I sank into the pillows. “He would simply be watching out for me until you get back. I don’t think getting me glasses of water and bags of frozen peas constitutes ‘getting hot and steamy’, do you?” I laughed, but was slightly taken back by his words.
Was it blatantly obvious that I liked him? I didn’t think I’d even made that decision yet myself.
Tink began pacing once more, glancing my way every now and again. His defences were crumbling.
“Tink, go be wined and dined by your new boy. He looked absolutely devastated when you refused before, and quite frankly I think you’re a fool if you don’t take him up on his offer,” I tried to persuade him.
Tink sat on the edge of the bed and stared at me. “I think he planned to stay with you all along.”
I gave him my ‘as if’ face. “Tink, he came to check if I was okay, not to bully you into a date, which you want to go on, with his assistant, who just so happens to fancy the pants off you, in a grand plan to get me alone and have his nefarious way with me,” I wiggled my fingers in a witch-like manner and cackled to emphasise the point.
Tink cracked a cheeky smile and went silent for a few seconds, indecision written in his expression, tongue between his lips. “Fine, you win. I’ll go out and leave Mr. Dark-and-Brooding here with you,” he submitted. “But know that I’m on to him,” he added, pointing a perfectly manicured figure at my face and then my nether regions. “He wants a slice of your pastrami pie, Wilbur.”
“Go get ready, my favourite fay. Oh, and switch on my TV. I think it’s best if I stay in here. I keep getting dizzy on that sofa. We don’t want any more embarrassing episodes in front of Mr. Hollywood out there.”
He looked worried again so I pushed. “Go on, for frigg’s sake, I’ll be fine!”
With that Tink sighed, shook his head in exasperation, and blew a kiss as he opened the bedroom door, off to tell our guests the change in plan.
A night with Tudor alone, this should be interesting!
Chapter 11
… the word itself say’s I’m Possible!
Audrey Hepburn
I opened my blurry eyes, waking up to someone gently caressing my arm. “What the–?" I croaked.
“Tash, it’s me, you fell asleep. I need you to take these tablets and put this on your head.”
Tudor held out the bag of frozen peas wrapped in a towel and a bottle of pills. I tried to sit up, and felt a sickening throb in the back of my skull.
“Steady, Tash. Here let me.” He moved towards the bed, and I noticed he had shed his jacket and beanie hat.
He crawled onto the bed and lifted my head gently, manoeuvring the cold bag into place, his black tribal tattoos all on display, winding seductively around the sleeve of his arms down to his wrist and creeping out of the V-neck of his T-shirt.
“You have a shaved head,” I involuntarily blurted out.
Way to be cool, Tash.
Tudor glanced down at me and gave me the lopsided smirk. “Err… yeah. I normally do,” he smiled, obviously bewildered by my Tourette-like assessment of his follicles.
I blushed and beamed red. “I just kept wondering what it looked like under the hat that’s all – I wanted it to be shaved.”
He smiled shyly. “Well, I'm glad to be of service.”
Tudor handed me the pills and a glass of cold, refreshing water, and watched me closely to make sure I swallowed them. He guided me back to my pillows and set the glass on my bedside cabinet.
I shuffled to make myself comfortable, pulling down my piggy hood with ears and run my fingers through my nearly dry hair.
Tudor sat back and positioned himself on the bed beside me. “What you watching?” he asked, flicking his chin in the direction of the TV.
I looked up to see an infomercial advertising some industrial-strength carpet cleaner. “Nothing, I was asleep." I glanced covertly at the Greek god sprawled out on the left side of my bed. "Are you staying in here now?” I couldn’t help thinking that having him there looked, well… well… fucking incredible, truth be told.
Tudor grabbed the remote off my lap and began flicking through the channels. “I have been given orders to stay with you and keep you awake. I thought it would be easier to just lay here with you than keep running back and forth from the living room,” he replied, settling on a music channel and lightly placing the remote back on my lap.
“Orders?” I asked, trying to focus on Nicki Minaj jumping around in a pink bikini singing about Starships.
“Yep, from Herr Tink,” he winked and smiled.