‘I’m no’ so sure about the good bit. It’s dreich out there.’
He steps further into the reception, sliding one hand through his wet, dark hair. It’s a move smooth enough for a shampoo commercial. Longer on top, but cropped close underneath, his is ahair stylerather than a haircut. Not that I’m looking too hard. Or imagining running my hands through it or anything.
A singular droplet of rain falls from his fingers, gliding down one chiselled cheekbone to lie glistening against the scruff shadowing his jaw. His lips are slightly pale against cold-flushed skin, the suggestion of straight, white teeth peeking from behind. But as his lips hitch in one corner, my heart jolts—one solid movement that pushes the organ up into my throat—as I realise this isn’t our first meeting. I know this face, and once upon a time, I was more than familiar with other parts of him.
Rory.
I’ve never forgotten his name, but I think that could be pretty standard considering he’s the man I lost my virginity to. One stunningly brief encounter that pretty much altered my path in life. Not his fault, of course. He was young, as well as my wake-up call.
And he’s still ridiculously hot, though rugged has been exchanged for what was once a youthful prettiness, like he’s grown into his bone structure, almost.Angled cheekbones and knife-sharp jaw.And it’s safe to assume he knows he’s all thatanda six pack, judging by his brand of almost taunting, relaxed confidence. And by the way his gaze unashamedly holds my own.
Hell.My cheeks heat as I realise I should be listening to the sounds his mouth makes, rather than just staring at the shape of it.The shape of him.
‘Dreich, you know? Dreary?’ His voice is low with a hint of teasing, like he thinks I’ve just checked out while checkinghimout. There’s no clue in his demeanour to suggest he recognises me and, while on some level, that’s kind of disappointing, it’s also understandable. These days I’m a different person. Both inside and out.
‘Yeah, I know dreich.’ I lift one shoulder, self-consciously pulling on the ends of my braid. ‘It means miserable. The weather, I mean.’
‘Ah, I thought with that accent...’ His smile widens a touch. ‘Although my day got a whole lot brighter just now.’
He makes no bones about letting his gaze roam over mine... bones, that is, his eyes moving over me in that almost imperceptible way. Something tells me my gaze is less inconspicuous, especially as he slides his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans, the motion pushing his open plaid shirt wider across a very broad chest. He’s built like a swimmer and larger than in my memories and I can’t help but notice how the pale t-shirt beneath is moulded to his hard body and paper thin. Sort of wet paper thin; like it’d take nothing but a few more drops for it to dissolve. I have the sudden and insane longing to reach out and touch the stiff points of his rain-cold nipples, to slide my hands over the hard ripples of his chest and abs. The notion is so tempting I find myself balling my hands into fists.
Desire. So that’s what this feels like.I’d almost forgotten. It’s been a while since I’ve felt anything other than—
‘Enjoying the view?’
I come back to the moment, blinking rapidly. And I so don’t have an answer to that, not one that I want to voice, anyway.Hey, remember me? We screwed that one time... Evidently not, but that’s okay, because I want to be invisible right now.
‘I feel sort of objectified.’ His gaze is twinkling and complicit as he takes a step closer, bringing with him the scent of shampoo and wet grass.
‘It’s just... the rain.’ My teeth fasten against my bottom lip in an attempt to prevent more nonsense from spilling, as his hitch up at one side.
‘Don’t get me wrong. I like it.’
His husky tone... well, it’s belly-licking warm. I swallow. Audibly. That had to be audible. Because no conversation in the history of me has ever sounded so overtly sexual.
‘C-can I help you?’
His eyes brim with suggestions as they linger on my mouth. ‘I can think of several ways of answering that.’
I clear my throat. ‘I mean, do you have an appointment?’
I take a step backwards with the intention of putting something more solid than sexual chemistry between us, making a beeline for the reception desk. There’s a finite confidence in his step as he follows me, casually leaning his forearm against the high counter. And I remember this cockiness; this confidence. And his words may be playful, but I know he means business; the dichotomy of a player, I suppose. I know all this, yet I’m still buying his brand of bullshit, playing along, while knowing I ought not to feel the way I do. Maybe because it’s been years since I’ve been hit on; years since I’ve felt like I was anything other than someone’s wife.
‘An appointment,’ he repeats, his smile lingering. ‘Do you suppose I need one to take you out for a drink?’
I close my eyes for a brief moment. This exchange may have felt easy, but the reality of it is so wrong. I can’t help how I feel—which, incidentally, is more alive than I have in months—but I can decide how to behave.A conscious choice.As my eyes spring open I school my expression.Channel serene. Dignified. Uninterested. Unfeeling below the neck.
‘I—’
‘Have you seen the delivery of foil?’ Ivy’s voice calls from beyond the salon floor. ‘Oh, hello,’ she says expectantly, coming into view. ‘Are you being taken care of?’
Something akin to devilment ripples across his face, his dark gaze flicking to his shoes. As it rises again, the expression is gone.
‘Actually, I’m lost. I saw the lights on and, as you can see,’ he says, slipping his hand through his wet locks, almost self-consciously. ‘I got caught in the rain coming up the hill.’
My gaze follows the path of his lowered hand, flicking to the zipper of his jeans of their own accord. I’m pretty sure I can see the outline of stuff I shouldn’t and I can’t stop my eyes from lingering there.Is my memory as good as all that?
‘Oh,’ Ivy repeats as I force my eyes to blink away, unfortunately, catching her gaze. She looks worried. Or pissed. It’s hard to tell which. It doesn’t help that she remains silent, which makes the moment feel more than awkward and drawn out.A prickly Ivy is an obvious one. I’m only thankful that she doesn’t know him, doesn’t knowof him. And I know I shouldn’t be feeling so light, but damn it, I do.
