ones who keep their clothes on,’ Liam quipped, with another cheeky wink and a gorgeous, dimple-inducing grin.
The rest of the evening, much to Connie’s relief, passed in a blur of laughter.
‘Thanks for a lovely night,’ she said, when he dropped her back at the house later.
‘Thanks for coming.’ He turned twinkling blue eyes to her, the hint of a smile hovering about his full, moist lips, which had looked increasingly kissable as the evening wore on.
As Connie’s gaze snagged on his, a new branch of Butterfly World opened in her stomach. Was she brave enough to voice the words tickling her throat? Oh sod it, she decided, four glasses of Prosecco making the decision for her. She sucked in a deep breath. And on the exhale blurted, ‘Would you like to come in for a coffee?’
Liam’s delicious mouth curved upwards. ‘Only if I can have one of those Italian biscuits with it.’
A few days later and Connie couldn’t decide which was best: sex on a Tuesday afternoon, sex on a Tuesday night, sex on a Wednesday morning, sex on a Wednesday night. Or sex on a Thursday morning. Because, since their night at the pub, she and Liam had hardly surfaced for air. They’d been at it in the living room, in the shower, and even in the kitchen – where, perched on the bench, she’d accidentally knocked on the food mixer, at maximum speed with its flexi beater attachment. So unimpressed had Eric been that he’d stalked off into the garden, cosied up to a stone buddha, and refused to come back in until a) the flexi beater had stopped beating, b) Liam had left, and c) there was a nice bit of steak in his bowl.
Connie, conversely, had been extremely impressed. The sex had been hot, steamy, sweaty, messy, exhausting, unbelievably orgasmic and a million miles from anything she’d ever before experienced. And although part of her still couldn’t believe she’d jumped into bed – and the shower, and onto the kitchen bench – with someone she hardly knew, the greater part thought why not. They were both young – well, Liam was – free and single. Two consenting adults engaging in some harmless fun. And harmless fun was something Connie now realised had been sadly lacking in her life. It might be completely out of character for her to sleep with someone she’d known all of five minutes, but whereas in London her actions would have been viewed as reckless, here in the Cotswolds, it seemed like nothing more than a raunchy holiday romance. Liam made her feel sexy, desirable, alive and young – none of which she’d felt in years – and some of which she’d never felt in her entire life. And the fact that the relationship had no future – her returning to London in a few months, him jetting off to Oz, made it all the more enjoyable – no expectations, no stress. Just one hundred per cent pleasure – in the truest sense of the word.
‘Still think food is better than sex?’ he’d asked, nibbling her ear and doing that thing with his hand that she really liked as she lay naked on the bed.
Connie couldn’t reply. She was too busy ecstatically melting into a pool of melted ecstasy.
*
In what seemed to Connie like the blink of an eye, the date of the second cookery club meeting rolled around – to be hosted by Melody. In line with her hosting duties, she’d emailed the other members with menu details: she would be making a main course of meatballs with peperonata; Connie was to prepare a dessert; Eleanor the antipasti; and Kate the side dishes. With all her ingredients, plus a bottle of fruity merlot in her backpack, Connie clipped on Eric’s lead and set off towards Melody’s impressive abode, the dog trotting alongside her. Just as they approached the edge of the village her mobile pinged with a text from Liam:
Feeling a bit peckish. In need of a bite – of you x
Reading it, Connie experienced a pang of regret at not spending the evening with him. And a mini stomach flutter at recalling what they’d been doing twenty-four hours before. But then again, she assured herself, she could always invite him over after the club meeting – if she wanted to. Unlike her previous “relationships”, where she’d have deliberated for hours over whether she dared do something so forward, stressing about appearing too keen, too needy, or too much of a floozy, none of that mattered with Liam. Their coupling was a giggle, a bit of fun. And as far as she could see, there was nothing wrong with that at all.
Realising she’d been standing directly outside the Templetons’ cottage, most likely with a lust-struck expression on her face, Connie shoved the phone back into her pocket and marched past the house affecting her most disdainful expression. Not that she knew why. Just because the black Porsche was outside didn’t mean Max Templeton would be lurking at the window on the unlikely off-chance she might saunter by. Nevertheless, on the slim chance he might be lurking, she didn’t want him to think she’d forgotten her and Eric’s near-death experience. Or that she approved of such ostentatious, red-wheeled, tinted-windowed vehicles.
Once past the – admittedly very attractive – residence, Connie released a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, and began savouring the rest of her glorious surroundings – the abundance of flowers, the mix of trees, the tweeting of birds, the sweet-smelling fragrant fresh air. How she would miss it all – and the fantastic sex – when she returned to London. But she didn’t want to think about that yet. She had months left in Little Biddington. And she intended to make the most of them. This evening included.
‘Wow, you look great,’ exclaimed Melody, opening the door to them. ‘And I’m so pleased you’ve brought Eric. Tilly’s been pining for him. For a whole three days after you left, she hardly moved from the spot on the terrace where he’d been lying.’
‘Aww, that’s so sweet,’ said Connie. ‘And he obviously feels the same. I’ve never known him walk so fast.’
‘Aah. Canine love,’ giggled Melody, pressing a hand to her chest as Connie unclipped Eric’s lead and he shot off at the speed of sound in search of Tilly.
‘No need to stand on ceremony, Eric,’ Melody called after him.
Connie grimaced. ‘Hmm. I’d better tell him not to look so desperate. It’ll turn Tilly right off.’
‘I doubt that. She’s smitten. Well, as Eric’s making himself at home, I think you should do the same. Come on in. Unsurprisingly, I’m in the kitchen. In fact, I’ve been so inspired since your last visit, I’ve hardly been out of it.’
‘For all the right reasons, I hope.’
‘Absolutely. I’m loving trying new recipes. And I’m loving the Italian theme. Malcolm and I honeymooned on Capri and it’s bringing it all back.’
‘Blimey. Sounds like you’re all loved up in this house – you, Malcolm and Tilly.’
Melody laughed. ‘I suppose we are. But I’m still really nervous about this evening. I hardly slept a wink last night. In fact, at one stage, I thought I might just admit defeat and scoot down to the supermarket to buy a couple of pizzas.’
‘What! And deprive us of your gorgeous meatballs. Then you really would be in trouble.’
‘Oo, in that case, it’s just as well I didn’t then.’
Eleanor arrived next, gushing about Melody’s house and buzzing about her dishes.
‘Now, I know I’ve gone a bit over the top,’ she informed them, flipping open the myriad plastic containers she’d set down on the black granite counter. ‘And I’ve made far too much. But I couldn’t help myself. It’s such a pleasure having people to try these things out on.’
‘I’m not complaining,’ said Melody, peering into the boxes. ‘That roast pepper salad looks gorgeous.’
‘Wait until you try the roast aubergine parcels,’ said Eleanor, glowing with pride. ‘They are to die for.’
‘I can see. And are those tomatoes stuffed with pesto?’
‘They are.’
‘Well, I don’t think we need bother with anything else,’ chuckled Melody, heading out of the kitchen as the