‘Not bad? I’ve done a better job than you’d ever do, lady.’ He jumps up from the bed. ‘You’re so lucky to have me.’

I scoff. ‘Are you not lucky?’ I ask incredulously. He’s such an arrogant arse.

‘I’m luckier.’ He winks, and I’m speedily dragged from my offended state on a sigh. ‘Come on, lady. Let’s go exploring.’

* * *

We pull off a roundabout and up to a security gate that leads down to a port. Jesse lowers his window and flashes a plastic card at a screen and the gate opens instantly, allowing him to drive through. ‘Where are we?’ I ask, edging forward in my seat to look down the road ahead.

‘This is The Port, baby.’ He proceeds at a crawl and turns onto a pedestrianized area, people mechanically moving to make way, not giving the DBS a second glance. I would’ve thought this strange, but I quickly register the dozens of prestigious cars, all parked in bays along the front. And not just the odd Merc or BMW. I’m looking at rows of Bentleys, Ferraris and even another Aston Martin, all screaming billionaires. These people are quite clearly used to ridiculously expensive cars, but my attention is speedily drawn from the row of expensive vehicles when I clock the rows and rows of boats. No, not boats. These are yachts.

‘Fucking hell.’ I whisper as Jesse slips into an empty bay and turns the ignition off.

‘Ava! Please, watch your fucking mouth.’ He heaves a tired breath and gets himself out of the car, making his way around to my side. I’m stuck in my seat, astounded by the bright whiteness of many huge floating mountains on the marina. ‘Out you get.’

I absentmindedly eject myself with the assistance of Jesse’s hand while keeping my eyes on the boats. I can’t even find words. But then I do. ‘Please don’t tell me you own one of those.’ I look at him with wide eyes. I don’t know why I sound so shocked. This man is beyond wealthy, but a yacht?

He smiles and slips his shades on. ‘No, I sold it many years ago.’

‘So you did have one?’

‘Yes, but I didn’t have a fucking clue how to sail the stupid thing.’ He takes my hand and leads me away from the car, towards a pathway where we’re safe from moving vehicles.

‘Why did you buy it in the first place then?’ I ask, looking up at him, but he just shrugs my question off and points out across the sea.

‘Over there is Morocco.’

I follow the direction of his hand, but all I see is open water. He’s trying to divert my enquiring mind. ‘Lovely,’ I say with lashings of sarcasm, just so he knows that I know his ploy. I’m drawing my own conclusions on Paradise and big yachts, but as I’ve reminded myself before, Jesse’s past is exactly that.

‘Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, lady.’ He pulls me under his arm and makes a meal of biting at my ear. ‘What would you like to do?’

‘Let’s mooch about.’

‘Mooch?’

‘Yes, mooch.’ I repeat, looking up at an amused expression. ‘Like browse, peruse, mooch about.’

He smiles down at me, almost fascinated. ‘Okay. I feel another Camden coming on.’

‘Yes, exactly like Camden, but no funny sex shops.’ I finish quietly.

Now he’s laughing. ‘Oh, there are plenty of funny sex shops on the back streets. Want to see?’

‘No, I don’t.’ I grumble, reflecting back to our very own little pole dancing treat by that demented, leather clad, dominatrix type. I inwardly gasp. A Sarah type. Holy shit, she looked just like Sarah, minus the whip, instead playing with a pole. Sarah may very well have a pole, who knows, but my sudden comprehension is overshadowing the similarities of the women. ‘You didn’t find that attractive, did you?’ I don’t need to elaborate. He knows what I’m referring to.

My chin is grasped and pulled to face him. ‘I’ve told you before. There’s only one thing that turns me on, and I love her in lace.’

‘Good.’ I say quietly, because I don’t know what else to say. He’s probably made the Sarah connection, too, and even though Sarah more or less confirmed Jesse’s aversion to her leather clad arse, I needed to hear it for myself and from him.

He kisses my forehead and takes a deep breath into my hair. ‘Come on, Mrs Ward. Let’s mooch.’

* * *

I’m thoroughly fed-up of mooching by the time we’re back on the marina front, and I know Jesse has humoured me to within an inch of his life, insisting on buying everything that I picked up or looked at in a bid to reduce my browsing time. This wouldn’t have bothered me too much if it wasn’t for the kind of stores in which we were mooching. This is no Camden. Yes, there were a few knickknack stalls, but I was mainly directed into the abundance of designer stores, leaving me feeling a million times more conspicuous than I ever did in Harrods. The quiet, minimal spaces were dressed with just a few key pieces, not leaving much scope for mooching at all. I did see an exquisite tan bag which I braved a touch of, just to feel the softness of the leather, and Jesse, of course, took this small motion as an indication of my liking and quickly had it wrapped and bagged. I didn’t try to stop him. I really do love my new bag, so I showed him my gratitude, to which he responded by buying me everything that I looked at throughout the afternoon, each time giving me an expectant look to prompt my thank you.

He’s weighed down with bags now, and God bless him, he looks harassed. ‘I’ll put these in the car. Wait there.’ He leaves me on the side of the pedestrianized area, coating my lips in Chapstick, while he goes over to the car to dump the bags, making his way quickly back over and grabbing me. I stifle a yelp as I’m suspended in his arms and ravished. ‘God, I’ve missed you.’ His mouth slides over my freshly moisturised lips with ease as he takes me for all to see. As always, I’m oblivious to our location and company, letting him do as he pleases with me. ‘Hmm, you taste good.’ He pulls back and pouts, his own lips shimmering slightly from the transfer of my Chapstick.

‘If you want to wear ladies lipstick, then do it properly.’ I reach up to apply, and he does nothing to stop me, even puckering to make the coating easier. ‘Better,’ I conclude on a smile. ‘You’re even more handsome with shimmery lips.’

‘Probably.’ he agrees, with complete ease, smacking his lips together. ‘Come on, I need to feed my wife and peanuts.’ He returns me to a vertical position and starts to reposition the slipping straps of my little yellow sundress. ‘These need tightening.’

Shrugging his fussing hands away, I lead on, pulling my own straps into place and disregarding the grunts of protest coming from behind me. ‘Where are you feeding me?’ I ask over my shoulder, keeping up my stride. I’m not striding for long, though. My wrist is seized, and I’m suddenly pulling against a dead weight.

‘Don’t walk away from me,’ he practically growls, spinning me around to face him. He’s scowling, while I’m grinning. ‘And you can wipe that grin off your face.’ He proceeds to tighten my straps, muttering some rubbish about an insufferable wife, who drives him fucking crazy. ‘Better. Where are all the clothes I bought you?’