“Girl, what the fuck?”
It’s Sunday morning. I’m guessing it’s about 8am, judging by the sunlight that’s currently filling my new bedroom. Sloane is standing over me holding two cups of coffee, with a glare firmly fixed on her face.
“Sorry, love. I panicked and bolted,” I admit, taking the coffee as she plonks down on the bed.
“You should have said! I’d have come with you. I feel awful – I basically brought you to a den of iniquity and then abandoned you. Worst wing woman ever!”
“Not at all. I was fine, just a bit rattled! I’m still processing the sight of Luke – serious, strait-laced Luke – standing in a bar making margaritas for women wearing underwear and not a lot else.”
Sloane chuckles. “What a plot twist. Of all the sex clubs, in all the towns, in all the world,” she says, wistfully. “So, tell me, have you and Daddy Luke ever hooked up?” She gives me a look that’s positively glittering with mischief.
“What?! No. He’s Nick’s best mate. I’ve known him since I was a kid, and he’s like a decade older than me. Plus, I’ve been with Colin for basically my whole adult life.”
“Until now.” Sloane grins. This woman is incorrigible.
“Until now,” I agree. “Don’t get any ideas, Sloane. He’s off limits. He’d never go there.”
“Don’t be so sure,” she muses. “I saw the look on his face when he told me you’d left. Definitely sad puppy dog eyes. Pretty sure I saw himadjusthimself at least once too.”
“You did not!” I reply, throwing my pillow at her, which she dodges artfully without spilling a drop of coffee.
“Did so.” She grins.
I roll my eyes but something flickers deep in my belly. A little thrill, perhaps? A tiny ember of something? The way he looked at me last night was equal parts shock and Luke’s signature unreadable stoicism, but I’d swear I saw a couple of flashes of something else in there. Something darker. Something hungry. I shiver slightly, disguising it with a delicate cough into my mug.
He looked deliciously dishevelled last night, with his shirt sleeves rolled up over veined forearms, and his hair askew as if he’d been running his hands through it. I have the sudden, intrusive thought of wondering what Luke Pullman looks like when he’s coming undone, and my breath catches in my throat.
“Do you fancy going for lunch later?” Sloane asks, breaking the spell.
“I’ve got a few errands to run, actually,” I reply as she pouts. “Rain check?”
“Rain check.”
Two hours later, I’m standing on Luke’s front step with two lattes in hand. I’ve only been here a handful of times before but his gorgeous white house in Pimlico is ingrained in my memory. It’s hard not to love a house that’s this beautiful. It’s one of thosestunning townhouses set in a quiet, immaculate street that’s seemingly at odds with its location, just a stone’s throw from the beating heart of the capital. He’s got two dainty little trees either side of the door – bay trees maybe? Olive? Who knows.
Either way, it screams ‘this house belongs to a grown up’. Luke’s taste leans towards the minimalist, all sharp edges, clean lines, and zero clutter. Everything inside and out seems to have been placed there with intention. It couldn’t be further from the cosy chaos that Sloane and I are now sharing just a few miles away.
I spent the morning pacing my bedroom, thinking about last night, with Sloane’s words reverberating round my brain. Did she truly see something in Luke’s expression when he told her I’d left? Because if there’s even a sliver of a chance that he’s attracted to me, I want to know about it. If I’m going to embark on the Fuckit List then I want to do it with someone I trust. Someone I know won’t hurt me. Or give me chlamydia.
Luke is probably one of the most honourable men I’ve ever known. He stuck by my brother when everyone else pulled away and he’s been such a warm and consistent presence in my life, even if it’s always been a bit at arm’s length. And now that I know that he’s secretly a total sex god?
Well. It feels like it’s meant to be. He can take me under his kinky wing and I can learn the ropes.
Literally. I snort to myself.
This is a truly mad idea but I won’t know until I try.
I ring the doorbell and rehearse the lines I’ve been writing in my head since the idea crystallised. There’s a pause before I hear footsteps, then Luke opens the door and drops his gaze to meet mine. He looks momentarily surprised before he composes himself and tilts his head. He’s dressed in a dark grey henley and jeans, but his feet are bare. My pulse picks up as I regard him.
“Emmy. What a lovely surprise,” he says, though his tone implies he doesn’t think it’s particularly lovely at all.
“Luke. Can I come in? I brought coffee.” I hold the cup out to him like a peace offering. He accepts it, quirking an eyebrow as he steps aside to let me in.
“Of course,” he replies, closing the door behind me and following me into the living room.
I survey the room. Saturday’s edition ofThe Guardianis spread across the cream sofa, where Luke’s clearly been stretched out, reading. He steps forward and grabs it, folding it and placing it on the coffee table, perfectly lined up with one of those big arty books of black and white photography. He gestures to the sofa and sits in the opposite corner, surveying me as I clear my throat.
“So,” I start and then pause. I’ve already forgotten my lines.
