Off Limits

Jack and Grandma. Great. An emotionally closed-off sexy widower that I should definitely know better than to want, and a champagne-swilling octogenarian, relic of the aristocracy. These two are the anchors in my life...

I shake my head, my smile rueful.

‘Pish! I’ll have you know I went bush and did a great many other things in my time.’ She sighs heavily. ‘And now it’s your time—and you?

?re spending it in some ghoulish house on the edge of the moors.’

‘It’s a mansion, actually, with state-of-the-art offices. And it’s Hampstead Heath—not a moor.’

‘Still...’ A huff of impatience. ‘You’ll come this weekend?’

‘I promise.’

I click in my calendar and make a note. Without entering my plans straight into my calendar I’m running blind. My eyes are dragged of their own accord to the entry for my parents’ anniversary. Ugh.

‘I suppose you got your invitation?’

‘Mmm...’ It’s a noise of agreement that could mean a thousand things. ‘Very elegant paper.’

I stifle a laugh. ‘Stiff and unyielding.’

My implication hangs in the air, unspoken.

‘Ah, well. At least there’ll be booze.’

‘And lots of it.’

I run a finger over my desk. Grandma and I got rather unceremoniously sloshed at the previous year’s anniversary affair. If we hadn’t been related by blood to the bride du jour we definitely wouldn’t have been invited back.

‘We’ll do a rehearsal at the weekend,’ she says, and I hear the wink in her words.

‘Perfect. See you then.’

‘Good, darling. Ta-ta.’

My phone rings again almost as soon as I hang up, and the smile is still playing on my lips as I lift the receiver and hook it beneath my ear. ‘Yeah?’

‘Gemma.’

His voice gushes through me like a tidal wave crashes over the shore. We’ve been in constant contact while he’s been travelling—but only via email or text, and only in the most businesslike sense.

At no point has he reminded me of the way his mouth pushed me back, tasting me, robbing me of comprehension and hammering every last one of my senses. At no point have we discussed how he made me come against the wall of his office.

Hearing his voice now is as intimate and personal as if he strode into the room and straddled me, reached down and kissed me...

‘I’m meeting some clients in the City. I need that presentation on the Tokyo project, as well as an up-to-date cost analysis and the report I had done. Meet me in an hour.’

It almost sounds like a question, but we both know it isn’t. My body hums with vibrations. I’m going to see him again. It’s the most alive I’ve felt in a week. My abdomen clenches in anticipation. Of what?

My body is getting carried away, but thankfully my brain is still lucid-ish. ‘Fine,’ I hear my brain say, cool and unconcerned. Liar.

There’s a pause and I wonder what’s coming next. ‘Good.’

The little tick of approval sends a thrill along my spine. I hate that. I repress my pleasure.

‘And, Gemma? Rose has something for you.’

I gather the documents he needs and quickly run through the project presentation, then step out of my office, laden with files and my MacBook Air.