a yawn.
‘Tired?’
‘Yes,’ she admitted. It had been a long, emotionally draining day.
‘As soon as I’ve made up the bed I suggest we both get some sleep.’
For the first time the full reality of the situation struck her, and she froze.
Then after a moment, relaxing somewhat, she recalled that when Simon had described the cottage he’d said two-up, two-down, so presumably there were two bedrooms.
But would there be another bed?
As though reading her thoughts, he said, ‘I’m afraid there’s only the one bed, so unless you want to share it…?’
‘I don’t!’ Her voice had risen in alarm.
‘In that case I’ll take the couch.’
Her feeling of relief was elbowed aside by guilt. ‘But you said there were no blankets.’
‘Don’t worry, I can manage with a coat. And at least there are plenty of pillows. Ben must sleep propped up.’
Sounding quite sanguine, he added, ‘The bathroom is just along the passage, the first door on the left. There should be some warm water by now, but I very much doubt if there’s enough for a shower.’
She got to her feet and, very conscious of his gaze on her bare legs, made her way along the lamplit passage to a small bathroom, where the white porcelain fittings, though antiquated, were gleaming and spotlessly clean.
A gas lamp over the sink bathed the place in yellow light and threw out a halo of warmth, and the boiler, with its little row of blue and gold flames, popped and gurgled cheerfully. The only real snag was a cold draught coming under the door.
Seeing her stockings and undies hung tidily over a slatted airing-rack alongside Simon’s silk boxer shorts gave her a strange feeling. It was almost as if they were an old married couple.
Soap, towels, a face-flannel, a tube of toothpaste and a bottle of shower gel had been laid out ready on a green painted shelf.
Bearing in mind Simon’s warning, she washed at the sink rather than risking a shower, and in the absence of a brush used a finger to clean her teeth as best she could.
When she returned to the living-room the bed was made up, and Simon was putting more logs on the fire.
‘Finished?’ he asked.
‘Yes, thank you.’
‘Then the bed’s all yours. I’ll go and wash before I turn out the lights.’
The big bed looked more than inviting and she climbed in with a sigh, plumped up a couple of pillows and closed her eyes.
However, her sojourn in the bathroom had turned her feet into blocks of ice, and, as she knew that the settee would be much too short for him and was bound to be terribly uncomfortable, a combination of cold feet and guilt prevented her from sleeping.
But it would be madness to share the bed with him, and she knew instinctively that he was too much of a gentleman to let her take the settee…
She was still wide awake, thoughts buzzing round in her brain like bees, when he returned wearing nothing but a towel knotted around his lean hips. He was carrying a couple of coats over his arm and a blue rubber hot-water bottle.
He turned towards the bed, and in a sudden panic she feigned slumber.
‘Asleep?’ he asked softly.
Though her eyes were closed, she was aware that he was standing looking down at her.
She felt the bedclothes being moved gently aside and then the warmth as the hot-water bottle was slid in beside her feet.
After a second or two she heard the brush of his bare soles on the floorboards as he walked away, and released the breath she’d been unconsciously holding.
Peeping through her lashes, she watched him douse the oil lamps, then take off the towel and stretch. With the fireglow gilding his naked limbs, he looked like Apollo, and she caught her breath audibly.
She saw his teeth gleam in a smile, before he said conversationally, ‘Next time you’re pretending to be asleep, remember to breathe.’
When she said nothing, he pursued, ‘Why aren’t you asleep? Is there some problem?’
‘My feet were cold,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Hopefully that’s been taken care of.’
‘And I felt mean about you sleeping on the couch,’ she added in a rush.
A moment later he was sitting on the edge of the bed looking down at her.
Her hair, a riot of dark, silky curls, was spread over the white pillow. The fireglow touched her face, casting shadows, gleaming in her eyes, hollowing her cheeks.
‘That could be remedied, if it’s bothering you. Though it has to be your decision.’
She swallowed hard. He was much too close, much too naked, much too male.
‘W-well I—I…’ She stammered to a halt, averting her eyes.
‘It’s quite simple,’ he said patiently. ‘Do you want me to share your bed or not?’
When, hot all over, she continued to hesitate, he went on, ‘As you could see if you were incautious enough to look, you have a powerful effect on me, so if the answer’s yes, I’m afraid I can’t promise to treat you like a sister.’
Common sense spoke for her. ‘Then the answer’s no!’
‘Very well,’ he said equably, ‘I’ll settle for the couch and a goodnight kiss.’
Her normally soft, husky voice high and shrill, she cried, ‘No! No, I don’t want to kiss you.’
‘Then I’ll kiss you.’
He placed his hands one each side of her head, palms down, trapping her hair beneath them, and bent to touch his lips to hers.
That lightest of caresses had the same effect as a lit match dropped into a keg of gunpowder.
As, without conscious volition, her mouth opened beneath his, he began to kiss her with a fierce, burning hunger that swept her up and carried her along willy-nilly.
In the past, on the few occasions she had been seriously tempted to sleep with a man, she had thought and considered and weighed up any possible consequences, and invariably caution had won the day.
But now, caution didn’t get a look-in. Conscious only of an overwhelming desire, a need to belong to this man, she wound her arms round his neck and returned his kiss, responding to his passion with complete abandonment.
He slid in beside her, his fingers urgent as he unbuttoned
