Off Limits

He grins. ‘I called you Miss Moneypenny first.’

‘Yes, and that’s equally wrong. I’m not some wallflower assistant.’

‘You assist me,’ he says with a shrug, but he comes to a chair and pulls it out, his eyes meeting mine, silently inviting me to sit.

Electricity sparks between us like a current neither of us can control.

I’m nervous, and that makes me angry! I don’t want to be nervous around Jack, like this is a date or something. I’ve agreed to let him ravage me so that he’ll tell me stuff. It’s not a date. If it were he’d tell me all that stuff without the promise of animalistic sex.

It’s only when I sit that I pay attention to the kind of food he’s ordered. There’s sushi, sashimi, a Katsu curry, edamame and a couple of miso soups. I try not to think he’s remembered that Katsu curry is my favourite thing in the world.

He takes the seat opposite mine and lifts a glass. I tilt mine towards his and then rest it back on the table.

‘It’s bad luck not to drink after clinking glasses.’

‘I haven’t heard that.’

I lift the drink to my lips and taste it. Of course it’s delicious.

He rests back in the chair, his hands linked beneath his chin. ‘Well, Miss Picton. We have a deal. What is it you’d like to know?’

‘You’ll tell me anything?’

‘And you’ll let me do anything.’

I nod, my throat dry as I wonder just what his idea of ‘anything’ encompasses.

‘How do you know I won’t chicken out, out of interest?’

His laugh makes my gut vibrate. ‘Because you’re you. I can’t imagine you backing away from anything in your life. You’re fearless.’

‘Not entirely,’ I say under my breath.

‘No? What are you afraid of?’

I sip my wine again, and then snap my chopsticks in half reaching for a piece of salmon nigiri. ‘I’m afraid of lightning,’ I say softly. ‘Terrified of it.’

‘As in thunder and lightning?’

I nod. ‘Yep. That one.’

‘But why? It’s just atmospheric discharge.’

‘Yeah. It’s just a weather phenomenon. But I will still hide under my covers during a storm, waiting for it to pass, without fail.’

‘Why? Since when?’

My smile is lopsided. ‘Since I was a girl.’

‘What happened?’

‘How do you know anything happened?’

‘I just do,’ he says with a shrug of his broad shoulders, lifting his own chopsticks and taking a piece of chicken karaage.

He’s right, of course.

‘I was seven years old and locked out of our home. I’d gone to pick apples and my parents presumed I was in bed. They were out to dinner with friends and Nanny Winters thought I’d gone with them. The house was locked up and I couldn’t get in.’