Dain visibly swallows. ‘OK, I’ll meet you there shortly.’
He takes my hand, kisses it, stares into my eyes with a half-lidded gaze of lustful intent, then melts away around the other side of the curtain.
I roll sideways, a burning cheek placed against the cool plaster wall, my thoughts scattered to the wind. I’m struggling to comprehend what just happened. My lips feel bruised from his kisses, and my clit is throbbing. Weakly, I pull down my ruched-up dress.Breathe, Lizzy.
Chapter 20
I trust, I might one day become better, far better,
than my evil wandering thoughts.
(Charlotte Brontë, letter to Ellen Nussey)
I’m waiting at the lifts, smoothing my dress distractedly, when the Nicholas guy comes sauntering past. ‘Oh, there you are. I was looking forward to chatting again, but you never came back. Hopefully, it wasn’t anything I said? I can get a little confrontational after a few wines.’
He quirks an eyebrow and manages to look suitably cute and apologetic but also like he’s on the prowl. It’s scary to think that if Dain wasn’t here, I may well have ended up with him. He’s my type: intellectual and smarmy. Correction:wasmy type. It hardly bears thinking about. I stab the lift button again—twice.
‘You’re not leaving, are you?’
‘Yes, I have a headache. Sorry.’
The lift arrives, and I’m so grateful I nearly fall into it. The doors close on smarmy Nicholas’s petulant face, who, I’m sure, will get over the rejection. Upon reaching the sixth floor, I speedwalk to my room and burst through the door in a panic. How is this going to work? Dain will knock on the door. I will open it. We’ll fall onto the bed and start having sex like we’re in some kind of C-grade romcom? It seems unbelievable. But the way I’m feeling at the moment, not wholly impossible.
The caffeine is making me jittery, and my body is a hot mess thinking about the way he kisses ... My eyelids flutter shut, and my breath catches as I remember his mouth on mine ...Perfection.Better than I even dreamt it would be. And he smelled soooo good. I groan, imagining us rolling around on the king-sized bed half naked, Dain slowly taking off my underwear.
My eyes fly open again. Underwear. Shit. I’m not wearing my good underwear. But I can’t do anything about that except fix the lighting. I twist the dimmer switch, plunging the room into semi-darkness. Perhaps I should get changed—into what, though? A T-shirt and jeans isn’t romantic. Perhaps I should lie under the sheets wearing nothing? That’s presumptuous. Damn, how could I not bring my good underwear to a fancy hotel!Breathe, Lizzy. Dain isn’t going to care. He wants you.
The night and my imagination yawn wide with possibility, yet the future is a mystery. I can’t predict what might occur.
Everything might happen ...
Or nothing.
Half an hour later, I’m lying on the bed with my shoes off, bare feet crossed at the ankle, and nibbling on a complimentary shortbread. I’m seriously contemplating watching some TV. The caffeine has worn off, and so has my euphoric mood. I’ll give Dain five more minutes. Then I’m going to bed—without him.
Five minutes trundles painfully past, and there’s still no knock at the door. Did he get caught chatting with someone? Forget my room number? Or did the wine wear off, and he changed his mind?
I’m sorely tempted to pleasure myself, but it’s Murphy’s Law that he’ll appear immediately after I’ve finished. After another ten minutes, my patience evaporates entirely, even if my libido is still on high alert. I drag myself to the bathroom, wet a flannel, and press it between my legs to cool down. For all the lack of plumbing in the nineteenth century, cold water and washcloths do come in handy in situations like this.
I shouldn’t take Dain’s no-show personally. Any number of things could have happened. It’s probably not my main overriding fear—namely that he decided he didn’t want me. But oh, I wish I knew what was going on in his head!
***
The next morning, I’m standing under a rainfall shower, washing my hair properly and generally enjoying the powerful surge of hot water tumbling over my body—hot water that I haven’t had to boil up on the Aga. It’s pure bliss, and I’m hoping the plumbing work is well on its way to being completed at the house.
In the cold, sober light of day, my sulkiness about Dain not visiting seems a bit immature. Yes, there’s no denying a part of me wanted something to happen rather badly. But the other part isn’t truly sure what I’m getting myself into with him. He’s still so much of a mystery.
It’s late by the time I head downstairs to the breakfast room. But there’s fifteen minutes before they close it down, so I can still grab a cup of coffee and a piece of toast. I’m not expecting to see Dain, but he’s sitting at a table with his back to me, finishing off a plate of bacon and eggs. My heart sinks.
There’s nothing for it. I have to talk to him since he’s right by the coffee machine and will see me anyway.
‘Morning. Sleep well?’ I say. My greeting comes out sounding clipped and defensive. I take a coffee cup and place it under the machine and jab the espresso button.
Dain looks round, and momentary panic flashes across his face. Did he think by coming to breakfast late he was going to avoid me? Got that wrong, buddy.
‘Not really,’ he says, sounding tired. I’m tempted to give him some snark, like ‘Well, that’s what happens when you stand someone up’, but I bite it back.
Putting on some toast, I bring my coffee over to his table and sit down.
