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s, continuing our earlier conversation with ease. In the periphery of my vision, I see one of my classmates begin to move towards us and I quickly slide my fingertips over the envelope, palming it subtly towards my hip.
His eyes glow when they meet mine and then he’s dismissing me with a curt nod, turning to face the other student.
I leave before I hear their conversation, moving down the corridor and turning into the first ladies’ room I reach. I lock myself in a cubicle and only then do I dare open the envelope. There’s a card inside, like a bank card. When I flip it over I see the branding:
SleepInn Holborn
I recognise the name—it’s a hotel only about a block from the law school. There’s another piece of paper in the envelope. It’s got Connor’s confident writing scrawled across it.
Room 1318. 4 p.m.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I ARRIVE JUST after four and the room is deserted. Which is good, because it’s a hot day and I’ve moved quickly to get here and I need a couple of minutes to cool down. I place my handbag by the door then step into the room. No, it’s more a suite, actually, large and extravagant, with a king-size bed, a crystal chandelier and several large mirrors on the walls. I catch my reflection in one and smile.
I look like a woman on the path to adventure. Maybe not such a good girl after all?
I push the curtains open, revealing the view. London swirls beneath me, a hive of activity as people begin their journeys home. I stare down at the street for a moment, trying to catch a glimpse of Connor, and then move towards a door which I presume will lead to a bathroom.
It’s palatial. An enormous triangular spa bath sits in one corner, a window just above it showcasing an alternative view of town. There’s a shower, too, with two shower heads and a marble vanity unit below a large mirror with an ornate swirling gold frame.
I run some cold water from the tap and splash my neck and arms, refreshing myself and cooling down. I pat myself dry and then move back into the room just as I hear another card in the door’s locking mechanism.
I pause but every cell in my body is leaping with anticipation. My mouth is dry and my pulse is frantic. The door pushes inwards. I wait, my breath held.
Connor strides in and, despite the heat of the day, he looks perfect. His eyes meet mine and my stomach goes into free fall, like I’ve tumbled off the top of a cliff.
I can’t look away. I can only stare. He walks further into the room, shrugging out of his jacket as he does so, placing it over a chair-back to his side. I still don’t move, nor do I speak. I don’t know why I’m struck mute, only that this is the effect he has on me.
‘Hey.’ His voice is thick; my insides tremble.
‘Hey,’ I finally respond, forcing a smile to my lips. I stay where I am, even though my instinct is to launch myself at him. I clear my throat. ‘I thought we decided we couldn’t do this any more.’
‘No.’ His grin is disarming. He doesn’t smile enough. ‘We decided we couldn’t fuck in my office at university, which I should never have let happen.’ Now he moves to me, closing the distance easily. He wraps his arms around my waist, holding me so close I’m sure he must be able to hear my internal relief. ‘It was my fault.’
‘Was it?’
‘Yeah.’ His grin widens and my stomach flips. ‘My fault for not staying longer Saturday night.’ He presses a kiss to my forehead. ‘My fault for waiting until Tuesday to see you. My fault for losing my shit when you were talking to that guy. My fault for wanting you so much I can’t think straight.’
I blink up at him, confusion nipping at my heels. Confusion at what all of this means, at the intensity of what we feel. He’s supposed to be my rebellion, not my reason for breathing.
‘He’s just a friend.’
‘He looked like he wanted to lick you.’
I laugh. Hadn’t I been thinking the same thing? ‘It’s complicated,’ I say after I sober. ‘We go way back.’
Connor nods. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s none of my business. So long as you’re not fucking him, I don’t care.’
The confusion increases. The intensity of what we are apparently doesn’t extend to caring about potential and past boyfriends.
‘We dated a couple of years,’ I say, and I know it’s childish but I kind of hope I’m turning the screws in some way. ‘But it didn’t work out.’
His expression doesn’t shift, the same sexy-as-sin smile on those beautiful lips.
He drops his hands from around my waist and moves towards a glossy benchtop. He presses one of the cupboard doors and it springs open to reveal a miniature fridge. He removes a bottle of champagne and two iced glasses, placing them on the counter before retrieving a plate of fruit.
‘Something you organised earlier?’ I ask, padding over to him, watching as he unfurls the gold foil top from the champagne. His eyes meet mine and there is something in his expression that fires my belly.
