wine was fogging her brain.
The wine, and the company …
‘Oh, this room’s lovely, Daisy,’ he said warmly as she put the coffee down, and she felt herself glow with his praise.
‘Thanks. Do you want some music on?’
‘Shall I?’ He was crouching down in front of her iPod dock without waiting for an answer, scrolling through her music collection, making himself at home. He put on something soft and romantic, and she could hardly tell him she didn’t like it, as it was her music. And she’d sat down already, so it was impossible to choose the other sofa when he sat at the other end of hers, a perfectly respectable distance from her and yet just close enough that her nose could pick up the scent of that citrusy cologne he’d been wearing this morning.
It had been teasing her nostrils all evening, and she could have leant against him and breathed him in.
Except that it wouldn’t make any sense at all, and if she knew what was good for her she’d drink her coffee and send him on his way.
Except it didn’t quite work like that.
They talked and laughed until long after the coffee was finished, and then finally he sighed and got to his feet.
‘I ought to go.’
‘Yes, you should,’ she said, and stood up, but she’d kicked off her shoes and she tripped on one and he caught her, his hands strong and steady on her arms.
‘OK?’ he murmured, and she lifted her head and met his eyes and everything seemed to stop dead.
Her heart, her lungs, the clock—everything froze in that moment, and then as if someone had thrown a switch and set him free, he bent his head, so slowly that she had all the time in the world to move away, and touched his lips to hers.
She sighed his name, her heart kicking back into life like a wild thing, and then his arms were sliding round her and he was kissing her properly.
Improperly?
He tasted of coffee and after dinner mints, his tongue bold and persuasive, coaxing her, leading her, then retreating, making her follow.
She was putty in his hands, all her senses short-circuited by the gentle, rhythmic stroke of his tongue, the soft brush of his lips, the warm whisper of his breath over her face as he sipped and touched and lingered.
If he’d led her upstairs, she would have followed, but he didn’t. Instead he lifted his head and rested his chin on her hair and cradled her gently against his chest.
‘I really ought to go,’ he said again, but his voice was gruff this time, the soft Yorkshire burr teasing her senses, and his arms stayed wrapped around her.
She lay there another moment listening to the steady, insistent thud of his heart against her ear, and then reluctantly she dropped her arms from round his waist and stepped back.
‘Yes, you should. Thank you for taking me out. You really didn’t need to, but it was lovely. I really enjoyed it.’
‘So did I. I’d like to do it again, but I’m not sure if that’s wise. We work together, we live next door. It could get messy.’
She nodded, struggling against an inexplicable urge to cry. ‘Yeah. Lousy idea.’ And he was divorced. She didn’t do that. Didn’t do anything. Not any more.
He took a step towards the door, then turned back, his eyes lingering on her face. ‘Thank you for everything today. You’ve been amazing.’
She tried to smile. ‘Any time.’
He lifted a hand and his knuckles grazed her cheek tenderly. ‘Goodnight, Daisy. Sleep well. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
She nodded. She couldn’t speak, because for some ridiculous reason she was on the verge of tears, and as if he knew that, he gave a sad, fleeting little smile and let himself out.
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