then he stopped. ‘Protection. I don’t have a condom.’
‘You don’t need one,’ she said, flushing slightly.
So she was on the Pill? Part of him remembered Justine’s treachery and the repercussions. But he knew that Ella wasn’t like Justine. The woman he’d got to know over the last eighteen months was open and honest. She wasn’t going to cheat on him with someone else, get pregnant, and then try to make him believe that the baby was his. He knew that without having to ask.
‘Oliver?’ She looked worried, now. ‘I don’t sleep around. I’m not...’ The colour in her cheeks deepened. ‘You know.’
‘I know.’ He stroked her face. ‘And the rumours about me aren’t true. I don’t have sex with every single woman I date.’ He shouldn’t be having sex with Ella, either; but right now her skin was warm against his, this had been a long time coming, and he wanted to do this more than he’d wanted to do anything in years.
‘I know,’ she said, and kissed him.
That kiss made him relax with her, and he slowed the pace down, wanting to explore her. He kissed and stroked his way down her body, starting with a dip beneath her collarbones and paying attention to exactly what made her sigh with pleasure, from the curve of her inner elbow to the soft undersides of her breasts, then starting with the hollows of her anklebones and feathering his way upwards until she was making tiny, involuntary noises and clutching at his shoulders.
‘Now?’ he asked softly.
‘Now.’ Her voice was raspy and husky with desire. Which was exactly what he’d wanted.
As he eased into her, he felt her tense.
‘OK?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘I just never thought it would be like...’
Her words slammed into his brain and he realised the implication of what she’d just said.
Ella was a virgin. And he’d just taken her virginity.
Oh, hell. But it was too late now. He couldn’t reverse what he’d done. All he could do was try to make this as good for her as he could.
‘Oliver?’ And now she looked panicky. As if she thought she’d done something wrong.
It wasn’t her. He was the one in the wrong. He should’ve thought. Should’ve checked. Should’ve walked away, instead of giving in to that desperate need to be close to her.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said, staying perfectly still so her body would have the time and space to get used to him, and kissed her. Because then he wouldn’t have to talk and make a mess of things.
Slowly, she relaxed again, and kissed him back. And he paid close attention, finding out what made her whimper with desire, taking it slowly until he finally felt her body rippling round his and it tipped him into his own climax.
He held her close. ‘Ella. I feel so guilty about this.’
‘Don’t. You didn’t do anything wrong.’ She stroked his face.
‘But you were a—’
‘Virgin. I know.’ She bit her lip. ‘Which is so stupid in this day and age. It makes me feel... Well, who on earth is still a virgin at the age of twenty-six?’ She grimaced.
He knew the answer to that. ‘A woman who’s waiting for the right person.’
‘There’s no guarantee that Mr Right will ever come along.’
Or Ms Right. She had a point.
And right now she was clearly embarrassed by the situation, because her fair skin was flushed.
‘I’m not judging you,’ he said awkwardly. ‘Ella, you’re lovely.’
The ‘but’ was a mile high in flashing neon letters, and she obviously saw that straight away. ‘But you don’t do relationships,’ she said. ‘I know.’
‘I’m sorry. I should go.’ He dragged in a breath. ‘But at the same time I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to leave it messy like this.’
‘I’m not expecting anything from you, Oliver.’
But he’d seen the flicker of disappointment in her eyes before she’d managed to hide it. She’d just given him her virginity. To simply walk away from her immediately after that would make him feel like a real lowlife.
Plus he didn’t actually want to go. Having Ella in his arms felt so right.
‘Can I stay for a bit and just—well, hold you?’ he asked.
‘Why?’
One answer slammed into his head, but he wasn’t ready to consider that. He took a deep breath. ‘Because I feel horrible. I can’t just get up and leave you. I just took your virginity, Ella.’
‘That isn’t an issue.’
He rather thought it was. ‘I feel bad about it.’
‘Don’t. It was my choice.’ She paused. ‘But you don’t want a relationship with me.’
Trust Ella to hit the nail on the head instead of avoiding the issue. His no-nonsense colleague was back. ‘It’s not you. It’s anyone.’ He raked a hand through his hair. ‘I’ve got an interview for the Assistant Head of Obstetrics job next week. If I get the post, then all my attention’s going to be on my new job. It’s the wrong time for me to get involved with anyone.’
‘And I’m not your type anyway.’
Actually, she was exactly his type, warm and sweet and lovely; though his family wouldn’t agree with him. His brother would be fine, but his parents would see her as the girl from a very different background—an unsuitable background. Not that anyone at work knew about his family. He’d been careful to keep his background very quiet. The fact that his father had a title had absolutely nothing to do with Oliver’s ability to do his job, and he wanted people to judge him for himself, not for whose son he was.
He took her hand. ‘Ella. I like you a lot. I respect you. And I’ve been attracted to you ever since the first time I met you. What happened tonight...I think it’s been a long time coming.’
‘It has.’
So she felt that weird, almost elemental pull, too?
‘But we’re not going to repeat it.’
He couldn’t tell a thing from her expression or from the tone of her voice. Everything was neutral. ‘It’s not you, Ella. It’s me.’ The last thing he wanted was for her to take the blame. He knew the whole thing was his fault. He should’ve kept himself under his usual control.
‘As far as everyone else is concerned, you gave me a lift home from the ball—as your colleague—and you stayed for a cup of coffee,’ she said. ‘And that’s it.’
‘Thank you.’ She really was letting him off the hook—and it was a lot more than he deserved.
‘If you, um, need the bathroom, it’s next door. The towels are clean. Help yourself to anything you need.’
‘Thanks.’ He pulled on his underpants and padded to the bathroom.
When he returned from his shower, with the towel still wrapped round his waist, she’d changed into a pair of pyjamas. Totally unsexy striped flannel pyjamas that buttoned right up to the neck.
And how bad was it that he wanted to unbutton them and slide the material off her skin again? To kiss every centimetre of skin he uncovered and lose himself in her warmth?
Then again, those pyjamas were also a statement. She was dressed—and he was wearing only her bath towel. ‘Do you want me to go?’ he asked.
‘I think it would be best,’ she said.
He knew