chapter 28

I shake my head, and Huxley says, “No, I think we’re done with food. Maybe a whisky to finish?”

“Of course.”

“What’s the best you’ve got?”

“We have a thirty-two-year-old Bowmore.” He names the price of a single shot.

My eyebrows rise, but Huxley just nods. “Oh yeah, we’ll have two glasses of that, please. Doubles.”

The waiter smiles. “Of course. Are you happy staying here, or would you like to come inside? There’s an open fire.”

“That sounds great,” Huxley says, so we rise and go inside, over to the sofa in front of the log fire. He sits in the right-hand corner, and I sit in the middle next to him. He puts his arm around me, pulling me right up to him, and I lean against him, tingling at the notion of being so close.

Even though I’m still nervous, the wine has done its job. My joints feel loose, and my spine has relaxed. He’s right. I should just accept that we’re going to end up in bed together. There’s no point in fighting it. I can’t resist him, and I think he knows it.

I give him