‘For those who dare to turn up alone.’
‘Dare?’
‘You know, when you attend a wedding stag?’ There’s a certain edge of something I can’t quite place in her tone as she pulls back to look up at me. ‘Of course you don’t know what I’m talking about. You don’t ever have any problem getting a date to a wedding, do you?’
‘I feel like this is one of those questions where the honest answer isn’t necessarily the best.’
‘It’s not a trick question,’ she declares.
‘You’ll forgive me, hen, but that’s exactly what it sounds like. And I might have heard similar before.Does this lipstick suit me? Does my bum look big in these jeans?’
‘Urgh!’ She playfully pummels both fists against my chest. ‘Men.’
‘And for the record, men can’t tell whether a lipstick colour suits you. They only know they like looking at your mouth. And you only have to mention the word “lips” and they’re thinking about what yours taste like and how fantastic they feel against their cock. And as for jeans and arses—’
‘You can stop right there. I get where you’re going with this.’
‘Exactly.’ I slide my hands down to the hem of my T-shirt, dipping underneath to pull her against me. ‘How long until you run out of underwear?’
‘I can handwash,’ she says with a shrug. ‘It’s not perfect, but it means I won’t have to resort to wearing your boxer shorts as well as T-shirts. They’ll take no time to dry, unlike sweaters and stuff.’
‘We’ll see how they dry when I throw them out into the snow.’ Slipping my hands under her knicker elastic, I grasp her taut flesh. ‘Maybe I’ll throw both our clothes out in the snow to keep us both in the buff.’
‘I think we’ve already established that the leather sofa and skin don’t exactly get along.’
‘We’ll just have to stay in bed all day long, then.’
‘You’re almost naked now.’ She dips her chin, staring down the ladder of my abs to where we’re pressed together from the waist. Her nipples hard points under the pale cotton, making me wish I had another pair of hands. ‘Being naked with you sounds like a much better way to spend a day than at any old stuffy wedding.’
I don’t doubt what she’s saying because I know her being here with me has opened her eyes to how it can be between two people. But there’s a definite touch of wistfulness in her tone, one that makes me pull her closer. Sure, my dick is interested in our current cuddle status, but this hug is as nonsexual as can be between two people who are collectively three or four items of clothing away from full nudity.
I’d let her keep the socks on.
As has become the custom, her head fits perfectly into the space between my right shoulder and pectoral muscle. Offering her the comfort of my body, my arms band her back tightly, my cheek nestled against her head, leaving me a view of the window. For days, there has been nothing to see but snow. If my mind was on anything other than easing Isobel’s day, I’d have noticed the way the hills in the distance are greener than yesterday. But I don’t, at least, not for the moment, my head on other plans.
‘What are you making?’ Isobel sits at the table, an empty yoghurt pot and spoon by her open book.
‘Lunch.’ I don’t look up from searing the cut of beef. ‘And don’t ask what it is because I haven’t decided yet.’ Lies. All lies. I’ve been concocting a plan. A way to spend the afternoon. An excursion, if you like, without having to go outside.
‘Beef something, I’d say at a guess.’
‘There’s nothing wrong with your nose.’
‘No, it’s just my taste in men that needs a little work.’
As I look over, her nose is buried in her book once again, so I don’t ask if she means me or the men who came before me.And there’ll be men after you, my less than helpful mind supplies. But I won’t let those thoughts spoil my afternoon.
‘Right, that’s in the oven.’ I straighten, slapping the kitchen towel over my shoulder. ‘I’m gonna shower.’
‘Need any help?’ she asks suggestively.
Hell. This is the one time I don’t want her upstairs with me, but I can’t turn her down without looking suspicious. And I don’t want to hurt her feelings. I’ve been up for getting down pretty much since she sat on my bed and took a hold of my junk.
‘Funnily enough, my doctor did say I was’nae supposed to hold anything heavy,’ I say, making a comic grab of my crotch. ‘But I kind of need you to watch the oven. I think it’s a wee bit temperamental, being new and all, and I wouldn’t want dinner to spoil. No need to look so worried,’ I say, giving her a kiss on the head. ‘If it smells like it’s burning, give me a yell.’
Without giving her worried expression another thought, I take the stairs two at a time.
‘You’ve shaved,’ she says as I reach the bottom of the stairs less than twenty minutes later.
