‘Is there?’
‘Let me show you,’ she said. ‘Take me to bed.’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
To her surprise, he scooped her up and actually carried her up the stairs. She half wanted to make a snippy comment about him being muscle-bound, to tease him and push him, but at the same time she didn’t want to spoil the moment. She was shocked to discover that she actually quite liked the way he was taking charge and being all troglodyte.
Once they were in his room, he set her down on her feet.
His bedroom was painted in shades of smoky blue—very masculine, with a polished wooden floor, a rug in a darker shade that toned with the walls and matched the curtains, and limed oak furniture. But what really caught Claire’s eye was his bed. A sleigh bed, also in limed oak, and she loved it. She’d always wanted a bed like that, but there really wasn’t the room for that kind of furniture in her flat. Sean’s Victorian terraced house was much more spacious and the bed was absolutely perfect.
‘The last time you took your dress off for me,’ he said, ‘your underwear matched. Does it match today?’
‘That’s for me to know,’ she said, ‘and for you to find out.’
‘Is that a challenge?’
‘In part. It’s also an offer.’ She paused. ‘Um, before this goes any further, do we have Monday’s problem?’
‘We absolutely do not,’ he confirmed.
‘Good.’ Because she was going to implode if she had to wait much longer.
He drew the curtains and turned on the bedside light; it was a touch lamp, so he was able to dim the glow. Then he sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Show me,’ he invited.
She unzipped her dress and stepped out of it, then hung it over the back of a chair.
‘What?’ she asked, seeing the amusement in his face.
‘You’re a closet neat freak,’ he said.
‘No. Just practical. This is linen. It creases very, very badly. And I’m not walking out of here looking as if I’ve just been tumbled in a haystack.’
He gave her a slow, sexy smile. ‘I like that image. Very much. You, tumbled in a haystack.’
She shook her head. ‘It’s not at all romantic, you know. Straw’s prickly and itchy and totally unsexy.’
‘And I assume you know that because you’ve, um, gone with the flow?’
‘Listen, I haven’t slept with everyone I’ve dated, and I certainly haven’t slept with anyone else as fast as I fell into bed with you,’ she said, folding her arms and giving him a level stare.
He stood up, walked over to her and brushed his mouth against hers. ‘I’m not calling you a tart, Claire. We both have pasts. It’s the twenty-first century, not the nineteen-fifties. I’m thirty and you’re twenty-seven. I’d be more surprised if we were both still virgins.’ He traced the lacy edge of her bra with one fingertip. ‘Mmm. Cream lace. I like this. You have excellent taste in clothing, Ms Stewart.’
‘It’s oyster, not cream,’ she corrected.
He grinned. ‘And you have the cheek to call me prissy.’
‘Details,’ she said. ‘You need to get them right.’
‘We’re in agreement there.’
She coughed.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘I’m in my underwear. You can see that it matches, so I’ve done my half of the bargain. And right now, Mr Farrell, I have to say that you’re very much overdressed.’
‘So strip me, Claire,’ he said, opening his arms to give her full access to his clothes.
It was an offer she wasn’t going to refuse.
* * *
Afterwards, curled in Sean’s arms, Claire turned her face so she could kiss his shoulder. ‘I’d better go.’
‘Not yet. This is comfortable.’ He held her closer. ‘Stay for a bit longer. I’ll drive you home.’
So Sean the super-efficient businessman was a cuddler? Ah, bless, Claire thought. And, actually, she rather liked it. It made him that much more human. ‘OK,’ she said, and settled back against him.
Funny how they didn’t really need to talk. Just being together was enough. It was peaceful. Something else she would never have believed about herself and Sean; but she liked just being with him. When he wasn’t being super-organised down to the last microsecond. And it seemed that he felt the same.
So maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t all going to end in tears.
When she finally got dressed and he drove her home, he parked outside her flat. ‘So. When are you free next?’ he asked.
‘Sunday?’ she suggested. ‘I have the shop on Saturday.’
‘Sunday works for me.’