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“I won’t need the sofa.” His mouth hungrily searches mine.
I need that wine and some serious Dutch courage if this is going any further tonight.
When we haveour wine and have put in about fifteen minutes of snogging against the kitchen counter, we make it to the lounge. I settle on the old worn sofa and he sits next to me, lifting my legs and placing them across his lap. “So, what do you actually write about, Amber, to be able to afford all this wine?” He motions to the bottle, which is a good one, not just any old crap.
During dinner I told him about my writing and how I started it as a way to stay at home with Isaac when he was a baby. Again, his eyes flickered, but he still didn’t say anything. I know it must frustrate him when he hears about my single parenting endeavours.
“I write about love. It seems silly saying it out loud.”
He looks at me in confusion. “Love?”
I sigh and lean my head back against the cushion. “Yeah. I used to think I was keeping it real, telling people what love was really like, giving them all unhappy endings.”
His eyes focus on me. “Was that because of me?”
Chewing my bottom lip, I wonder how to answer before deciding on the truth. “Maybe, a little bit.”
“I’m sorry. I acted like such an arsehole. I don’t even know why you are sat here with me now. I wouldn’t have forgiven me yet.”
“Yeah, and I wouldn’t have forgiven me yet, either.”
Freddy leans in closer, his eyes intent. “Can I ask a question, while we are talking about forgiving?”
I feel like this is leading somewhere. “Sure.”
“Did you ever manage to forget about me, Amber?”
The million-dollar question. Was there ever a day when I managed to forget Freddy Bale?
“No.”
His breath is painful; sharp. “What about when you got married?”
I couldn’t even forget him on my wedding day. He was all I could think about as I got dressed and drove to the register office. Consumed with thoughts about how I always believed it would be him. It was my eventual surprise on the day that it wasn’t him that finally woke me up. Ironic that the day I married someone else was the day when I finally got to grips with the fact I hadn’t left Freddy Bale behind.
“No.”
Another intake of breath. His hand smooths up my leg. “I looked for you every day. I hope you know that. I just wanted to tell you I knew I’d made a mistake, so that even if you didn’t want me, you still knew that I wanted you.”
I know this now. Just like I know there has never been a day when he couldn’t have walked in, and I wouldn’t have wanted him again instantly.
“So, you still want me now?” I question, my voice squeaking—which doesn’t make it sound as sexy as I was aiming for, more mouses squeal than tigress’ purr.
His eyes glint and his mouth softens into a delicious smile. “Nah, not really.”
I squirm out from underneath his legs and back away, keeping my eyes on him. “But I had so many things to show you.”
In a flash he is up off the sofa. “What sorts of things?” He prowls towards me.
“Things,” I squeal even louder and then dash for the door, taking the stairs two at a time.
He’s faster than me, as he always was. He pins me on the stairs, one sharp ridge digging into my back. I’m not complaining though, because it’s the weight of Freddy’s body that’s pinning me in place, and that can only be good.
His mouth finds mine, and he’s not holding back, not anymore. Our teeth clash, our tongues entwine. I struggle to draw breath, and not in an I’m-too-busy-swooning way. I mean, I can’t breathe because I can’t pull away. His hand skims down my side, his thumb grazing what I like to fondly call my side boob.
Okay. This brings me up to the things I need to show him.
Somehow, and I’m not sure how, I manage to squirm from under his grasp and stand on very wobbly legs. He rolls onto his back on the stairs and lets out a groan.
