She looked at her lap. Yes, it had been incredible.
“Erotic?”
That, too. The most erotic experience of her life—and the most intimate.
A warm hand curved under her chin, and he tipped her face up to look at him. “Intense?”
So intense. Everything about the two of them was so intense.
He brushed his thumb over her cheek.
“How can you be nice to me when I did that?” she blurted out. “Don’t you think less of me?”
“For what?”
“For being drunk in the first place, and then for sleeping with you.”
A smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “I slept with you, too, love. Do you think less of me?”
She sighed. It was no use trying to explain it. Why she’d done it, why she shouldn’t have. Why she couldn’t do it again. Her life, and her mother, and the New Cath Reform Project. This wasn’t about morality. It was about judgment. Specifically, it was about her lack of any. But how did you tell that to someone who seemed to have complete confidence in his own?
She didn’t try. “It’s different for you,” she said. “You’re a man.”
“I was beginning to fear you hadn’t noticed.”
That made her snort. “I noticed. I can’t stop noticing. That’s my whole problem.”
He smiled, barely enough to make his dimple pop, and then he leaned over and kissed her. Just the lightest pressure of his lips on hers at first, but he didn’t pull away, and neither did she. He deepened the kiss, his tongue exploring the shape of her lower lip. He smelled like vinegar, and he tasted of salt. When she exhaled, parting her lips and pressing closer, a low, rumbly groan emerged from his throat that made her want to climb right into his lap. But then he broke it off.
Leaning close to her ear, he murmured, “I promise you, whatever we are together, it’s not a mistake. It’s too good to be a mistake.”
He withdrew with a glance of his lips over her cheek.
Which was probably for the best, since they were on a crowded train, and she wasn’t going to sleep with him again. But even so, she hadn’t wanted the kiss to end.
He took the Cadbury Fruit & Nut from his briefcase, peeled it open, and broke off a bite. He was giving her space. Or maybe he needed some chocolate. She didn’t know where to look or what to think, and sometimes chocolate helped in this sort of situation. As the train left Mudchute behind, she opened her own candy bar and ate it mechanically, staring out the window.
When she finished, he took the wrapper, stuck it in his pocket, and then covered her fingers with his. The rest of the way to Greenwich, they didn’t speak. His hand spoke for him, though, reinforcing the promise. Nev knew what he wanted. She was the one who seemed to have developed a split-personality disorder.
They came to their station eventually. She walked off the train ahead of him, her feet taking her across the platform and down the steps to the high street. Maybe she could simply head home without facing him, and then she wouldn’t have to make any decisions. She wouldn’t have to face the impossibility of turning him away, of saying no when all she wanted to do was say yes. She could just walk home.
He spoiled the fantasy, catching her wrist and turning her neatly around. He drew her close, pushed his fingers into her hair, and kissed her again, deep and passionate this time, bypassing her brain altogether. Her lips parted. Her eyes drifted closed. She plummeted into him, letting him take what he wanted. What she wanted. What they both wanted so much, it was absurd to try to deny it.
By the time he’d finished kissing her, she couldn’t breathe or think. She could barely stand up. Nev didn’t look all that much steadier. He looked like he wanted to nail her right up against the brick wall of the nearest building.
Go for it, she thought.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“I wanted to be sure it was still there,” he said. “What we had on the weekend.”
“Oh.”
“It’s still there.” A rough edge to his voice belied his civilized tone.
“Yeah.”
Nev sighed. “I suppose it’s hopeless inviting you back to the flat right now.”