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Back This Woman Save as PDF
Chapters (44)
  1. Cover
  2. Praise For Jodi Ellen Malpas
  3. Dedication
  4. Prologue
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. About Jodi Ellen Malpas
  44. Also by Jodi Ellen Malpas

“No,” Ava spits, and I pout. Well, that’s not true. Why does she talk such nonsense? “And if you’d like to know who has put a hole in your kitchen door,” she goes on, motioning to the wood I buried my fist in not so long ago, “look no further. He also smashed your wine glass.”

“Let me know if it’s any more.” I nail Ava in place, daring her to continue with the childish games, as I toss a pile of notes on the table.

“That should cover it,” Kate says.

I approach Ava, slowly and casually. “I like your jumper,” I whisper.

Her head tilts, her eyes now slits. “Fuck off,” she mouths, then follows up one transgression with another, necking a stupidly ridiculous amount of wine.

Let it go, Ward.

But she is quite funny. I kiss her nose. “Mouth.” And grab the back of her head, pulling her into me. “Don’t drink too much,” I warn, and I kiss her. Hard. Like I own her. Because while I’m consuming her like this, I do.

The jumper is forgotten. Her sulk is forgotten. The wine and the bad language are forgotten. She’s putty in my hands, and I am no longer pissed off with her.

“You might need to remind me of that,” she says, and I laugh, a proper laugh, one full of happiness. I’ll remind her of all the things for all the days.

She watches me as she takes another sip, waiting for my reaction. I don’t give her one. Only because she’s home and, actually, I don’t want to leave her on bad terms. I want to leave her with a potent reminder of our chemistry. I’ve done what I came to do. “My work here is done.” I turn and leave, starting to count down the minutes to tomorrow.

My phone rings as I pace to my car, John’s name flashing up at me. “I’m coming,” I say on a sigh.

“Good. There’s someone here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Freja Van Der Haus.”

I stop in the middle of the road, looking back at Kate’s place. Fuck me, never have I been so glad to lose a battle with Ava. “I’m popular these days, huh?” I quip, but John doesn’t agree or even disagree. He hangs up on me and my shoulders drop, my palm running a long, slow stroke over my face. It’s one step forward, ten steps back.

22

My car rolls down the drive toward The Manor, seeming as reluctant as I am to be here. It’s busy, cars filling the vast expanse of driveway, the double doors open.