Name and Address Withheld. Jane Sigaloff
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she knew what was going to happen next. She decided to make the move to her bedroom just in case Clare came home early and didn’t fancy a floor show. From the way his hips were pushed up against her own, and the change in the fit of his jeans in the button fly area, she knew he wouldn’t say no.
chapter 6
It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes before Matt was smoking his proverbial cigarette. While no one would argue against the fact she’d been having a great time a few moments earlier, she could also feel a little disappointment creeping in. Folding her arms across her chest, she rolled over, annoyed.
This never happened in films. The sex was always amazing. The guy was invariably a great lover with a comprehensive knowledge of innovative ways to drive you wild. It wasn’t as if Lizzie brought men home very often, and when she did, she expected the world to move. Unfortunately their first encounter wasn’t even going to register on her Richter Scale, even if he was just about to drift off with a smile on his face. In fact, thinking about it, Matt had been the first for…over a year. Not that she was counting. Over a year. That had just crept up on her. Not a statistic she was going to be shouting from the rooftops.
Matt groaned before rolling over to nestle behind her and resting his chin on her shoulder. ‘Sorry, Lizzie.’
He was going to have to do better than that.
He kissed her neck. Despite her crotchety mood, she could feel his lips on her skin long after they had left it.
‘Um…all a bit embarrassing, really. Couldn’t help myself. You were just too good. I couldn’t wait any longer.’
‘Hmph.’ It was cute. A nice try. But ten minutes was short by anyone’s standards. Especially for a first time. And the foreplay bit had been going so well.
‘I’ll make it up to you, if you’ll let me.’ There was a smile in his voice.
Matt had started stroking her tummy lightly and was now running his hands up and down the front of her thighs. Despite herself Lizzie could feel a whirlpool of excitement spreading through her. Maybe she would have to give him one more chance. It was only fair. Lizzie Ford, queen of self-sacrifice, she was not. She rolled over and turned to face Matt, and as she wrapped her arms and legs around him he picked her up and seemingly effortlessly sat her up on the edge of her bed. He must be stronger than he looked. Second time lucky…
He was forgiven. Especially as he was now encouraging pillow talk. Lizzie loved chatting as she drifted off to sleep. It brought back memories of the rebellion and companionship of sleepover parties. At the same time, though, it was strange. They had just consumed each other from head to toe and now they were comparing ages, star signs, backgrounds and ambitions. Either way, a total contrast to Lizzie’s normal bedtime ritual, when she drifted off to sleep alone and in silence, her mind racing to make ‘to do’ lists for the following day.
Lizzie felt naughtily saucy. She wasn’t normally a yes-on-the-first-proper-date kind of girl. But, curled up in his arms, she didn’t regret it at all. She hadn’t met someone with as much potential as Matt in years, and she was looking forward to helping him fulfil it.
Matt slowly moved his wrist to try and find an angle where he could catch enough light on his watch face to make out the time. 12:08. He watched Lizzie sleeping beside him. Totally naked and relaxed. Her musky smell lingered in the bedclothes around them. A lump formed in his throat. He had to leave. Gingerly pulling himself to the edge of the bed, and almost sliding out to avoid rippling the mattress, he picked up his pile of clothes, found one shoe, and eventually its partner, as he tiptoed to the bedroom door. He stood there for a moment. Everything was quiet. He held his breath and opened the door.
As he removed his hand from the handle there was a slight clunk and Lizzie stirred. Matt froze in his half-taken step. To his relief, after a little somnolent murmuring she slept on, leaving him free to creep off uninterrupted.
He was ashamed. Matt Baker was a fraud. A con artist of the highest calibre, a charlatan, and yet he wanted to do it all over again. It was Monday morning and he wasn’t at home. He’d have to pretend that he’d fallen asleep on the sofa at his office again. It had genuinely happened to him recently, but this time he would have to lie.
The frosty calm silence of nocturnal suburbia was instantly shattered as he turned his key in the ignition and the classic engine rumbled into action. It harked back to a time when cars made less of a purr and more of a roar, and Matt sank as low as he could into the seat, craving anonymity. As the heater melted the ice on the windscreen just enough for him to be able to see where he was going he disappeared into the night.
chapter 7
Lizzie woke up languidly and revelled in the feeling of her nakedness against the cool Egyptian cotton of her duvet cover. The all-pervading and unbeatable aroma of fresh toast teased her nostrils and, eyes still closed, she ran through the edited highlights of the last twenty-four hours.
It was only when she finally turned to gloat a little at her conquest that she discovered she was alone. Her pulse suddenly racing, she scoured the bedclothes and surrounding surfaces for a note. Nothing. Moreover, his clothes were no longer in a heap on the floor…unless he had something to do with the cooking smells that were wafting up the stairs.
Lizzie lay back on the pillows, removed the sleep from the corners of her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair a few times, removing her centre parting. She didn’t want to miss the breakfast in bed moment if it was just about to happen. She’d bet he was a cereal man. And his tipple? Peter-Pan-complex-Frosties? Real-men-eat-Shredded-Wheat? Or leave-those-love-handles-at-home muesli? Judging by the current state of affairs, maybe it was Cheerios.
While she was waiting Lizzie rummaged in her bedside debris for the remote control and, turning on the radio, was horrified to discover that it was just about time for the eleven o’clock news bulletin. By Lizzie’s standards this was a lie-in of gargantuan proportions. Disappointment lurked in the wings. Matt had gone from doting breakfast chef to typical male in less than sixty seconds. He must have left hours ago.
Hauling herself out of bed in an attempt to distract herself from the crap inevitability of it all, Lizzie busied herself with the emergency tidying to be done before Clare waltzed in.
In a whirlwind of light-headed activity, Lizzie found and folded her clothes, located all the bits of condom wrappers and pieced them together just to ensure there wouldn’t be any tell-tale Durex logos lurking on the carpet. This was the seedy aftermath of the night before and Lizzie collapsed back onto the bed feeling hot, bothered and decidedly unsexy.
Within nanoseconds she was back in the bolt upright position and rummaging through her make-up bag. This was when she was glad that she’d decided to stay on the Pill, even though she presently had sex less often than the England cricket team won a Test series. As she knew from her letters, condoms weren’t always to be trusted, and taking the Pill had become a habit. Somehow it made life a little easier and, although she knew she shouldn’t be popping hormones on a daily basis, it prevented her skin and monthly mood swings returning to their teenage ferocity. Anyway, it was one of the few things in life which was still free, and in the prolonged barren months between men it helped to remind her that some people had sex regularly.
Lizzie wrapped herself in a towel and set off for the bathroom to restore herself to her formerly feisty incarnation. On the bright side she’d had a great day and sex—twice. On the down side she didn’t like to think that he made a habit of this…
And to think that she’d already been thinking of it in relationship terms. Would it take a lobotomy for her to learn? She’d jinxed it all by herself by daring to think long term. Men definitely had a sixth sense about that sort of thing. Her instinct had said genuine last night, and she was usually quite a good judge of character, but then he was unlikely to have had ‘love ’em and leave ’em’ printed on his boxer shorts. For all she knew he was a serial sex-on-a-first-date merchant. Still, Lizzie had vowed in the past that she would no longer live with her heart on her sleeve. She could be pragmatic. Right. It was just sex.