Sorry, I was a bit stressed that morning. Stupid eh? I can barely remember what the meeting was about now.’ He leaned forward, lowering his voice as if about to impart a great secret, ‘And do you know what?’
I shook my head. He peered covertly around the restaurant before whispering. ‘No one noticed it wasn’t designer.’ Widening his eyes to emphasise the point, he added, still in a whisper, ‘I’ve worn it all week.’
I burst out laughing. ‘So you’re a convert now?’
‘Too right. I’ve been a mug, spending ridiculous sums of money on suits when no other bugger can tell the damn difference. I even asked Gav what he thought of my new suit. And he thought it was a Hugo Boss.’ He grinned at me and I smiled back, our eyes meeting with a flash of warmth. ‘What about you?’
‘My PA brought in the most hideous shirt in mint green with this huge bow on the front. Remember Mrs Slocombe from Are You Being Served?’
Those sexy eyebrows rose. ‘Wasn’t she the one with the naughty pussy?’
I almost choked on the wine. Although his face was deadpan, his eyes danced with devilment.
Trying to keep it cool, I ignored his words. ‘It clashed horribly with my suit. It almost drowned me as well. I must have looked ridiculous.’
‘I can’t imagine that.’ He eyed my outfit, which was insanely expensive but totally understated. ‘I imagine you’re always immaculate.’ I liked the way his gaze didn’t linger on my cleavage. His voice softened and, to my surprise, he said, ‘You look lovely.’
He nodded his head towards my soft black jersey top with tiny specks of silver woven into the fabric, which I’d chosen deliberately to hide my gardening wounds. I was covered in scratches from that bloody hedge I’d trimmed for Alice. As a result, it hadn’t been my first choice. I’d wanted to wear a sleeveless black vest which I’d initially thought would be far sexier but now I realised from his appreciative expression that this was more subtle. The soft fabric clinging to my skin hinted at what was underneath rather than blatantly displaying everything for show. Maybe I had something to thank Alice for after all.
It was, however, a little warm and without thinking, perhaps because I’d relaxed after his unexpected compliments and sudden seriousness, I pushed back my sleeves and rested my arms on the table.
‘What happened to you?’ he asked, reaching out to touch my arms. ‘Are you okay?’ There was genuine concern in his eyes.
I smiled back at him, my voice a little breathless. ‘I’m fine. Just a run-in with a hedge.’
‘You challenged it to unarmed combat?’
‘Yes, I’m a regular garden ninja.’
Despite a soak in the bath, my arms were worse now because I’d had some kind of allergic reaction. Ash reached over the table and touched one of the many welts on my forearm. His barely-there touch sparked a tingle on my skin. I glanced up sharply and his eyes were kind rather than mocking. ‘You probably want some Savlon on those.’
I gave my arm a rueful rub and rolled my shoulders. ‘Every bit of me seems to be aching.’ Why was I telling him that? Oh God, would he think I was sending out invitations to give me an all-over massage?
‘Do you do a lot of gardening?’
‘No, I’ve moved recently and the previous owners, Lord love them, thankfully created a very low-maintenance garden. Keeping a basil plant alive is the sum total of my green-fingered accomplishments. These scars came from my sister needing help with her garden.’
‘And you can’t say no to sisters.’
‘Sadly no,’ I sighed.
‘I get it too. My sister calls on my services a lot. I’ve no idea why. Do I look like a DIY expert to you?’ He held up artistic hands with long, elegant fingers.
It gave me the opportunity to take stock of him, instead of the surreptitious checking out I’d been doing since I arrived. He wore a grey V-neck T-shirt, which fitted rather well, the soft jersey moulding to a broad chest, the dip of the vee revealing a few crisp, dark hairs.
No, he didn’t look like a DIY expert; he looked flipping gorgeous. Absolutely edible, and I wanted to peel that T-shirt right off him, touch his golden skin, smooth a hand over that chest and run my fingers across the firm biceps beneath his T-shirt sleeves. I wanted… His mesmerising eyes darkened, the pupils wide.
My breath caught in my throat. The pause in the conversation stretched out as we stared at each other, the same fizz of sexual tension in the air that I’d sensed the first time we met.
I knew then that I was going to throw all caution to the wind. I was going to sleep with Ashwin Laghari. I was going to revel in touching every inch of his skin, stare into those delicious eyes and enjoy every minute of exploring that hot body.
And he wasn’t going to be saying no. His hand was on my forearm again, stroking my wrist, his eyes holding mine.
His smile was gentle rather than triumphant; it felt like the gamesmanship had died. Somehow, both of us had relaxed – and more – into the evening.
I’m not sure how long we’d have enjoyed that sexually-charged silence but it was interrupted by the waiter coming to take our orders. Of course, we hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu. Suddenly I really wasn’t that hungry and food seemed an obstacle in the way of the evening.
‘So you have a sister,’ I said.
‘And a brother. And my sister seems to think DIY is part of my DNA. She’s a brain surgeon, for God’s sake. She’s licensed to use a scalpel.’
‘A surgeon.’ I was impressed.
‘Of course.’ In the candlelight, his skin glowed like warm honey and he smiled. ‘My sister’s a surgeon. My brother’s a barrister.’ At this he grinned cheerfully. ‘My mum is a real tiger mum. She’s white. Dad’s a doctor, born here; his dad is Indian, came over from Uganda just before Idi Amin kicked the Asian population out in the seventies. What about you? Brothers, sisters?’
‘Just one. Alice. Single mum. I have two nieces.’
‘You close?’
I sputtered out a laugh. ‘Not especially. Alice prefers a more alternative lifestyle. She doesn’t really approve of corporates.’
‘She’d hate me.’
I wrinkled my nose and nodded. ‘Yeah, probably.’
‘Good job you don’t give a toss about what she thinks then,’ he said with an arrogant laugh.
‘Are you always this sure of yourself?’ I asked.
‘Pretty much. What’s the point otherwise?’ His eyes met mine, guileless and direct. ‘You could spend a lifetime worrying about what others think of you and where would that get you? Would you rather I lie to you and pretend to be modest?’
‘No,’ I laughed. I rather like his unashamed arrogance. ‘So what do you do when you’re not spraying coffee over unsuspecting commuters or working?’
‘The usual. Gym. See friends. You know… the job’s pretty all encompassing.’
Gym. Friends. It didn’t sound like much. And if he were like me, I knew the type of friends he meant. People you drank with after work. The others tended to drift away when you cancelled things once too often. I nodded in sympathy. ‘Don’t I know it.’
‘But if you enjoy it then none of that really matters.’ Ash’s gaze was steady but I caught the question buried in the words.
‘Do you ever wonder if it’s worth it?’ The words came out before I was ready for them and I was halfway to thinking of a way to retract the comment when I realised Ash was considering my words quite carefully.
‘Yes.’ He rested his chin on his