Authors: Jill Mansell
While she’d been babbling away, Hugh had been holding her head between his hands, gently stroking the ultra-sensitive skin just beneath her earlobes. Now he took his hands away and began rebuttoning his shirt.
‘I didn’t come round here to make you do anything you don’t want to do. If I’m making you nervous, I’ll go.’
‘Nooo!’ Letting out a squeal of dismay, Millie grabbed him before he could disappear. ‘I didn’t mean it like that. I want you to stay, more than anything. I’m just scared I’ll be a disappointment. You might think I’m rubbish in bed.’
Hugh looked as if he was trying hard not to laugh.
‘Why might I think that?’
Millie hadn’t the foggiest. She just knew, suddenly, that it was a horrible possibility.
‘Well, it's like Richard-the-gardener, at the party earlier.’ Shaking her head, she tried to explain. ‘He kissed me, and it was awful, completely awful, like being attacked by an Aquavac. But he doesn’t know he's a useless kisser, does he? He probably thinks he's
brilliant
. So how do I know I’m not as bad at… you know,
thingy
… as he is at kissing?’
Hugh's mouth was starting to twitch at the corners.
‘You don’t kiss like a sink-plunger, I can promise you that. Besides, it works both ways. I might be useless in bed.’
‘Seriously?’
‘No. Actually, I’m spectacular.’
‘Now you’re definitely making fun of me.’
As he put his arms around her, Millie could feel his shoulders shaking with laughter.
‘I’m not. I just think we should risk it, that's all. You can give me marks out of ten if you like.’
Millie smiled. She began to relax, just a fraction. She was pretty sure she wasn’t hopeless in bed.
Oh God, it's going to happen, she shivered, it's actually going to happen.
Best of all, evidently having decided to crash out at Jen and Trina's house, Hester wasn’t here.
I can have my wicked way with Hugh, Millie thought joyfully, and she’ll never know! Hooray, I won’t have to pay her two hundred pounds!
Before she knew it, Hugh was kissing her again. Unbelievably, the fireworks were almost more dazzling this time. Even more astonishingly, her fingers—completely of their own accord—were now engrossed in undoing the zip of his jeans.
‘The curtains are still open,’ Hugh murmured.
‘We’d better go upstairs,’ Millie whispered back, tingling at the erotic contact of his mouth against her ear.
‘Are you sure?’
‘I’m sure. How about you?’
‘Daft question. I drove over here at half past three in the morning, didn’t I?’
Millie took a deep breath. She didn’t want to say the next thing, but it had to be said.
‘How about… you know… your wife?’ Pause. ‘Louisa.’
Instantly she wished she hadn’t added the last bit. As if he may have forgotten his wife's name.
‘I’m here,’ Hugh repeated, brushing a stray tendril of hair from her cheek. ‘I don’t want to talk about Louisa.’
Good, thought Millie, because I don’t either.
‘But you’re sure?’
Lifting her up into his arms—eek, no knickers!—Hugh carried her effortlessly towards the staircase. Amused by her futile attempts to pull down her nightie and keep herself decent—for the next ninety seconds at least—he said, ‘I’m sure.’
It had been magical. Millie, her eyes closed and her limbs comfortably interlaced with Hugh's, decided that there was no other word for it.
Just magical.
‘And now the scores please, from the judging panel,’ intoned Hugh. ‘First, marks out often for content.’
‘Well, that's easy.’ Millie's eyelashes fluttered and she peeped up at him. ‘Two.’
‘Style.’
‘One.’
‘Star quality.’
‘One and a half.’
Hugh shook his head and tut-tutted like a plumber being asked to give an estimate.
‘Oh dear, harsh scoring from the British judge. Does she realize, I wonder, what she's let herself in for…?’
‘Aaargh, no!’ Millie let out a shriek as he began to tickle her rib cage; within seconds she was a squealing, writhing heap, hopelessly tangled up in the sheets. ‘Ten, I meant ten! Absolutely ten out of ten… perfect!’
‘For which category?’
‘All of them!’ gasped Millie.
‘Even star quality?’
‘Sixteen out of ten for star quality!’
‘Excellent.’ Nodding with satisfaction, Hugh stopped the onslaught. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, the British judge has sensibly reconsidered the scores she awarded earlier, and I have to say, this is much more like it.’ Pausing, he went on, ‘I also have to say, the British judge wasn’t half bad herself. She participated in the proceedings in a highly satisfactory manner.’
There then followed the kind of Hollywood moment that made the breath catch in Millie's throat. For several seconds she and Hugh gazed at each other, saying nothing but each silently acknowledging that what had just passed between them had been
meant
to happen.
Finally, Hugh bent his head and pressed a row of kisses around the base of her throat.
‘Thanks.’
‘Don’t mention it. Any time,’ Millie said half jokingly. ‘My pleasure.’
‘I’m serious.’ Hugh's dark eyes softened. ‘You’re amazing. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I thought I was hallucinating at first when I saw you at Orla's party. Except,’ he added
ruefully, ‘if it had been an hallucination you wouldn’t have been kissing some other chap in a helicopter.’
‘It wasn’t kissing. Just a hug. He was upset about something,’ said Millie. ‘Anyway, you were there with thingy.’ She wriggled her head into a more comfortable position in the crook of Hugh's shoulder and slung one leg carelessly over his. ‘I still can’t believe you know Orla as well.’
‘I designed a website for Fogarty and Phelps,’ Hugh explained. ‘People order customized gourmet baskets from their deli to be delivered all over the world… it's boosted their business by three hundred per cent. Anyway, Orla picked up a leaflet about it in their shop, got chatting—the way she does—and told them how desperate she was for someone to put together a new software package for her. It's not what I normally do, but you know what Orla's like. She phoned up and begged me to help her out… and basically I couldn’t refuse.’ He smiled. ‘How about you?’
‘Through the travel agency. We just seemed to hit it off,’ said Millie, almost completely truthfully. ‘But what I don’t understand is why
you
were there at the party with your next-door neighbor.’
Hugh rolled on to his side, ruffling his hair and propping his head up on one elbow.
‘I wasn’t going to go. I haven’t been to a party since Louisa died. But Kate came over to borrow some milk—’
‘
Milk?
’ Millie's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. ‘Couldn’t she have gone to the corner shop for milk? You know, the corner shop at the end of your road, less than fifty yards from your front door?’
‘Evidently not.’ Wryly Hugh said, ‘She finds some excuse or other to pop round most days.’
‘Tart.’ Millie was indignant.
‘Anyhow, she spotted the invitation on the kitchen table and practically wet herself with excitement. She couldn’t believe I wasn’t planning to go. Kate's a huge fan of Orla's books, and the invite said
to bring along a guest. After that she went on and on at me until I gave in. I didn’t have the heart to disappoint her.’
‘You are a soft touch,’ Millie declared. ‘A great big fluffy marshmallow. And
she
is a complete tart,’ she added, dropping kisses on his hard, deliciously brown chest. ‘Do you realize, that girl would jump into bed with you at the drop of a hat? Honestly, talk about shameless, couldn’t
possibly
be like it myself.’
‘Perish the thought.’ Smiling, Hugh traced his fingers along the curve of her hip. ‘Anyway, I’m not interested in jumping into bed with her. I was the perfect gentleman this evening, I’ll have you know. Took her along to the party, dropped her home again, pretended not to notice that she was waiting for a good night kiss…’
‘At the very least,’ Millie cried. ‘The hussy!’
‘Basically,’ Hugh went on, ‘all I could do was think of you. I couldn’t sleep, I was so jealous. Wondering just how involved you were with Helicopter-man, dreading what you might be getting up to, imagining him whisking you off to London…’
‘No,’ whispered Millie, her eyes filling with tears of happiness for the second time that night. ‘And no, and no. This is all I want. You’re the only one I want. And now that it
has
happened…’
‘What?’ Hugh pulled her into his arms.
‘I just want it to happen all over again.’
He grinned. ‘Excellent idea. That is, if you’re not too tired.’
The cheek of it!
‘What do you think I am, some kind of wimp?’ Outraged by the slur, Millie rolled him over on to his back and pinned his arms to the bed. ‘Let this be a warning to you, neither of us are going to get
any
sleep tonight.’
Rrringgg, rringg, rrrrinngggg.
Jerking awake, Millie sat bolt upright and flung herself across the bed to switch off the alarm clock. But instead of empty space, she
encountered warm flesh. Milliseconds later, the wondrous events of the last few hours came flooding back.
Hugh, blinking and rubbing his eyes, said, ‘It's not your alarm clock.’
Oh. Oh no, so it wasn’t. The clock was silent, its hands indicating that it was six-thirty. By Millie's reckoning, they’d managed a whole three quarters of an hour's sleep.
So where was that awful piercing noise coming from?
‘Doorbell,’ murmured Hugh. ‘Hurry up, Cinderella. Your helicopter awaits.’
‘Don’t make fun.’ Millie pulled a face. ‘It could be your next-door neighbor, come to challenge me to pistols at dawn.’
Her Harry Enfield T-shirt-cum-nightie was draped over the dressing-table mirror where she had so impatiently flung it last night. Covering her nakedness with her white towelling dressing gown, Millie fumbled with the belt as she staggered along the landing. Muscles she hadn’t used for a long time were now making their presence felt—hooray, we got laid last night!—each step causing her to wince with a mixture of pain and remembered pleasure.
Hester's bedroom door was still open, her bed unoccupied. It had to be Hester ringing the doorbell, arriving home happy and exhausted after a completely riotous night out.
Happy and exhausted and about to become happier still, Millie realized, when she discovered Hugh upstairs. Oh well, so Hester would win the Celibet and become two hundred pounds richer.
What the hell. With a soaring heart and an uncontrollably smug smile, Millie decided that some bets were simply worth losing. In fact, this one had turned out to be the bargain of the year.
‘OH MY GOD!’
Millie experienced acute head-rush when she saw who was standing on the doormat.
Nat?
Nat!
‘Sorry.’ Nat managed a repentant grin. ‘Sod's law, you always get the wrong person out of bed. Did I wake you up?’
‘It's six-thirty in the morning. It's Sunday,’ Millie babbled helplessly. ‘Of course you woke me up! Nat, I can’t believe this, what are you
doing
here?’
‘Drove down last night to surprise Hester. But she was out so I waited in the car. Then fell asleep. Hess was supposed to wake me up when she came home, I put a note through the door…’ As he spoke, Nat's eyes traveled down Millie's body, all the way to her bare feet. There on the floor, squashed beneath her left heel, lay the pizza delivery flyer with his message scrawled across the back.
‘Oh.’ Apologetically, Millie bent down and peeled it off the sole of her foot. ‘Sorry.’
‘My fault. Anyway, I’m here now.’ Nat might be looking pretty disheveled from his night in the car but he sounded cheerful enough.
‘I’ll go on up, shall I? Surprise her.’
Oh dear. There was a lot to be said for cloning, thought Millie. If she could have fobbed Nat off with an artificial reproduction of
Hester—and had a fighting chance of getting away with it—she would have done it without a shadow of a doubt.
For a mad moment she even considered claiming that Hester had got up early and already gone out. For an invigorating jog maybe, or a dawn raid on the gym.
But since that was never going to work either, Millie took a deep breath and said, ‘The thing is, Hester and I went to a party last night and a couple of girls we know persuaded Hess to go on with them to a club, then stay the night at their house, so she isn’t actually home yet, she’ll still be out for the count at Jen and Trina's, fast asleep and snoring like a St. Bernard, you know what Hester's like after a night on the ti—um, town.’
Not tiles, definitely not tiles. Although from the way Nat was looking at her she might as well have said on the tiles.
Might as well have said ‘After a night of lust in another man's bed,’ frankly. Nat had by this time gone quite white.
The really frustrating thing was, she was making a hash of the explanation and it might actually turn out to be true.
But Millie couldn’t help thinking that somehow, one way or another, it wasn’t terribly likely. She had a sneaking suspicion that Hester had met up with Lucas after the party and was at this precise moment lying wrapped around him in his bed.
‘I rang Hester last night,’ said Nat. ‘And she told me she wasn’t going out.’
Helplessly Millie shrugged. ‘She changed her mind.’
‘Can I still come in?’
‘Um… well…’
Nat looked at her.
‘She's here, isn’t she? Upstairs, with some other bloke.’
‘Of course she isn’t! Nat, I swear to you, she's at Jen and Trina's… if I knew their number I’d ring them right now and prove it!’ As she spoke, Millie prayed that Nat didn’t have their number.
‘I’ve been such an idiot.’ Nat shook his head.
‘Come in and search the house.’ Nobly Millie stepped to one side. ‘I promise there's no one else here. I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ she added, feeling sorry for him. ‘And breakfast, if you like. I can do a bacon sandwich.’
Poor Nat. He had driven down from Glasgow to Newquay, for this.
‘No thanks.’ He rubbed his hand distractedly over his bristly black crewcut. ‘I’ll let you get back to sleep.’