The Accidental Mistress. Sophie Weston
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Engines thrumming. Idling, but under power. Ready.
He wanted her so badly it hurt. And she wanted him. No doubt about that. She was not looking anywhere but at him, and the pulse in her throat throbbed to the same beat as his own.
Dom gave a laugh that was half a groan.
‘Shawl? Bag?’
She did not answer. But there was a tiny bag in the same scarlet material as her dress on the bar. Dom swept it up as they passed.
On the stairs, her trembling increased. She clung to him.
‘You should have brought a coat,’ scolded Dom, teasing.
But he paused to shrug off his jacket and tuck it round her shoulders. As the silk lining slid over her shoulders she gave a voluptuous shiver. Their bodies were so close that he felt it run through from hip to heart.
‘Don’t do that,’ he murmured, in mock despair. ‘Not yet anyway.’
She gave a little excited laugh, and leaned closer.
‘Yes,’ he agreed to that silent demand. ‘Home. Now.’
He pushed open the outer door into the September night. She swayed.
‘Imagination,’ she said.
Late arrivals were getting out of a taxi. Dom commandeered it. He looked over his shoulder. ‘What?’
‘Imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down.’
He turned to face her. ‘A philosopher,’ he said, his eyes full of tender amusement. ‘You’re wrong, though. My imagination got going the moment I walked into that place and saw you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me?’
She stopped swaying.
‘Yes,’ she said.
It was not until later—a lot later, when Dom was asking himself what on earth had happened—that he remembered. She had sounded surprised.
CHAPTER THREE
IZZY was having a wonderful dream. A man was taking her into his arms and she wanted him to. She kissed him harder and longer than he kissed her. They belonged.
She did not know his name. She did not think they had even met before. Certainly not in the real world. But they had known each other before time began. She knew that as she knew her own name. And that she was in paradise.
When she needed to take a breath, at last, she lifted her head. ‘The best sort of dream,’ she gasped.
She felt his chest lift with laughter.
‘Like I said, a philosopher.’
She couldn’t quite make out his face. But that was dreams for you. They gave you what you wanted in your deepest, deepest soul. But they didn’t necessarily let you see all the signposts along the way.
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