I unwittingly flinch, remembering each and every one of those times. There was nothing in any of them. Maybe that’s male ignorance on my part. I have no clue how women’s minds work. But I’m learning. Fuck me, what a nightmare.

“Who is she?” she asks, furious.

She doesn’t want to or need to know. But, bloody hell, let’s set the record straight on something. I take her hands and hunker down a bit so I’m close. And clear. Very, very clear. “Ava, she’s a little friendly.” Mostly with me. She’s also a mega-bitch from hell when she wants to be. But that’s Sarah. Always has been. I’m used to it, but I’ve had a very swift reality check. Ava doesn’t know Sarah like I know Sarah. I need to remember that.

“Friendly? That woman is not friendly.”

“She’s a friend.” I feel at her cheek, ignoring her look of ire. Enough about Sarah. She’s not an issue anymore. Now the issue is Ava and me and how we move forward. “Now we’ve clarified Sarah’s position in my life, can we talk about yours?”

She frowns. “What do you mean?”

I’m glad she’s asked. “I mean in my bed, beneath me.” I can’t help my smirk. I’m so fucking happy. All that unnecessary stress was for nothing?

I pull her into me and sigh when she snuggles deep. “At The Manor?” she asks, and I balk at thin air before me. At this time of night? Jesus, no. It’ll be heaving.

“No, I’ve an apartment behind me, but I can’t move in until tomorrow.” I smile a little. I cannot wait to get her back in there and christen every surface, room, and floor. “I’m renting a place on Hyde Park. You’ll come.”

“Yes.”

I close my eyes and bury my face in her hair. She still smells of me. I smell good on her. “Come on,” I say, maneuvering and tucking her into my side, walking us over to my car.

“My stuff,” she says, pointing to her Mini.

“Open it.” I leave her by my Aston and hurry over, collecting her bags off the front seat before she locks it again. “You left your flowers?” I ask, my head cocked as I load her bags into the boot of my car. Her persona screams awkward, her shoulders jumping up on a shrug. “So do you?” I ask, helping her into the passenger seat.

“Do I what?”

I crouch beside her, resting my hand on her knee. “Forgive me.”