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‘To England,’ I clarify.
I sense his desire to pull away from me, but he doesn’t. I’m unbelievably pleased. ‘A week after I turned eighteen.’ His smile is a very masculine version of the Mona Lisa’s, every inch as enigmatic and mysterious. I wonder at the secret memories he’s holding on to, and why he keeps them wrapped to his chest.
‘But not straight to London?’
‘No.’
Closed answers. In a therapy session I would let him get away with it, being ever-careful not to spook him, to antagonise and alienate him. Here, in a packed bar, with his beautiful body between my legs and the temptation of a night together on the periphery of my mind, I make free to push him.
‘Where did you go?’
He looks as though I’m the dentist and he’s terrified of needles. Odd, when I think Noah Moore isn’t afraid of much at all. ‘Oxford.’
‘Oxford? As in university?’
‘Would that surprise you?’
I frown. It does, and I can’t say why.
‘My...business partner and I did a coding course there,’ he says. ‘It was just a summer school—not really affiliated with the university, just using the campus.’
‘That’s where you started Bright Spark?’
He nods again. ‘At least, where we started on the path towards it. It was another few years before we launched.’
‘And then it all happened very fast,’ I say, noting the admiration that softens my words.
He dips his head forward in concession and I sip my champagne. Is that my second or third glass? I don’t know, but it’s delicious.
I am buzzing all over. In my abdomen and my soul, my mind and my mouth. I am a lightning storm and he is the ocean, drawing all of my electricity down, causing me to spark and flash.
I look at him and a bolt of awareness lights up, hard and fast. I shiver—a good shiver. One of anticipation and indulgence; one of reward.
* * *
I don’t realise how affected by the champagne she is until she stands, looking for the ladies’ room. She presses a hand against my chest to steady herself and my cock surges forward, thinking his moment is nigh.
Only, she sways and her eyes blink, like she’s confused in some way. Shit. She’s had almost the whole bottle and eaten very little. I’ve been demolishing the platters as we’ve talked, satiating one hunger before turning my attention to another.
Her eyes scan the bar, but her frown gathers, like she barely knows where she is.
‘This way.’ My voice is gruff. I put an arm around her waist, offering more support than guidance, and lead her to the restrooms at the back. I fight the urge to take her in myself—but wince as she walks down the hallway and has to hold the wall for support.
Five minutes pass. Six minutes. I’m on the brink of storming into the restroom myself when she comes out, looking a little more in control, though still resting her hand on the wall as she walks towards me.
Her smile is bright as she approaches. ‘Let’s go home.’
The words are slurred, but her meaning is clear. My heart slams against my ribs as I imagine the doc in my home.
‘Your place?’ I prompt.
‘No.’ She shakes her head emphatically and then winces once more. She presses a finger to my chest. ‘Your place.’ She runs her finger down the centre of my chest, all the way to my abdomen, lingering there as her eyes lock on mine and her teeth pull her full lower lip in.
I fight an urge to push her back against the wall. I fight many urges, in fact, in this moment. I’m as shocked as anyone could be to discover that I have some ancient decency within me that makes the idea of taking advantage of her violently abhorrent.
That makes me more concerned for her than I am aroused—which is really saying something as my body is like a fucking grenade about to go off.
‘This way.’ The words are unintentionally short, as though I’m angry with her, and I see hurt flash in her eyes.
