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“More than anything in the world.”
I lift a hand to the back of his head, slide my fingers into his hair, and bring his head down.
I press my lips to his. “Mm,” I murmur as our lips peel apart, “I’m wearing lip gloss, sorry.”
“That’s so fucking hot,” he says, and we both laugh and kiss again. He tilts his head to the side, I open my mouth to him, and we kiss for a long time, my arms rising around his neck, his sliding around my waist.
I’ve never had a kiss like it, warm and luxurious, bathed in the late-summer sunshine, with the smell of coffee and muffins wafting across us from the café. I can feel him still buzzing from the jump, and his happiness at the thought of going to bed with me. How can I resist him when he wants me so badly? When I want him, too? The thought of being with him… letting him undress me… kiss me all over… slide inside me… ohhhh…
Maybe he was right, and this is the only way we can cure ourselves of our obsession. And have a one-in-three chance of walking away with a bun in the oven at the same time. He’s right, it’s a win-win, isn’t it?
Chapter Eight
Huxley
I’m convinced it’s going to be the longest ten days of my life, but in the end the time passes pretty quickly. We’re having some renovations carried out on two of the meeting rooms at the club, and we also close the restaurant for two days to have it completely repainted. Even though it’s an obvious loss in revenue, the result is stunning, a vast improvement on the original, and Victoria and I are really pleased with it.
Despite the work going on, the club is busy. The available meeting rooms are mostly booked all day, the workrooms are bustling, the bars are packed in the evenings, and the calendar for functions is becoming nicely full. We get a great review on one of the top New Zealand business websites, and the biggest bank in the city contacts us to say they’re interested in using us for their international AGM in September, which would mean huge business for us.
Although I’m cautious about jinxing it, I have to admit that the club has been successful, more than I’d hoped, and is continuing to flourish.
But even though I start work at nine and finish late, and I barely have a moment to myself, there’s still plenty of time to think about Elizabeth and our coming adventure.
She’s busy too, working on a new project with Titus and Mack, something to do with AI and IVF, and although I see her a couple of times in meetings, I don’t get any alone time with her.
She texts or Snapchats me several times a day though. This is nothing new—I’m used to my phone buzzing in my jacket pocket announcing a message from her: a query about a meeting room, a fun anecdote, a photo of Nymph covered in mud following a walk, or a brief joke. But this time the messages are a little more intimate, flirty even.
It begins the day after my jump.
Her:By the way, I feel I should remind you about your promise not to self-administer before our trip. ;-)
Me:A No Nut Ten Days?!
Her:Ha! Yeah, if you like. You need to build up your army.
Me:I’ll try if you agree to try with me. It’s only fair.
Her:Argh! Okay. I can’t promise anything though.
Me:I foresee lots of long walks and cold showers.
Her:Maybe we should wear boxing gloves in bed.
Me:LOL! It’s not going to be easy. You realize it’s going to be like the 1883 eruption of Krakatoa when we eventually get together.
Her:That made coffee come out of my nose! Well, I expect a daily report on your success.
Me:Will do. We’ll compare notes in the morning.
The next day, I text her as I promised.
Me:How did you get on last night/this morning?
Her:Success! I feel a bit jittery now though. You?
Me:Same. I’m going to have sex on the brain until the tenth.
Her:No change there, then!
