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“No, I’ll survive.” His gaze swept over her before returning to her face and lingering on her lips which she instinctively licked.

Those damn blue eyes. And that blond hair that was screaming out for her to run her hands through it. And that smile. And the dimple on the right of his mouth . . . She couldn’t seem to stop herself from slowly moving towards him. It felt like he was magnetic, drawing her in . . .

Their lips met and Lucy felt a little buzz of electricity running through her. The shock caused her to move back slightly, and Dylan did the same, a questioning look on his face, his eyes dilated and his breaths fast, matching hers.

And suddenly they were together again, kissing frantically. It was as if they couldn’t get close enough to each other; they were desperate.

Dylan pulled away slightly, his lips swollen from hers. “Bedroom?” he asked, his eyes locked on hers.

“This way,” Lucy heard herself say as she took his hand and led him down the hallway.

Chapter 2

When Lucy woke the following morning, it took her a moment to come to and realise that Dylan’s arm was draped over her. Closing her eyes again, memories of the night before came crashing over her. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep next to him after they’d . . . She instinctively brought her hands up to her face.

She glanced over at Dylan lying next to her, looking perfectly at ease as he slept.

She reached over to her phone on the bedside table and he stirred slightly, attempting to pull her closer.

“Dylan,” she said sharply.

He opened his eyes lazily and his face broke into a grin as he glanced down at her.

She followed his gaze and quickly pulled the duvet up over herself. It felt like she’d just come crashing back down to reality.

What had she done? This was Dylan! Dylan! The single most annoying person she’d ever met. He already thought he could have any woman he wanted, and she guessed she’d just proved him right. She’d never live this down. How much had they both drunk to allow this to happen? That had to be the explanation . . . She’d only had one glass of wine though, and he wouldn’t have been drinking because he was driving home from Michael’s.

“It’s 6:30,” she said, showing him her phone screen. “We must have fallen asleep.”

“I guess I’d better go,” he said, his eyes meeting hers. Was there a hint of a question in his tone?

“Yes,” Lucy said firmly. She got up quickly, then remembered she wasn’t wearing any clothes and grabbed the duvet, putting it around herself.

“Oi!” said Dylan as he was exposed to the elements.

Lucy quickly averted her eyes and picked up her dressing gown from the chair in front of her dressing table. She made a fumbling mess of turning around and swapping the duvet for the dressing gown while attempting not to show any bare skin to Dylan, who was now sitting up in bed, sleepily rubbing his eyes. His hair was all messy, and he looked younger and less sure of himself, she realised when she turned back to face him.

“I’ll leave you to get dressed,” she said, and left before he could try to engage her in any more conversation.

She went along the hallway into the kitchen and put the kettle on automatically. She wasn’t even really sure why. It must be an automatic British reaction to a complete and utter disaster. She stood and watched it come to a boil while berating herself for her actions.

She was 34, for goodness’ sake. Did she have no self-control? Of course, Dylan was good-looking. You’d have to be an idiot not to acknowledge that, but he was also absolutely the kind of man she’d vowed to avoid ever since a relationship with exactly that sort of man had taught her the hard way that they were absolutely not to be trusted. Did Dylan even keep track of all the women he had on the go as he drove around posing in his stupid fancy car, charming everyone he met?

She took a mug for herself out of the cupboard. For a split second she considered offering a drink to Dylan as well; being a polite hostess was indoctrinated into her. But no way were they going to sit around having a friendly cup of tea together now. Anyway, he’d be anxious to get going. He’d have work in just a few hours. Though he worked for himself, as an ethical hacker or something — which sounded so dodgy — so maybe he got to choose his own hours to an extent . . . she shook her head. It made no difference to her what his work hours were. She just needed to get him out of her home. Then she could get started on some baking for the coffee shop and forget the whole sorry night ever happened.

Dylan appeared at the kitchen door a moment later, wearing yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt and looking sheepish. He ran his hand through his messy blond hair, and Lucy felt her stomach do a little hop of desire. Behave, she told herself firmly. What had happened to her? Another image from last night flashed into her mind and she blushed. She couldn’t deny it had been good. Of course it had been good, with the amount of experience he no doubt had. Ugh. She did her best to clear her head.

“Well, I guess I’ll be off then . . .” he said.

“Yep,” said Lucy. She walked past him, putting as much space between them as possible. “I’ll let you out the front.” Somehow it seemed too friendly to have him leaving via her untidy back garden.

“My ankle’s feeling a lot better, by the way.”

“Great.”

She was sure she could feel him watching her as she walked down the stairs and into the coffee shop. The tiled floor was cold on her bare feet. She pulled her dressing gown closer around her as she marched to the front door and opened it, the little bell above it ringing out in the quiet of the early morning.

“So . . .” Dylan said. “Thank you?”