Close Harmony (Food Of Love 3)

“You know it. Come to me, milácku. My arms are so empty without you. My lips are so cold when they can’t kiss you. I can’t be happy without you.”

“Oh, you and your bloody Bohemian sweet-talk…do you mean it, Milan? Are you serious?”

“I want you.”

“Look.” Lydia was breathing fast now, her heart painful. “I’m going to tell you what I told Karl-Heinz earlier on.”

“Von Ritter? You went home with him?” Milan’s perfect lips sculpted themselves into a pout.

“No - just coffee. Don’t look at me like that. I told him that I was through with suffering and heartbreak. I’ve had as much of that as I can take in one year. I need a little me-time.”

“I thought that was your holiday.”

“That’s not what I mean. I don’t mean I’m taking a break from men and sex. I’m going to have both of those. Just on my terms and when I want to.” Lydia sat up straight, daring him to challenge her.

“Well, that’s good. Come home with me then.”

“If I do, Milan, it doesn’t mean I’m with you permanently. It doesn’t mean I’ve chosen you above von Ritter. It means I’m still making my decision.”

Milan, who had been about to stand, took his hands from the table ledge and swooped back down towards her.

“You mean…you will see other people?”

“Yes. That’s not a problem, is it? You were never the jealous type.”

“No, I am not,” he said thoughtfully. “But I think he is.”

“Karl-Heinz? Well, if so, then he’s out. I’m not ready to commit, Milan. I’m too young and too hurt. But I am ready to enjoy myself.”

“So why are we still sitting here?”

He stood properly this time and waved at a waiter, who quickly furnished them with the bill.

Outside, the South Bank buzzed with people pouring out of the theatres and concert halls.

“I haven’t played the Royal Festival Hall yet,” commented Lydia.

“Oh, you will, don’t worry. Hey, are you going to apply for leader?”

“Of the orchestra?” Lydia snorted. “Don’t be daft. I’ve only been a member for five minutes.”

“No, don’t underestimate yourself,” said Milan, giving her a serious look. “You might be young and new, but you are an excellent musician. And the others like you.”

“Not sure they’d like having a pipsqueak like me for leader, though.”

“Well, they can be managed.”

“I’m not you, Milan.”

“Thank God.”

They stopped near the approach to Blackfriars Bridge. Milan manoeuvred Lydia so that her back was to the wall and cupped her face in his hands, stroking down her cheekbones with his thumbs.

“If you were me,” he said, burning into her with his gaze, “I wouldn’t want to kiss you.”

“Yes, you would,” she said pertly.

His intense expression lightened and he laughed, having the grace to blush slightly.