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“You okay?” Hugh whispered, drawing back slightly.
“Yes.” Apart from the fact that she now missed the feel of his lips on hers. “I was only thinking … I mean, I was wondering …” It wasn’t like her to get tongue tied, but nerves had hit her and she felt utterly unsure of herself. “I wondered if you might want to show me your sex dungeon,” she blurted, then cringed as she waited for his response.
“Aren’t you even going to let me buy you a takeaway first?” His eyes darkened and she couldn’t work out if he was teasing or serious.
“We could get food if you’re hungry,” she said, her voice coming out slightly off-pitch.
His eyes bored into hers before he kissed her so softly that it sent butterflies fluttering from her stomach to her chest. “Come on,” he said, taking her hand.
Her brain was several steps behind as she followed him across the room, but she felt a whoosh of relief when he crossed the landing and opened the door opposite.
“I’m afraid it’s not actually very dungeon-like.” He stopped in the centre of his bedroom, turning to face her and slipping his arms around her waist. “If that’s your thing.”
“Not really,” she said, relaxing into his embrace. Her nerves were mostly overtaken by anticipation as he brought a hand to her face and tilted her chin. Except, something felt off. Her eyes darted around the room, which bore no resemblance to a dungeon, but—
His lips landed on hers and the sweet taste of his mouth briefly distracted her.
“Hugh?” she said, forcing herself to break away.
“Mmm?” He kissed her jaw and pushed his fingers up into her hair.
“Where’s all your stuff?”
“What stuff?”
She pulled right away to look properly around the room. The bed was neatly made with a dark blue bedspread, and built-in wardrobes took over the far wall. Other than that, there was only a bedside table with a lamp, and a chest of drawers — the surface of which contained absolutely nothing.
“You don’t have any stuff,” she said.
“What kind of stuff?”
“Just … things … people usually have things … pens and coins and clothes and … You don’t have any things.”
“I don’t like clutter,” he said casually.
“Yeah, but …” Being neat and tidy was one thing, but this was something else. “Were you in the army or something?”
“No,” he said, eyes twinkling with amusement.
“Do you have OCD?”
“No.” The light disappeared from his eyes as though someone had blown a candle out.
“Sorry.” Allie ran her hand over his shoulder. “That was really insensitive.” She glanced around the sparse room again.
“I don’t have OCD and I’m not obsessive about clutter. I just prefer not to have a lot of stuff lying around.”
Realising she’d killed the mood, she nodded and gave a small smile while moving closer to him. He’d just tilted his head and brushed his nose against hers when she spoke again.
“It must have killed you being at my place,” she said, unable to get past just how impeccable his room was. “Did it freak you out how much crap I have everywhere?”
“No!” He laughed, relaxing again. “I don’t have a problem with stuff around the place. Personally, I just always put my things away, but it’s not like it bothers me.”
“Are you sure?” She eyed the room suspiciously. He must really think she was a slob.
“I can prove it if you want,” he said, raising his eyebrows mischievously.
“How are you going to prove it? I don’t need you emptying the contents of your wardrobe just to prove a point.”
