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With a sound of frustration, she punched her pillow, trying a different arrangement in an attempt to get comfortable. She did fall asleep, but it was a light sleep, fractured by memories.
Memories of the way he’d gestured towards her that night, waving his hand towards the empty seat at his table, folding his newspaper away at the same time, as though her acquiescence was a foregone conclusion.
The waiter had been at her elbow, and Elodie had hovered, a little like a deer in the headlights, staring at him, uncertain as to his meaning.
“You may have this seat, if you’d like.” And when she hadn’t moved, had only stood there, staring at him, unable to process the appearance of this man – so handsome, so immaculately dressed in a dark suit with a crisp white shirt, he’d smiled, and it had blown the moon out of the universe. “I don’t bite. Much.”
Her stomach had squeezed and she’d found her legs propelling her towards the empty seat as though she was being reeled in, a fish on a line, unable to free herself, not wanting to, really.
At the table though, she hesitated. “Are you sure? I wouldn’t like to intrude.”
His eyes had dipped, for the smallest fraction of a second, to the black silk sheathe she wore. “You’re all dressed up,” he murmured. “It would be
a shame to leave without having dinner.”
Her stomach had squeezed. On a night when she so badly needed kindness, Fiero had offered it, and it had meant everything.
She opened her eyes, listening, wondering if she’d heard something – but it was just the opening of a car door. Her eyes slipped to the clock and a frown formed on her lips. It was the middle of the night.
I’m going out. Don’t wait up.
After dinner, she hadn’t wanted to leave him. Their plates had been cleared, the restaurant emptied, but they’d sat, knee to knee beneath the table, talking, laughing, and Elodie’s soul had been fit to burst. She hadn’t told him about her parents – she hadn’t needed to. The grief she’d carried in the months since their premature deaths had eased, and she didn’t want to invoke it again by speaking of them.
But the restaurant began to set the tables for the following day, the waiters lingering nearby, and he lifted a hand to call for the bill. She’d reached for her bag and pulled out fifty pounds. He’d shaken his head. “Not necessary.”
Her lips had twisted. “Don’t be silly. You’ve already done too much, letting me join you.”
He’d reached across the table, laying his hand on hers. Such a simple gesture but one that had rocked her to the heart of her being. She’d jerked her eyes to his, wondering if he felt it too – that fiery throbbing in the pit of his abdomen, a need that was searing her blood and soul.
When he’d spoken, his voice was husky. “Having you join me has been a high point in an otherwise disastrous month. Paying for dinner is the least I can do to thank you.”
“I could say the same right back,” she murmured, unable to move her hand beneath his, desperately wanting him to stay like he was. Her eyes had dropped to the table, to the intimate gesture, and her stomach had swooped at the sight. Without looking at him, her heart in her throat, she’d said, “I’m sorry you’ve had a disastrous month. Do you want to talk about it?”
His thumb had begun to stroke her hand slowly, painfully slowly. “No.” The word was soft though, not a rejection so much as a question. She lifted her eyes to his face, a sinking feeling inside of her.
“I do not want to talk about it.”
Bubbles of excitement had been super-charged by adrenaline. “Do you want –,”
Oh, God. Was she really going to do this? She’d been so nervous, so unbelievably uncertain. In her other life, before her parents had died, she’d had a high level job – she’d given boardroom presentations, run investor meetings, she’d managed a big team of senior-level employees, many of whom were at least a decade older than her, and she’d conquered her nerves each and every time. But she couldn’t tame them in that moment, they were overtaking her.
“Do I want to?” He prompted, but there was a sensual gravel to his words that buoyed her, because he felt this too. Dropping her eyes to their skin again, she let her thumb begin its own exploration of his hand, lightly, curiously.
“My place is just around the corner.” She’d squeezed her eyes shut then, balking at the cliché turn of phrase.
“Is that so?”
She didn’t know why he wasn’t making this a bit easier for her. Surely he must have known where she was going.
“I’m renting a flat, in Earls Court. It’s small, but quiet, and the neighbours are nice. I don’t know if I’ll stay there long term or move –,” she was babbling. It was something she’d stamped out of herself a long time earlier, so why it had chosen that moment to resurface was beyond her. “I want –,” She looked at him, but the intensity in his eyes had made her feel like she was spinning in the centre of a hurricane, unable to grab hold of anything secure.
“You don’t want,” he muttered, shaking his head, and for the first time all night, she got a sense of the darkness that he’d alluded to, when he’d referred to his disastrous month.
“You shouldn’t want,” he’d amended. And then, with a small shake of his head. “And nor should I.”
Her mouth had felt bone dry. “But you do.”
His eyes scanned her face slowly, landing on her lips last of all, where they hovered for so long her mouth began to tingle. “Yes.” As though he were agreeing to sell his soul in some way.
