He looks towards the French doors. They’re still open, but I don’t think either of us is feeling the cold.
“It’s like you said. Two people who hate each other, kissing . . .” He swallows. “It’s weird and messed up.”
“Right.” Did I mean that? Do I think that? Right now all I can think about is how good that felt, and how badly I would like to do it again. “And what’s changed, then?”
He looks down at his cushion. “What’s changed is I have stopped caring about ‘messed up.’ I want you.” He looks up. “You want me. We’re adults, we can make our own choices as long as nobody is getting hurt.”
I nod. “That’s what I think. And that’s why I think we need some rules. Do this in a sensitive, sensible way, and just get each other out of our systems once and for all.”
He flinches.
“What?” I say, already tense. I do know Lucas wants me—that’s fairly undeniable right now—but after putting myself on the line so many times, part of me is waiting for him to walk back out onto the balcony and turn cold again.
“So this happens just once?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say, slightly horrified. “God, I didn’t mean—I’m not asking you to date me or anything, I’m just suggesting one night.”
His face is unreadable. After a moment, he nods. “Fine.”
“So, first rule,” I say, shifting myself up straighter. “This doesn’t change anything. You don’t have to pretend we get along because you’ve slept with me.”
He stares at me levelly. “You want us to behave as we always do at work?”
“Exactly.”
“So you will still rearrange the stationery drawer and make me say booking book all the time?”
“What, you thought you could kiss me into being nice to you?”
One corner of his mouth lifts. “No,” he says. “Not exactly. OK. So what is your next rule?”
“No telling anyone at work.”
His expression darkens. “Are you so embarrassed of me?”
“No!” I say, frowning. “It’s not that, it’s just . . . We’re colleagues.”
“Hmm.”
“It won’t be good for the hotel if everyone’s gossiping about us. You know what people are like.”
His face returns to its habitual stoniness. “Fine. I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway.”
I’m annoying him by trying to take over here, I can tell. This is familiar ground—I don’t particularly mind. My body is still thrumming with the force of that kiss, and I like this. I like the way we push each other.
“Last rule,” I say. “It’s just sex. I won’t sleep over tonight. There will be no cuddling. That way it’s . . .” The word that springs to mind is safe, but I say, “Simple.”
His jaw is clenched. “Simple,” he says.
He stares at me for so long that I start to shift, my confidence waning a little. I’ve taken so many knocks when it comes to Lucas. I know he doesn’t like me. He’s made that abundantly clear. I’m just relying on the attraction between us overruling that, and there’s always the threat of his brain kicking in at any moment, reminding him of all the reasons we shouldn’t do this.
And I can tell he’s thinking. Which is not good.
But the moment passes, and, quite suddenly, as if a decision has been made, Lucas throws the cushion onto the floor and reaches for my ankle. He circles it with finger and thumb. His expression hasn’t changed, but I can see his chest is rising and falling faster than usual.
“Any more rules?” he says, sliding his hand up my calf. “Or are you finished?”
I can’t think of any more rules. I can’t think of much at all with him touching me.
“No more.”
“So,” he says, his hand reaching my thigh. “What happens now?”
His fingers climb slowly, slowly. The tension in my body rises, too, spreading like kindling catching alight.
The very tip of his finger stops at the seam of my jeans. I am perfectly still, my eyes fixed on his. I have no idea how to do this. I’ve imagined having sex with Lucas countless times, but I always thought it would start explosively, the way that kiss did a moment ago. I never thought it would begin with eye contact and the slow path of his fingers; I thought we’d fall into one another and I wouldn’t have to make the leap.
His gaze shifts across my face. I’m a tumultuous mix of turned on and terrified. I want Lucas so badly, but I don’t trust him at all. Can I do this? Sleep with him without getting attached, without letting my walls down? For all my rule-setting, I’ve never actually had sex with someone I don’t like before.
Lucas’s hand slides down my leg again, pausing on my ankle, where he began.
“There is something in consumer rights legislation,” he says, “called a cooling-off period.”
I blink. “Oh. Right?” We’ve gone from hand-on-upper-thigh to consumer rights legislation at breakneck speed; my body is still thrumming with desire.
“Yes. There is a time when you can change your mind. I think that is what we need.”
“What? No,” I say quickly, sitting up. “I’m good. I’ve made my mind up.”
I shift closer on the sofa, and he smiles. It is a slow, languid smile I’ve never seen on him before. It’s extremely sexy. The smile says, I know what you want, and I know I can give it to you.
“Still,” he says, sliding his hand from my leg. “I think . . . we wait a day or two.”
“What? No. No!”
“One day or two?”
I stare back at him. Is he crazy? He wants me to leave this flat right now?
“We don’t need to wait.”
He raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. “One, or two?”
Oh my God. Why is he so, so annoying?
“Lucas . . .”
“One or two?”
For fuck’s sake.
“Do you not want this?” I say, pulling back, drawing my knees up again. “Because—”
“Izzy,” he says, “I am trying to be a gentleman. Today is my day, remember? I don’t want you to feel any . . . pressure.”
“Well, I don’t!” I say. “I’ve made it pretty clear what I want.”
“Mm.” He tilts his head. “Then it will be clear tomorrow, too. We can wait one night.”
I swallow, running my hands through my hair, trying to pull myself together. My body feels boneless. All I want to do is melt into him.
“Izzy,” Lucas says, and his voice is gentle now. “I want you to think about this. I want you to be sure.”
“I am,” I begin again, but I trail off in the face of his determined expression. I know that face. Lucas has made up his mind.
“All right,” I say, standing up. “Tomorrow. After work.”
I feel the traces of the last half hour everywhere: the warmth of his hand on my ankle, the roughness of his stubble on my cheek, the frustrated ache at my core. Looking down at him on the sofa, I’m struck afresh by how different he is here. At work he’s so buttoned-up and serious, but now he’s in a crumpled T-shirt, loose and hazy-eyed. There’s something so sexy about seeing him like this. I want to climb into his lap and kiss that insolent slope of his bottom lip.
“Just so you know,” I say, “if you’re really making me wait until tomorrow night, I’m going to make your day as difficult as possible.”
The corners of his mouth turn up just a touch. “It is an opportunity to torture me,” he says. “I would expect nothing less.”
Lucas
Izzy assumed the cooling-off period was just for her, and I didn’t correct her. But I need this.
“The whole thing is a great idea,” says Pedro in Portuguese, over the noise of the coffee machine. “Didn’t I say you should have slept with her from the start?”
“That’s probably why I’ve come to see you this morning instead of ringing my sister,” I say wryly, glancing at the customers waiting to be served in Smooth Pedro’s. I’ve pulled a bar stool up by the till. I did consider offering to help with the breakfast rush, but last time I helped, Pedro kept whipping me with his dish cloth, so I decided against it. “I’m hoping you are going to tell me I’m not out of my mind.”
“Absolutely not out of your mind! Oat milk mocha single shot?” he says, switching to English and flashing his most flirtatious smile at the woman at the front of the queue.
She smiles back, flicking her blonde curls over her shoulder. “Thanks, Pedro,” she says. “You’re actually the best.”