Taken by the Millionaire: Hotly Bedded, Conveniently Wedded. Kate Hardy
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having sex. ‘It’s just … I never thought about you in that way before.’ It wasn’t the strict truth, but she didn’t want him thinking that she’d been secretly lusting after him. Their friendship had been genuine.
‘Not ever? Not even when you were … I dunno … eighteen?’
When she was eighteen? The only time she remembered him kissing her on the mouth. ‘No.’ She looked curiously at him. Did he remember that, too? And was he saying that, all those years ago, he had seen her as more than just the girl next door? ‘Did you?’
‘Not when I was eighteen—of course not.’ He flapped a dismissive hand. ‘Bel, you were still a child when I was eighteen. And when you were eighteen and I was twenty-three, there was still a huge gap between us.’ He paused. ‘But now you’re thirty and I’m thirty-five. The gap’s not there any more.’
She knew she was going to regret asking, but she couldn’t help the question. ‘And?’
‘And …’ he paused ‘… I’m thinking about you in that way right now.’
There was a gleam in his eyes she’d never seen before. A purely masculine gleam that told her he was interested in her. As a woman, not as a friend.
Her breath hitched. ‘Oh.’
‘You’re thinking about it, too, aren’t you?’ he asked, his voice sounding husky.
‘Yes,’ she admitted, before she could stop herself.
‘Good,’ he said softly. ‘Hold on to that thought.’
It still seemed like some weird parallel universe. The idea of becoming Alex’s lover. Yesterday it would’ve been unthinkable. Today … the possibilities sent heat all the way down her spine.
She found it hard to concentrate when the waiter offered them the dessert menu, and eventually went for the safe option: bagrir, a light pancake served with honey and ice cream and nuts. Alex, just as she could have predicted, went for the selection of chocolate and cardamom ice cream.
‘Oh, yes. Best ever,’ Alex said when he tasted it. ‘Open your mouth.’
Oh, Lord. The pictures that put in her mind.
It must have shown in her expression, because she saw colour bloom along his cheekbones. ‘I meant, you have to try this. And it’s the cardamom one—I know you loathe chocolate ice cream.’
So he wanted her to lean forward and accept a morsel from his spoon? But her T-shirt was V-necked. Leaning across the table would give Alex a full-on view of her cleavage.
The thought made her nipples tighten even more.
‘Bel, it’s melting. Hurry up.’ He held the spoon out towards her.
She leaned across the table. Opened her mouth. Let him brush the cold, cold spoon against her lower lip before she ate the morsel of ice cream.
‘Good?’ he asked.
She had a feeling he didn’t mean just the ice cream.
‘Good,’ she whispered.
He smiled—a warm, sensual smile that made her catch her breath.
‘My turn,’ he said.
They’d done this so many times before—shared a pudding, tasted each other’s meals, filched buttered toast from each other’s plates or a swig from each other’s mug of coffee with an ease born of long familiarity.
But tonight it was different.
Tonight they were feeding each other like lovers.
And when he ate the proffered piece of her bagrir, she could see that he looked as distracted as she felt.
She had no idea how they got through the rest of their dessert, or the mint tea afterwards. Or when Alex had ordered a taxi, because one was waiting for them outside practically as soon as he’d paid the bill.
He didn’t say anything on the way back to her flat; he simply curled his fingers round her own—reassuring and yet incredibly exciting at the same time.
Holding hands with Alex was something she’d never really done. She was used to him giving her a friendly hug—almost a brotherly hug. But there was nothing remotely fraternal in the way he was holding her hand right at that moment. His touch was gentle—and yet firm enough so that she could feel the blood beating through his veins, in perfect time with her own.
When the taxi pulled up outside her building, Alex paid the driver and opened the car door for her. Isobel’s hands were shaking slightly and she fumbled the entry code for the security system; it took her three goes to press the right buttons in the right order. By the time she unlocked her front door, she was a nervous wreck.
Alex paused, leaning against the doorway. ‘Bel, let me reassure you that I’m planning to sleep on your sofa tonight. I’m not going to push you into anything you don’t want to do.’
That was what worried her most: what she wanted to do. The more she thought about sex with Alex, the more she was tempted to do it.
Except she didn’t want to risk ruining their friendship.
And she definitely didn’t want to tell him her deepest, darkest secret—the thing she’d only told Saskia after extracting a promise from her best friend that Saskia wouldn’t tell anyone else and wouldn’t ever talk about it again.
She couldn’t possibly marry Alex. Even though she was pretty sure he didn’t want children, what if he changed his mind? If anyone had asked her before today, she would’ve said straight out that Alex would never get married. And yet today he’d asked her to marry him. Tomorrow he might want to start a family. Something she wasn’t sure she could do.
Her worries must have shown on her face, because he said softly, ‘Have I ever let you down before?’
‘No.’
‘That’s not going to change.’
Maybe. But if she married him, she’d be letting him down. Taking a choice away without telling him. Which was morally wrong.
Even though she knew she was being a coward, she muttered, ‘I’ve got a bit of a headache. I need an early night.’
‘I’ll make sure I don’t disturb you. Do you want me to bring you a glass of water and some paracetamol?’
‘Thanks, but I’ll manage. I’d better sort the sofa bed out for you.’
‘I’ll do it.’ He reached out to stroke her cheek. ‘See you in the morning, Bel. Hope you get some sleep.’
TRUE to his word, Alex didn’t disturb her. And when Isobel got up the next morning he’d already put the sofa bed back to rights, tidied up and made coffee.
‘Morning. How’s your head?’
‘Better, thanks.’ The fib had blossomed into the truth, and she’d ended up taking paracetamol.
‘Here.’ He passed her a mug of coffee—hot, strong and milky, exactly the way she liked it. ‘Toast?’
‘Yes, please.’ She sat down at the little bistro table in the kitchen. This was the Alex she knew best. Her friend who knew her so well that he could practically read her mind. Though usually she was the one making toast and he was the one filching it from her plate.
‘So what are you doing today?’ he asked.
‘Roman kitchens,’ she said. ‘How about you?’
He joined her at the table after he’d switched on the toaster. ‘A bit of research.’
But nothing that really