Highly Strung (Food Of Love 1)

Lydia woke up with the words echoing in her ears in Milan’s velvet-clad accent. He might be off limits in her professional life, but her fantasy life was a different matter. Lydia slid her fingers down, found the warm split between her thighs, her clit swollen and bursting to be touched after a night of broken dreams featuring Milan’s bowing elbow and devilish smile.

Alternative reality changed the previous evening’s disastrous encounter so that her ‘no’ became a ‘yes’. She sat down beside him and he slipped an arm around her, drawing her close, closer, as close as could be until he held her against him, her ear rubbing his shoulder so that she drew his warmth into her body. Then his fingertips, sensitive but strong, on her cheek, then his lips on hers, then the pub whirling away from them while they kissed.

His hands inside her shirt—the parka having long since dissolved—exploring her, caressing her skin, finding her breasts, laying her down…

Then they were out of the pub, in his bed, which would smell of him and his Eastern European manliness, and he had tumbled her in his rumpled sheets and they were naked.

He was playful, pouncing on her, nipping and snapping at her neck, slapping her thighs, pinning her wrists, his hair flicking over her face. She moaned as he impaled her on his cock…oh.

Retracting her fingers, Lydia sat up, hot, bothered and cross. He was a sleazy serial seducer. Why would she fantasise about that?

She lay back down and pulled one of her standard fantasies from the mental masturbation bookshelf instead. The one about the Saxon warrior spanking her with his sword would have to do. No Milan. Just pure Saxon man, overpowering her with the power of his arm-ringed biceps and throwing her over his knee. Better. Much better.

It was no use though. As her pleasure built and her release approached, Mr Saxon’s arm rings disappeared, his sword turned to a violin bow, and by the time she dissolved into that final moment of bliss, Milan was back. Frustrations released, she headed for the shower.

But why did she use her most luxurious shampoo and shower gel, and why did she spritz on so much of her white jasmine and mint cologne afterwards?

She frowned at herself in the mirror as she tried to trick her long, straight brown hair into looking voluminous. Nothing worked, so she resorted to her usual ponytail. Maybe contacts… No. She put her glasses on so adamantly that she almost bent the right wire.

She was not going to attract Milan’s attention. She was not going to attract Milan’s attention. Rinse and repeat till fade.

“Lydia.”

So much for not attracting his attention, she thought, jumping a little when he beckoned her over the minute she entered the rehearsal room. He must have been waiting for her. The idea made her shudder with unwelcome excitement.

“I have a name now, then,” she said, all bravado. “Not ‘new girl’ any more?”

Milan smirked and looked down at his violin for a moment.

“Yesterday was an interesting day,” he said. “In the way of the Chinese proverb. I had a lot on my mind. I was rude. I apologise. Can you forgive me?”

Oh, fuck, don’t be nice. How am I supposed to resist you if you’re nice?

“It’s okay,” she found herself saying. “Let’s forget about it.”

“Yes, let’s,” he said eagerly, leaning down to her eye level. “So you let me buy you a drink, yes? After the rehearsal?”

“Oh, um…” She looked around for Vanessa, who was nowhere to be seen. To say no would be churlish, and besides…a drink with Milan Kaspar… “Yes, that would be nice. Thanks.”

His smile was genuine and as bright as the strip lights overhead.

“Great! That’s great. I look forward to it.”

Lydia put down her violin case and skipped to the back of the hall to hang up her coat and scarf. Vanessa was there, pulling off her beret.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God,” squeaked Lydia. “Milan just asked me out.”

Vanessa turned to her with a pained expression.

“And you said…?”

“Yes! What? He asked nicely. He wasn’t being an arrogant git, honestly.”

Vanessa sighed.

“It’s so easy for him. Fish in a barrel.”

“Oh, Vanessa, don’t be like that. It’s only a drink. We have to work together—we might as well be friendly.”