“Shit,” I shout. “Oh fuck.”
The boy stirs and I remember I don’t even know his name, but that pales into insignificance at the sheer size of the clusterfuck facing me. “What is it?” he mumbles.
“I fell asleep and now I’m late.”
“Oh no.” He nestles in and closes his eyes again.
“Well, no need to panic.”
He snorts. “Definitely not. You’re doing it all for me.”
I slide out of the sheets, batting away hands that try to grab me. “Stop,” I chide. “I have to go. I’m meeting a friend and I’m really late.”
I look around for my boxers and spy them hanging rather incongruously from the lampshade. After sliding into them, I don the rest of my clothes in quick jerks.
My partner in crime is now lying on his front, his sharp chin resting on his hands and his long legs swinging back and forth. His arse is full and round and I force down the urge to throw off my clothes and bite it.
I check my watch. “Fuck. I was going to my room for a shower. There’s no time for that now.”
His lips tilt in a crooked smile. “Is it wrong that I like the idea of you going to dinner still covered in my come?”
“I’m not sure, and I haven’t got time to figure it out. You’ll have to explore the crisis in your ethics on your own.” I lean down and grab a kiss. His lips are soft and part instantly under mine, his head falling back in a beautiful gesture of submission. I growl and go to deepen the kiss but my phone chimes.
“Shit,” I groan, checking it and seeing an irate message from Jez. “I’ve really got to go.” I hesitate. “Thank you for today.”
“It was my pleasure,” he says gravely.
“I don’t know your name.”
“And you don’t want to, either.”
I’m taken aback by his perceptiveness, but I shouldn’t be. He’s sharp as a tack, and I bet he’s hellishly perceptive. “I think I’ll call you Sunshine Boy.”
“Well, I suppose it’s better than rain.”
“I never realised I’d fucked a philosopher.” I hesitate. “What are you doing this evening?”
What am I saying? Am Iactuallythinking of asking him along like some sort of date?
To my mingled relief and disappointment, he says, “I’m meeting an elderly relative for dinner.”
“Oh okay. Well, have fun.”
“Doubtful, but thank you.”
Unable to stop myself I kiss him again and then hold his sharp chin in my hand. His eyes look almost pellucid in the dim light. “Goodbye. Be good.”
He pouts. “I’m pretty sure that leaves zero room for fun.” I’m halfway to the door when he says, “Sebastian Flyte.”
“Sorry?”
He inclines his head gravely. “My name.”
“Oh well, that’s nice.” His lip twitches and I turn and grab my bags and hotfoot it out of the room. It’s only as the door closes behind me that I realise. “Hang on. That’s the hero ofBrideshead Revisited.”
Realising I’m talking to a wood door, I turn around and make for the lift. Once inside, I frantically examine my appearance in the mirrored wall. I smooth down my hair which is giving me the appearance of someone who’s been pulled through a hedge backwards and spare a sigh of despair at the hickey on my neck.
By the time the lift stops at the foyer, I look pulled together, or as near to that state as I’m going to get tonight. I take a slow breath and after making a quick stop to leave my bags with reception, I make my way into the bar.
