of one?
Finally, he looked up and slanted a smile over at her. ‘You know what? I’m going to take a leaf out of your book. No talking about past relationships tonight. I think sometimes I talk way too much. Come on,’ he pronounced and put his drink down. ‘The music’s changed to something decent. Let’s dance.’
Jessie stiffened, then gulped down a huge mouthful of Bacardi and cola. ‘Dance?’ she choked out.
He was already off his stool, already holding out his hand towards her.
‘Please don’t say no,’ he said softly. ‘It’s just a dance. Mind the lady’s bag, will you?’ he asked the barman. ‘Better put your cellphone away as well. You don’t want a natty little number like that to get swiped.’
She did hesitate, she was sure she did. But within moments she’d put the phone away and was placing her hand in his and letting him lead her over to that minute dance floor.
It is only dancing, she told herself as he pulled her into his arms.
The trouble was, there was dancing…and dancing.
This was slow dancing. Sensual dancing. Sexy dancing. Bodies pressed so close together that she had no choice but to wind her arms up around his neck. Her breasts lifted, rubbing against the well-muscled wall of his chest. His hands moved restlessly up and down her spine till one settled in the small of her back, the other moving lower. The heat in his palms burned through the thin material of her dress, branding her. Her heartbeat quickened. The entire surface of her skin flushed with her own internal heat. She felt light-headed. Excited. Aroused.
And she wasn’t the only one. She could feel his arousal as it rose between them.
When her fingertips tapped an agitated tattoo on the nape of his neck, he stopped, pulled back slightly and stared down into her eyes.
‘Would you believe me if I told you that I haven’t done anything like this in a long, long time?’ he murmured, his voice low and thick.
‘Done what?’ she replied shakily.
‘Picked a girl up in a bar and within no time asked her to go to a hotel with me?’
She stopped breathing. Stopped thinking. Her world had tipped on its axis and she felt every ounce of her self-control slipping. A voice was tempting her to blindly say yes. Yes, to anything he wanted. She had never in her life felt what she was feeling at this moment. Not even with Lyall.
This was something else, something far more powerful and infinitely more dangerous.
‘Will you?’ he said, and his smouldering gaze searched hers.
She didn’t say a word. But her eyes must have told him something.
‘No names,’ he murmured. ‘Not yet. Not till afterwards. I don’t want to say anything that might spoil what we’re sharing at this moment. Because I have never felt anything quite like it before. Tell me it’s the same for you. Admit it. Say you want me as badly as I want you.’
She couldn’t say it. But every fibre of her female body compelled her to cling to him, betraying her cravings with her body language.
‘You do talk too much,’ she whispered at last.
His lungs expelled a shuddering sigh. Of relief? Or was he trying to dispel some of the sexual tension that was gripping them both?
‘Then you will come with me,’ he said. ‘Now. Straight away.’
They weren’t questions, but orders.
He would be an incredible lover, she realised. Knowing. Dominating. Demanding. The kind she had used to fantasise about. And which she suddenly craved.
‘I…I have to go to the ladies’ first,’ she blurted out, desperate to get away from him. Once some distance broke the spell he was casting over her, she would recover her sanity and escape.
‘I suppose I could do with a visit to the gents’ as well. I’ll meet you back at the bar.’
She didn’t meet him back at the bar. She spent less than twenty seconds in the ladies’ before dashing back to the bar, collecting her bag from the barman and bolting for the exit. She ran all the way to Wynyard Station, where she jumped on the first train heading north.
It was only half an hour since she’d walked into that bar. But it felt like a lifetime.
‘THE phone’s ringing, Mummy.’ Emily tugged at Jessie’s jeans. ‘Mummy, are you listening to me? The phone’s ringing.’
‘What? Oh, yes. Thanks, sweetie.’
Jessie dropped the wet T-shirt she was holding back into the clothes basket and ran across the yard towards her back door.
Goodness knew who it would be. She’d already rung Jack first thing this morning to put in a verbal report about last night, petrified at the time that he’d know she was lying.
She’d made up her mind overnight to give Mr Marshall the benefit of the doubt and only tell Jack about the incident with the blonde, and not the conversation that had happened later. She’d already wiped that part off the video as well.
But no sooner had she told him that she’d witnessed the target turning down a proposition from an attractive blonde than Jack had stunned her by saying he wasn’t surprised, that the wife herself had rung that morning in a panic to say that he could keep the money she’d already paid, but that she didn’t want her husband followed any more. It had all been a mistake and a misunderstanding. He’d come home last night and explained everything and she was very happy.
At which point Jack had added smarmily that he could guess what had happened in the Marshall household last night.
‘I can always tell,’ he’d joked. ‘The wives’ voices have a certain sound about them. A combination of coyness and confidence. Our Mr Marshall really came good, I’d say. Like to have been a fly on their bedroom wall last night, I can tell you.’
That image had stayed with Jessie all morning—of her actually being a fly on that bedroom wall, watching whilst the man she’d danced with last night, the man who’d wanted her so desperately, was making love to his wife.
Jessie knew it was wicked of her to feel jealousy over a husband making love to his wife. Wicked to wish she’d been the one in his bed. Wicked, wicked, wicked!
But she couldn’t seem to stop her thoughts, or her feelings. She’d hardly slept a wink all night.
Now, as she dashed inside to the strident sound of the phone, she could still see the desire in his eyes, hear the passion in his voice, feel the need of his body pressed up against hers.
Had he been telling the truth when he said this was a one-off experience? That he’d never done or felt anything like that before?
She was inclined to believe him. Possibly, he’d been more intoxicated than
