Her senses were dazzled and nothing existed but the heat of him and the ferocious rhythm, taking over her mind, seeping into her bloodstream.
“Now look at me!”
She couldn’t focus at first, seeing a blur of loveliness framed by unruly dark hair, but slowly the mist cleared and his eyes, black as night, were fixed on hers in a way that screamed ‘Come to bed, now!’ Suddenly she was scared, embarrassed, mortified, and she jerked back, trying to wriggle free from his iron grasp with a whimper of shame.
“What are you doing?” He pulled her back. “No, no, no, don’t be silly, no.”
One hand came up to the back of her head, then lowered to her neck, holding it levered upwards so he could search her face. “What did I do to spook you?”
Tilly, lips parted, breathing rapidly, trembling in his arms, simply shook her head. “This is too much,” she gasped. “It’s too intense…oh God. You are too much. You scare me. You make me feel things. I’m sorry, I’m not making sense, I’m babbling, I’ll shut up in a minute if you just—”
She shut up. Not because the words stopped coming, but because a pair of lips had sealed her mouth from above, quietening the stammered flow with the overpowering efficiency of a lightning strike. For a few seconds, her body went into panicked revolt, the trembling so violent it resembled seizure. Then, as his sweet, hard heat flowed into her and his strong arms wrapped her tight, she began to loosen, letting him in, letting it all go, letting it happen.
Minutes of delicious, swoony kissing, all tongues and sighs and grabbing and rubbing passed before an inconvenient thought burst through all the sensuality to establish itself in Tilly’s rational mind.
I’m not supposed to be enjoying myself. This is business! And Melinda, poor cow, is going to want to know about this.
Chapter Two
It took Tilly a while to break free, putting a flat palm against Norman’s chest and working to push herself backwards, away from the siren lure of his pleasure-giving mouth. Even as she cut oral contact, he bobbed forward, frowning, making an inarticulate sound of disappointment, his hands speeding to the best positions for holding her at his mercy.
“No,” she muttered, turning her face away. “I’m sorry, but you’re busted, Norman.”
He raised his face from the side of her head, where he had been burying his nose in her ear as though ready to take a luscious bite of her neck.
“I’m sorry. What did you call me?” His whole body had stiffened.
Tilly felt as if she was lashed to a rock. She looked him full in the face. His expression was of genuine perplexity.
“Norman, Melinda hired me to test your fidelity. I’m sorry. You failed the test. I guess the wedding’s off.”
He let go of her and put his hands in his hair, raking it from the hairline, bending as if the weight of this revelation had hit him in the solar plexus, before standing straight again.
He laughed, but the laugh was not one of amusement. “I’m not Norman,” he said. “Norman—at least, the one I think you must mean—quit taking this class a month ago. I’m his replacement.”
The full horror of this struck Tilly immediately, but it was some time before she could unfreeze from the attitude of stoneclad shock and mortification the man’s words induced.
“Oh.” She turned away, casting around wildly for her coat and bag, the fight-or-flight response stuck firmly in flight mode.
But he took hold of her wrist before she could escape, frowning. “Oh no you don’t,” he said. “At least do me the courtesy of explaining what the hell’s going on.”
“This N-norman.” Tilly was tearful with self-loathing and regret. “Do you know where he went?”
“No. He just quit. Rumour is, he’s seeing one of his ex-pupils. But that’s just a rumour. What’s it to you, Tilly? What’s all this about busting me? Or him?”
She shifted from foot to foot, feeling ridiculous, and knowing that not-Norman had every right to be furious with her. “I’m a private detective.” She was almost laughing at the very un-Philip-Marloweness of the moment. Sherlock Holmes would never have found himself in a fix like this one.
Not-Norman laughed, a more genuine outburst this time, though laced with abundant surprise and a smidgen of disbelief. “You’re a what? Seriously?”
“I got made redundant a few months ago, from the council. I’ve always loved detective shows on TV. I thought it looked interesting. So I spent the payout on some equipment. Like this.” Guiltily, she pulled the wire out of her dress.
Not-Norman’s jaw dropped. “Fuck me, you are serious.”
“Thing is, it’s like that old show with Pierce Brosnan where nobody hires the female detective, so she invents a male version of herself. I wasn’t getting a lot of business. I was getting a bit desperate, to be honest. Melinda was my first client. She’s Norman’s fiancée. I didn’t really want to take on that kind of work, but I was desperate. I’m so sorry. I’ve been an idiot.”
Not-Norman looked up at the striplit ceiling, lost in thought, then he wrapped a hand around his lower face, searching Tilly with his eyes until her ears and cheeks were burning.
His fingers slid down to cradle his chin, freeing his mouth to speak. “So, Tilly…is that your name, by the way?”