Her Nine Month Confession

‘A small part.’

‘I’m not sure actresses are meant to be self-deprecating.’

‘I’m not, just factual. It’s a small part.’

‘But the TV drama, that’s the lead?’

‘I’ve been really lucky.’

‘You could do with a few lessons in self-publicity.’

She looked at him through her lashes and asked huskily, ‘Are you offering?’

His slow smile made her insides melt and her heart race even faster.

Over her third cup of coffee, looking into his electric-blue eyes, Lily made the dizzying discovery that it was potentially addictive having a man look at you with undisguised desire. Especially when the man in question had, for a large part of your life, represented the perfect ideal and you’d spent your life measuring other men against him—inevitably they had fallen short.

Could that be why she’d still not had a single serious relationship?

The possibility drifted into her head and then was gone because he had caught her hand and, holding it between his thumb and forefinger, was massaging the pad of her palm. The light arabesques sent deep tremors through her body. What she was feeling bore no resemblance to any teenage crush. It bore no resemblance to anything she had felt or imagined feeling.

She didn’t even know she’d closed her eyes until he spoke in his deep husky voice.

‘I have a room.’

She didn’t say anything; she couldn’t.

Her voice sounded throaty and deep, unfamiliar to her own ears, when she finally managed a response: ‘Yes.’

* * *

If she’d known what she was saying yes to she wouldn’t have waited even that long. Last night had been more than Lily had ever dreamed!

Her body still thrummed with the sensual aftermath of their lovemaking and her heart felt full. And there was more to come, much more, there were days and nights and... She felt her heart flutter as she thought of a future with Benedict in it, beside her in her bed. Last night was the start of something...it had to be.

Not romanticising, she told the voice of caution in her head. The sex had been incredible but it had gone beyond the physical; nothing that special could be transitory. She had no name for it, but it had been real.

‘What are you waiting for, Lily?’

Lily had never had an answer for Sam’s exasperated lectures about lowering her expectations and being realistic.

As she directed her searching, hungry gaze at his face a series of sensual images superimposed themselves over his sleeping features. The accompanying taste and textures were so real that the effort of separating herself from them brought a fine sheen of perspiration to Lily’s skin.

She shivered even though she was close enough to feel the warmth of his body. She had an answer to Sam’s question now—Benedict was the man she had been waiting for.

Did he realise that he’d been her first? Last night the memory of Lara’s experience had made her hold back. The man her twin had fallen for had said virgins were not his style—a deal breaker, she remembered Lara saying, while she outlined her solution to the problem.

Did other men feel that way...?

Did Benedict?

Would it be a deal breaker...? Could she take the risk?

Did not telling him constitute lying?

In the end the moment had passed, as had the fear her inexperience might be a problem. But she still didn’t know if he’d realised.

She would ask him, she decided, fighting the strong compulsion to wake him, her lips curved in a contemplative smile. Lily lay down with a sigh and, in an effort to distract herself, began to scroll idly through her emails before moving on to read the latest theatre gossip. She discovered, as her fingers idly flicked through the website, that the play she’d seen the previous week had been nominated for an Olivier award and the fans of a soap were demanding they reinstate a recently axed daytime favourite. A celebrity couple were splitting but staying good friends and a—

Her finger froze as she stared at the screen. The images there screamed silently back at her until she felt as though her skull would explode with the building pressure, the anger aimed as much at herself as him.

‘No!’ she whispered, but though the words and images blurred through the tears in her eyes they remained there, visible evidence of her wilful stupidity!

The piece was written in a gushy style that included quotes from friends of a newly engaged couple. There were several photos of the bride-to-be, the shiny rock on her finger and the groom...the groom...looking handsome on a ski slope, snow on his eyelashes...looking elegant and aloof at a red-carpet event...looking dynamic and sombre at an economic conference.