'Oh, don't start.'
'Don't start? I've started already. We've started already. And now I can't stop.'
I shut my eyes and breathed in the smoke, wincing when its harshness hit the back of my throat. Tar and nicotine, a source of strength and comfort to millions. Perhaps I should try it.
'What do you mean, you can't stop? If I say you have to, you have to.'
'Why? Why do I have to? What are you afraid of?'
'Afraid? I'm afraid of his 'n' hers bathrobes. They terrify me.'
Lloyd chuckled and dragged deep on his cigarette. He looked sexy and rumpled and a bit dangerous. I could feel victory slipping away from me.
'Well, I share your horror of all that. I promise I'd never make you wear a matching bathrobe.'
'No, but maybe you'd spend all night watching Match of the Day while I manicure my nails and read Take a Break.'
'Nope. Not a big football fan, to be honest. Too much commitment required. And if I caught you reading Take a Break I'd spank you.'
Laughter bubbled inside me; the kind of ridiculous, frothy laughter you get when you realise you might be unexpectedly in love with somebody. He stubbed out the fag with the sole of his boot, turned to me and grabbed my wrist.
'Well, perhaps . . .' I was clutching at straws now. 'You would expect things of me! Things I can't give you!'
'What can't you give me, Sophie?' He kissed the underside of my wrist. 'I don't ask for much. Just you.'
'I'm not girlfriend material,' I blurted.
'I know. It's why I like you. Listen.' His eyes were glittering with grave intent now, and he had gathered up my other wrist, imprisoning me with the twin forces of his physical strength and his will.
'I understand you, Sophie. We like the same games. Why don't we play them together? As a team. Not as a boyfriend/ girlfriend couple. A team. We play together until it stops being fun. That is all I'm asking for.'
'So . . . other men?'
'Not out of the question. Not at all. In fact, I'd encourage it. I'm not jealous or possessive. I want you, and I want you to be you. If you ever decide that you want to be exclusive, then I'd be happy with that too. It's in your court, Sophie. But if you lob it out, I'll get a hundred more balls and keep on firing them at you until you return one.' He grinned sharkily.
'Persistent bastard, aren't you?'
'Yes, I am.'
'You seriously wouldn't stop me seeing other men?'
'As long as I can watch. Or join in.' He shrugged.
'You're very strange.'
'I know. That's why you like me.'
'Must be.' And then we kissed until our blue lips and fingers finally convinced us that it was too cold to continue.
Luxury Bedding
I never thought I'd make it to the Honeymoon Suite.
It has always been a loosely held principle of mine not to bother with men who are obviously married, and they don't come much more obviously married than a bridegroom. So the petal-strewn four-poster bedroom with its champagne bucket and Himalayan fruit basket was off-limits to me.
Until today.
No, reader, I did not marry him. No sparklers have been exchanged, let alone vows of lifelong fidelity. But a certain proposal has been made, and I have accepted it. So today, we seal our compact in the Honeymoon Suite.