‘Maybe.’ My fingertips jump and dance along the worktop as he hums down the line. It’s the best explanation I can come up with; a breath of appreciation that curls around my ear and shoots straight to my crotch.
‘Dirty from the girl who suggests cunn—’
‘Did not.’
‘It’s always good to know what’s on your mind. It’s even better when minds are synchronized.’
My brain and mouth may not be cooperating, but I’m sentient enough to know if he were here, I’d be in trouble.
‘You’ve gone awfully quiet.’ His smouldering tone turns to teasing. ‘I’d love to know what you’re thinking.’
‘Trust me, you don’t.’
‘Would you like to know whatI’mthinking?’
‘Erm, no.’ Because his tone drips with it.
‘So youdon’twant to know I’m wondering if you’re free tomorrow.’
‘Oh. Yes.’
‘Yes, you want to know more, or yes you’re available for anything I please?’
‘Depends on what you have in mind.’
‘Lots of things, but I’d settle for something to eat and a chance to... talk.’
‘I could do that.’ I try, and fail, to suppress the squeak at the end of my words, before remembering the realities of the day. ‘After work?’ Definitely not dinner. No alcohol or bad decisions made in the cocooning dark.
‘If you’d prefer. My driver could collect you at four, if that suits?’
‘I can make my own way... wherever.’
‘Nonsense,’ he scoffs. ‘What would be the sense in that?’
‘No, really. I’ll get a cab.’ I’m not sure why I feel the need to be so insistent, or why I feel a sudden satisfaction as he agrees in an exasperated tone.
‘At the hotel, then. Make yours a martini, shall I?’
And with what can only be described as a filthy laugh, the line goes dead. Just as well, as I have no words. Not in my throat, not in my head, although my thrumming pulse seems to have quite a bit to say. Mouth suddenly dry, I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and carry it into the lounge, collapsing once more against the sofa.
He says he wants to talk. I wonder if that’s a euphemism for something else.
