I get into my stride and we run along the river in a comfortable silence, throwing each other glances every now and then. Jesse is right – running in the morning is really quite relaxing. The city isn’t quite in full swing, the traffic is mainly delivery vans and there are no horns or sirens ringing in my ears. The air is surprisingly fresh and cool too. I might be changing my running pattern.

Half an hour later, we hit St James’s Park and follow the green lushness at a steady pace. I feel surprisingly good, considering I’ve run somewhere near four miles already. I glance up at Jesse, who’s putting his hand up to every fellow runner as they pass – all women – who smile brightly at Jesse and eye me suspiciously. I roll my eyes at the desperate losers, glancing up to gage his reaction, but he looks completely unaffected by both the women and the running. That was probably just his warm up.

‘Okay?’ he asks on a half-smile as he looks down at me.

I’m not talking. That’s a sure way to puff me out, and I’m doing really well at the moment. I nod and return my focus on the path ahead of us, willing my muscles not to give up. I have a point to prove.

We maintain our steady pace, making our way around St James’s Park, eventually reaching The Green Park. I glance up again and still see a completely unaffected, virtually refreshed face and body running next to me. Okay, I’m feeling it now, and I don’t know whether it’s my fatigue, or the fact that crazy man here is increasing his pace, but I’m struggling to keep up. We’ve got to be knocking on nine miles now. I’ve never ran nine miles in my life. If I had my iPod with me, I would be hitting the button for my power track, right about now.

We hit Piccadilly and I start to feel my lungs burning, my breath getting harder to keep steady and constant. I think I may have hit the proverbial runner’s wall. I’ve never ran far enough to hit it before, but I can now completely appreciate the meaning of the statement. I feel like I’m pushing against a ton of bricks wedged in sand.

I must not give up.

Oh, it’s no good. I’m bloody shattered. I detour off of the road and into The Green Park, collapsing, unceremoniously, onto the grass in a sweaty, overheated heap. I lay spread eagled, dragging valuable air into my overworked lungs. I don’t care that I’ve given up. That’s my personal best achievement. Man, he can run.

I close my eyes and concentrate on taking in deep breaths. I feel sick. The cool morning air invading my sprawled body is most welcome, until it’s swallowed up by a hunk of leanness closing in on me from above. I open my eyes, finding a gaze so green, it could rival the trees surrounding us.

‘Baby, did I wear you out?’ He grins around his words.

Jesus, he’s not even broke a sweat. I, on the other hand, can’t even talk. I heave underneath him, like the running loser that I am, letting him smother my face with kisses. I must taste God awful.

‘Hmmm, sweat and sex.’ He licks my cheek and rolls us over so I’m sprawled across his stomach. I proceed to pant and wheeze all over him as he runs his firm palms all over my sweaty back. My chest feels tight. Can you have a heart attack at twenty six?

When I’ve finally got my breathing under control, I push my hands into his chest and straddle his hips, sitting up on his body. ‘Please don’t make me run home.’ I plead. I think I could possibly die. He places his hands under his head, all casual and amused by my laboured breathing and sweaty face. His toned arms look edible as they flex. I could just about muster up the energy to lean down and take a bite.

‘You did better than I expected.’ he says on a raised brow.

‘I prefer sleepy sex.’ I grumble, falling forward onto his chest.

His hands come around to secure me against him. ‘I prefer sleepy sex too.’ He traces circles across my back.

Okay, today, I really, really love him. And it’s only six thirty in the morning. But I should bear in mind that a lot can change and very quickly with Mr Jesse Ward. Give it an hour and I might have disobeyed or not conformed, and then, very suddenly, I’m dealing with crazy mad, Mr Unreasonable Control Freak and being given the countdown or a sense fuck – I’ll take the sense fuck, I’ll leave the countdown.

‘Come on, lady. We can’t frolic in the grass all day, you have work to do.’

Yes, I do. And we’re miles from Lusso. I’m actually closer to Kate’s than I am to Jesse’s, but my things are at Jesse’s so it looks like I’m taking the long option. I heave myself up from his chest and stand. I’m slightly wobbly on my feet. Jesse, of course, rises to his feet like a dolphin gliding across the calm ocean. He makes me sick.

He wraps an arm around my shoulder and walks us onto Piccadilly, flagging a taxi down and bundling me in.

‘You brought money for a taxi?’ I ask. He knew I wouldn’t make it?

He doesn’t answer. He just shrugs and yanks me across the taxi into his arms.

I feel a little guilty for cutting his run short, but not too much. I’m too beat to dwell on it for long.

I’m dragged, quite literally, through the foyer of Lusso and into the elevator. I feel like I’ve been awake for a month, when, in reality, it’s not even been two hours. I’ve no idea how I’m going to make it through the day.

When we reach the penthouse, I collapse on a bar stool in the kitchen, resting my head on my arms. My breathing is only just returning to normal.

‘Here,’

I look up and find a bottle of water being waved under my nose. I take it gratefully, swinging the lovely ice liquid and wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

‘I’ll run a bath.’ He looks at me in sympathy, but I detect a little enjoyment mixed in there too. The smug bastard! I’m lifted from the stool and carried upstairs in my usual chimp like manner.

‘I don’t have time for a bath, I’ll have a shower.’ I say as he places me on the bed. What I would do to crawl under the covers and emerge sometime next week.

‘You have plenty of time. We’ll grab some breakfast and go to The Manor mid-morning. Now, stretch.’ He drops a kiss on my sweaty forehead and turns towards the bathroom.

We’ll go to The Manor? What for? Realisation kicks in before my brain has a chance to instruct my mouth to blurt the question. He was completely serious when he permanently marked out my diary for the rest of the academic year?

Oh, shit!

The one hundred grand is to keep Patrick quiet while he gets his fix of me, morning, noon and night. Oh, bloody hell. What about my other clients – Van Der Haus being the most important other client? He alone will boost Patrick’s turnover tenfold. Oh God, I feel a trample coming on.

‘Jesse, I need to go to the office.’ I try for a calm and reasonable tone. I don’t know why I picked this one in particular. As appose to what? Demanding? Ha!

‘No, you don’t. Stretch.’ Is the straight flat answer, followed by a terse demand that I get thrown back at me from the bathroom.

I’m going to lose my job. I know it. He’ll get his fix, trample all over my social life and career, and then drop me like a hot potato. I’ll be job-less, friend-less, heart-less and, most frighteningly, Jesse-less. I feel light headed. What am I going to do? I’m too exhausted to run away at the start of a countdown – not that I would get very far, even firing on all cylinders. And a sense fuck will probably finish off my already strained heart.

‘All of my equipment is at the office. My computer programmes, reference books, everything.’ My voice is small.

He presents himself at the doorway of the bathroom, chewing his lip. ‘And you need all that stuff?’

‘Yes, to do my job.’

‘Okay, we’ll stop by your office.’ He shrugs and returns to the bathroom.

I throw myself back on the bed in exasperation. What in God’s name am I going to say to Patrick? I exhale a weary sigh. He’s lead me into a false sense of security by bringing me home in a taxi and carrying my tired body up the stairs when my legs felt like they could give out. I’m just as deluded as he is. I’m never going to be in control.