I let myself into my apartment, equal parts exhausted and relaxed, but the peace the solitude of my apartment usually brings eludes me. I work a lot and spend a great deal of time on my own. I find I can only tolerate people for a very short period. Although Lulu MacLeod appears to be the exception. I trained myself out of feeling lonely at a very young age, but I can still recognise it when it happens and it’s happening now.
I spend a couple of hours working before throwing an omelette together and falling into bed. My enormous, wildly expensive bed that now feels cold and not particularly comfortable.
I’m in the office early on Monday, still feeling relaxed after the events of the weekend. Mandy arrives right on time at eight am and sits opposite me for our regular start of the week planning session.
“Did you get Lulu’s jacket to her?” she asks.
“Jacket?” For a second I’m blank. Distracted by images of Lulu at the mention of her name. I hope I’m not salivating like one of Pavlov’s dogs. “Oh, yes. Jacket. Yes, thank you. I did. Delivered safe and sound.” So, now I’m rambling. Perhaps orgasms kill brain cells?
“That’s good. I’m sure she appreciated it.” I look down and try to suppress my grin at the thought of how much she appreciated it. Straightening my face, I look up at Mandy. Am I imagining the glint of speculation in her eyes?
I spend a couple of hours trying, and failing, to concentrate. I know Lulu won’t be in the office today, which is a godsend. I need a bit of space. At the moment, the simple mention of her name has my body responding, and I need to get myself under control before I see her again.
I double down on trying to get some work done, but it doesn’t last. Giving up, I pull out my phone.
Me: Good morning. How are you? Delete.
Me: Hi. What are you up to? Delete.
Me: Hi. I can’t stop thinking about you. True, but no. Delete, delete, delete.
Me: I hope you’re having a great day. Are you free for dinner tonight?
What am I doing? Dinner implies dating. But straight out asking for sex doesn’t feel quite right. Oh, for fuck’s sake. What are you, a teenager? Just send it.
Lulu: Just dinner? ??
Okay, she went there. Who am I to refuse?
Me: Well, now that you mention it …
Lulu: As it happens, I am free fordinner.And I’m having asatisfyinglyproductive day thank you. You?
Me: Chained to my desk. Which is the opposite of satisfying. But given the situation in my trousers, it’s probably a good thing
Lulu: Situation? There’s a situation?
Me: Someone mentioned your name
Lulu: Oh. Well, hold that thought untildinner
Me: Oh, I will. I’ll pick you up around 7
I put the phone down, then flip it face down because I’m in danger of re-reading that conversation like a lovesick teen. I need to get back to work.
Is this sexting? Not quite, I don’t suppose. But it’s coming perilously close. I’ve never sexted anyone in my life. Have never even been tempted. But Lulu brings something out in me I didn’t even know was there. Like the sex talk. I’ve never been particularly vocal during sex, but something about her, being with her, opens me up.
I’m not sure how she went from annoying the living daylights out of me to being pretty much my every waking thought. I can only put it down to the incredible chemistry and hope it burns itself out. Part of me already thinks I’m fooling myself. I’ve never felt this kind of seismic pull before. I need to be careful. Which begs the question, why did I suggest dinner? All my rational thought processes seem to have gone out the window. I need to protect myself. And Lulu. If I let myself get too close, heartbreak is inevitable because this will never work. Our worlds—not to mention our characters—are too different.
I’m running a little late thanks to a lengthy conference call, but I text Lulu and she’s fine with it. I’ve made a reservation at a restaurant Will assures me is ‘hip and cool’, thinking it might be more her scene than the stuffy restaurants where I tend to take clients. Her door is ajar as I step out of the lift. She’s curled on the deep velvet sofa with a Kindle in her lap but looks up as she hears me at the door.
“Hi.” Her smile is warm and, interestingly, a little shy. She’s so beautiful. Her mad hair springs wildly, framing her face in every shade of blonde. Her blue eyes sparkle above pink cheeks and lips, which seem to owe nothing to makeup. Uncurling her long legs, she stands, and I take in her lush figure skimmed by the sheer black lace dress she’s wearing. For a moment, I think she’s not wearing anything under it before I realise it’s an illusion caused by the flesh-toned lining. Her feet are bare, but a pair of towering heels sit next to the sofa, fallen where she must have dropped them before curling up. “How was your day?”
Whatever happened during the day, I can no longer remember it. “You look beautiful,” I breathe, cupping her cheek in my hand and brushing my lips over hers. “Stunning.”
She laughs a little nervously. “Why thank you.” She drops a little curtsy and a wicked grin. We’re both a little nervous, but as my eyes lock with hers, the nerves start to fall away and I can feel the heat building in my blood. In my bones.
“We should go. Now. Otherwise, I’m not sure we’ll get out of here at all.” I release her cheek and step back, shoving my hands in my pockets to stop myself from reaching out and touching her.
