A soft voice and hand brushing my face wake me from a strange, disjointed dream. I turn on my side to find Alex lying next to me, his expression intent. "Hey," I say softly."Hey. How are you doing?" Alex asks, and I can see the concern written across his features."I'm okay. Tired. Sorry, I fell asleep. I was just waiting for you to finish up with your mum. What time is it?""Six-thirty. I have booked us a table at Medlar for some dinner in an hour. Is that okay with you?" I nod my consent and struggle into a sitting position, my body still tense from all the anxiousness earlier."Is everything okay between you and your mum?" I ask tentatively. "I am so sorry about blurting that out. Mouth engaged before brain and all that," I joke weakly."It's fine, Liv. We talked some more. I am not sure how long it will take for her to get over us lying to her, but mostly we are forgiven. I think it helped that we actually do have feelings for each other. I think she will end up spinning this as
I have had the shittiest day, and to top it off, it feels like I am coming down with something; my limbs ache and I feel hot and shivery at the same time. I don't think I have ever been so grateful to have my front door in my sightline. All I want to do is get out of my sodden clothes and have a cup of tea and a warm bath. Why is it that February weather always has to be so foul?I have just closed the door and am in the process of hanging up my coat and towelling my hair, cursing the fact that I forgot my umbrella when there is a short knock at the door. I am so not in the mood for visitors but slap on a smile because, hey, you never know who it might be. Yet when I swing the door open, I seriously wish I hadn't bothered.Sofia stands on the doorstep, not a hair out of place, looking resplendent in her dark coat and slash of bright red lipstick across her thin mouth. Before I have a chance to say anything, though, she pushes past me into the hall. After you, I think sarcastically to
It has been two weeks since I woke up from my battle with the flu. Two weeks that Alex has played nursemaid to me, insisting that I needed time to rest and recuperate. But now I am bored shitless. Don't get me wrong, the first week was bliss; I slept, I ate and I generally forced myself to try to relax. Hours were spent on the sofa alternating between dozing, reading and watching films whilst Alex sat sentinel, tapping away incessantly on his laptop. But now I am coming up to the end of the second week of bed rest and I am slowly going insane. I have never spent this much time just doing nothing; my body is antsy, my brain itching for some more stimulation than lame TV or sappy romance novels. And to top it off, I am horny as hell.Last night—after quite a bit of persuasion, I might add—I managed to get Alex to make love to me. Up until then, the most Alex would do is hold me as if I were fragile porcelain; one wrong move and I might break. It was intense, yet gen
At some point during the night, Alex must have carried me upstairs because I wake to find myself snuggled under the duvet of our bed. The dim light shining from behind the curtains and the sound of rain beating against the window herald another dull and gloomy February morning. My muscles ache from the night's activities and my head is pounding from the lack of food and hydration. I swing my legs out of bed and go to stand, but stumble when the head rush I experience makes me feel dizzy. I am just sinking back down onto the mattress when Alex walks in with a tray and a look of concern on his face."Argh, I think I overdid it last night," I say, dropping my head into my hands. Alex quickly puts the tray down and comes to my side, smoothing back the hair off my face."You okay, Liv?" he asks."Just a headache," I respond, trying to reassure him. "I just need to eat.""Then it's a good thing I made you breakfast," Alex says with a grin. I climb back so that
It is a year since Liv became his wife and he has been determined to do something special for their anniversary to celebrate. At long last, he is going to take her on a first date. It has taken some planning, but finally, he has put together something he thought she would love.The last year of his life has been full of light. She is the antithesis to the darkness that he had held on to in his soul. She showed him how to become the man he was destined to be and for that he is eternally grateful. She even encouraged him to meet up with Becca to find some peace.He had always wondered if the way things happened had hurt Becca as much as it had him. When they finally met again, on a trip back home with Liv, he finally managed to get some closure with her assurances that his behaviour hadn't actually scarred her for life. It seems silly now, looking back, to have held on to the angst for so long, but the mind-fuck he had given himself over the supposed expectations of othe
He stands at the back of the room watching her, his impassive expression belying the intrigue he feels when he is near her. Olivia Walker is nervously fiddling with the auction brochure turning it over and over in her hands as she waits for the next lot to come up. He can sense the desperation rolling off her; her posture is stooped as if she is carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders. He runs his eyes over her whole body, taking in the messy brown hair that seems to have a life of its own, the face bare of makeup, the large brown eyes that are the same shade as Oreo cookies and seem to show every emotion she feels. Her petite frame is clad in clothes that have clearly seen better days. Today her eyes are haunted; the usual warmth that he has seen in their depths is entirely absent.For months now he has watched her patiently, waiting for the opportunity to present itself. And today is the day. His cock twitches in his pants and he takes a deep, calming breath, reminding him
The pace of the auction is fast and furious, as I surreptitiously check out my main competition. The bids start to slow, but we remain engaged in a battle of wills; this is a fight I cannot afford to lose. Charles Ridings made it abundantly clear that my job was on the line if I did not deliver.I have no idea why this particular 12th-Century manuscript is so important to him, but this is the first time since I started working for Charles twelve months ago that money has been no object. When I first applied for the position, the job description was particularly vague, and the only thing that stood out was the need for a background in rare books. Well, that fits me to a tee. I had just spent the last ten years working as a curator of rare books at the London Museum and, well, circumstances meant that I needed the money this new role was offering. It broke my heart to think about leaving my little cubicle and all the colleagues I had made over the last decade, but the opportunity was to
I am trembling as I walk into 1 Lombard Street, a restaurant that is located in the heart of the City of London. I have a vague idea of the man with whom I am about to come face-to-face. My go-to reaction when faced with something, or someone, I am unsure about is to do my research. Forewarned is forearmed, as they say, and the Internet is a marvellous invention. It took a few Google searches to narrow down my Alexander Davenport, but when I finally tracked down the website for Davenport Wines, I was able to confirm that the person I had met was the same guy in the picture on the page of company directors.From his short biography, I learnt that he is thirty-six and originally from Western Australia. His family own a couple of vineyards and exports their vintages globally. Interestingly enough, there is very little about his personal life documented online, which I found a little odd. He is clearly wealthy and from a prestigious family, so I would have thought he would have had some s