Читать книгу Her Enemy With Benefits - Nicola Marsh - Страница 12

SAPPHIE SHOWERED AND brushed her teeth the next morning without looking in the mirror.

She couldn’t. Not unless she wanted to go into meltdown.

The stupid thing was, she’d expected not to sleep last night—to be so wound up with analysing and second-guessing she couldn’t—but the oddest thing had happened.

She’d had her first full night’s sleep for months. Heck, for years.

And she owed it to Patrick.

Great, even thinking his name made her flush in remembrance.

What they’d done in this bathroom…Who would have thought having pseudo-sex could be so steamy?

She might not be super-experienced in that department—being a workaholic meant she could count the number of guys she’d thought hot enough to sleep with on one hand—but what she’d done with Patrick…

Wow. Simply wow.

And she still wanted him as badly this morning.

Her theory last night—that an orgasm might take the edge off her craziness and let her concentrate on working alongside him without the desperation to tear his clothes off—hadn’t worked. It had backfired in a big way.

Now she wanted more. So much more. Both of them naked and sweaty. Going the whole way.

Stupid theories.

She should have ordered the take-out, made small talk, and let him walk out of here.

But the way he’d been looking at her…There was only so much willpower a girl could draw on.

Thankfully, it had been okay afterwards. They’d glossed over potential awkwardness, and he’d left after she’d pleaded tiredness and a need to prep for work tomorrow. Today. When she’d be seeing him again in less than an hour. Which meant she needed to apply make-up. Now.

With a groan she dragged herself back into the bathroom, took a deep breath and stared at her reflection.

Still the same tired old face, but there was a new glint in her eyes. A glint she didn’t like. A glint that signalled a little bit of lust and a lot of crazy.

She blinked, hoping it would vanish.

Nope, still there. Lord only knew what Patrick would make of that glint.

She tried to concentrate on applying foundation, mascara, eyeshadow and lip gloss, she really did, but every time she focussed on the mirror a snippet of last night would flash into her head.

Courtesy of her shaky hands she’d gone through two applicators and a mascara wand already, and she resembled a clown.

Muttering a few choice curses under her breath, she gathered up her make-up and stalked towards the bedroom. The light might be crappy in there, and her clown face could worsen, but she’d take the risk. She’d rather apply make-up in the tiny oval mirror tacked onto the wardrobe door than use the bathroom one.

Maybe she could call a glazier today and have him remove it?

Then again, Patrick had promised to bring a box of condoms next time, and her newly discovered inner vixen really had had a lot of fun watching…

Realistically, she shouldn’t want a repeat. Sex with Patrick would be phenomenal but wrong. A giant complication just waiting to happen.

But she’d felt so good last night—alive in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

The chronic fatigue syndrome symptoms had drained her mentally, emotionally and physically, particularly the latter, and it was her need to reassert her fitness that was driving her to follow through with Patrick.

Nothing like a sex-a-thon to give a girl a workout.

Okay, so she was making light of the situation, probably making excuses to go through with it too, but Patrick had made her feel sensational last night and she wanted to feel that good again.

The post-orgasmic endorphins had lasted a long time after he’d left, and for the first time in ages she’d had the energy to unpack the rest of her cases, clean the kitchen and rearrange her DVDs and books.

She’d bounced around the apartment, humming eighties tunes and shimmying between cleaning, feeling so good she could have run a marathon.

How long since she’d felt that invincible?

Logically, sex with Patrick might be a disaster. Physically? She’d help him haul that box of condoms over pronto.

Patrick needed neutral. A neutral playing field where he could work alongside Sapphire without the constant urge to rip her clothes off.

Last night had only worsened his lust for her. A small part of him had hoped it would ease. Yeah, right.

He should have known better than to believe his delusional self-talk that a quickie with Sapphire would soothe him.

A guy didn’t do what he had done with Sapphire last night and get it out of his system. Not to mention the added tension of knowing she was up for more. A whole box-worth more.

He didn’t get it. It wasn’t as if he’d been hung up on her in the past. He’d enjoyed baiting her at school, made it his mission to get a rise out of her because he’d wanted to ruffle her uptight exterior. Sure, he’d had the odd fantasy about her—what teenage guy hadn’t?

Sapphire was an attractive woman now. It figured that he’d want to have sex with her. The part he hadn’t figured out was why it was pounding through his brain until it was all he could think about.

He couldn’t afford distractions—not with so much at stake. But the thought of using a box-worth of condoms pleasuring Sapphire Seaborn couldn’t be denied, and he’d damn well better get control of his libido before he botched this business opportunity before it had begun.

‘Hey, Rick, the models are ready.’

Patrick glanced up at his right-hand man and best bud, Serge. Though they’d ripped a path through Europe’s party scene together when Patrick had needed the distraction, while Serge continued to live the high life Patrick now opted for more sedate pursuits: like making his fashion house dreams come true.

They’d grown apart over the years but Serge was still a good manager, and it helped having someone he could trust on his side. He couldn’t say that about many people.

‘Thanks, but Sapphire’s not here yet. Give us five.’

‘No worries.’ Serge spoke into a bluetooth clipped near his right ear before slipping onto the chair next to him. ‘What’s up?’

Great. Just what he needed. Serge’s legendary interrogation. He had no intention of telling anyone about Sapphire—not when they’d be working together. But he and Serge had told tall tales over beers too many times to count, and the guy could read him like the latest bestseller.

‘Not much.’ Patrick pointed towards the stack of documents in front of him. ‘This is taking up all my time.’

‘Bull.’

Patrick sat back, folded his arms and feigned ignorance. He only succeeded in making Serge laugh.

‘Work never fazes you. You took on that spring showing in Paris and hit it out of the ballpark.’ Serge tilted his head to one side, studying him. ‘Nah, this isn’t about work. This is about a chick.’

Patrick didn’t want to discuss Sapphire with Serge but he hated dishonesty.

‘That Paris gig? What we’re doing here has to nail that a hundred times over and you know it.’

Serge smirked. ‘I also know whoever this chick is, she must be special for you to be this rattled.’

Thankfully Sapphire’s arrival put paid to any further ribbing from Serge but it disconcerted him in a whole other way.

She’d gone for masculine chic today: crisp white shirt, fitted ebony pinstripe pants suit, designer loafers, hair slicked back, dramatic make-up. It didn’t detract from her femininity. He’d seen exactly how womanly she could be last night.

What her mouth had done to him…

His gaze found its way to her lips—their sheen, their fullness—and he instantly hardened.

He heard Serge’s hissed breath of surprise as she strode towards them and he knew the feeling. When Sapphire Sea-born walked towards a man he wanted to meet her halfway.

‘She’s a stunner,’ Serge muttered under his breath, earning a glare from Patrick that probably increased his friend’s speculation.

Let Serge think what he liked. He wasn’t getting one snippet of information about Patrick’s private life here in Mel-bourne. Patrick had moved on from the carousing of the past and intended focussing on things that mattered. Namely: wowing Fashion Week. And bedding Sapphire. Not necessarily in that order.

She barely glanced at him when she reached them, focussing a dazzling smile on Serge instead. ‘Hi. Sapphire Sea-born.’

Serge grinned like the predatory male he was and snagged her hand, raising it to his lips. ‘The pleasure’s all mine, mademoiselle.’

When Serge kissed her hand, Patrick had to clench his to stop from slugging him.

‘You’re French?’

Serge nodded and, luckily for him, released her hand. ‘Oui.’

‘He’s as Anglicised as you and I,’ Patrick said, shooting him a frown. ‘Only uses the accent to win friends and influence women.’

‘It’s charming.’

Figured. What was it with females and European accents?

‘Serge was just leaving to organise the models for a quick demo if you’re ready?’

Sapphire finally looked at him, her gaze imperious, the tilt of her head snooty. ‘Sure, let’s get started.’

She made it sound as if he’d chastised her unnecessarily, when in fact he’d wanted to get rid of his leery friend pronto.

‘Au revoir, Sapphire.’ Serge gave a formal little bow and Patrick gritted his teeth. ‘We will meet again.’

‘No doubt.’

If her smile had been dazzling before, she notched it up a level now. What red-blooded guy stood a chance?

Patrick mentally counted to ten, slowly, waiting until Serge had left the room.

‘Don’t flirt with Serge. It only encourages him,’ he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably if her inverted eyebrow and smirk were any indication.

‘I was being polite, not flirting, but thanks for the advice.’

She slid onto a seat and patted the one next to him. ‘Now, why don’t you sit so we can talk business?’

Fan-frigging-tastic. He’d been mulling over how to approach this first meeting post-bathroom and she’d waltzed in here as if nothing had happened, gaining the upper hand and commandeering the conversation.

Patrick didn’t like losing control. Bad things happened. Things he’d never risk happening again.

‘Talking business is fine,’ he said, sitting next to her and deliberately leaning into her personal space. ‘For now.’

The faintest stain of pink on her cheeks was the only indication that he’d scored a hit. She didn’t respond, taking her sweet time slipping a slimline laptop out of her satchel and setting it up, laying a blank notepad and pen next to it.

Only then did she swivel in her seat to face him, her imperious mask firmly in place. ‘Don’t you think it’s a tad unprofessional, bringing up our social activities in the workplace?’

Her directness impressed him. But the resumption of her haughtiness, not so much. Hadn’t she learned by now that the snootier she acted, the harder he worked to rile her?

‘Social activities?’ He lowered his voice to barely above a whisper, his lips almost brushing her ear. ‘Why don’t we call it what it is? Good old-fashioned f—’

‘Keep that up and there won’t be any socialising of any kind,’ she said, shoving him away, her tone frosty.

‘You haven’t changed a bit,’ he said, chuckling at her rigid shoulders and ramrod spine as she determinedly stared at her laptop screen. ‘You always needed to have the last word during our Biology assignments too.’

‘I did not.’ She shot him a death glare.

‘Yeah, you did. And it’s just as cute now.’ He smiled, waiting for her to glance his way.

He didn’t have to wait long. She blew out an exasperated breath before angling her chair towards him.

‘Okay, the thing is this: I’m confident in the business arena. Invincible. But what happened last night threw me, and focussing on work is the only way I can handle this without…’

‘What?’

‘Without losing it,’ she said softly, her wide-eyed baby-blues imploring him to listen. ‘Aren’t you just the tiniest bit uncomfortable?’

He shrugged. ‘Sure, but honestly? That ice princess act you had down pat in Biology only made me want to taunt you more. And when I first rocked up in Melbourne it looked like nothing had changed. Then last night…’ He shook his head, still blown away by the erotic memories that had filtered across his consciousness ever since. ‘I got a glimpse of how hot you are beneath the ice and it’s a major turn-on. Last night was great. Stupendous, in fact. And a great prelude to going the whole way. So I’m not going to make excuses for it or apologise or act recalcitrant.’ He pinned her with a direct stare. ‘For the fact is I’d do it again right now, right here.’

Her frosty façade melted a little as her mouth curved at the corners. ‘I’ve always wanted to do it on a desk.’

‘Duly noted.’ He trailed a fingertip across the back of her hand where it rested on her lap. ‘For the record, mine’s padded.’

‘No, it’s not. It’s bevelled glass.’

He winked. ‘I’ll make sure to bring a blanket next time we meet in my office.’

She waggled her finger at him. ‘Didn’t I just say we should keep business and social stuff separate?’

‘Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I agree with it.’

She huffed out an exasperated breath—something she’d done often when they’d been studying. ‘You know we have to talk about what happened last night, right?’

They did? From where he was sitting, he’d rather be doing much more than talking. Like finishing what they’d started last night, with him deep within her this time around.

‘Talk is overrated.’

‘Spoken like a true male,’ she said drily, jabbing him in the chest. ‘We need boundaries, that sort of thing.’

‘We need a desk with our name written all over it,’ he said, sotto voce, earning a delightfully unassuming, tempting pout for his trouble.

‘You’re the same infuriating, annoying, over-confident—’

‘And you’re the same subtly sexy, smart, amazing woman,’ he said, meaning it.

He’d met some incredible women around the world, had enjoyed every moment of his bachelor life, but it hadn’t been until he’d arrived back in Melbourne and strutted into Sea-borns that he’d remembered Sapphire had a certain something that elevated her among other females.

He couldn’t explain what it was, but the hint of vulnerability underlying her usual toughness appealed on a deeper level he rarely acknowledged.

And that meant he had to focus on one thing only. Sex. No time or inclination to discover where her newfound softness had come from or to delve beyond the obvious: they were two people with a serious sexual attraction that would combust if last night’s prelude was any indication.

And he couldn’t wait for the main event.

Her mouth opened, closed. Her loss of words was cute. A rarity. He took full advantage.

‘I meant what I said.’ He snagged her hand beneath the table and she let him. ‘I had no idea you were so hot in high school—’ She pursed her lips in disapproval and he rushed on ‘—which is probably a good thing, as I would’ve made you fail Biology. But seeing how into it you were last night, us hooking up, major turn-on. Fantasy stuff.’

He must have said the right thing, because she turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers with his. ‘You drove me nuts in high school, teasing me and mucking around with your slackass attitude.’

‘Surely that kiss on graduation night redeemed me slightly?

She winced. ‘Another thing I’d rather not talk about.’

‘Yeah, I kinda got that impression when you didn’t return my calls.’

Her fingers convulsed for a second. ‘I was mortified.’

‘Why? Because your date was a drunken dumbass?’

She shook her head, dislodging a few strands from her slicked back do. Mussing the severity of that product-drenched hair added to her vulnerability.

‘No, I was embarrassed because I’d treated you badly yet you didn’t hesitate in stepping in to help me out of a rough spot.’

He saw genuine regret in the reluctant gaze that met his, and he didn’t like his answering zap of emotion.

Who cared what her motivations had been back then? He wanted her in his bed now. That was all that mattered. No room for emotions whatsoever.

‘Hey, I liked the putdowns and the cutting remarks. It spurred me on to tease you harder.’

‘That’s what the kiss was about, wasn’t it?’

She’d lost him.

‘Huh?’

‘I thought you kissed me out of pity.’

She said it so softly he strained forward to hear it.

‘What the—?’

‘I thought you felt sorry for me after Mick ditched me at the dance,’ she said, bolder this time, daring him to disagree. ‘You teased me during the drive about my lousy taste in dates, said maybe it was my dress or my hair or my corsage that drove him away, then we got home and you kissed me and I thought it was a big joke—you taking your usual taunts that one step further.’

He swore.

‘You thought I was that shallow?’

‘That’s the only side of you I ever saw,’ she said, as if that made it better.

It didn’t. There was a reason he’d acted that way, why he’d only shown the world a certain side, but he couldn’t tell her. He’d divulged enough truths for one day.

‘Well, sweetheart, here’s a tip. When a guy kisses a girl it isn’t out of pity. It’s usually driven by hormones.’

He shrugged, trying to make light of the situation before he blabbed about why he’d really kissed her that night. It wouldn’t help to admit he had felt sorry for her, that he’d kissed her as a distraction to prevent tears. She’d slug him for sure. Or worse, not follow through on the promise of sensational sex.

So he was a guy? Sue him.

‘And here’s a heads up. My motivation for kissing you back then is irrelevant. Because all that matters now is I sure as hell want you. Right now, if I had my way.’ He tugged on her hand and she leaned in close. ‘I’d clear this table, hoist you onto it, and have you out of those pants in two seconds flat.’

Her eyes widened, locked on his. Thankfully she’d lost the injured lamb look. He could handle her cool and controlled. He didn’t do her insecure side well. It unnerved him, seeing the woman who’d verbally fended off his barbs and then some all soft and susceptible.

It made him feel stuff he didn’t want to, so he regained control the only way he knew how.

‘I’d spread your legs, start at your right knee and kiss my way upward. Nipping your inner thigh…gentle bites.’

Her sharp intake of breath spurred him on.

‘I’d tease my way along your hip, across your belly to the other side, where I’d kiss you all the way down. Hot, open-mouthed kisses, until you were squirming for me.’ He locked gazes with her. ‘Begging for it.’

She groaned.

He knew the feeling.

‘Keep going,’ she said, squirming in her seat.

‘Then I’d lick my way up your thigh until I could hardly control myself. But I’d taste you, circling you with my tongue, sucking you into my mouth until you came—’

‘Patrick, please…’

He released her hand in her lap and edged over, cupping her mound. She cursed, the word spilling from her lips as much of a turn-on as her reaction to him here in the boardroom.

The fact she was letting him do this to her here, with the risk of anyone walking in, heightened the pleasure.

‘Yeah, I’d love to be doing that to you right now, but this will have to suffice.’

He pushed the heel of his hand into her and she ground against it. It took several small, circular undulations of for her to come, her fingers digging into his thigh while she lifted off the chair slightly.

They never broke eye contact the entire time, so he saw everything. Her need, her passion, her release.

And it humbled him in a way he’d never dreamed possible.

If he’d thought he was in over his head last night, her response to him now made him feel like a drowning man without a chance of being saved.

The door creaked open and they sprang apart. She muttered underneath her breath: he tried to act as if wanting to tear this woman’s clothes off every time he saw her wasn’t all that unusual.

Sex…nothing more, nothing less. Maybe if he mentally recited it often enough he’d believe it.

He shot her a glance but she stared straight ahead, fixed on the models strutting through the room in preliminary designs, the pinkness of her cheeks the only giveaway sign that she wasn’t the same über-cool princess he remembered.

Fine, let them concentrate on business for now, but when they’d wrapped up here they needed to sort out where and when they were going to get this thing out of their system—for he had a feeling he wouldn’t be functioning on any useful level until he did.

Sapphie had learned from a young age to shield her real feelings.

The expectations associated with being the eldest child, the one with highest grades, the responsible one, had pretty much ensured she was under scrutiny as heir apparent to run Seaborns from the time she hit high school.

Maybe even before, considering her mum had spent every Saturday afternoon poring over the company’s finances and making Sapphie sit next to her.

When kids her age had been riding their scooters or playing netball on the weekend, she’d been tagging along on buying expeditions, or scouting the opposition, or hanging around at fancy tea parties, listening to her mum talk shop.

Sure, she’d learned to love Seaborns, and had strived to gain great grades to enter her chosen Economics and Management degree, but over the years it had become ingrained to maintain a calm outer persona. To pretend everything was right with the world. When in fact she’d had bad hair days and hated the school bully and crushed on the football captain.

That persona would serve her well now, when she had to sit next to Patrick during a preview and pretend he hadn’t just rocked her world again.

What he’d done…What she’d let him do…

Her fingers convulsed, digging into her thighs. She’d never been wild or wanton. Maybe that was her problem. When an experienced playboy like Patrick glanced sideways at her she was ready to jump him.

She blamed Ruby and all that talk of getting laid. Sure, it had been a while since she’d been with a guy, but she hadn’t really been interested, what with the fatigue.

Ironic that coming back to work and throwing herself into this campaign was all about physically proving she could handle leading Seaborns, but what if there was a better way to test her endurance? Or at least a more fun way?

For she had little doubt sex with Patrick would involve an aerobic capacity workout to push her to the limit.

As if sensing her wicked, wayward thoughts he cast her a glance, which she deftly deflected by pretending to concentrate on the models strutting into the room.

Thankfully he returned to muttering into his smartphone, dictating changes and minor adjustments on the gowns to follow up later: hem too low here, stray seam there. He was so focussed, so tuned in to his work, she couldn’t help but stare a little.

He’d surprised her. She’d wondered if he could pull off his mega idea for old-world Hollywood glamour, and by the looks of the early designs he’d come through in a big way.

It pained her to admit, even to herself, that she’d doubted him. But she had, and now she was going to have to eat her words.

How could the guy who’d laughed his way through school before absconding to Paris be responsible for these exquisite designs?

She glanced at the models, poised in a holding pattern on a makeshift runway, stunned anew by the colours and gowns before her eyes.

A riot of rich hues: deep crimson, emerald, peacock-blue. Lush satins, shimmering silks. Strapless evening gowns. Timeless cocktail frocks. Curves and class. Absolutely stunning.

Patrick might not have personally drawn the designs, but he’d come up with the concept, had supervised the designers night and day to get them to this point.

Not only did the guy have a sound business head, he had creativity to burn.

And not just for this fashion show.

She resisted the urge to squirm in her seat—and tried to ignore the occasional brush of his shoulder against hers or the touch of his thigh pressing close as he leaned over to point out a minor detail. Perfectly innocuous actions that shouldn’t have made her burn but she did. For him. With an unrelenting heat that sparked every time he touched her and shot off at tangents throughout her body, zapping and scalding and corroding her resistance slowly but surely.

This wasn’t good.

Their bathroom interlude should have taken the edge off her sudden interest in seeing him naked.

Instead it had put her on some heightened awareness where having him near sent her pheromones into overdrive.

The preview concluded way too quickly. Serge departed and the models filed out after him, leaving her rueing the approaching time where she’d have to do some fast thinking, fast talking, or both.

She’d had an orgasm.

In Fourde Fashion’s boardroom.

With an unlocked door.

Seconds before people had come traipsing in.

It had been phenomenal, but the fact she was becoming like him—reckless, live in the moment—was not good.

That might have been one of her goals after leaving Tenang—to make the most of every second and not dwell on things she couldn’t change—but now she had Patrick urging her, how far would she go to test her newfound strength?

Pushing it physically was one thing, but seeing how far she could push with Patrick…

Danger with a capital D.

For sex with a guy like him could become addictive, and she had no intention of getting hooked.

‘Thoughts?’

He really didn’t want to know.

By the amused glint in his eyes, maybe he did.

She took a deep breath and pushed her notepad towards him. ‘On what you’ve done? Amazing. Here are a few things I jotted down to capitalise on the theme you’re going for.’

He sped read her dot-point list, nodding thoughtfully, pen tapping against the pad, so absorbed in business that she wondered if she’d dreamt the whole dirty-talk orgasm incident.

‘Great pick-ups. I’ll get onto Serge right away to get the designers to incorporate.’

He glanced up and her heart leapt.

‘Sure Ruby’s the only creative genius in your family?’ He pointed at the list. ‘These are insightful suggestions.’

Chuffed by his praise, she shrugged. ‘This coming from the guy who has single-handedly come up with an amazing concept and is seeing it through to the most glorious designs I’ve ever seen.’

He winked. ‘Flattery will get you everywhere.’

That was what she was afraid of.

Now was the time she had to lay down the law about mixing business with pleasure, about setting boundaries. But with her body still humming and her mind still reeling at how sexual he made her feel, maybe now wasn’t the best time.

He touched her arm, the barest brush of his fingertips against her skin, and she jumped.

‘Your reaction just answered my next question.’

‘What’s that?’

‘That until we get this thing out of our systems are we going to be useless working together?’

She should disagree. Should give him a spiel about her ability to remain professional and focussed at all times.

Totally hypocritical, considering she’d almost screamed his name less than thirty minutes ago.

‘What do you suggest?’

‘Damned if I know.’ He pinched the bridge of his nose. It did little to clear the frown above it. ‘We have three weeks left ’til Fashion Week, so the next seven days are crucial in finalising the designs and incorporating changes.’

No argument there.

‘That means we both need to work our butts off without interruptions.’ He sent her a pointed glare. ‘Or distractions.’

‘Hey, I’m not the one going around…’ She trailed off, unwilling to articulate exactly what he’d been doing to her. ‘So you’re saying we work apart?’

Was that even feasible with the workload they had?

He nodded, and while her head said this was the perfect solution, her body wailed a loud, resounding nooooo!

‘We talk on the phone, e-mail, Skype. But this?’ He gestured to the limited space between them. ‘Too distracting when I can’t keep my hands off you.’

His declaration soothed her wailing body somewhat.

‘But some time in the future, when the campaign is done…’ He snagged a tendril curling around her ear and wound it slowly around his finger, caressing the top of her ear, tracing its shape, sending a shiver of longing vibrating downwards. ‘We play.’

How two words could hold so much promise she’d never know.

‘Define play.’

His mouth eased into a breath-stealing grin. ‘You and me. “Do not Disturb” sign. And that box I promised you. Maybe two.’

Her body gave a betraying howl of longing.

‘Your stamina’s that good?’

‘You bet.’ He leaned close, his lips grazing her cheek, and she clamped down on the urge to turn her head a fraction and ram her mouth against his. ‘And I can’t wait to prove it.’

Oh, boy.

‘Sound doable?’

She—it—was extremely doable.

‘Sure.’ She nodded, her insides trembling with need, as she gathered up her work paraphernalia.

‘Sapphire?’

She couldn’t stop, for if she did she’d never make it out of here without flinging herself at him.

‘Yeah?’ she mumbled, trying to stuff her laptop into her bag with limited success—until she realised she was trying to force it into her handbag.

‘You know time apart will feed my hunger for you?’

She gulped.

If they were this turned on now, imagine what time apart would do?

‘And while we focus on business this next week it doesn’t rule out phone sex.’

A ripple of pleasure spread through her at the thought.

‘I’ve never done phone sex,’ she said, sounding like an inexperienced neophyte but not caring. She had a feeling this guy would be teaching her a plethora of unspoken delights.

‘Then this is going to be fun.’

He brushed a kiss across her lips and she let him, lingering a few seconds longer than necessary, aware it would be their last physical contact for a long seven days.

When the need to linger became a driving need to straddle him, she yanked away and grabbed her stuff.

She strode for the door, desperate to put some distance between them. With her hand on the handle and a safe space between them, she said, ‘Patrick?’

‘Yeah?’

Her only consolation was that he looked half as dazed as she was.

‘Better make that three boxes.’