groaned as his body reacted instinctively to her nearness, the sweet smell of her perfume making his senses reel, but he couldn't bring himself to move, she felt so right snuggled up against him. God knows he wanted her, what red blooded man wouldn't, but he also felt strangely protective, even tender towards her. This was not something he was used to. Feelings of chivalry were mainly directed towards young girls and little old ladies, not women he wanted to shag. Deciding it was too late for any deep thoughts he kissed the top of her head, covered her hand with his and fell back into a contented slumber.

Alex stirred a short while later and blinked in confusion, surprised to find herself pressed up against a solid male body, her nose buried in his neck, and then she remembered where she was and a shiver of desire ran down her spine. Gene. She breathed deeply, luxuriating in his musky male scent, and then raised her head tentatively to gaze at his profile. He looked younger, more relaxed in sleep, his long lashes sweeping his cheeks, his mouth set in that sexy pout that did strange things to her insides and she couldn't resist, brushing her lips gently over his. She held her breath but he barely stirred, the ghost of a smile flitting over his handsome features before he sighed softly and the pout returned. She knew without a doubt that she wanted him in her bed, but there was something more now. He made her feel safe, secure, his presence somehow anchored her in this strange world she found herself in. Resting her head on his shoulder she snuggled in closer to him and drifted off to sleep again.

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Hope that's kept you all sufficiently intrigued – at least enough to keep reading, anyway! More in the pipeline soon.