NEXT MORNING, Bella woke to find a warm body curled round hers. For a moment, she couldn’t place where she was and why on earth a naked male body would be in her bed at all, let alone wrapped round her.
Then she remembered.
Hugh.
She went hot as she thought about the previous night. The way he’d kissed her in the orangery among the fairy lights until she’d been dizzy. The way he’d actually carried her up to her bed. The way he’d undressed her, and then made love to her until she’d seen stars.
Right now, the way he was holding her made her feel special. Even though she wasn’t really Hugh’s girlfriend, and they weren’t in any kind of relationship other than that of employee and boss—just for a moment, Bella could imagine what it would be like if this was the real deal instead of an elaborate fiction. She’d spent the last six months feeling stupid and useless and pathetic, after Kirk’s betrayal. Last night, Hugh had made her feel good again. Not just the sex, either. He’d danced with her, laughed with her—believed in her.
Would last night have changed everything between them? They’d agreed that this was a one-off. No strings. No promises. No for ever. But could they still work together after this? Or would she have to resign?
They’d have to talk—really talk—and maybe redraw the ground rules.
Nothing fazes a Faraday girl, she reminded herself.
Except the mantra felt hollow.
Right now, she really didn’t know what to do. Did she stay where she was and wait for him to wake up? Or did she creep out of bed and get dressed—or would that make facing him even more awkward?
Hugh woke to find himself curled round a warm female body.
Bella.
He remembered the previous night in full Technicolor, and panic slid down his spine. Why had he been so stupid?
It was a physical thing, that was all, he told himself. It was obvious why it had happened. He hadn’t satisfied any physical urges for a while. Maybe it’d been the same for her. They’d both drunk too much champagne, they’d danced together, they found each other attractive, and they’d just given in to the temptation.
He sighed inwardly. Just who was he trying to kid?
If he was honest with himself, he’d been attracted to Bella since the first moment he’d met her. Her bright blue eyes, her bubbly personality, the way she opened her mouth and just said what was in her head without thinking it through. Not to mention the way she’d been there for her sister; Bella Faraday had a good heart. He really liked that about her.
But he still shouldn’t have let things go this far between them. They were going to have to talk, really talk, and redraw the ground rules. Because Bella was a great designer, perfect for Insurgo, and Tarquin would have his guts for garters if she left the company just because Hugh hadn’t been able to keep his hands—or anything else, for that matter—to himself.
He lay there, trying to think what to say. Even though they’d both agreed that last night was a one-off, would she feel differently this morning? And, if she did, how was he going to handle it?
He knew that Bella wasn’t like Jessie. But he just didn’t trust his own judgement any more. He didn’t want to take the risk of getting involved with anyone, so it was easier not to start something that was likely to end up in a mess.
Eventually he became aware that Bella’s breathing was no longer deep and even, and her body was slightly tense. Clearly she was awake.
Was she, too, remembering what had happened?
Did she, too, think about turning round and kissing him hello, the way he wanted to kiss her right now?
Or was she full of regrets and awkwardness and embarrassment?
Right now, he didn’t have a clue. But he knew he was going to have to do the right thing rather than ignoring the rest of the world and making love with her all over again. They had to talk.
‘Bella?’ he whispered.
‘Uh-huh.’ She sounded worried.
He resisted the urge to kiss her bare shoulder. No matter how much he wanted to touch her, taste her, he had to keep himself in check. Carefully, he withdrew his arms from round her. Odd how cold it made him feel. ‘I think we need to talk.’
‘Uh-huh,’ she said again, and turned to face him. ‘OK. I’ll say it first. I know we agreed that last night was a one-off, but it really shouldn’t have happened at all.’
Relief coursed through him. If she knew it, too, then it meant that things weren’t going to be awkward between them. They could still work together. He wouldn’t have to find another designer.
He tried to ignore the fact that another emotion underpinned the relief. It was ridiculous to feel disappointed, especially as he didn’t want to risk starting another relationship. He knew he was better off on his own, concentrating on his business.
‘Last night was last night,’ he said.
‘Exactly. You know the Vegas principle?’
‘The Vegas principle?’ he asked, not quite following her train of thought.
‘You know—what happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas,’ she explained.
‘Ah. Yes.’
‘I think we should apply that to last night,’ she said carefully.
He agreed. Completely. ‘So you’re not going to resign because I couldn’t keep my hands to myself?’ he asked.
‘And you’re not going to sack me because I didn’t stick to our plan?’
Clearly she didn’t want to leave her job, either. Which was a very, very good thing. ‘Apart from the fact that I don’t have any grounds to sack you, you’re good at your job. Tarquin would kill me if I made you leave.’
Was it his imagination, or was there a flash of disappointment in her eyes?
He wasn’t going to analyse that too closely. Much better to let each other off the hook instead than to get tied up with all the complications. And he definitely shouldn’t tell her that he didn’t want her to leave because he liked having her around. That’d be way too much pressure on both of them.
‘What happened last night—we don’t talk about it ever again. And it’s not going to be repeated,’ she said.
‘Agreed,’ he said.
She took a deep breath. ‘So we stick to the plan from here on, and I’m back to playing Miss Ditzy this morning.’
‘Uh-huh.’ Even though he knew she wasn’t very good at it. Yesterday, although she’d tried, her true self had just shone through the play-acting. And his family had responded in kind: warmth generating warmth.
If
