‘Of course. Maybe you could tell me your answer tomorrow?’
‘All right.’ Sitting here at the kitchen table with him didn’t feel casual and easy any more; Grace felt hot and bothered, remembering the touch of his mouth against her skin. For the last four years—and for longer than that, if she was honest—she hadn’t felt anything like this. Like a teenager about to go on her first date, with her heart pattering away and butterflies dancing a tango in her stomach. ‘I’d better do the washing up,’ she said, taking the coward’s way out of facing him.
‘I’ll help.’
Which would put them at even closer range. She couldn’t risk that. ‘There’s no need,’ she said brightly.
‘There’s every need,’ he corrected. ‘It’s my kitchen—and I’m not the kind to make other people do my share of the chores.’
She had no answer to that.
But, as they worked by the sink, they ended up brushing against each other. Grace tingled all over—which was ridiculous, because they were both fully clothed and, technically speaking, his shirtsleeve had touched her dress, which was nothing like his bare arm against her bare torso.
And then she really wished she hadn’t thought of that, because now she was imagining what it would be like if Roland was skin to skin with her. She went very still, and looked at him. He was exactly the same: still and watchful. So had he felt that strange connection between them? Was he tingling all over, too?
Grace couldn’t help glancing at Roland’s mouth. His lips were slightly parted, revealing even, white teeth; how had she not noticed before how sensual the curve of his mouth was? When she looked up again, she realised that he was looking at her mouth, too.
And then he leaned forward and kissed her. It was the lightest, gentlest, most unthreatening brush of his mouth against hers, and it sent shards of desire all through her. She couldn’t ever remember a kiss making her feel as hot and shivery as this before.
‘Tell me tomorrow,’ he whispered.
She shook her head. ‘I can give you the answer right now.’ Even though part of her knew this was crazy and she ought to be measured and sensible about this, the way she always was, a stronger part of her couldn’t resist the challenge. And maybe taking a leaf out of Bella’s book—living life to the full, instead of being sensible all the time and holding back—would be good for her.
Two weeks. No strings.
Time to take the leap.
‘Yes.’
CHAPTER FOUR
THE MIDDLE OF the next morning, Roland texted Grace.
Do you have a posh cocktail dress?
She thought about it. Was he planning to take her to a cocktail bar or something? Given that Roland was six-foot-two, she could actually wear her one pair of high heels without being taller than he was and making him feel embarrassed. She could team them with a little black dress, and maybe put her hair up.
Yes. Why?
Taking you out for dinner tonight. Need you to be ready for seven. Does that fit in OK for work?
Which meant she had absolutely no idea where they were going; all she knew was that the dress code meant posh. It could be anything from a private dinner party in a castle somewhere—given that Roland’s family owned chateaux in France and he mixed in very different circles from her own—to dinner at Claridge’s. Was this what it felt like to be swept off your feet, not having a clue about what was happening? Grace was used to being organised and in charge, and right now she felt a bit out of her depth. But she brazened it out.
Sure, can be ready.
Good. Any allergies or things you can’t bear to eat?
No to both.
Excellent. See you at seven.
Where are we going? she texted, though she had a feeling that he wouldn’t tell her.
Out, was the reply that she’d half expected, leaving her none the wiser.
Roland wasn’t at the house when Grace went back to Docklands after work. But he’d asked her to be ready for seven, so she showered, changed and did her hair to make sure she’d be ready. As she started applying her make-up, a wave of nervousness swept through her. This was their ‘date’—and it had put her in a complete spin. She knew this wasn’t a real relationship, but Roland had promised to sweep her off her feet, and she’d promised to let him practise his dating skills.
Did that mean he was going to kiss her again? And those feelings she’d had last night—would they get to the point of overwhelming her common sense? Would she end up making a fool of herself?