Right Number, Wrong Girl

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” Hugo got up and rounded the table. “I don’t think it’s insane to think there’s a little something more to this than just lust, and I don’t want to give up before we’ve had a chance to find out for real.”

“I think this is a terrible idea.”

“It’s always been a terrible idea.”

“That doesn’t soothe me at all.”

He reached up, cupping my face, and pulled me in close to him. “Humour me until you leave.”

I averted my gaze. “I just—I don’t…” I trailed off with a sigh.

“You don’t want to end this right now any more than I do, Soph. Like you said, you’re leaving anyway, so if you leave and don’t want anything more, I’ll leave you alone. I’ll delete your number, and you’ll never see me again.”

I didn’t like the idea of that at all.

Which was the problem.

I slid my hands up his chest and closed my eyes. I didn’t know how it was possible to feel this way this quickly, but I did know that he was right. I didn’t want to end it, and at this point, one more risk didn’t feel like such a big thing anymore.

It was probably a mistake, but as Hugo’s lips found mine and a shiver of delight snaked down my spine, I didn’t care. I didn’t care that we were being reckless and idiotic, and I cared even less when he scooted my short arse up onto the dining table and parted my legs, stepping between them.

Or as he kissed down my neck.

Or as he freed my towel and let it drop behind me.

Or as he dropped to the chair and buried his face between my legs, using his tongue to toy with me until my hips bucked.

And I most definitely, certainly, absolutely did not care as he stood, rolled on a condom, and eased inside me.

For that moment, nothing else mattered than how it felt to be so close to him. How it felt to be this connected, this in tune, this inexplicably tied through the most physical of touches.

There was just me and him.

And a part of me wanted to keep it that way forever.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE – HUGO

Mother Grandma Knows Best

“Your staring is glaringly obvious.”

I turned to Grandma. “What are you talking about? You’re not even paying attention to what’s going on. You’re doing your crossword.”

“I finished it twenty minutes ago. It was too easy. If your clue is a wartime Prime Minister, it’s obviously Churchill. Chamberlain was a right git.” She set the newspaper down and leant into me. “You’ve spent the last thirty minutes staring at her.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes, you do. That’s why you’re lying.” Grandma leant in. “Do you fancy her?”

“Grandma.” I shook my head. “Give it a rest.”

“She’s cute.”

“You’ve mentioned it before.”

“It bears repeating.” She peered over at where Sophie was discussing the decorations with Lucy. “I wouldn’t be upset if you married her.”

“You’re getting carried away. Do you need a lie down?”