Sean had found the perfect distraction, kissing her forehead, temple and throat with such exquisitely gentle kisses that any idea of a question was driven out her mind as her desire for him built with each touch of his lips on hers.
And, just when she thought that her legs were going to buckle, his fingers slid away until her entire breast was being cupped by his hand and her bra was redundant and getting in the way of the exquisite pleasure.
Then slowly, slowly, his hand slid lower onto the bare skin at her waist and rested there for a second before moving away.
Arms wrapped around his head, Dee hung onto Sean as he wrapped both arms around her and held her to him.
She could feel the supressed power of his answer pressing against her hip and his short, fast breaths on her neck, fighting, fighting for control.
‘Oh, Sean,’ she whispered through a closed throat, and she dropped her head down to the safety and warmth of his broad chest.
They must have stayed there for several minutes, but time seemed to stand still, and it was Sean who broke the silence.
‘I have been down this road before, Dee. My last girlfriend was so patient and we tried so hard to make it work. But in the end we were both worn down with the constant struggle to make time for one another between going back and forwards to the airport. It was exhausting. And it killed a great friendship. I don’t want that to happen to us, Dee. Not to us.’
He was stroking her hair now, running his fingers back from her forehead. ‘It could be six months before I get back here, and even then it would only be for a flying visit. There will always be some crisis somewhere, like tonight, which needs me to fly out at a moment’s notice. I can’t plan holidays or down time. You deserve better than that. A lot better.’
Dee looked up into his face and blinked, her mouth part open. ‘No. I deserve you. All of you.’
Her words stung like ice on hot skin, burning into his brain and leaving a scar.
‘The last thing I want to do is hurt you, Dee. That’s why it’s better that we part now and remember the good times.’
She laid her cheek on his shirt and dared to finally find the words. ‘Does it have to be that way, Sean? Is there truly nobody else in the company that can cover your job? What happens when you are ill or burnt out? You can’t keep going like this for ever. You have to take a break some time.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me, Dee,’ he replied, his hand cupping the back of her head. ‘My family are very close, we always have been, and I owe my father everything. This hotel chain is my life and I want to make it special.’
‘It seems to me that you have paid your family dues, Sean. Paid in full.’
‘What do you mean?
Dee forced herself to raise her head and slip backwards so that she could look up into his face. ‘This is your decision to leave tonight. Not your father’s. Or your brother’s. Yours. You have recruited an amazing team of talented professionals who would be only too happy to take on some of those troubleshooting challenges if you gave them the chance. You have made these hotels your life—and I understand that. Look at me—the tea grower’s daughter who wants to set up her own tea company. We are both following in the family trade. But maybe it’s time to think hard about what you want to do with your life. And who you want to spend it with.’
Then she stood back and slowly slid her fingers from his, one finger at a time, breaking their connection with each movement as she spoke.
She stood on tiptoe, pressed her lips against his in one last, lingering kiss, then ran her finger along his jaw and smiled.
‘Good luck, Sean. Goodbye and thank you for everything.’
Then she turned and walked away, back into the conference room and out of his life. Without looking back.
And this time he didn’t follow her.
Tea, glorious tea. A celebration of teas from around the world.
The traditional treatment for shock in Britain is a steaming beaker of piping hot Indian tea with milk and plenty of sugar. This remedy should be repeated until the symptoms subside.
From Flynn’s Phantasmagoria of Tea
Saturday
Her best friend slid a plate in front of her in the early-morning light streaming in through her bedroom window.
Dee squinted over the top of her extra-strong English Breakfast at the slice of a tall extravaganza of green-and vanilla-coloured sponge layers.
It was very green. And smelt of a florist shop. And no amount of strong tea was going to be able to wash down that amount of sugar and fat.
‘I am calling this my tea festival special. It’s a Lady Grey flavoured opera cake with a rosewater cream filling. What do you think?’
‘Think? I am too tired to think, and my taste buds are fried. Thanks, Lottie. I am sure it will be a brilliant hit. It looks wonderful, but I just can’t face it at the moment. Way too nervous.’
Lottie rubbed the back of Dee’s shoulder and kissed the top of her head.
‘I had a feeling that it might be a bit over the top for six a.m. Did you get any sleep at all?’
Dee shook her head. ‘Maybe a couple of hours at most. Kept waking up and couldn’t get back to sleep again.’
‘Never fear. I have donuts, and cheese and ham croissants. The breakfast of champions. I’ll be right back.’
‘You’re my hero,’ Dee replied and smiled after Lottie as she took the stairs down to the bakery from her apartment.
Her hero.
Dee stretched out her arms on the small table, dropped her head onto her hands and closed her eyes.
She was exhausted and her day had not started yet.
This was the most important event of her career. Months of planning. Weeks of phone calls, emails, checklists and constant to-ing and fro-ing from the hotel. And it all came down to this.
One girl sitting alone in her bedroom, drinking tea in her dressing gown. Feeling as though she had just gone through twelve rounds of a professional boxing match and lost.
Every part of her body ached, her head was thumping and she could easily fall asleep sitting upright in this hard chair.
Little wonder.
Lottie thought that she had stayed awake because of nerves about what today would bring. And that was true. But it was not the real reason she had tossed and turned until her duvet was on the floor and her sheet a tangled mess, wrapped around her like a restricting cocoon.
Sean. All she could think about, every time she closed her eyes, was Sean.
How he looked, tasted, smelt and felt. Sean.
