‘Yet here you are, relaxing at home in a ski jacket. Ready for anything.’
‘Ready for something.’
Henrik threw the cushion back at me and caught my glass, knocking it into my lap. We both watched in horror as it toppled over, fake red wine spilling everywhere.
‘Arghhhh!’ I screamed, lifting my jacket to contain the liquid and dashing over to the sink. Bright red splodges were already soaking into my jeans but it had miraculously missed both the sofa and the sheepskin rug.
Henrik leapt up, mortified. ‘Sorry! I’m such a clutz. Take it off! I’ll get the salt!’
I unzipped it without thinking, relieved to get some air on my body. The fleecy lining was not designed for indoors. Henrik pretended not to notice me stood there in my bra as he frantically ground sea salt over the stain. It was all very gastropub. I half-expected him to add a sprig of rosemary and pop it in the oven.
‘Will salt still work if it isn’t real wine?’
He stopped and turned. ‘I’ve no idea. I can’t concentrate.’
‘Why’s that?’ I asked, knowing full well. My breathing slowed as his eyes searched mine, waiting and teasing before finally leaning in to kiss me.
‘Must be the heat,’ he said, eventually, stripping off his jumper and throwing it at the sofa. His chest was strong and sculpted and his skin felt warm against mine.
I smiled into his lips. ‘Seems my fire is working, after all.’
Henrik pulled me into him, the two of us lost in each other as we kissed. He took his time and building me up, then lifted me onto the kitchen counter. It was a relief to finally give in to temptation; the charge between us had been hard to resist. I shivered in pleasure as his beard tickled my neck, tracing a finger down my spine as he kissed me. My hands went to his abs and his stomach before going lower to undo his belt.
‘Much better,’ I whispered. Barefoot and bare-chested, in just his battered jeans, he picked me up and strode into the bedroom. ‘I could get used to being carried around like this.’
‘Just say the word,’ he said, laying me down, my legs wrapped around him as we kissed again. He nipped back into the lounge and reappeared with a pair of wine-bottle candles, the soft light casting a shadow over his hairy chest.
‘It’s been a long time since I had a moment like this,’ Henrik said, looking at me tenderly. ‘I want to take it in. You are beautiful, Sara.’
‘Really?’ I hadn’t expected him to say something so heartfelt, and it made me quite emotional. I didn’t feel beautiful, and I hadn’t for a long time if I was being honest. I’d stopped caring about myself and been piling all my self-care energy into work. I strategically draped the bedsheet over my legs and stomach and fluffed my hair forward as he climbed onto the bed. Was I about to have sober sex? Who even was I these days? Henrik seemed determined to take his time, kissing my feet, then my calves and thighs, exploring my body as he made his way back up.
This felt exciting and new. I’d missed the sign that said ‘rebound’ and was already in way over my head. Henrik was gorgeous and kind and chill, he total opposite of Mark’s cold ambition and drive. And his relaxed vibe was clear to see as he devoured me: I lay back and enjoyed every single second of it.
