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‘Maybe you should have moved faster,’ she said hotly. ‘Then I wouldn’t be here now, and Adam wouldn’t be looking so miserable, and I … I … and … ooooohh. You know what? I want to punch you, even though I don’t generally punch people.’
Could a pixie look fierce? Because that’s what Sarah looked like: a fierce pixie. He wanted to hug her. He threw his sketchpad and pencil onto the coffee table. ‘Come on. Take your best shot. Get it out of your system.’
‘I’m not going to punch you. I just want to.’
‘So unclench that fist you’ve got going there, champ,’ he said, and almost laughed again as she looked down at it as if she’d never seen her own hand before. ‘Sarah? Sarah! Listen to me.’
‘No.’
‘Yes. It’s important.’ He waited until she looked at him—well, glared at him. ‘Lane and me? It’s ancient history, and I’m not the kind of guy who looks back. So you keep me a secret, even though I think it’s stupid, that’s fine by me, no problem. But I swear, if you start getting all violent and tortured over something that did not even come close to happening …? Then not only am I going to go all cubist on your arse, but I am going to make sure your shoes don’t make it into the painting either. Got it?’
She kept glaring at him, but finally, with a stamp of one foot, capitulated. ‘Okay! Got it! No need to have a coronary.’
‘Fine.’
‘Fine,’ she sniffed.
‘And I have a solution for Saturday night, so you can relax about that, too.’
‘What is it?’
‘I’ll use a false name. What do you think about Lucas Green? It has a suitably MI5 feel to it. Matches the whole “down low” ethos, don’t you think?’
She laughed then, and he knew she didn’t want to so it charmed him all the more. ‘For a banker, you’re kind of out there, you know.’
‘Yes, I do seem to be these days. But then again, I’m only half a banker. So, when and where on Saturday?’
‘I’m meeting Erica at six o’clock at Midnight Madness in Newtown—do you know it?’
‘Yes, I know it. Unfortunately.’
‘Hey, what’s wrong with it?’
‘Let’s just say it attracts quite a young crowd.’
‘Um … yeah! In case you hadn’t noticed, I happen to be young.’
The simple comment pulled David up short, and he looked at her, really looked at her, absorbing the truth of that. She was young—in years, in appearance, in outlook. Why was it shocking him to acknowledge that when it was the simple truth? ‘Yeah, I guess you are, aren’t you?’ he said, and stuck on a smile he couldn’t quite make himself feel. ‘Okay then, Midnight Madness it is, and I’ll try to repress my old-man shudders.’
‘Thank you sooooo much.’
‘What time should I arrive?’
‘Between six-thirty and seven?’
‘Done. Now, lean a little towards me, that way you do.’
‘What way?’ she asked, and David could only marvel. She really had no idea.
‘Like you’re going to tell me a secret.’
‘Like this?’ Leaning.
‘Perfect.’
‘I was just thinking …’
‘Hmm?’
‘What you said about Craig. What do I do if he calls me?’
‘You tell him you’re not interested. But you’ll be blocking him anyway, so he won’t be able to call.’
‘I will?’
‘You will.’
‘Then what will you do if he asks you about me?’
‘I’ll tell him you’re not interested.’
‘Are we sure I’m not interested?’
‘We’re sure. We don’t date people who wear fedoras inside bars and then don’t call us for four days.’
She sighed. ‘Good thing I didn’t follow through on my compatibility plan, then.’
‘Your what?’
‘I’ve been weighing up the pros and cons of having sex as early as possible in a relationship. Is it something you do yourself? Have sex on the first date?’
His pencil stopped on the page. One, two, three beats, and then he looked over at her.
‘So that’s an affirmative,’ she said—and talk about smug! ‘As I already knew.’
‘Whoa! Just— Whoa! In my case, they’re called one-night stands, because I’m not interested in a relationship. Your case is completely different.’
She shrugged—a little too casually. ‘But it still makes sense to fast-track the easy stuff, if you ask me.’
‘Easy stuff? Sex is the easy stuff?’
‘Yes. Does the sex work—yes or no? If the answer is no, you can call it quits with minimal time wasted. If the answer is yes, you move on and explore the more emotional areas.’ Another shrug. ‘It’s like snipping off the low-hanging fruit first.’
‘Low-hanging—?’ David took a deep breath, and then surprised himself by bursting into laughter again. ‘Remind me to keep the scissors and my low-hanging fruit out of your reach!’
Sarah’s eyes dropped to the front of his jeans.
‘Thank you!’ David said, when she started giggling. ‘Nice to know my genitalia is the source of some amusement to you.’
‘I haven’t actually seen it so I can’t say.’ Another giggle. ‘Although I certainly felt it last week in the storeroom.’
‘It’s a mystery to me why you haven’t been murdered yet,’ David mused, and when she giggled again said, ‘All right, brat, let’s back up a step. Tell me: did you want to have sex with Craig?’
‘I definitely thought about it.’
‘So that’s a “no”. Because if you wanted to have sex with him, you would have had it, trust me.’
‘But he didn’t call me, which has to mean he wasn’t interested in having sex with me.’
‘Different things, sex and dating,’ he said dismissively. ‘I’ll bet he kissed you goodnight—or at least tried to.’
‘Well, yes.’
‘How did he kiss you?’ David asked and then regretted the question. The idea of messy, sloppy, long-haired Craig with his mouth near Sarah was making him feel queasy.
‘What do you mean, how?’
Oh God. And now he had to get specific with his words? ‘Cheek, mouth, tongue?’ he got out. ‘Did he whisper anything?’ Dear God. ‘Sniff you?’
‘Cheek. Then mouth. No tongue. No whispers. No sniffing. And I was wearing Jasmin Noir.’
Okay, that was too adorable not to enjoy. ‘Jasmin Noir and he didn’t even sniff you? God, what a slow top!’
‘Dimples! I can see them! And stop twitching your mouth.’
‘Sorry, but it’s funny. So … what did he smell like?’
She frowned, as though trying to recall, but in the end, shook her head. ‘I don’t think he was wearing any cologne.’
‘Now there you’re wrong. Craig drenches himself for a regular day in the office, so I’m going to go out on a limb and suggest he wears at least a hint of Old Spice when he’s on a date.’ Which meant what? Not much of a kiss had occurred—that seemed certain! Good. Craig was the worst possible choice, a huge mistake on David’s part. ‘So … what? Didn’t he get close enough for long enough?’
‘Of course he got close enough. I told you, he kissed me.’
‘What did he do with his hands? Where did he put them?’
‘On my shoulders. Hey!’ As David shook his head, disgusted … and relieved. ‘It was a simple goodnight kiss, not a deep-dive tonsillectomy!’
‘And you didn’t like it, did you?’
‘It was … all right.’
‘Wow. That good, huh?’
‘Well, it wasn’t bad, anyway.’ She sounded exasperated … but then her eyes narrowed slightly and her tongue came out to tap her top lip for a moment. Next moment, she was depositing her wineglass on the closest table. ‘I’ll show you.’
And as Sarah started walking towards him, David’s mind went completely blank.
***
Sarah wasn’t sure what she was doing was a good idea, or even why she was doing it, but she was doing it anyway.
David had gone as still as a statue. He didn’t move even when she took the sketchbook and pencil from his slack hands and put them on the coffee table. She was close enough to smell him now, in a way she couldn’t remember smelling Craig, and concentrated on trying to define what it was about the scent of him that was so alluring. Patchouli … dark rose … brandy cream. Delectable.
David’s nostrils had flared, like he could smell her, too. Why, oh why, wasn’t she wearing Jasmin Noir? Maybe then, she wouldn’t be kissing him, he’d be kissing her. Wait! What? No! This wasn’t a real kiss. It was a demonstration.
Demonstration, she repeated in her head as she put her hands on David’s shoulders.
She raised herself as high as she could on her toes, and brushed her mouth against his cheek. A quick swirl of impressions assaulted her. That wondrously complicated scent. The raspy feel of the stubble on his cheek, against her mouth. The way his shoulders tensed suddenly under her hands. How his body seemed to lock. Her thumping heart. The slap of need low in her belly. A desire to touch her tongue to his skin, slide her hands over his chest.
She adjusted her stance, subtly bringing her thighs closer together because she wasn’t sure they wouldn’t go in opposite directions if she didn’t take charge of them, then chastely pressed her lips against his. She wanted to sigh, and lean against him, and keep her mouth there. She had to force herself to count in her head—one, two, three, four, which she judged was the length of time Craig’s kiss had taken—then force herself to come down off her toes.
‘Like that,’ she said, all breathy. When David only watched, unsmiling, she added, ‘Only if we wanted to be strictly accurate, we’d have to reverse positions. You know, make me the one being kissed.’
‘So like this?’ David asked. But he didn’t wait for an answer, simply put his hands, heavy and hard, on her shoulders and leaned down.
Sarah waited, breath held, her heartbeat kicking up an extra notch. An indistinct plea formed in her head for something, some contact. But he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he put his cheek on hers. Rested it there for a long moment, breathing her in. ‘Not jasmine,’ he said, against her ear. ‘Vanilla.’
She nodded, too full of heightened expectation to speak. And then David shifted, his hands tightening, mouth touching her cheek for a long, lingering moment. Moving to her mouth, staying there for one, two … three … four … five … Oohhhhhh.
He eased back, looked down at her. ‘So … Did you like that, Sarah?’
‘It was …’ Beautiful. Intense. Amazing. More, I want more, I want— No! That wasn’t the deal. She had to stop this now. She cleared her throat. ‘Okay.’
Silence, deep and heavy, as a shiver trembled through her. He touched her hot cheek, as though he were testing the blush she knew was there. Lying—he knew she was lying.
‘Just okay?’ he asked softly, and something flared in his eyes that was completely different from his usual slightly bored amusement. ‘Then I think we’d better analyse it.’
‘I don’t unders—’
‘What was wrong with it?’
‘N-nothing.’
‘But nothing was especially right with it, either. Was it too wet?’
‘No.’
‘Too dry?’
‘No.’
‘Too tentative?’
‘No.’
‘Was I too aggressive?’
Sarah licked her lips as though recalling the kiss—saw his eyes zoom in on her mouth, and found herself licking her lips again. ‘No.’
