Page 51 of Secret Paths

“It was touch and go outside the bakery.”

“I did see a suspicious-looking wheelie bin.”

“I had it under control.”

Her mouth curves, but the smile does not quite hold.

For a second, we stand there with the gate between us and the rest of the evening waiting to find out what it is allowed to become.

Then Mandy opens it.

“Come in, Peter.”

I follow her up the path.

The cottage is warm when she opens the door, and the familiar lemon-clean smell catches me before I have even stepped inside. Mandy drops her keys into the bowl on the little table, closes the door behind us and turns.

We do not bother with a conversation.

Her hands go to my jacket. Mine find her waist. She pushes the jacket from my shoulders, and I kiss her before it has even hit the floor properly. She makes a small sound against my mouth, pleased and impatient, and steps backwards until her spine meets the wall beside the stairs.

This should be easy.

Mandy’s mouth. Mandy’s hands in my hair. Mandy’s body pressed to mine in the kitchen where we are definitely not standing far enough from the front door for decency.

It is very easy for certain parts of me.

The rest of me, apparently, has decided to attend a finance meeting.

Morton Hall on Monday.

Rachel, Director of Finance.

Supplier payments. Payroll checks. Less money than the bank. Enough for the cottage, probably, if I am careful.

Mandy tugs at the hem of my shirt before sliding her hand underneath it before unbuttoning it. Her fingers skim my stomach, and I remember to kiss her again.

For about eight seconds.

Then my mind slides straight back to Hunter saying, the money probably will not stretch to what you earned as a bank manager.

Which is not, by any standard, a useful thought while a beautiful woman has her hand beneath my shirt.

Mandy stills.

I realise I have stopped kissing her.

Her hand is flat against my chest, and she is looking up at me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I ask.

“You tell me.”

“I am enjoying myself.”

“You stopped.”

“I did not stop.”