“I’m notyourhoney,” she said. “And the date with Oliver wasn’t really counted because he had to let Stevie in to his house.”
Scott shook his head and edged towards her, a little how one would approach a feral cat. “You have no chemistry between you.”
“How would you know that?” she said. “You weren’t there…”
“I was in the restaurant when you were, and the bar,” he said, keeping factual. “You were chatting but it was forced. Like two people who knew they were going to be friends but anything else would be going through the motions because you both realise the other is the type of person you should be with. What you think you should have and what you will be happy with aren’t necessarily the same thing,honey.”
Her mouth opened as if she was about to say something, then it closed. “You don’t know shit about chemistry between me and Oliver. You’re just stirring things up to irritate me. Like you always do.” She walked to him, meeting him in the middle of the small room.
“But you look so hot when you’re mad at me,” he said, partly because it was the truth, partly because it made her look even madder. Her lips were pursed and her body was rigid. He itched to make her relax and he knew several ways he’d like to try to get her to.
“Why now?” she said. “Why tell me I look hot the moment I think I might’ve met someone who I could have a future with?”
“Just because he ticks all the boxes doesn’t mean he’s going to be able to keep a flame burning or even start it going,” he said. He hated this. Her being with someone like Oliver. He was a good bloke, but for Keren? She needed fire and spark, someone to make her feel alive to burn with.
“I know,” she said. This time her voice was quiet. She wasn’t arguing.
The lack of annoyance threw him. He was used to fiery Keren, the one who challenged every fucking thing he said. Not this one.
“So are you going to see him again?”
She looked at him as if she’d only just laid eyes on him for the first time. “As friends. Neither of us have mentioned another date.”
“Good.” He paused, trying to assess his chances of living if he said the words that were in his head. Slim, but worth it. “I want to kiss you.” He thought he’d make it clear this time. So they both knew where responsibility lay.
“Do it.”
He waited for a moment, giving her a chance to change her mind. When she said nothing he lightly pressed his mouth to hers, testing her response.
It wasn’t what he expected.
She wrapped her fingers in his hair and ate at him hungrily, as if he was her only meal of the week. Her mouth was soft, yet insistent; her breasts pressed firm against him, yet her skin was soft. His hands slipped under her sweater and traced their way to her stomach, feeling her curves, the narrowness of her waist and then the flair of her hips.
He needed more and he wasn’t sure if he ever wouldn’t need more.
Voices on the other side of the door froze them into statues, his hands on her ass, not moving.
Memorising every curve became important because he wasn’t sure this would happen again. The tension was back in her body, the indecision oozing from her.
“This was a mistake,” she said.
“Was it?” he said, knowing it wasn’t for him. “It didn’t feel like it.”
“You’ve made your point, Scott. I have more chemistry with the man who’s hated me for more than ten years than Oliver. Well done. You won that battle,” she said, seemingly defeated.
“I’ve never hated you,” he said, although he would’ve debated that a few hours before. “But he’s not for you.”
“Then who is?” she said. “Don’t answer that unless it’s some smart-arsed comment about it being the patron saint of patience.”
He didn’t respond.
Instead, he let her leave the room and wondered what part of him she had taken with him.
7
“You do need to floss regularly. Then you won’t need a scale and polish every four months,” Keren said, washing her hands.
Emerald Watson, mystery novelist and amateur sleuth sat up in the dentist chair and batted long lashes at no one in particular. “I forget to floss. I know I should do it, but in the mornings I’m too preoccupied thinking about what I’m going to write that day and in the evenings I’m wanting to rush so I can go over my notes on the Lena case.”
