‘I don’t think anyone’s here,’ he said, lowering his voice. ‘I’ll check the bedrooms.’
He looked into Emily’s room, then mine. ‘Clear,’ he said, with a more confident smile.
‘You sound like you’re in an American cop drama or something.’
‘Just as long as I’m the good-looking one and not the short, fat sidekick,’ he said swaggering by, heading towards the bathroom. We were on a roll until he hit the kitchen. When I heard a muttered, ‘Shit’, I rushed in, fearing the worst, expecting to see Emily’s bloodied and bruised body spreadeagled across the floor with spatters of red up the walls. Too much watching of CSI.
I collided with Daniel as he was retreating backwards.
‘Oomph,’ I muttered into the back of his shirt. He turned, standing tall so I couldn’t see around him. My imagination carried on picturing a bloody body.
‘Christ, it stinks in here. The bin needs emptying.’
My height decreased by three inches as the tension left my shoulders.
The bin always needed emptying when I wasn’t around. Emily didn’t do dirty jobs. There was quite a pong: old curry cartons mixed with rotting teabags and something I couldn’t quite identify. Feeling pissed off that it was always me that had to do this, I crossed to the bin and quickly tied up the nearly overflowing black bag and dumped it outside the back door on the fire escape. I’d take it down the stairs later.
Closing the door, I crossed the floor, brushing past him deliberately to savour the bodily contact as I flicked on the kettle. He caught my arm and deliberately pulled me towards him.
‘God, woman, this is going to be torture.’
I grinned wickedly up at him. Teasingly I reached up, putting my hand up to the back of his neck and pulled his head down to mine.
‘You’re just going to have to grin and bear it,’ I breathed at the corner of his mouth, stealing a quick kiss. He turned and caught my lips, turning it into a kiss of the slow, lingering type. My insides quivered and when he finally lifted his head, I was left wanting more. He returned my grin with an equally naughty one of his own.
‘And you’re going to have to behave.’
‘Not fair,’ I said ruefully.
‘You started it,’ he said calmly, leaning back against the cupboards, arms folded, looking smug.
I couldn’t resist a quick, sneaky glance to see if he was as affected as I was. He lifted a brow. Oops, not as surreptitious as I’d thought. I blushed bright red as he smirked and my stomach dropped into freefall.
All this touchy-feely, shivery, quivery stuff was very well but it was a long while since I’d been to bed with someone. I didn’t have to calculate exactly how long — it was months in double digits. The thought of feeling all the hard and soft bit of his naked body up against mine had set my nerve ends tingling.
Daniel had a knowing look on his face. I could have sworn he knew exactly what was going through my head.
‘You would be so bad at poker, sweetheart.’ He grinned. I pretended to hit him, and of course he grabbed my wrist, pulling me towards him. When we finally broke apart, I insisted he should go and sit in the lounge so that I could concentrate on making him a cup of tea.
‘Before you go, can you nip out to grab a pint of milk?’ It was pointless looking in the fridge; the last bottle had been finished on Friday morning. There was no way Emily would have bought any since.
While he was out, I quickly unpacked my bag, putting everything away, before giving my bedroom the quick once over. Just in case.
* * *
Opening the Yellow Pages, I sat down on the opposite sofa facing Daniel who, having returned with the milk, had plonked it straight down on the table in front of us. I kept my distance because I was keen to avoid the scenario where we sprang apart like scalded cats the minute we heard Emily’s key in the door.
‘Blimey, it’s big business, locksmithery. There are loads listed.’ I thumbed through. ‘Police registered, contracted ... that sounds good.’ Daniel opened milk and poured it into the tea.
‘Get a few quotes. They’re bound to charge extra on Sunday.’
‘Here’s one that says no call-out charge. Or what about this, OAP discounts. Do the over-sixties lock themselves out regularly?’
‘Yes, if they’re anything like my gran. She had keys all over the village — she was always locking herself out.’
* * *
Emily turned up just as I was finishing my call with Locks R Us. I was dreading her rushing up to Daniel and hurling herself into his arms, but I needn’t have worried. As she rounded the top of the stairs, a guilty look slid across her face.
