Her heart shivered. Soon he would be gone for ever. There wasn’t a moment to lose.
‘Come back to bed,’ she murmured.
He turned, his eyes narrowing as they took in her naked body, his body instantly all muscle and tension. His gaze was blind, hungry. His erection was heavy and proud. He wanted what she wanted.
And he wanted her.
Crossing the room, he pulled her against him, his mouth seeking hers, and her hands reached for his body.
Later, they lay on the twisted bedding, watching the fire, their damp skin blurring their bodies into one, her breasts pressing against the hard wall of his chest.
The room was blissfully warm. Outside, the sky was starting to turn clay-coloured.
What time was it? she wondered.
In answer to her unspoken question she heard the church bells chime three o’clock.
There’d been so many days like this when they had first got together. Days spent in bed, in Farlan’s flat.
Whenever they’d been alone time had grown thick and amorphous, so that she would step out into the street expecting daylight only to find that day was already night.
Not that she had minded. She had loved those long, languid mornings in bed. Loved, too, those afternoons when he’d pulled her into the flat and she had unzipped him, both of them frantic, panting, still fully clothed, their orgasms so quick and sharp that they never even reached the bed.
Afterwards, it had always been her who’d broken the spell. Farlan had been happy to stay there, holding her in his arms. She had been the one needing to reinstate order and normality.
Now, though, as he caressed her hip and the curve of her bottom, she wanted to stop the church bells from chiming. To stop time itself and just stay in his arms in this cosy little room for ever. Only it was stupid and dangerous to think that way…
She felt his teeth nip her collarbone lightly.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
‘Nothing, really,’ she lied.
There were rules, she was sure, for this kind of affair. Someone more experienced, more practised in the art of no-strings flings, would definitely know them, but even she could guess that talking about lying in his arms for ever would not be a good idea.
‘I was just thinking about the ball,’ she said quickly.
It was another lie.
The Beaters’ Ball was tonight, and usually she would have been thinking about it for hours beforehand, but it had hardly crossed her mind. Farlan had made everything lose shape and colour.
He slid his hand through her hair, catching strands in his fingers and lifting them up to the light. ‘What about the ball?’ he asked.
He spoke casually, but she could feel the muscles in his arms tightening a little, as though her answer mattered to him.
‘I was just thinking it’s a shame Tom and Diane can’t go.’
The Drummonds had flown to Dublin for a wedding, and were both very disappointed to be missing it.
Farlan didn’t answer immediately, and then he shrugged. ‘There’ll be others.’
‘I know.’
Shifting against the solidity of Farlan’s chest, Nia looked away from the fire and tilted her head back. She felt her breath catch in her throat. He was as mesmerising as any fire. He drew the eye in the same way, and it was impossible to look away.
She knew that it wouldn’t matter how many days and nights they spent together—she would never get used to his beauty. Nor find another man who would make her feel so complete and so completely desired.
So why waste time at a ball that he would probably hate?