I relax immediately but then pin a sombre look on my face. “Well, that’s rather hurtful, Max.”
“What?” He looks slightly worried, and I’m now thoroughly enjoying myself.
“Yes, I thought we really had something together,” I say mournfully. “It felt deep and meaningful to me. Like I’d found my soulmate against all the odds. And yet all my soulmate is actually offering is a shoddy attempt at getting himself a casual shag whenever his balls are full.”
There’s a horrified pause, and then he throws his head back and laughs. “Shit, you had me for a second.”
I grin at him. “You’re too easy. Which is patently obvious after your request.” He snorts, and I shake my head. “Sounds fine to me.”
“Does it?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t know. I’d have thought you’d have been looking for a relationship at your age.”
“I’m sure that’s what all the young bucks were doing in your day, Grandpa,” I say, and he shoves me. “But I definitely don’t want a relationship. I think I’m actually allergic to the word.”
“Well, no need to keep any antihistamine in stock on my account.” He looks serious suddenly. “I just don’t need any feelings developing, Felix. I’ll never be about that, and you’re young enough to change your mind.”
I break the momentary silence by nudging him. “Not likely,” I say cheerfully. “You’re not that irresistible, and if I ever do develop feelings for someone, you’ll be the last person who’ll ever know about it.”
He relaxes, and we smile at each other. “Look on the bright side,” I advise him. “We can have sex whenever we want without any stupid commitments, and my complexion is going to be as bright as the sun if I keep using your fancy hotel face masks.”
Chapter Four
Two Weeks Later
Felix
I’m pottering around in my kitchen when I hear a knock on the roof and a cautious “Felix?”
I pop my head out of the door and grin at Max. “You found me, then?”
“Might have been easier if you’d told me that you lived on a narrowboat.”
“Now where’s the fun in that?” I cock my head to one side. “You coming onboard the Aunt Sally or just going to stand out there like a garden gnome?”
“A garden gnome?”
I nod, repressing a smile. “Yes, one of those little potbellied ones with a fishing line and a constipated expression on his face.”
He laughs, but his eyes are already everywhere, taking in everything about the boat’s shiny blue-and-red painted exterior. We might have spent our entire time together over the last two weeks testing out the durability of the mattresses at various hotels, but I’ve noticed one crucial fact about Max. He’s fucking nosy. There isn’t anything that doesn’t interest him, and once that interest is caught, he becomes very intense about knowing everything on the subject. I suppose it’s what made him a superb journalist. People are like puzzle pieces to him, and he has a great charm about him that people respond to.
I don’t share his nosy characteristics. I’m sure anyone shagging him would want to know everything about him, but I’ve totally avoided it. Instead of researching him like I originally planned, I’ve avoided it. I’m not sure why. I told myself it was rude to research him, but I think the truth lies in the slight twinge that tells me this man is dangerous to my aim of zero involvement. He’s too handsome, too charming, too funny. Max Travers is just too much.
He breaks my chain of thought by grinning at me. “This is amazing. How long have you lived on here?”
“I’ve had this mooring for a few years. I moved around the first couple of years that I had the boat, but then I settled here. I like Little Venice. It’s right in the centre of things, but it’s really quiet. There are some brilliant pubs and restaurants too.” He opens his mouth to undoubtedly ask me more questions, and I roll my eyes. “I’ll give you the details, but I’m letting you know now that there’s a time limit on this interrogation.”
“Interrogation?” he says, stepping aboard. “What interrogation? You use the strangest words.”
“It’s the thing you do to everyone who is doing something that interests you. It crops up at the oddest moments.”
“I don’t have the faintest idea what you’re talking about.”
I shake my head. “Oh, really? It wasn’t you, then, who tied me to the hotel bed last week and then went out to the other room to sign for room service. How long were you gone for, Max?”
He scrubs his hand through his hair, looking embarrassed. “Half an hour?”
“Yes, I must say that’s definitely one for my memoirs. I can’t describe how lovely it was to lie there and count the seconds while hearing you ask about the fascinating intricacies of the old dumb-waiter mechanism. It’s got to be the single most riveting sexual encounter I’ve ever had.”
He laughs. “I do like to come first in things. My mother always said it was a fault in my character.”
I shake my head. “Coming first is actually a compliment to the other man or so Trigger-Happy Terry told me last time I slept with him.”
He laughs loudly. “At least you’ll remember me.”
“It’s a good job the waiter didn’t come into the bedroom, or we’d both be memorable for all the wrong reasons.”
He cocks his head to one side as if suddenly noticing me. “What are you wearing, Felix?”
I look down at my outfit of pyjama pants, an ancient hoody, combat boots, and my grandad’s old tweed coat. I’ve accessorised this charming outfit with a rainbow-striped beanie. “Erm, warm clothes? It’s only spring, and it turned very cold this week.”
“Well, that’s just stupendous. All this glamour just to shag me. I can’t think why I didn’t have to fight my way through a long line of suitors.”
“It’s their lunchtime,” I say solemnly. “They’ll be back at two.” When he laughs, I grin at him. “It’s bloody cold on the boat. April isn't exactly balmy this year.”
He shivers suddenly as if he’s just felt it. “Why is it so cold? Is it normally cold on boats? What do you do when it snows and what—”
“Oh my God,” I say loudly. “This is press intrusion at its best. Why don’t you thrust your microphone in my face while you’re at it?”
He winks. “I’ll keep my microphone to myself for the moment, Felix. A man must have some decorum and not just thrust it willy-nilly.”
“Is it because your microphone malfunctions?” I say sympathetically. “Because I’m sure it happens to a lot of men.”
He bites his lip. “Does it?”
I shrug. “Who fucking knows? I don’t hang around after microphone failure. I do have standards, you know.”
He returns to his original question like a heat-seeking missile. “Why is it so cold in here?”
I roll my eyes. “The boiler’s packed up. I’ve got a space heater, but it doesn’t give off enough warmth to heat a gnat’s chilly backside.”