Tatiana watched his fingers lazily move up and down her thigh. At first it was almost as if it were happening to someone else. But the rush of desire that shot through her was most definitely all her own. God it had been so long, so very long since she’d had a man. She’d never really thought about Dylan sexually, perhaps because he was older, and married, although that had never hindered her libido in the past. Since her father’s death, Tati had effectively shut down that side of herself completely. Apart from that one, disgusting yet disturbingly erotic touch from Brett Cranley weeks ago, she hadn’t had anything approximating to an enjoyable sexual experience in well over a year.
‘You’re so beautiful.’ Dylan was whispering in her ear now, his hands creeping upwards, playing with the frayed hem of her shorts. On autopilot, Tati reached around the back of his neck, pulling him towards her and kissing him. The kiss was more curious than passionate, like someone reminding themselves of a familiar, favourite food that they’ve always loved but haven’t eaten in a long time. Dylan’s response was unequivocal. Pushing her down onto her back so she was stretched out full length on the couch, he kissed her back hard, pressing his entire weight down on top of her. The combined sensations of his stubble grinding against her cheek, the smell of his aftershave and excitement, and his hand sliding under her T-shirt to grab her bare breasts made her gasp out in pleasure. But a few seconds later reality reasserted itself. Feeling Dylan’s rock-solid erection pressing down on her groin through his khaki trousers, Tati suddenly panicked. Dick-Hard Jones. All she could hear was Gabe Baxter’s mocking voice in her head:
You’ve adopted a rat of your own.
Opening her eyes, like a hypnotized patient emerging from a trance, the first thing she saw was a photograph of Dylan’s wife staring down at her from the kitchen wall.
‘We can’t do this.’ She tried to wriggle out from under him, but Dylan seemed oblivious. ‘Dylan,’ she shouted louder. ‘Stop.’
‘Stop? Why?’ He raised his head a fraction, but was still lying on top of her, his weight pinning her down.
‘You know why,’ said Tati. ‘Your wife.’
‘She’s away. She won’t know,’ Dylan murmured, resuming his exploration of Tati’s magnificent left breast.
‘That’s not the only reason,’ said Tati, trying not to enjoy the sensation. ‘We work together. We’re friends.’
‘You are so fucking sexy.’ Ignoring her, Dylan reached down and began to unbutton her fly. Tati froze, lust replaced by anger, at Dylan, at herself, and at Gabe bloody Baxter, for being right all along.
‘I said Stop!’
With all her strength, she drew her right knee upwards into Dylan’s groin.
It was more of a nudge than anything, but he jumped off her all the same. A look of profound annoyance flashed across his face. ‘Are you kidding me?’
‘No. Why would I be kidding?’ Tati sat up, shaking, and straightened her clothes. ‘Come on, Dylan. You know as well as I do this is a bad idea.’
‘That’s not what you thought five minutes ago.’ He ran a hand through his hair, a picture of frustration and fury. His erection, sticking out like a tent pole at the front of his trousers, looked ridiculous now, and not remotely sexy.
‘You led me on,’ he whined petulantly.
Tati would have laughed, but there was a cold glint in Dylan’s eye that made her think better of it. Instead she picked up her papers, clasping them to her chest like a shield.
‘That wasn’t my intention. Look, you’re an attractive man. It’s not that.’
‘Please,’ Dylan snapped. ‘Don’t patronize me.’
Tati felt like crying suddenly. It was true, she had kissed him back. And she had been tempted. But only for a moment. Dylan was behaving as if she’d made the first move. As if she’d come here with the express purpose of seducing him, which couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
‘I’d better go,’ she mumbled, backing away from him towards the door. ‘Thank you for the help with the papers.’
She longed for him to say something, to relent, to admit that he was sorry and had gone too far and that they could still be friends. God knew Tati needed a friend in Fittlescombe, and up to this point, Dylan Pritchard Jones had been it. All she needed was a smile, a small gesture, anything to break the tension. But instead Dylan turned away, his face set like flint.
‘You can see yourself out, I assume,’ he said bitterly.
Tati fled.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Monday morning saw a break in the weather and the first rainy day southern England had endured in weeks.