

# Solstice

by

Emma Lilly

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Emma Lilly on Smashwords

Solstice

Copyright 2012 by Emma Lilly

Originally written and published under the name of Lily Evans

# Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

*****

# Chapter 1

I glanced at my watch. Eight thirty-six. Thirty-six long minutes past the hour. And I'd arrived early of course. Just in case. So all in all, I'd been sitting on the steps of the Buttercross for a bottom-numbing forty-nine minutes. It was time to face facts.

I'd been stood up.

Blowing out a sigh, I got to my feet and brushed down my dress. Maybe he'd turned up, taken one look at me and bolted. Or maybe he'd just forgotten.

Yeah, right. I snorted at my own naivety, startling the pigeon that had landed by my foot. Who'd forget they'd been set up on a blind date? I certainly couldn't have forgotten. Bloody Lisa and her great ideas.

"I'm going to set you up with my boss," she'd said last Saturday night when I'd been bemoaning my lack of love life. "I think you two would get on really well."

"Your boss?" I'd stared at her in disbelief. "You mean Mike?" She couldn't mean Mike, I'd thought, panicking. Yes, I knew he was single but he had to be at least twenty years older than me, had a beer belly and a white beard. Father Christmas material. I knew beggars couldn't be choosers, but still...

"No!" She laughed merrily. "Not Mike. Griff."

"Griff?" I frowned, trying to remember if she'd mentioned him before.

"He's been supervising a project in Aberdeen for the last year. He's been away since before I started working at ASG. Seems like a nice bloke though I don't know that much about him."

"Then how do you know he hasn't got a wife and two kids?"

"Because I asked him."

"Then he's probably gay."

She shook her head adamantly. "He isn't. I asked him that too."

I groaned. "Lisa! You can't—you can't ask things like that!"

"Why not?" She looked bemused. "If you don't ask, how are you supposed to find out?"

And that was the fundamental difference between Lisa and me. It would never occur to her to baulk from the nitty-gritty question. Never occur to her not to speak up if someone said anything she disagreed with, no matter what their creed, colour or status. I'd known her my whole life—her parents owned the semi-detached house adjoining my parents'—and she'd become less and less bothered about what anyone might think of her candour with every passing year. To my constant wonder and secret admiration, this hadn't resulted in Lisa lacking friends or male attention. In short, she was the person to ask whether your bum looked big in your jeans.

Even though I'd protested that at twenty-eight I was much too old for blind dates, she'd gone ahead and arranged one anyway. I still couldn't quite believe Griff had agreed. It spoke volumes about Lisa's impressive powers of persuasion or, more likely, her uncanny ability to brow-beat someone into submission.

So where was he?

I lifted a hand to shield my eyes from the evening sun and stared down the street. Though there were numerous people milling around, wending their way to the bars and clubs, there was no sign of a six-foot man with blond hair and blue eyes carrying a book of poetry with a pink carnation tucked between its pages.

"A book of poetry?" I'd spluttered when she told me that part. "That's such a cliché."

"So?" She'd grinned. "What's your problem? It is a blind date, after all."

Well, maybe he'd had a problem with it. Or maybe he'd simply been unable to locate any Wordsworth or Keats.

At least I hadn't missed the last bus home. As I turned to walk back up the street, I noticed the guy standing outside the bank opposite. I'd seen him earlier but discounted him as Griff immediately. For a start, he was under six feet tall. Taller than me but definitely not six feet. And his hair wasn't blond; it was light brown. Most tellingly of all, he wasn't carrying a book, let alone a pink carnation.

He'd been there when I arrived and judging by the way he'd been looking up and down the street, he too had been expecting to meet someone. I sent him a sympathetic glance as I approached.

To my astonishment, he smiled. "Been stood up?" he said softly.

"Uh..." I felt heat flood into my face. I'd been watching him. No doubt he'd been watching me too. It was no use denying what was patently true. "Yep. I guess he got a better offer." I forced a smile then found the courage to reciprocate. "How about you?"

"Looks like it." He shook his head. "Never mind. It's their loss, right?"

"Definitely." He certainly didn't look like someone who should've been stood up. Okay, so he wasn't movie star gorgeous but he was good-looking nonetheless. In his early thirties, at a guess, with well-proportioned features, a strong jaw and twinkling dark eyes. "Anyway," I said, my discomfort returning as I realised I'd been staring, "hope you still have a good evening anyway."

He nodded. "You too."

But before I'd taken more than a few steps I heard his voice again.

"Hey?"

Figuring I should probably keep walking, I looked back over my shoulder.

"I've got a reservation for dinner at the Mill House Hotel." He shot me a speculative look. "By all means, say no, but I was wondering, seeing as we've both been stood up, whether you'd care to join me?"

I stopped. The evening thus far had been a disaster. There seemed little point in hoping it might actually get better. I was tired after a long day at work and now my limbs were stiff from sitting too long. So this was the moment to politely decline his generous offer, cut my losses and go home. Besides, the illogical part of my brain reasoned, he could be an axe murderer.

"I'm not an axe murderer, if that's what you're worried about."

I gave a startled laugh. "Of course not," I lied hastily. "It's just—I really don't know you from Adam."

"Of course you don't. Allow me to introduce myself." He moved towards me and extended his right arm, grinning. "I'm Adam."

"Oh." This was so implausible it was impossible not to smile back. "Well, I s'pose that's okay then." As I took his hand, his fingers closed over mine in a warm, firm grip.

"And you are?"

"Me?" For a moment, I gazed up into his face, mesmerised by his dark eyes. And all at once—I have no idea where it came from—I felt the desire to live a little dangerously. To be daring. Reckless. "I'm Eve."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Of course you are."

There was a pause and I realised he was still waiting for me to accept his invitation. "Well," I heard myself say, not quite believing it was me saying the words. "It'd be a shame to waste a reservation at the Mill House."

He gave an earnest nod. "It really would. They need all the customers they can get, I'm told."

I couldn't repress a smirk. Following a major refurbishment a few years ago, the Mill House Hotel was generally acknowledged to be the most luxurious hotel in the city. And I'd heard that in order to secure a table in its Michelin-starred restaurant you had to book weeks in advance—and then secure a small mortgage to foot the bill.

"I'll be paying," he cajoled, once again demonstrating a rather unsettling ability to read my mind. "Please?"

"Oh." And in a flash, my misgivings were back. "Maybe I shouldn't. Thanks, but—" He was a total stranger. This was a crazy idea. "They probably wouldn't let me in anyway. I'm not exactly dressed for a posh meal." I glanced down at my lemon sundress, a reluctant concession to the heat wave, chosen only after a fruitless search for something less revealing. It was so warm that adding a cardigan to camouflage my curves had been completely out of the question. He, on the other hand, was wearing smart dark slacks with a pale blue shirt, a jacket that matched the slacks over his arm.

He chuckled again, a low rumbling sound I was beginning to find rather attractive. "Are you kidding?" As his eyes travelled the length of my body, heat flashed to parts of me that these days only grew warm when I was reading the steamy pages of a romantic novel. "You look stunning."

When I stared at him, open-mouthed, he held out his arm. "Come on."

And that was all it took. A moment later I was at his side, strolling down the High Street towards the river.

"If it's any consolation," he said, taking a sideways glance at me, "I don't normally do things like this."

"No?" I murmured, still trying to rationalise my decision. All I'd done was swap one blind date for another, right? We were going to a public venue where there would be plenty of other people around. If necessary, my carefully considered escape-from-the-date plan would still work despite the change in personnel. The mobile phone in my handbag was fully charged and...

I looked stunning? Chubby, ample-bottomed me?

"No. And don't laugh, but I was supposed to be meeting a blind date this evening."

I stared at him in surprise. He didn't appear to be the sort of guy who'd need to resort to such drastic action. But what a coincidence he'd been waiting there for exactly the same reason. Unless, of course, it _wasn't_ a coincidence. "Your name," I faltered, needing to be sure. "Is it—is it really Adam?"

"I'm fairly sure. That's what it says on my birth certificate, anyway."

"Right." I bit my lip. "Because—my name isn't really Eve."

"I kind of guessed it wasn't." He looked amused. "But I'm fine with that. Why not have an evening where you can be who you want to be? Do what you wouldn't normally do? Who says we have to be our boring selves all the time? Not that you're boring, I'm sure," he added quickly.

"Well no, of course not," I agreed with solemn fervour. He was right, of course. There was no reason to be my usual insecure self. This—if I could only manage to let go of my reserve—could be the most fun I'd had in ages. Besides, we were only going for a meal together. I'd expected eating would feature somewhere in my date with Griff too, though admittedly, the venue was going to be rather grander than the burger bar I'd been expecting.

"So," I began, confident Eve would be better at making small talk than I was. Only she wasn't. I cast around for a suitable topic, growing more frantic with every passing second. "Er..."

Come on, Eve, say something interesting!

"Hasn't it been hot lately?"

Oh dear God. The good old British stand-by.

If Adam had noticed my inner turmoil, he didn't show it. "Apparently," he said amiably, "we're on course to have the warmest June for fifty years. And the forecasters say the weather's set to stay like this for at least the next couple of weeks."

"Really?" I pulled a face. "I know I shouldn't say this, but I've kind of had enough of it all now. Being hot and sweaty all the time and not being able to sleep." When he grinned, I regretted my choice of words. "Well it's true!" I gabbled, covering my embarrassment with a laugh. "It's not like the dry heat you get in countries like Spain or Greece. It's—"

"Wet?" he suggested, raising an eyebrow.

"No." I knew I was blushing again. "You know what I mean. Muggy. Clammy—no, that's not it."

"Moist?"

"No!"

He was laughing now. "Actually, I think the word you're after is 'humid'."

"Humid, yes. Thank you." Groaning under my breath, I looked back over my shoulder. There was still time to make an escape. "You know, maybe this isn't such a good idea after all."

"No, wait." He caught my hand and a tingle of electricity raced up my arm. "I'm really sorry. We've only just met and I'm teasing you already. Please, forgive me?" Though he was still smiling, his remorse was obvious. "I've got three little sisters—well, not so little these days—the youngest is twenty-six now—but when we were kids I used to wind them up something terrible." He shrugged his shoulders and looked a little sheepish. "I still joke around when I'm nervous. If I'm honest, it's been a long time since I've taken anyone new on a date. In fact, I was this close," he let go of my hand to indicate an inch with his thumb and forefinger, "to chickening out of tonight."

My hand felt oddly bereft without the warmth of his fingers. "And then she didn't even have the decency to turn up." I hesitated. "Actually, I was supposed to be on a blind date too. He didn't turn up either."

For a moment Adam surveyed me in silence. "Then he was a bloody fool," he proclaimed at last. "Look," he said as I shot him a grateful smile. "The hotel is just there." He waved across the street. "Are you hungry?"

Before I could answer my stomach growled loudly. I hadn't eaten since noon. He grinned as I nodded.

"So let's go and eat. We're brave enough to do that, right?"

The hotel was an imposing three-storey building on the city centre side of the river. Flagpoles jutted out from its ivy-clad walls, displaying colours from an array of countries, some of which, due to my shameful knowledge of geography, I didn't recognise. Beneath the canopy was a double row of hanging baskets, riotous flowers spilling over the rims.

A doorman appeared as we climbed the steps, welcoming us into the blissfully cool, air-conditioned interior. But before I could take a look around, a bearded man in a dinner jacket came striding towards us, beaming his pleasure. "Adam!" he exclaimed, clasping his hand and pulling him into a hearty embrace. "How wonderful to see you!"

I detected an underlying accent. French, perhaps?

"You too, Anton. It's been a long time."

"Too long, my friend, far too long." Anton released him, his gaze landing on me. "And this lovely lady is?"

Cowering under his appraising stare, I found myself momentarily incapable of remembering my pseudonym.

"Eve," Adam supplied with a grin.

"Eve. Wonderful to meet you. But then—" he gave an odd little smile "—that means you are Adam and Eve. How—"

"I believe we have a reservation for nine o'clock?" Adam interrupted.

" _Mais oui, bien sûr_ ," Anton agreed at once. "Your table is available now. Or perhaps you would prefer to begin with an aperitif in the bar?"

Adam glanced at me. "Oh, I think we're ready to eat."

We followed the maître d' along the wide hallway. Though my eyes swept eagerly from left to right, it was too overwhelming to gain any more than an impression of highly polished glass, ornate archways and sumptuous red carpet. Over the years, I'd heard much about the hotel's magnificent decor and lavish furnishings but this far exceeded my expectations. And as we rounded the corner into the dining room an astonished gasp tore from my throat.

A working water wheel dominated the room, shimmering water cascading like golden rain over the blades, driving the wheel at an impressive speed. The dining area, itself circular, was laid out around the wheel, meaning it could be viewed from every beautifully dressed table. But as Anton led us past the other diners, I noticed I couldn't hear the roar of water above the hum of conversation. It was only as he ushered us to an empty table right beside the wheel I understood why. It was completely encased by thick glass.

"I hope this is to your satisfaction."

"It's beautiful," I replied, so transfixed by the silently turning wheel I didn't realise Anton was actually asking whether the table was to our satisfaction until both men chuckled.

"I think that's a yes," Adam said, grinning as Anton pulled out my chair. "Thank you."

"However did they do this?" I breathed as the maître d' bustled off to find a waiter.

"I believe it required a considerable amount of ingenuity," Adam said, looking pleased at my enthusiasm. "It's a replica of the original mill wheel. Unfortunately when the building was extended a few years ago the old one disintegrated when they tried to move it."

"It's incredible. The way the light catches the water..." Now I was alongside, I could see streams of yellow light pouring through the slats, the spray refracting the beams and making the tiny droplets glitter like stars. "It's like watching fireworks. Like a Catherine Wheel."

"I'm glad you like it."

"Does it ever change colour?"

He laughed, clearly surprised. "No. Why, d'you think it should?"

I tipped my head on one side, still watching the spray. "Yes, I do. On special occasions. You know, Christmas. Weddings."

"Bar mitzvahs? Funerals?"

"Absolutely." I was laughing now.

"We'll suggest it to Anton when he comes back. He and his wife Isabelle own this place."

"Really? No, don't! It's fabulous just as it is. Oh." I'd glanced down at the menu, noticing to my horror it was written in French. "Um, what's good here?"

"It's all good."

"Right." I chewed my lip, almost drawing blood when my eye fell on the prices. Oh dear God. "Okay."

"But I recommend the chicken." Adam reached forward and prodded at a line of incomprehensible writing halfway down the page. As I looked up, he winked. "I always have the chicken. Don't tell Anton, but I have no idea what anything else is."

I grinned, relieved. "Chicken sounds great."

" _Mademoiselle_. _Monsieur_." A jittery-looking waiter appeared at our table, a bucket of ice in one hand, a bottle in the other. "Champagne? It ees—" his accent was much stronger than Anton's "—on the 'ouse?"

"You eat here a lot, don't you?" I ventured when he'd taken our order.

Adam shook his head, wiping the condensation off his glass with the tip of one finger. "Not any more. I used to come here with my wife, but I don't think I've been here in over a year, maybe longer."

His wife? He was married?

"So I think maybe this," he gestured at the ice bucket, "is because they're pleased to see me again." He smiled. "Anton and I are very old friends."

"Right." My mind was whirring frantically. Was he still married? No, he had to be divorced, surely? He'd been waiting for a blind date to show. Although I remembered reading somewhere that a lot of married men joined dating agencies, just for fun. For the chance of illicit sex, fun and frolics. "So, Adam," I faltered, disappointed to find that once again, Eve wasn't brave enough to ask a question worth asking, "what do you do for a living?"

"Hmm." He shot me a quizzical look, leaning back in his chair. "Nah. Let's make this more interesting. What do you think I do?"

I gave a nervous laugh. "I've no idea. Something that earns you enough money to eat here, obviously."

"Not necessarily. Maybe I just enjoy washing up." He grinned as I sent him an anxious glance. "I'm kidding. Come on, have a guess."

"Oh—ah." After a moment, I blew out a small sigh, scared of being way off the mark. "I can't. I don't know."

He nodded slowly. "You know," he said, his expression solemn now, "my Granny always used to say you can tell what someone does just by looking at their hands."

"Really?" I frowned, glancing down at my own.

"Really. May I?" Before I could answer, he reached forward and picked up my right hand. "Hmm." He turned it over, studying my palm with the intensity of a fortune teller. And beneath his inspection, beneath his touch, that alarming tingle in my fingers returned, rapidly spreading up my arm and straight down my spine. "Well," he said at last, pausing to smile at me, "I think you work with children. You're a nursery school teacher. Something like that?"

For a moment I couldn't speak. Then, realising my mouth had dropped open, managed to gulp, "You got that just from looking at my hand?"

He chuckled, wiggling my forefinger. "She was a wise old bird, my Granny."

I snatched my hand away and stared at it furiously. "How?"

He tapped his nose. "I could tell you, but then I'd have to kill you. Come on." He proffered his own hand. "You have a go."

Finding his hand between mine was a disturbingly heady experience. I slid my much smaller fingers over his, their dry warmth seeping into my own as I tried to gauge the length of each digit, noticing the way each tapered to a gently rounded end, the almond-shaped nails. "You're an artist," I said finally, not at all sure but aware I needed to make a guess.

He gave a delighted grin. "Close enough. You see? She was right."

"Really?" I returned his grin, stunned. "What sort of artist?"

"Oh, I do designs for people. Commissions, that sort of thing. Boring stuff. You don't want to know. Tell me about the children you work with."

So I did, leaving out the detail of where I actually worked, answering his interested questions with a growing sense of astonishment he wanted to know. But as our dinners arrived I learned that his three sisters all had small children, that he was uncle to no less than three nephews and four nieces and that he doted on each and every one of them.

By the time he'd finished telling me about the youngest, eight-week-old Harry, I was completely relaxed in his company. The chicken was melt-in-the-mouth delicious, the vegetables perfectly steamed, a second glass of bubbly going straight to my head. "So I take it you'd like to have kids some day?" I asked, serene enough to ask a more personal question.

There was a long silence in which it gradually dawned on me that somehow, I'd asked the one question I shouldn't have asked. "Oh God. Was that horribly insensitive?" I babbled, panic-stricken. "Because if it was, I'm really sorry. You don't have to—"

"No, no. It's fine." Adam laid down his knife and fork before looking up at me. "Actually," he said, a slow smile travelling to those velvety brown eyes, "I'm kind of impressed."

I took an emergency sip of champagne. "Why?"

"I told you I had a wife more than half an hour ago but you just let it go. Didn't even attempt to ask me anything about her."

I steeled myself to hold his gaze even though I suddenly yearned to bolt. "Well that's because it doesn't matter," I managed, though I wasn't entirely convinced I meant it. "It isn't like I have any right to know. Look." I forced a laugh. "I got stood up tonight. You very kindly invited me here for dinner—and if you hadn't, right now I'd be sat in my pokey little flat eating a micro-waved lasagne and watching something crap on telly. So whether or not you have a wife is completely irrelevant."

"She died two years ago."

"Oh." My heart lurched in sympathy. "Adam, I'm so sorry." Even as I said the words I knew they were useless. How often must he have heard them? "What happened?"

"I murdered her."

I regarded him with mounting horror, this time completely at a loss. "R-right. I see," I murmured at last, struggling to keep an open mind. "Well..."

Adam's roar of laughter was one of the most welcome sounds I'd ever heard. "Your face!" he gulped as I let out a groan of relief. "That was so worth it!" He tipped back his head and addressed the ceiling. "Claire, forgive me, but it had to be done. Just once." His gaze found mine again, his shoulders still shaking with mirth. "I'm sorry. But you—you have the most wonderfully expressive eyes. I feel as though I can see everything you're thinking. And that—" he gave another choke of laughter "—that was worth seeing!"

Despite my embarrassment I found myself smiling back at him, the rather back-handed compliment causing a glow somewhere deep inside me. "Her name was Claire?"

He nodded, sobering. "She was coming back from London after a meeting. Got involved in a five car pile-up on the motorway. Her car was in the middle, concertinaed at both ends." Though the imagery was shocking, he remained unruffled, clearly having told the tale many times over. "The fire crew managed to cut her out eventually but it took too long. She died before they could get her to the hospital." He gave an almost imperceptible shrug. "It was probably just as well, given how bad her injuries were. She wasn't exactly the sort of person who would've adapted well to life in a wheelchair."

I looked at his hand, only inches from mine, knowing Lisa would've instinctively reached forward and taken it. But just as my fingers twitched, the waiter returned to clear our plates and the moment was lost.

"Were you together long?" I asked when he'd gone, having eventually managed to persuade both Adam and the waiter I was too full for dessert and only wanted coffee.

"We'd been married for four years but we'd been together for ten. We met at university. She was doing Law." He paused, a glimmer of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Incredibly bright. You know the sort. Did cryptic crosswords in ten minutes flat, knew everything from Greek mythology to nuclear physics. Great girl to have on your team for the pub quiz." His smile deepened. "Quite what she was doing with a joker like me, I've never been able to work out. She was always headed for much bigger things."

I bit down hard on my lower lip. I hadn't gone to university. I'd gone to the local college to get my childcare qualifications, steadily working my way through all the courses available until I'd reached the highest level the college offered. It had paid off; I was deputy manager of the nursery where I worked. But as I didn't hold a degree there was little chance of further promotion. A degree seemed hopelessly out of reach. Not only was I unsure whether I'd be able to cope with the studying required, money was tight enough already. The mortgage on my flat swallowed a huge chunk of my salary.

"And the look on your face has just reminded me why I really shouldn't be telling you any of this."

"Wh-what?" I looked up with a guilty start. "No, don't be silly—of course you should talk about her."

"No, I shouldn't. Not on a first date, anyway."

"But it's fine." This time I did reach for his hand. "She was part of your life for ten years."

"And now she isn't, and I need to move on. I _want_ to move on." Adam gently squeezed my fingers. "And I don't want any woman I'm with to feel as though I'm comparing her to Claire. Because the truth is, it's not a competition."

I stared at him. Was my expression really that transparent? "Adam..."

He smiled, shaking his head. "So tell me. What sort of music do you like?"

It was evident he wasn't going to change his mind. So we discussed the relative merits of Kylie and Madonna (both great, but wasn't Madonna amazing for her age?) and Bon Jovi and Bryan Adams (no contest in my book— _Everything I do_ was the theme tune to my first proper teenage crush). And by the time we started debating Take That and whether they were better now than they'd been in the nineties, we'd finished our coffee, Adam had paid the bill and it was time to leave the hotel.

"Take That? Much better now." I smiled at Adam as we went down the steps. "Though I've never cared that much for Robbie Williams."

"Because he left the band? Didn't they have to set up an emergency hotline for suicidal teenagers when the band split up? I bet you rang that hotline, didn't you?"

"No!" I gave an outraged giggle. "I was, what, sixteen—seventeen by then?"

He nodded gravely. "You see. You even remember how old you were. That's how traumatised you were."

"Yeah, right." But as we reached the pavement I felt a pang of regret. Our date was over and I didn't want it to be. From the moment Lisa told me what she'd arranged I'd felt an odd mixture of dread and ambivalence. How could spending the evening with a stranger be anyone's idea of fun? And yet this—this had been fun. Though he'd teased me constantly, Adam had been the perfect companion, both generous and attentive. Not only had he managed to draw me out of myself, he'd seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. So much so, I realised, this time with a surge of guilt, I hardly knew anything about him.

"Well," I began at last, casting a reluctant glance towards the taxi rank across the road. "I suppose—"

"How about a stroll?"

I gazed up at him, unable to conceal my delight. "Okay."

He grinned and held out his arm. Crossing the bridge, we set off hand in hand along the dimly lit embankment, looking for all the world like lovers, not two people who'd met for the first time that evening. We walked in companionable silence for a while, listening to the breeze rustling the great weeping willows, the night-calls of unseen birds roosting along the riverbank. Though it was cooler than it had been earlier the air remained pleasantly balmy.

"It's still not quite dark," I said, looking up at the ink-washed sky and noticing only the brightest stars were visible.

"It's the longest day of the year tomorrow."

Of course. The summer solstice. "Does that mean tonight is the shortest night then?"

Adam sent me a sideways glance. "It certainly feels like it."

I knew what he meant. The last two hours had flown by. "Well, it must be tonight or tomorrow night, I s'pose," I murmured, experiencing another inward glow of pleasure.

"The nights are all short at the moment. The bedroom in my new flat faces due east, which means the sun wakes me up pretty much every morning. Right now, that's around quarter to five." There was a pause. "I really must buy some curtains."

I laughed softly. "Well, the sun never shines into my room. All I've got is a wonderful view of my neighbour's potting shed." I smiled as he tutted in sympathy. "If I wanted to watch the sunrise I'd have to set my alarm and go outside."

"Or stay up all night."

"Mmm. One of these days I'll have to try that."

"You've never done it?" Adam seemed shocked. "Seriously?"

I shook my head. "It's on my list of things to do before I die." The moment I said it I wanted to bite off my tongue and throw it to the ducks. What the hell was I thinking? Now I really _was_ being insensitive.

He gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. "What else is on that list?"

"Oh, lots of things. The usual sort of stuff."

"Like?"

Cornered, I searched my brain for possibilities. "Travel the world. Learn a foreign language."

"Do a bungee jump?"

I laughed. "No, I don't think so. And I wouldn't like to jump out of a plane with a parachute either."

"Oh, you should. I have."

"Really?" I glanced up at him with renewed respect. "What was that like?"

"The worst bit was jumping out of the plane. God, I was so scared. But after that, well, amazing. You don't even feel like you're falling. You don't get that stomach-dropping, going-down-a-rollercoaster feeling. It's more like floating on a bubble of air. Fabulous experience. And once it was over I just wanted to go back up and do it all again."

"Wow." I shook my head. "Still don't think I could do it though. I hate heights—God, I can't even do rollercoasters. So to jump out of a plane..."

He chuckled softly. "Too far out of your comfort zone, huh?"

"What made you do it? Was it something you'd always wanted to do?"

"It was on _my_ list of things to do before I die. And when Claire died—well, it made me realise that you just don't know how long you've got. So when a group of guys I was working with said they were jumping for charity, I volunteered to have a go. Raised more than a thousand pounds for the air ambulance."

"Fantastic." I swallowed hard, humbled. I'd never done anything particularly altruistic. In fact, come to think of it, it didn't feel as though I'd done anything worthwhile with my life. "I s'pose you've done everything on your list then?"

"Not at all. You see, new things keep getting added all the time."

"Like?"

"Well..."

We'd slowed to a halt, having reached the second bridge already. Crossing it would mean going back along the other side of the river towards the bright lights of the city. Alternatively, we could carry on, pass through the sturdy wooden gate and take the path across the water meadows towards St Catherine's Hill. During the day, this was a popular route for walkers, locals and tourists alike, but now it was deserted, the pathway disappearing into darkness.

"I've never had a one night stand. Shall we?"

I let out a gasp. "What?"

He solemnly indicated the gate. "Walk a bit further?"

"Oh." My voice was small. "Yes."

Laughing—I had a feeling he'd chosen his words deliberately—he let go of my hand and ushered me forward into the gateway. It was one of those V-shape constructions originally designed to give easy passage to people but not animals. The gate itself was attached to a fence post opposite the centre of the V, hinged like a tongue so it could flap against the two sides and only allow one person to pass through at a time. But instead of following me, the moment I'd passed through Adam grabbed the top rail of the gate and pushed it flush against the fence on my side.

"Hey!" Trapped, I took a swift glance at the darkened path ahead of me before turning back to peer at him over the barrier. "Aren't—aren't you coming with me?"

"Well that rather depends." He leaned on the rail and regarded me quizzically. "You see, this is a kissing gate."

Uh oh. I could see where this was going. "So if I want you to come with me...?" As he inclined his head, my mouth went dry and my heart began to pound. "I see."

"It's your choice. And if you'd rather not, that's fine. We'll just head back to the High Street and get you a taxi home. I promise to be the perfect gentleman. But I think you should know..." He smiled, suddenly appearing rather nervous. "The idea of kissing you seems to have shot to number one on my latest list of things to do before I die."

Right now, the idea of kissing him seemed to be at the top of my own list. "I see," I said again, rather helplessly. "Well. Okay."

His eyes widened. "Okay?"

I watched his smile broaden to a relieved grin as he reached for me, grasping my hands. Then everything seemed to happen in slow motion.

Putting my arms around his neck, his own arms swept around my back, tugging me as close as the gate would permit. And when his warm, soft lips finally landed on mine, I wanted to cry out with the wonder of it. I clung to him, dizzy with desire, allowing the pressure of his tongue to open my mouth, my eyes crashing closed as I willingly yielded to his possession. It had been a long time since I'd been kissed—and no one had ever kissed me like this...

"Wow," he murmured, raising his head at last. Though he was smiling, he looked somewhat shaken. "I guess I'll have to come with you, then."

I giggled, rather shaken myself. "I guess you will."

Releasing me, Adam opened the gate and came through, his hand once again finding mine as we started along the track. "You sure about this?"

My eyes hadn't yet adjusted to the darkness so I couldn't see his expression but the concern in his voice was obvious. "About going for a walk? Sure." I kept my own tone light, but the butterflies in my stomach flapped in anticipation.

What else had I consented to with that kiss?

# Chapter 2

If someone had asked me, just a few hours ago, whether I'd agree to take a late-night walk with a man I'd only just met...

Stranger danger. At the nursery school where I worked we were always telling the children about that. Never go off with a stranger, never take things from a stranger...

"Not past your bedtime yet then?" Adam teased, his hand warm in mine as we strolled along the path towards St Catherine's Hill.

I smiled. "Well, it is, actually. But I'm only working until lunchtime tomorrow, so I'll risk it."

"Got any plans for the weekend?"

"Nope. Just the usual. I'm meeting my friend Lisa for lunch tomorrow—" oh, and wasn't she going to enjoy hearing about this? "—but then it'll just be cleaning, washing and shopping. I s'pose I might go to the pub with Lisa and her boyfriend on Sunday evening, but that's about it."

"No hot dates?"

"God, no." I looked up at him even though I still couldn't quite see his face and realised with a jolt I hadn't actually told him that much about myself after all. "No." I gave a short laugh. "I think it's time I got a cat."

"What?"

"You know. Single women of a certain age, living on their own—have cats."

"Oh, I see." He sounded rather puzzled. "Why in the world would someone like you need to get a cat?"

"Well, I quite like cats," I said, trying to ignore the prickle of awareness zinging down my spine. "They're soft and warm and cuddly."

"That's not what I meant."

I knew it wasn't. "I don't know," I admitted at last. "Like you, I was in a relationship for a long time. It's hard to start again."

He nodded. "Divorced?"

"No." I smiled, remembering how impressed he'd been that I hadn't immediately asked him that question. "Didn't make it as far as the altar, though everyone thought that's where we were headed."

"How long were you together?"

"Too long." I sighed heavily. "Started dating him when I was still at school, did the whole rebel thing. You know. Stayed out late and pissed off our parents, got drunk, drove too fast in his Dad's car—lost our virginity to each other in the back of that car—"

"Romantic," Adam interjected.

"Nope, bloody painful, actually. There's not as much room as you might think on the back seat of a Ford Mondeo." I rolled my eyes when he smirked, unable to believe what I'd just told him. "Anyway, James got a job making wardrobes, we started renting a flat together and settled down into cosy coupledom."

"Until?"

I looked up at him and grinned. "Nah, sorry. I shouldn't be telling you any of this. Not on a first date, anyway." When he groaned, I bumped the side of my head into his shoulder, laughing. "Well! You wouldn't tell me about Claire."

"I know, I know." He spun me around and pulled me in front of him, peering intently into my upturned face. "But this doesn't feel like a first date, does it?"

I gazed at him for a moment, longing to be able to read his thoughts. "No, it doesn't," I agreed softly.

"Good." To my astonishment, he seized my hand again and marched on, pulling me along with him.

"Hey!" I'd been so sure he was about to kiss me again I felt absurdly disappointed. "Does that mean you'll tell me about her?"

"When you've told me about James. What happened?"

As we emerged from the cover of some trees I became aware our surroundings were no longer quite so dim, the grassy hillside before us clearly visible, picked out in numerous shades of monochrome. Turning my head, I found the light source. The moon, a huge, near-perfect orb, rising to our left.

"We grew out of each other, I suppose," I said eventually, my lips twisting slightly as I remembered how it ended. "Well, to be honest, I grew out of him. I think James would've been happy to have trundled on as we were until it was time to stick him in a coffin. He wasn't really interested in getting married, didn't seem bothered about having kids. Just wanted to go out every weekend, spend all our money in pubs and clubs and have a good time."

"You dumped him."

I wasn't surprised to hear the note of disbelief in Adam's voice. I still found it hard to believe I'd done it myself. "Yes. But he didn't take it too well."

That was the understatement of the decade.

Having decided it would be easier for me to leave, rather than attempt to persuade him to move out of our flat, I'd stayed with Lisa for a while. To start with there'd been countless phone calls during which he'd begged me, in various stages of drunkenness, to come back. Then there'd been the flowers. Enormous bouquets of roses, lilies and carnations. Next came letters and then poems which always rhymed, usually in a facile 'Roses are red, violets are blue' kind of way.

"And then he started stalking me," I said, my attempt to sound matter of fact rather spoiled by being out of breath. We'd been climbing the hill for a while now and it was becoming apparent how unfit I was. "Waiting for me outside the nursery school, outside Lisa's house—everywhere he knew I'd be. Even Lisa couldn't make him stop and believe me, she's usually good at stuff like that. So in the end I had to take out a Court injunction."

"Well, you broke his heart."

"Right." I gave a snort of derision. I hadn't expected Adam to take James' side. "Okay, thanks for that."

"He didn't stay in the flat, did he? He moved back home."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "How did you know that?"

"It's obvious. He was never going to wash his own underwear." He shook his head gravely. "You weren't his girlfriend, you were his Mum."

"What? No!" I punched his arm, appalled he'd said it and even more appalled by the thought he might be right. "It wasn't like that."

"Really?" He grinned. "Okay. Who cooked all the meals?"

"He burnt everything..." I hesitated in surprise as we strayed from the path, Adam tugging me on to the grass.

"Short cut," he said simply, glancing down at me as he led the way across the moonlit meadow, now taking a brisk diagonal route towards the summit. "There's a much better view if you go this way. So who cleaned the flat?"

"Well." I stopped to slip off my sandals then ran to catch up with him, the cool grass feeling wonderful beneath my hot, aching feet. "I did. But only because he got eczema on his hands sometimes. And he hated wearing rubber gloves. He said they made him—"

"Who did all the shopping?"

"Look, if I sent him, he'd pack the trolley with chocolate biscuits and family packs of crisps and forget to buy milk. It was easier just—"

"—to do it yourself," Adam finished. He flashed me another smile. "Hmm. I think, as Claire used to say, the case for the prosecution rests."

I had no defence.

"Oh no," I muttered, shocked to the core. "I really _was_ his mother."

"No, he was just a lousy boyfriend." His tone softened abruptly. "Sweetheart, you deserved so much better."

The endearment caught me by surprise. Unsure how to react, I stopped and turned around, only for my breath to catch in my throat.

The city was a distant sprawl below us, the straight, criss-crossing roads of the old Roman settlement defined by lines of streetlamps, the orange glare they cast across the city making it easy to pick out landmarks. The university college to the north. My old school. The glass tower of the ASG building where Lisa worked. The roof of the nursery school where I worked away to the left. And then, below all that, the spire of St Michael's Church where I'd been christened as a baby and the ancient cathedral, floodlights bathing both in gold.

"Why haven't I done this before?" I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. "Beautiful. So beautiful."

"I couldn't agree more." Behind me, Adam's voice was unexpectedly near, his breath warm on my ear. I let him prise the sandals from my fingers, watching as he placed them with his jacket on the grass. When he straightened up, one warm hand landed on my bare upper arm, the other gently swept the hair away from the nape of my neck. The knowledge he was about to kiss me there turned my knees to jelly and by the time his lips actually made contact I was trembling violently, my heart racing so fast I could barely breathe.

"It's okay," he murmured, his steadying hands dropping to my waist. "This is only going to go as far as you want it to go. I know you aren't sure whether you can trust me but I promise you that you can. And, oh God," he gave a short, rather uncertain laugh, "I can also promise you that I've never done anything as impulsive as this in my life. It's completely freaking me out."

I'd be lying if I said I didn't hear Lisa's voice in my head imploring me not to trust him. Oddly enough though, another version of Lisa's voice was telling me I should. Confusing.

"Why are you doing it then?" It came out as a whisper. My own voice didn't seem to be working properly at all.

He laughed softly. "Good question. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do about it. I have to kiss you."

When I turned in his arms he did just that. His mouth was gentle at first, his tongue tentatively seeking my own as he gathered me close, fitting my softness into the hard planes of his body. And just as before, when he deepened the kiss, I began to lose all sense of space and time, my eyes closing as I surrendered to him, wholly and completely. I knew his hands on my shoulders, sliding down the spaghetti straps, his fingers teasing a path over the taut skin of my back, then travelling downwards, finding the zip at the back of my dress. But when he lowered it I whimpered into his mouth. "Hey," he murmured, sounding concerned. "Should I stop?"

I shook my head, still dazed by the pleasure of his kiss. He smiled, but made no attempt to recapture my lips. Slowly, his gaze holding mine the whole time, he brought his fingers around to my chest, hooking his thumbs into the front of my dress then easing the fabric forward and down. I gasped, the shock of exposure turning my already-hardened nipples into pebbles.

"No bra?" He seemed pleasantly surprised.

"No point," I countered, casting a nervous glance at my breasts, pearlescent in the moonlight. Mother Nature hadn't seen fit to give me an hourglass figure to make the most of my curves. I was a classic pear; all bottom and no top.

"I don't know about that." Adam didn't appear at all disappointed, taking a step back to look his fill, his hands holding the dress at my waist. "They're beautiful." His eyes lifted, his expression softening when he saw my disbelief. "You're beautiful."

It occurred to me I should be afraid but I wasn't. There was something more than a little surreal, dreamlike even, about standing there half-naked in front of him, alone on a hillside. I was centre stage in an empty theatre, the illuminated magnificence of the city serving as backdrop, Adam the only person in the audience.

"Really?" My voice had deserted me again, the sound coming out as a rather hoarse croak. "They're—they're too small."

He looked incredulous. "Who told you that?" Once again my expression must've spoken volumes for in the next moment he gave a disgusted snort. "Wanker," he said, shaking his head. "He really didn't deserve you."

I laughed weakly, heartened by the vehemence in his tone. "And you do?"

Whoa... Where had that come from? I hadn't intended to throw down the gauntlet.

He smiled. "Well, I guess I'll have to let you decide."

Closing the space between us, he sought my lips and I was lost, drawn into a swirling vortex of bliss, my body becoming boneless beneath his assault. I moaned in protest when he paused, only to moan again as he turned his attention to my jaw, trailing kisses along to my ear, across my neck, my shoulder. He moved lower to the rise of my breasts then higher again, teasing and tormenting me into such a state of need that by the time he sank to his knees in front of me I was taut with anticipation. And when he finally drew one painfully erect nipple deep into the moist heat of his mouth, I cried out, powerless to stop the sound, a surge of pleasure flooding my body.

His hands tightened to support me, a delighted grin lighting his face. "You nearly came."

It was true. I could feel the moisture pooling between my thighs, dampening my knickers. "Adam," I whispered helplessly, more aroused than I'd ever been in my life but too scared to ask for more, a tiny fragment of rational thought urging caution. "I've never done anything like this."

"I know you haven't. I haven't either." Though the words were spoken calmly enough, I heard a faint tremor to his tone. "But I want you."

I gazed down at him, weak with relief. "I—I want you too."

"Thank God," he muttered, releasing my waist.

There was a soft swishing sound, a slight breeze and suddenly I was standing there in nothing but my knickers, my dress in a crumpled heap around my ankles.

"Wow." Standing up for a better look, Adam appeared gratifyingly stunned. "How could you possibly believe you aren't beautiful?"

Heart thudding noisily in my ears, I took the hand he offered and stepped out of my dress, not daring to look anywhere but at his face, in that moment feeling more attractive, more desirable—hell, sexier—than I'd ever felt in my life. A moment later it occurred to me that one of us was still wearing altogether too many clothes. "It's your turn," I gulped, my trembling fingers reaching for the front of his shirt.

He chuckled softly, watching as I struggled to undo the ridiculously tiny buttons, his own fingers coming down to help. When the last had popped free, I spread open his shirt to discover a broad chest and an abdomen rippling with muscle. "Oh God," I groaned, awed—and frankly, a little afraid. "You work out."

He laughed again, stooping to kiss me. "And now I know why," he murmured, cupping my bottom and pulling me against him until I could feel the hard bulge of his arousal.

I nearly came again, the mere thought of his body driving into mine sending my womb into spasm. Without further preamble, I grabbed his hips, pushing him away so I could get to the fastening of his slacks.

"Wait." His voice hoarse, he stilled my hands with just one of his own, reaching into his pocket with the other.

"What? Oh..." As he produced his wallet and flicked it open, I felt a stab of relief. Protection. I'd completely forgotten.

"Oh no..."

"Adam?" But it wasn't difficult to guess what was wrong.

He gazed at me in dismay. "I'm so sorry. I was sure I still had one. Shit, I don't believe this."

I stared back, not quite able to believe it myself. "It's okay," I murmured automatically.

"No, it's not bloody okay. God..." He grasped my shoulders and drew me into his arms, his erection between us a cruel reminder of our predicament. "I don't suppose you've...?"

"No. But..." I had no experience of condoms. James had refused to wear them, instead insisting I took birth control. Typical, I realised, with a blinding flash of new self-awareness, that he'd make me assume responsibility for that as well as everything else. And despite our relationship being long over, I still took those tiny little tablets, reluctant to lose the order I'd gained over my naturally irregular cycle. "I'm on the pill," I said, blushing furiously. "I've been taking it since I was eighteen. You wouldn't get me pregnant." At least, I was fairly certain he wouldn't. Sometimes I missed a dose here and there but I was sure it hadn't happened lately.

As he pulled back to look at me, I thought I saw a flicker of hope in his eyes, so when he shook his head my heart sank. "It's not just about that though, is it?"

"But I've never been with anyone but James. I told you, we were both virgins. And I know he didn't sleep with anyone else while we were together. Still hasn't, if what people tell me is true." I hesitated, growing increasingly desperate. "And you—you were with Claire for what, ten years? Was there—have you...?" I couldn't bring myself to say the words.

His expression seemed to darken. "I never cheated on Claire, if that's what you're asking, and no, there hasn't been anyone since. And for what it's worth, I've never had sex without protection. Claire couldn't take the pill, and before Claire—well, like I said..." He held me at arm's length and gazed at me for what felt like an eternity, his hungry eyes devouring my near-naked body. "Sweetheart, it's a crazy idea."

"Going to dinner with you was a crazy idea," I whispered. "But I still did it." And with that same feeling of recklessness that had started all this, I leaned forward and kissed him.

For a moment, I didn't think he was going to change his mind. He let me take charge this time, let me seek entrance to his mouth, my tongue mating shyly with his. But then, with a loud groan, he wrenched his mouth from mine and swept me—quite literally—off my feet. "God help me, I want you!" he growled, whirling me around before setting me down again, planting kisses all over my face, neck and breasts, his hands seeming everywhere at once, stroking and caressing me into a state of breathless need.

I reciprocated as best I could, kissing him wherever I could reach, my own hands heading for just one destination—the front of his trousers. Having managed to undo his belt, I battled in vain with the button, growing increasingly frustrated. "Adam, please!"

"Here." Relenting at last, his fingers replaced my own, unsnapping the button easily and drawing down the fly. He kicked off his shoes then let me help him shrug away his trousers and underwear.

It was my turn to sink to my knees. "Oh God," I breathed, unable to close my hand around him, my excitement rapidly turning to alarm. "You're huge."

He made a sound that was half groan, half snort of laughter. "That's very flattering, but I'm not."

"What?"

His eyes widened. "You're serious?"

"You're not going to fit." I ran my trembling fingers over his cock, marvelling at the girth, his length. I still wanted him—needed him—so very badly, I could cry with disappointment.

"Sweetheart." Adam lifted my hand away, his voice gentle. ""I promise you, I'm not that big. Maybe a tiny bit bigger than average, but not much." He knelt beside me, tilting up my chin with his finger. "So, either you've been reading some cheesy magazine article on what you should always say to your man, or your ex-boyfriend was hung like a hamster."

I stared back at him, disbelieving. "A hamster?"

He nodded, biting his lip.

"This—" I reached down again, weighing his heavy cock in my palm "—this is normal?" I couldn't help but stroke it, the skin was so soft, a stark contrast to the rock hard flesh beneath.

"So I'm told. Whoa, I can't let you do that again." His voice was taut, his breathing harsh as he caught my hand again, snatching it away. "Go easy on me, gorgeous. It's been more than two years."

I watched as he plucked up his jacket and spread it out on the grass behind me, all the moisture deserting my mouth. "Two years, eh?" I squeaked as he seized my shoulders, toppling me backwards and following me down.

He froze, his lips hovering millimetres above my own. "Why?" he demanded. "How long has it been for you?"

I swallowed hard, revelling in the feel of his warm flesh against mine. "Four."

"Four years?" He rolled his eyes. "Oh dear God," he muttered. "I'm not going to last ten seconds. I'd better look after you first."

"Look after—unh!" His talented mouth came down again, swallowing my words, driving them straight out of my head. Before tonight, I'd never thought much about kissing. I'd always enjoyed it, sort of. But with James there'd always been a point where I'd stopped enjoying and began enduring, half-suffocated by his lust. With Adam, my need for oxygen was gone. I was breathing pure Adam. Nothing else mattered.

It was only when his mouth left mine and began nuzzling lower I began to suspect what he had in mind. "Oh no," I groaned as he reached my tummy, his tongue circling my belly button before moving steadily downwards. "You can't!"

"Can't what?" Grinning at me, he tucked his thumbs into the waistband of my lacy knickers and started to tug. "Can't take these off? Can't kiss you here?" He touched his lips to the tender strip of skin he'd exposed. "Or here?" he murmured, sliding my underwear lower and kissing me again, right on the line where my curls began.

I squirmed, scared I'd misunderstood his intentions and that I'd make a fool of myself if I answered. James had never gone down on me, giving me the impression he found it unnatural, dirty, even—though he'd had no qualms about me using my mouth on him. "It's—it's not that," I managed.

"Let me guess." Rocking back on his heels, he lifted my hips and drew down my knickers, pulling them from my trembling body with surprising speed. "No one's ever kissed you here." He leaned over me again, his mouth grazing the crease where the top of my leg met my abdomen. I shuddered and he smiled. "No, thought not. What about here?" He nudged my thighs apart and planted a kiss on my inner thigh.

"Adam!" I gasped, acutely aware that not only could he could see everything, but also that the aroma of my arousal was heavy in the air between us.

"No?" He grinned again, moving between my knees, pressing mine wide. "How about here?"

"No-o-o..." I watched in mortified fascination as his head descended, yelping in shock when he kissed the place I most wanted him to kiss. "Oh God," I sobbed as his tongue took a long, languid swipe through my wetness.

"You're soaking," he murmured delightedly. "You really do want me?"

"Yes," I moaned as his mouth came down again, my hips writhing as I felt the rasp of his tongue against my delicate flesh, crying out again when he circled that most sensitive bud, passing close, but not quite close enough. "Oh!"

"Open your eyes, sweetheart."

I hadn't even realised they were closed. I struggled to comply, battling between shame and desire, guilt and raw need. He was licking me, for heaven's sake—licking and tasting, stroking and caressing, endlessly nipping and nibbling. "I can't," I whimpered, feeling I should beg him to stop, knowing I couldn't even if my life depended on it.

"You don't have to look at me. Look up."

"Wh-what?"

"Look up. Tell me what you can see."

Startled, I stared up into the darkness. "Stars," I breathed as he scooted lower, sliding his hands beneath my bottom. "Th-thousands—n-no, millions of stars."

"Good girl." Though I wasn't looking at him, I knew he was watching me, watching my face as he lifted me into his mouth.

"Adam!" I grabbed handfuls of grass, my fingers curling into my palms, feeling the rush of my impending orgasm, wanting to tell him I could only come once, that I wanted him inside me when I did. But all I could do was groan.

"Open your eyes," he insisted, smiling at me as I forced them open again. "Tell me about the stars."

It was becoming difficult to focus. "I've—I've never seen so many. It's like—it's like—oh God —" Another long lick and I was close, tantalisingly close. "Like they're in layers," I managed at last, the heavens seeming to open up before me, swallowing me into the blackness. "Going back and back and—oh!" I gasped as he slid a finger deep inside me.

"God, you're tight," he murmured, kissing my inner thigh, grinning as he caught my look of desperation. "So d'you think there's anyone out there? In the universe, I mean. Apart from us?"

"What?"

"'Cause I'd like to think so. Who knows? Maybe somebody somewhere's watching us right now."

"Adam, please." He added a second finger and I squealed at the pressure, unable to believe he was still teasing me.

He grinned, beginning to rock his fingers in and out of me, the rhythm frustratingly slow. "Oh yeah. You really need to come, don't you?"

"Adam!"

He laughed softly, this time kissing my tummy. "Okay. If there's anyone out there, let's give 'em a show." He lowered his head, still smiling at me across the rise of my breasts. "Oh, sweetheart. You look so beautiful. Come for me."

His words had an extraordinary effect. I'd never come to order before but the moment his mouth fastened over my clit, I screamed his name, those tiny muscles inside me clenching again and again around his fingers, the pleasure pure and intense, lasting much longer than ever before.

"Oh—God," I whispered, finding it hard to catch my breath, aware I'd just had the orgasm of my life. "That was—oh—that was—wow!"

"Wow?" He chuckled softly, kissing my tummy again, gently removing his fingers. "Wait till you have the next one."

I shook my head, my heart thumping loudly in my ears as he crawled up my body. "There won't be another one. There never is."

"Really?" He stared at me, his expression unreadable in the shadow. "Hmm," he murmured, his mouth coming down over mine. "That sounds like a challenge to me."

I could taste myself and I didn't care. His lips were soft and warm, his tongue exploring every recess as he moved into the cradle of my thighs, drawing up my knees, spreading me wide open. "This might not take long," he murmured apologetically. We both moaned as he rubbed his cock along my drenched, engorged sex. "I want you pretty badly. But I promise I'll make it up to you."

And then he was there, pushing hard at my opening. I bit down on my lip, feeling like a virgin all over again, wincing as the head slipped inside, stretching me so much more than his fingers had. If he was average then I must be very small, I decided, unable to repress my whimpers as he eased his way in, inch by painful inch.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, resting his head on my shoulder as he paused at last, holding himself still inside me, letting me adjust to his size. "Sweetheart—you're so damn tight."

"It's okay," I gasped, clinging to his waist, realising I'd forgotten to breathe. "Just—don't move for a minute."

He gazed down at me, taking his weight on his arms. "Hamster," he breathed at last, shaking his head slightly. "No wonder he didn't want to let you go. No other woman would be able to feel him."

I laughed, my body shaking under his, sending him deeper still. "You—you don't think James would have much of a career as a gigolo, then?"

Adam grinned, dipping his head to kiss me. "No."

The burning sensation was fading fast. I just felt incredibly full. "I'm ready," I whispered, lifting my hips experimentally.

"Whoa!" He groaned at the movement, his eyes squeezing closed. "I'm not. Just a few seconds more."

I smiled, amused to see his battle for self-control, amazed I could be the cause. "Should I make you tell me about the stars?"

He gave a growl of laughter, his eyes opening. "They're beautiful. Like you." He reached up to cup my cheek with one hand, still supporting his weight on the other. "Sweetheart, I need to know your real name."

"Why?" Heat had flooded into my face at the tender words. I wondered if he could feel it beneath his palm.

He smiled. "Because I shout when I come. And if there is anyone out there watching, I want them to know who I'm coming for."

I stared at him, touched. "It's Emma."

"Emma," he repeated, bending to kiss me again. "Now I'm ready."

All at once, his hand was gone, his arms back at my sides, his body pulling from mine.

I wailed as he plunged back in, filling me completely, the rush of sensation overwhelming. He moved oh-so-slowly at first, watching my face as he withdrew almost to the tip each time, letting me feel every ridge, every vein, driving me crazy with anticipation. "Adam!" I begged, my fingers digging into his shoulders, needing more. Much more. "Adam, please..." And at last, he relented, his strong arms wrapping around me, lifting me towards him and pulling me into each thrust, gradually increasing the speed. The friction was incredible, the pleasure bordering pain, each stroke caressing an extremely sensitive spot inside me—a place I hadn't even known existed.

"Emma," he ground out, driving much harder, much deeper now. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm not—going to last..."

"Doesn't matter!" I gasped, unable to believe what was happening. A familiar, heavy pressure was building low in my tummy. I tensed beneath him, holding my breath, the sense of impending pleasure beyond anything I'd ever experienced. "I'm—I'm coming—with you—anyway—ooo-oh! _Adam_!"

I heard him groan as white light flashed behind my eyes, felt him thrust deeper than ever. And then he paused, still buried inside me, and for a moment, there was perfect silence.

" _Em-ma_!" he yelled, my name reverberating across the hillside as I shuddered beneath him anew, my orgasm reigniting as he pulsed inside me, sending me soaring until I was one with those stars...

For a while, neither of us spoke, both struggling for breath—me more so than Adam, it has to be said, but then he was lying on top of me, squashing the air from my lungs.

"There won't be another one. There never is."

I groaned as he laughed, teasing me again, this time with my own words. "I've never—been so happy—to be wrong," I gasped, still fighting for air.

"Oh." Adam's arms tightened around me abruptly and the next thing I knew we were rolling until I found myself sprawled across his chest. "Sorry, sweetheart. That better?"

In more ways than one. I hadn't realised quite how hard the ground had been beneath me. "My bum's gone numb."

He laughed again, his warm hands sliding down my back. "Well, we can't have that," he said, giving my buttocks a vigorous rub. He gazed up at me, his expression softening. "You okay?"

Was I okay? Actually, I had the sudden urge to cry. I'd had no idea sex could be like that. No idea my body could respond like that, that I'd lose myself so completely in the moment—so completely in him. "I'm fine," I mumbled, settling my head against his shoulder, turning my face away so he couldn't see the tears in my eyes. "Just really, really tired." That at least was true, the fading endorphin rush leaving exhaustion in its wake.

His arms swept up around me, holding me close. "I'm not surprised," he murmured, kissing my temple. "It's way past your bedtime now." He shifted beneath me, easing me down on my side, cushioning my head with his shoulder. "Sleep," he said softly, even as my eyes crashed shut. "I'll wake you up for the sunrise."

# Chapter 3

"Emma."

The voice was close to my ear but I didn't want to hear it, my body much too heavy, mind much too fuzzy to respond. So I ignored it and let myself drift away again.

"Em-ma." He sang my name this time, a definite note of amusement in his tone. "Come on, sweetheart. I want you to see this."

He?

With a gasp, I jerked awake, finding myself pressed against a warm, naked body, our limbs entangled. For a moment, I couldn't move, my cheek apparently glued to his chest, my sense of panic doubling as I realised everything was orange. His skin, the grass, the sky...

Sunrise. _Adam_.

Wincing, I peeled my face away, feeling a cooling breeze on my chin as I lifted my head and hearing him laugh as I traced wetness back to the corner of my mouth.

"Aw," he said, smiling as I stared at him in horror. "So you dribbled at bit. It's okay. Listening to you snore was far worse."

"I was snoring?" I sat up abruptly, only to gasp again as something soft rippled down to my lap. My dress. Adam's shirt. He must have covered me while I slept—and now I was naked again. "Oh!" I grabbed at my dress, dragging it up over me, covering my breasts.

"Hey!" Though he was laughing again, he sounded puzzled. "I've already seen all of you, sweetheart. Every bit."

"Not—not like this." Not in this curious half light, the amber glow intensifying by the moment, washing over everything. "It was dark."

"Not really." I felt his hand on my bare back, his voice soft. "And you looked just as beautiful in the moonlight as you do right now."

I wanted to ask him if he really meant that, wanted to ask if he had any regrets about what we'd done, whether he felt as confused as I did. But embarrassment, acute and raw, wouldn't let me. Instead, I gazed out across the hillside towards the east, my mouth dropping open at what I saw.

The heavens were aflame, the sky predominantly pink, topped by combed swathes of deep red. Tipping back my head I could see the clouds gradually darkened to indigo, matching the night sky behind us. Here and there, the candy-floss-like plumes were streaked with gold and as I watched, a narrow strip of that same gold began to appear on the horizon.

"Yes, I meant that. I don't know how to make you believe it, but you really are beautiful. And no, before you ask, I don't regret a second of last night."

I gasped again as Adam knelt up behind me, startled enough to let him swipe my dress away. "How—how the hell did you do that?" I demanded as he shook it out then dropped it over my head, the slippery folds settling over me, covering me completely.

"Well, taking it off was easier."

"Not that. How d'you read my mind? Know exactly what I'm thinking?"

He laughed softly, helping me slide my arms through the straps before zipping up the back. "I've no idea. I thought it was because of your eyes but I wasn't even looking at you that time, was I?"

"No." I sighed as he eased me backwards into his lap. "Are you a dream?" I let my head drop back against his chest, realising he'd re-donned his shirt when I felt the fabric there. "Is all of this a dream?"

"Hmm." He smoothed the hair away from my neck, planting a kiss below my ear. "Do you usually dribble on the men in your dreams?"

"Hey!" I slapped at his hand and he chuckled, wrapping both arms around me.

"I think you'd find it difficult to dream up this view."

He was right. We sat in silence for a while, watching as the crimson clouds paled to coral, the band of gold gradually widening beneath them. "One to cross off the list of things to do before I die," I murmured at last, still not quite believing anything was real, that I was there in Adam's embrace, witnessing one of Planet Earth's greatest spectacles.

"You know what this means, don't you?" He nuzzled my neck again, one of his hands moving from the safety of my waist to the delicate skin at my collarbone.

"I have to add something new to the list?" I shivered slightly, the gentle caress sending a jolt of electricity straight to my groin.

"Uh huh." He kissed me again, his fingers wandering lower, dipping beneath the neckline of my dress. "I've just thought of something new for mine. Want to guess what it is?"

"Um," I muttered, playing for time. "You want to have breakfast with me?"

He chuckled, the sound turning me on just as much as the feel of his fingers slipping lower, cupping my breast, toying with my nipple. "No. I want to have you for breakfast."

I inhaled sharply as he pulled away, his hands skimming my sides before grabbing fistfuls of material, yanking the dress up to my waist. "Adam," I gulped as he pitched me forward, sending me on to my hands and knees. "Oh!" I was only too aware of what I must look like, my generous bottom fully exposed to the elements. To Adam.

"Don't tell me." He seized my hips, pulling me backwards against him until I could feel his erection poking my left buttock. "You've never done this before either, have you?"

"No." My voice was almost a whimper. I was scared. Make that terrified. "Um—where exactly were you planning on p-putting that thing?"

His hands froze. "What? Oh..." Letting out a heavy sigh, he tugged me back to a kneeling position, his arms folding round me again, holding me tight. "No, sweetheart." He sounded amused. "Somehow, I don't think you're quite ready for that. Although..." Holding me at arm's length again, I could feel his appreciative gaze on my rear. I shot a horrified glance back at him and he laughed, planting a kiss between my shoulder blades. "Teasing you is way too easy."

"Oh!" I groaned, shivering with anticipation as he gathered up my skirt again, one hand sliding up my inner thigh. "I'm so naïve."

"And so ready for me." I winced at the squelching sound his fingers made as they dipped between my legs. "Emma—you're just one big gooey mess!"

"I'm sorry," I managed, my words riding on the back of a moan as he stroked me, rocking backwards and forwards, driving me crazy. "I—I didn't get the chance to clean up— _oh_!" I whimpered as his fingers slipped inside me, his thumb brushing repeatedly over my clit.

"I can't believe you're apologising," he murmured in my ear as I struggled for breath, already losing control, perilously close to flying off the edge. "Most of this goo is mine. God." He groaned, working deeper. "You feel so hot. So damn tight. I'm sorry sweetheart, I should let you come. But I've got to be inside you when you do."

I yelped with frustration when he drew away, hearing him chuckle as he pushed me forward, my hands landing on the grass. He moved in behind me, shoving my knees apart with his own, hitching my dress back up around my hips. And then his fingers were there again, feeling for me, finding my opening.

"Adam!" I sobbed as he pushed straight in, the copious lubrication from our previous coupling allowing him to fill me in a single, smooth stroke. "O-o- _oh_!" In this position his cock felt even bigger than I remembered, seeming to me improbably wide.

"Relax, sweetheart, just relax." He held my hips still, trailing kisses down my spine. "God, you feel good. Too good."

I couldn't speak, could barely breathe, the sunrise in front of us blurring into a haze of red and gold. "Please," I whimpered eventually, not entirely sure whether I was begging him to stop or carry on. "Please, Adam..."

"Now," he breathed, as though he'd been waiting for my permission, withdrawing almost completely, leaving me so achingly empty I cried out with relief when he plunged back in. "Emma," he murmured, laughing softly as he pulled out of me again, one hand stealing around my hip, dipping into the curls between my legs.

We both moaned as he caressed me there, sliding readily into the wetness, at first distracting me from the discomfort of his penetration but then only serving to heighten my arousal as the pain subsided. Long, sensuous strokes were interspersed with short, taunting, thrusts, the continuing stimulation of his clever fingers driving all thought, save that of the imminent sunrise, right out of my head.

Determined to watch, I managed to keep my eyes open only by staring into the distance and concentrating on that steadily widening band of yellow. The amber glow around us had given way to a deep reddish-gold, the fiery light filling me just as completely as Adam was filling me. And as that fire ignited low in my tummy, I began pushing back against him, forcing him deeper but still needing more. "Adam—please!"

He growled in response, pressing the heel of his hand into my lower belly, pushing hard against my womb, somehow intensifying the friction of each thrust. Ripples of pleasure began radiating outwards from beneath his hand, racing across my whole body before surging back, merging together to form one, giant wave.

I screamed, my orgasm crashing over me just as the sun emerged from beneath the horizon and exploded into the sky, the golden light dazzling. And just as before, the frantic fluttering of my inner muscles seemed to trigger Adam's own release. Bellowing my name, he drove into me one last time, burying himself deep, flooding me with his seed.

As my knees began to tremble, Adam scooped me up and tipped us over to one side, his arms holding me tight. "Dear God," he murmured at last, sounding almost startled. "I don't think I can cross that one off the list. I think I might have to do that again someday."

With me? I longed to know, my head spinning, my body still tingling. Was this the end or only the beginning? Was there a chance he too wanted more? Lisa would've asked, that little voice in my head taunted. Hell, even Eve would've asked. But Eve was long gone. I think we left her behind at the kissing gate.

"Emma?" His lips brushed against my shoulder. "You still there?"

I forced a laugh. "Yes."

"Thank God. I thought maybe you'd died."

My giggle was genuine this time. "It would've been one hell of a way to go."

"What were you thinking about?"

"I..." Thrown by the note of concern in his voice, I was relieved when a much safer topic dropped into my mind. "Work," I groaned softly.

He echoed my groan. "Phone in sick."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"I'm not sick. It would be a lie."

He laughed. "Not really. Tell your boss you haven't slept. That you're exhausted."

"I am." I groaned again, closing my eyes. "But it's completely self-inflicted."

"So?" He was still laughing. "It's a white lie."

"It's still a lie. I don't tell lies."

"Never?"

"Never." I shook my head for emphasis, my head brushing against his chest. "How can I teach the children it's wrong to tell lies if I do it?"

"Really? Okay." He sounded amused. "What if your friend spent two hundred pounds on a new dress and you thought it looked terrible? You'd tell her the truth?" He chuckled when I hesitated, dropping a kiss into my hair. "Thought not."

"Well, I've got a friend who would," I protested, my cheeks flaring hot at being caught out.

"Lisa."

"Yes." I frowned, both surprised and touched he'd remembered my best friend's name. "And maybe she's got the right idea. The world would be a much better place if people were more honest with each other."

"Honesty." He murmured the word as though trying it on for size. "You want honesty?"

"Yes." I sighed, enjoying the gentle caress of his hand over mine, for the first time becoming aware of our surroundings, my gaze settling on the awakening city below. "I don't think that's too much to—oh no!" I froze at the sight of a black Labrador bounding up the hillside towards us, a short stocky man wearing a peaked hat following behind at a more sedate pace. "Shit!"

Adam's snort of laughter was loud in my ear. "Stop panicking. I'm the one not wearing any trousers." He eased himself away, pulling down my dress as he crawled over me, staying low. "Where the hell are they, anyway?"

"Here," I said with a giggle, finding his clothes in a heap beside my handbag.

Grinning, he grabbed his trousers then reached back again for his briefs, lying down flat to put them on. I heard the close of his zip a mere second before the dog arrived. "Hey there, boy!" he exclaimed, springing upright and sending a laughing glance in my direction as he fussed the canine's ears. "How are you, eh? How are you?"

I rose more slowly, nervous of strange dogs but reassured by Adam's lack of concern. "Hello!" I said brightly, risking a gentle pat. "What's your name then?"

The dog looked at me, sniffed at my skirt then took a few steps away, nose to the grass. And to my horror, I saw what had caught his interest. My knickers, a tiny, twisted scrap of cream satin.

"No!" I gasped but Adam was quicker, diving to the ground and snatching them up like a goalkeeper saving a penalty.

"I don't think so," he said briskly, tapping the dog's nose and stuffing my knickers in his trouser pocket. "They're mine."

"What?" I glared at him in outrage but he merely grinned, his arm sliding around my waist as the man in the peaked hat walked by.

"Lovely morning."

"Lovely," the man echoed, shooting us a rather curious glance.

Adam pulled me into a hug, allowing me to bury my hot face in his shoulder as the man whistled for his dog and carried on. "I love it when you blush," he murmured, tilting up my chin, smiling as he gazed at me, the look in his eyes unreadable. "Come on," he said, releasing me just as I was sure he'd kiss me. "If you're really set on going to work this morning we'd better get you home."

"I need my knickers," I told him sternly, struggling to hide my disappointment. Why hadn't he kissed me?

He laughed, reaching into his pocket. "You probably need this more," he said, pushing a large white handkerchief into my hand before bending down to locate his socks and shoes.

"Adam!" I blushed anew, realising he'd guessed just how much sticky ooze was trickling down my inner thighs. "Please!"

"Okay, okay." Without looking at me, he retrieved my knickers from his other pocket and held them out. "In that case, I want my hanky back when you've finished with it."

I gave a choke of disbelief. "What?"

He ruffled my hair as he straightened up. "Way too easy," he murmured with a chuckle, looping my underwear over my fingers. "Take your time." He waved to the right. "I'll just be over there."

I stared after him as he strolled away. After all the hours of intimacy, he was giving me space. I couldn't work out what had changed or why, only that it had somehow happened while he was gazing into my eyes.

Blinking back sudden tears, I cleaned myself up as best I could then stuffed the handkerchief into my handbag. Time to go. I took one last glance around as I slid my feet into my sandals then went to join Adam.

He smiled at the sight of me. "Ready?"

"Yes—oh!" I smiled back in grateful surprise as he draped his jacket around my shoulders. "Thank you."

But the faint flicker of my renewed hope began to fade the moment we started down the hill. Adam didn't seem to want to talk and though his hand occasionally brushed mine he never actually took it. It was only when we reached the kissing gate that our eyes met again.

"You first," he murmured, a glimmer of a smile dancing at his lips.

For a moment, I wondered if I dared to do what he'd done last night—pass through, push the gate shut and refuse to let him past until he'd kissed me. But tormented by the thought he might refuse, I let the moment go, navigating the gate without as much as a glance back at him.

"What time is it?" I ventured as we finally left the river behind and turned into the High Street.

Adam consulted his watch. "Quarter to six. What time do you have to be at work?"

"Seven forty-five."

"Oh." He gave a sympathetic chuckle, the now familiar sound tugging painfully at my heart. "That doesn't leave much time. We'd better find you a taxi."

"There's no need." I gestured towards the bus station across the street. "I bought a return ticket yesterday. Might as well use it."

"You sure?" He stared at me in surprise as I rummaged in the side pocket of my handbag. "Surely a taxi would be quicker? I'll pay," he added.

I shook my head, producing the ticket with a flourish. "The bus stops right outside my door. If I hurry, I can catch the number ten and be home in fifteen minutes."

He still seemed unsure but I didn't give him a chance to argue, jogging across the road without him.

"Emma!" To my delight he ran after me, catching me up as I entered the bus station. "Wait!"

I kept walking, drawing level with the bus, a quick glance at the station clock confirming I had less than a minute to spare.

"You're wearing my jacket."

"Oh." Crushed, I shrugged the jacket from my shoulders and handed it to him. "Sorry."

"Thanks." There was a short, awkward silence. He glanced at me then at the open door of the bus behind me. "Well. I guess this is it."

I swallowed hard. "I guess it is." I didn't think it was possible to feel more depressed but the finality of those words was devastating. Our date was over. There wasn't going to be another. "It's been..." I stopped, grasping for a single word that could adequately describe the experience. "Fun," I finished lamely.

And suddenly, he was grinning. "Emma," he began. "Look—"

"'Scuse me love." The bus driver was leaning forward, glancing meaningfully at the clock. "Are you getting on or what?"

"Oh! Yes. Sorry." Flustered, I boarded the bus then turned around in the doorway. "Adam," I faltered, unsure what to do, what to say. "I've got to go."

He nodded, still grinning. "I know."

"But—"

"I'll call you."

The bus doors crashed shut leaving me staring at him through the glass, my mouth dropping open as I realised what he'd said.

"Where to?" The bus was moving, pulling out of the bay, making me lurch for the nearest handrail.

I spun around to the driver, grinning like a maniac. "He said he'd call me," I told him happily, waving my return ticket in front of him.

He looked at the ticket then shot me a pitying glance. "They all say that, love."

"No." I shook my head. "This is different. He's not like—" I turned, raising my hand to wave, only to discover Adam was gone. "Oh!"

Disappointed, I staggered to the back of the swaying bus and dropped into an empty seat, twisting around one last time to see if I could spot him. But it didn't matter, I told myself, feeling that stupid grin return. It wasn't over. By the time I got home from work there'd be a message on my machine...

Then it hit me.

There wouldn't be a message. He couldn't call me. I'd never given him my number. Worse still, I realised, my heart beginning to beat a little faster, he didn't know where I lived, he didn't know where I worked—hell, he didn't even know my full name.

Maybe I just couldn't remember giving him my number, I thought desperately, a wash of heat flooding over me. Maybe he'd seen my mobile phone in my handbag and found it for himself. But I knew I was grasping at straws. And I couldn't call him. He hadn't given me his number. I didn't know his full name either.

For the first time I felt a prickle of doubt. I'd just spent the whole night with someone I barely knew. I'd let a perfect stranger woo me by offering dinner at an expensive restaurant, allowing that same stranger to take me for a walk in the moonlight then seduce me under the stars.

But it wasn't like that, I reasoned, battling with my misgivings. By the time we'd started walking up St Catherine's Hill, I'd felt like I'd known him for years. Our conversation had been easy, effortless. He'd encouraged me to talk about myself, about my relationship with James, my hopes and dreams for the future.

Great, that little voice sneered in my head. But what did I know about him?

I knew his first name was Adam. I knew his wife Claire had died two years ago. I knew he was some kind of artist or designer and that he'd done a parachute jump for charity.

Except... I didn't know, did I? That's what he'd told me, but I had no way of knowing whether any of it was true.

"Oh God," I breathed, an icy chill displacing the heat of my flushed skin, the rapid transition leaving me clammy. Had I just been incredibly, mind-bogglingly stupid? Had I just fallen for the oldest trick in the book?

What if he hadn't been waiting for a blind date? It hadn't seemed very likely, after all. A good-looking man like Adam would surely have no problem attracting the opposite sex. What if he used that line about being stood up on a different woman every other night of the week? And what about Claire? What if he'd conjured up a story about a dead wife to use as a highly effective device to get women to feel sorry for him , to lure them into his bed?

I covered my face with my hands, groaning softly. Now I really was being stupid. Of course it hadn't been like that.

Had it?

I'd read about confidence tricksters in the newspapers, arrogant enough to believe I'd never be so gullible, I'd never be so naïve. But when it came to men, when it came to sex, I _was_ naïve. Lisa had been telling me that for years.

So when Adam had told me he hadn't had sex since his wife died, I'd believed him. When he'd told me he'd been with Claire for ten years, I'd believed him. And when he'd told me he'd never had unprotected sex...

By the time the bus drew up outside my block of flats I was weak with fear. The hundred yards or so to the front door had never felt further, the tenderness between my thighs a grim reminder of the risks I'd taken. Finally managing to wrestle my way through the front door, my shaking fingers struggling with the key, I turned into the bathroom and snatched up a slim blister packet from the shelf above the sink.

"No," I whispered disbelievingly, staring at the writing above the single empty pod on the end, a further twenty pills still intact behind the foil. "Oh, God. No..."

# Chapter 4

Lisa would know what to do.

It was the one thought that kept me moving, kept me functioning throughout the morning. But not because I didn't know what to do. Not because I thought she'd think of anything I hadn't—God, there couldn't be anything I hadn't thought of, no angle I hadn't considered—but because I could no longer trust myself to do the right thing.

There hadn't been time to call her. As it was, I'd nearly missed the bus to work. I'd showered, then spent far too long looking at the leaflet that came with the packet of birth control, trying to figure out how serious it was I hadn't taken a pill since Sunday and that today was Friday. But in my panicked state the print seemed ridiculously small, the wording incomprehensible. I couldn't decide whether I should take a pill as normal or whether I should take two. In the end, I hadn't taken any. Pregnancy was the least of my worries. It was the one thing I could do something about.

Except I probably wouldn't.

I watched the children playing in the sand pit, two-year-old Matthew clumsily filling a bucket with a spade that was almost as big as he was, three-year-old Kayleigh busy with a plastic rake, combing the sand smooth again behind him as he scooped up each shovelful, reproaching him for spoiling her work.

Once I'd finally accepted James didn't want children, making the decision to split from him had been easy. I couldn't contemplate a childless future. Working with them wasn't enough. I wanted my own. What I hadn't anticipated four years ago was that I might never find a partner to have them with.

But now, I thought, my suddenly shaky fingers creeping down to my lower abdomen, there could already be a tiny life inside me.

The sound of a handbell ringing from inside the old Victorian house made me start. Lunchtime. I rounded up the children, chasing a few down from the climbing frame, others out of the Wendy House, taking them inside to wash their hands. I was on autopilot, waiting for the grandfather clock in the hall to strike twelve so I could escape and go and meet Lisa.

Though how I was going to tell her, I didn't know, I thought, rushing along the road back to town twenty minutes later. One thing was for sure. Lisa wouldn't hold back on what she thought of my actions. I knew what was coming and I wouldn't blame her at all for saying it.

How could I have been so stupid? I was twenty-eight years old but I'd behaved like a naïve teenager. Yes, there it was again. That word 'naïve'. Trusting a man I'd just met with my health, with my life. I'd had unprotected sex. And now I was going to have to face up to what I'd done. Go to a clinic and get tested for diseases I didn't even want to think about. The potential consequences were terrifying.

The ASG building was just ahead, its glass tower gleaming in the sunlight. There had been uproar years ago when they'd wanted to build it, the purists claiming it was completely out of keeping with the character of the ancient city. But to me, it was a symbol of home, a landmark that could be seen for miles around, as much a part of my birthplace now as the eleventh century cathedral.

And there was Lisa waiting outside the front entrance, hopping from foot to foot. Though she was looking in my direction, she hadn't seen me yet and I could see the frown on her face as she glanced at her watch.

"You're late!" she complained, spotting me at last.

Despite my inner turmoil, I smiled slightly. Patience would never be one of my best friend's virtues. "I know, I know. I'm sorry. One of the boys bumped his head just as I was—"

"Never mind about that," she interrupted, shaking her blonde head vigorously. "What the hell happened last night? I can't believe you didn't phone me."

"Ah." I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, not knowing quite where to start. "Well—"

"Griff stood you up! After all the trouble I went to, the ungrateful sod. I had a right go at him, I can tell you. I can't believe he did that."

"Look, it doesn't matter," I said hurriedly, shocked to discover she already knew. But of course she did. She would've seen her boss that morning; she'd have asked him straightaway how the date went. "I guess he had second thoughts. It's okay. I understand."

"Well, I don't bloody understand. He promised me he'd be there."

"Really, it doesn't matter."

"And _you_." She jabbed a finger at me. "You could've phoned. You could've sent me a text. If I'd known I could have phoned him. Gone and got him. Dragged him down to the Buttercross by the scruff of his neck—"

"Lisa!" I gave an uncomfortable laugh, aware the longer this went on, the longer it would be before I could tell her what had actually happened the night before. "Please, it doesn't matter. I'm sure he had his reasons, and besides, if he really didn't want to meet me then maybe it's better he—"

"Oh, but that's just it," she said, pushing her arm through mine and tugging me back towards the entrance. "He does want to meet you."

"What? No, wait—"

But Lisa was already propelling me inside. "I told him I was having lunch with you and that I'd bring you upstairs so that you could meet him," she said, pulling me across to the lift. "So that you two can thrash out a time for another date."

"Another—another date?" I gazed at her in dismay as the doors opened in front of us, half a dozen people spilling out into the foyer. "No. I can't do this right now!"

"Of course you can." She dragged me into the now empty car, hitting the button for the top floor. "Don't be chicken. Live dangerously."

Live dangerously? But living dangerously was exactly what had got me into my current predicament. "No, you don't understand," I gulped as the doors closed, my stomach lurching as we began to rise. "I'm not being chicken, really I'm not. It's just—oh God."

If this had been a movie, this would've been the part where I hit the bright red 'STOP' button, the lift creaking to an abrupt halt. And then I could have told her everything, made her understand that arranging a date with her boss was the last thing I wanted to do, that I couldn't bear the thought of meeting another man right now, not after last night. Not after Adam. But this wasn't a movie and there didn't seem to be a red button.

"Look," I went on, my mouth going dry as I watched the numbers rising on the liquid crystal display above the control panel. "There's something I really need to—" But before I could say any more there was a loud ping and the doors slid open again.

"Here we are," Lisa said brightly, grabbing my arm again and forcing me out of the lift. "Hi Jasmine." She waved airily at the girl sitting behind reception. "Do you happen to know if Griff's still in his office?"

"Think so," I heard the girl reply, my gaze having been drawn immediately to the window on her left.

Dear God. I couldn't imagine getting any work done with a view like that. I'd never been in the ASG building before so I'd had no real idea of how high it was. I could see for miles, the window looking out across the city towards the east. The sunrise would've been spectacular from here.

"Good, isn't it?" Lisa said, peering over my shoulder. "If you like that sort of thing, of course."

"Oh, I do." I remembered her telling me the building was home to a number of businesses and that ASG didn't actually own it, they just occupied the top floor. The 'ASG building' wasn't even its proper name, just the one that had stuck following all the controversy over whether it should be built. ASG Architects had designed it as their flagship project and it had certainly got them noticed.

"Come on then," she said briskly, making me jump. I'd almost forgotten why we were there.

"Oh God," I breathed, experiencing a fresh wave of nausea. "Lisa, please—"

"Will you stop it?" She rolled her eyes, ushering me through a door behind the reception desk. "Let's get this over with and then we can have some lunch."

The corridor was short, the door in front of us wide open. I could see a vast desk and the back of a high-backed brown leather chair, its occupant having swivelled it around to face the window. Reaching the doorway, I could well understand why.

If the view from the window in the reception area had been spectacular, this was breath taking. Facing due south, the floor to ceiling windows looked out over St Catherine's Hill, from here a near perfect dome crowned with trees, the ramparts of the Iron Age hill fort clearly visible, the grassy hillside rising gently from the water meadows, verdant in the midday sunshine. It seemed close enough to touch.

"Griff?" Lisa addressed the back of the chair. "I've brought someone to meet you."

In the scant seconds before the chair completed its one hundred and eighty degree rotation I noticed the picture on the wall. A photograph. Two men, one woman. Even from here I could identify one of the men. It was Anton, the owner of the Mill House Hotel. I'd know that beard anywhere. They were standing in front of a water wheel.

My gaze slid to the desk, to a smaller photo in a silver frame, this time picturing a laughing woman. Pretty, in her late twenties I would guess, her hair a long golden curtain across her shoulders. She was sitting cross-legged on a patch of grass, a book open in her lap as though she'd been caught unawares.

And finally I saw the narrow wooden block on the front edge of the desk. Saw the one-inch high gilt letters across the front of it, spelling out a name in capitals.

ADAM GRIFFIN

"Griff, this is Emma."

For a moment, I couldn't move, couldn't breathe, still transfixed by those shiny little letters, my heart thudding in my ears. But then, it wasn't as though I needed to see who was sitting in the chair. I already knew the heat of that gaze.

"Hello Emma," he said quietly.

At the sound of his voice my head jerked up, my eyes meeting his, the look that passed between us swift and intense. And suddenly, in my mind I could hear him as I'd heard him earlier that morning, shouting my name as he exploded inside me...

"But you're not blond!"

"What?" Lisa looked at me as though I'd gone mad. "Not, 'hello Griff, nice to meet you', just 'you're not blond'? I know he stood you up, but—"

"You said he was blond." I stared at her accusingly, so many emotions sloshing about in my head I hardly knew which one to deal with first. "You said he was blond and that he had blue eyes and that he was six feet tall."

"Well." Lisa seemed nonplussed as she looked from me to Adam.

I could see the beginnings of his smile and all at once one of my confused emotions battled its way to the surface. Fury. How _dare_ he find this funny?

"Okay, so he's not exactly blond," she conceded. "His hair's light brown then. And—" she leaned forward and peered into his eyes, Adam's smile widening "—oh! They're brown too." She shrugged. "Oh well. I don't see what difference it makes. He stood you up. It's not like he was there and you didn't recognise him."

"But..." I realised there was nothing I could say in response, not without giving away he had been there, and for some reason I didn't want to do that.

"I'm really sorry." Adam didn't seem to want to give the game away either, his eyes softening as they met mine again. "I shouldn't have stood you up."

"So why did you?"

His mouth twisted slightly. "Because I'm a bloody fool."

I flinched at his choice of words; they echoed what he'd said when we first met.

"Look," Lisa put in, looking rather puzzled, "I've brought Emma up here so you can sort out another date."

"Yes, you're right," he said, nodding vigorously. "So let's do that." But then he paused, his gaze still wholly on me. "If you want to, that is."

Lisa gave a snort, clearly oblivious to what was going on between us. "Of course she wants to. For heaven's sake, what do I have to do to make you two—?"

Adam suddenly clapped a hand to his head, groaning. "Damn it, the McLellan file. I left it in Mike's office. Hey?" He shot Lisa a speculative glance. "I know you're officially at lunch but I don't suppose you could go and find it for me, could you? I've got a meeting with them later and—"

"I'm going, I'm going," she said, rolling her eyes and backing out of the room. "But by the time I get back, you two need to have fixed a date, okay?" Then she paused in the doorway, frowning at Adam. "What the hell were you doing last night, Griff? You look bloody awful today. Didn't you sleep or something?" And without waiting for an answer, she was gone.

I watched in silence as Adam rose from the chair and came around the desk. "Lisa," he said with a shake of his head, moving past me to close the door. "You've got to love her."

"You said you'd call me." Still in shock, I was beginning to feel very peculiar. Hot and dizzy and weary. "You said you'd call me but I never gave you my number." Even my voice didn't sound like my own.

"Ah, well." He grinned as he came back towards me. "I knew I could ask Lisa for your number, you see."

"But I didn't." I stared at him, finding it hard to focus now, my legs trembling. "I didn't know that. So I couldn't see how you were going to call me. And then it occurred to me that I didn't know anything about you, not really. That you could've been lying about everything."

"What?" His grin faded abruptly. "Oh no. Sweetheart..."

"You said you'd never had a one night stand. That it was on your list of things to do before you die. And I thought—I thought that maybe I was just that. Your one night stand. That I'd made a terrible mis-ta- _a-ake_ ..."

"Emma!" My knees buckled as he swept me against him, tears pouring down my face. "Oh sweetheart, no. I'm so sorry."

And suddenly I was weightless, airborne, being carried across the office in Adam's strong arms. "Lisa," I gulped as he sat down with me in that huge brown chair, pulling me across his lap.

"She'll be a while." Holding me tightly with one arm, he reached forward to his desk and plucked up a file. Even through the blur of my tears I could see the name 'McLellan' on the top. "There's an awful lot of files in Mike's office." He threw the file back then began to feel beneath me, wrestling with something in his pocket. "And she won't come straight in if the door's shut. Unwritten rule in this place. Here." He produced another of those large white handkerchiefs and I made a sound that was half-laugh, half sob. "I really do want this one back," he teased, wiping my cheeks with gentle fingers.

"Adam." Though I still couldn't speak in more than a whisper, I already felt so much better for having cried. Cathartic, I supposed. "Not—not 'Griff'?"

He winced. "No. That's something everyone calls me, but I don't actually like it all that much. Mike's fault. When we first set up in partnership he said it would be too confusing to call me Adam. We're Adams, Stokes and Griffin, you see. Mike Adams, Graham Stokes and Adam Griffin. He reckoned we couldn't have Adams and Adam. So he started calling me Griff."

I stared. "You're—you're the G in ASG Architects?"

He nodded solemnly.

"Oh God!"

"No, _Griffin_ ," he corrected with a grin. "So you see, you were right." He dropped the handkerchief in my lap then held out his hand, flexing his long, lean fingers. "Some kind of artist. If you can call being an architect an artist." He threw a glance across to the far wall and for the first time I noticed the drawing board and computer there.

I gave a snort of sudden comprehension. "You fraud! You _knew_ I was a nursery school teacher! Lisa told you. It had nothing to do with your Granny teaching you how to read hands."

He was still grinning. "She really was a wise old bird though."

"What else did Lisa tell you?" I demanded, my mind whirring again, trying to remember what else we'd talked about last night. Then the penny dropped. "She told you about James."

"A little bit." He had the grace to look sheepish. "Enough for me to get that he was a self-obsessed bastard. And to be honest, that was what made me wonder about you. How you could've stayed with him for so long. Let him treat you that way."

I swallowed hard. I could hardly believe it myself these days. "So," I faltered, the last piece of the puzzle falling into place as I realised what pre-conceptions he must have made, "you weren't sure you actually wanted to meet me, were you?"

"No. But not because of that, exactly," he added when I tensed in dismay, his arms tightening around me. "But because I knew how easy it would be to hurt you. Emma, you have to understand. After Claire died, I wasn't sure I ever wanted to be with anyone else. I'd given my heart to her and I lost her. I didn't think I could ever take that risk again."

My gaze fell across the photograph on his desk. "That's her, isn't it?" I bit my lip when he nodded. "She was beautiful."

"Thank you." When he dropped a kiss on my temple I had to fight to repress a shiver at the contact. "After a while, everyone around me began telling me I should move on and find another woman. But I just couldn't." He gave a short, rather bitter laugh. "I know they meant well, but in the end I volunteered to go to Scotland for a year to consult on a project, just to get away from it all. I sold our house because I wasn't sure I was coming back, and I knew that if I did, I wouldn't want to live in it. And oh, Scotland was great."

He released a sigh. "I finally got some space, some time to clear my head, to figure out what I was going to do with the rest of my life. That's when I did that parachute jump. I wanted to start living again. But I knew for sure that I didn't ever want another long term relationship."

My heart plummeted at his words. Did he still feel that way?

"And then I came back here. Decided I would stay, so I bought a two-bed flat. There didn't seem any point in getting anything any bigger. But the moment I came back to work, all the badgering about finding someone new started again. Only worse. People seem to think that as it's been two years since Claire died I should be dating a different woman every night of the week. Like there was something wrong with me because I wasn't. In fact," he grinned suddenly, "Lisa even asked me if I was gay."

I knew she had. "So you really didn't go out with anyone else?"

He shook his head. "And I wasn't planning to either. But, as you know, Lisa had other ideas. God." He grimaced. "That woman's like a bulldozer."

"More like a bulldog. With a bone."

"Only slightly better-looking." We exchanged smiles. Lisa was a blonde bombshell. "But sweetheart, the more she told me about you, the more I realised that agreeing to a blind date with you had been a really bad idea."

"Why?" It still hurt to hear him say it.

"I knew that if we hit it off, you'd probably want more than one date. Hell, that you'd deserve more than one lousy date. You deserved much better than me." He hesitated. "But I didn't plan to stand you up. I made that reservation at the Mill House Hotel—"

"You designed that water wheel, didn't you?" I interrupted, glancing up at the picture on the wall.

He nodded, grinning. "And, God help me, I even bought a book of romantic poetry. A rather expensive anthology of Shelley, Keats and Wordsworth, I have to say. And I had to buy a whole bloody bunch of carnations. The woman on the flower stand wouldn't let me buy just one. And I got down to the Buttercross early, about ten minutes before you did."

He blew out another sigh. "So there I was, getting more and more nervous, wondering how to play it. And I decided I'd act like a total bastard so you wouldn't want to see me again and Lisa would leave me alone." He frowned. "Then I realised that if I was going to do that, you'd be better off thinking I hadn't turned up at all."

"But you didn't go far." He'd been less than twenty-five yards away from me when I'd arrived, standing by the iron railings outside the bank. "You were there, waiting."

He frowned again. "I know. And I honestly can't tell you why I did that. To torture myself, maybe. Make myself understand what a shit I was, standing you up. And it really was torture. You looked so lost, so beautiful, sitting there on the steps in that gorgeous yellow sundress. And you waited and waited. Much longer than I would've done."

"Well, when you weren't there at eight, I thought maybe I'd got it wrong, that it should've been half past," I murmured, feeling an odd, sharp pain in my belly. Could I dare to hope this was leading anywhere good?

He shook his head. "You didn't get it wrong, sweetheart. I did. And when you started coming towards me, when I realised you'd finally given up on me, you seemed so sad I had to do something to make it better. So I pretended to be someone else. Someone who just happened to be there at the same time."

"Right." And then I narrowed my eyes at him. "What happened to the book of poetry?"

He smiled. "I left it on the steps of the Buttercross. I wanted you to see it so that you'd know I'd been there. I wanted you to have it. But about a minute before you arrived, this bloke saw it, had a quick look around to make sure no one was looking, picked it up and legged it."

"Oh." I giggled despite myself and was rewarded by Adam's smile widening. "Serves you right."

"You're right, it does," he agreed, nodding. "I promise to buy you another one."

My heart seemed to skip a beat. Did that mean what I thought it meant? "Please don't," I said, too scared to ask. "I hate poetry."

"Emma!" It was Adam's turn to laugh. " _All_ poetry? You can't possibly mean that."

"Okay, maybe not all." I shrugged. "It's James' fault for writing me all those awful poems."

He shook his head. "That man has a lot to answer for," he muttered, his eyes darkening, his head moving towards mine.

"W-wait!" I gasped, battling a huge, pleasurable rush of adrenalin. "Th-there's still something I don't quite understand."

He paused, his lips just inches from mine. "What?" he demanded, though he was smiling.

"You could've told me. You could've told me that it was you. That you were Griff." I couldn't look anywhere but in his eyes and the sudden look of remorse I saw there made me want to cry all over again. "Why didn't you?"

"Oh Emma." He planted a kiss on the end of my nose. "I didn't have any intention of falling for you."

He'd fallen for me?

"I was just going to have dinner with you, then stick you in a taxi and send you home. I thought that would make it a win-win situation. Even though you'd been stood up, you'd still have had an okay evening and I wouldn't have to feel such a shit." His lips twisted. "But I didn't want to send you home. So I suggested the walk. And I was going to tell you when we got to the gate, only then I found I wanted to kiss you instead."

My lips tingled at the memory of that first kiss.

"After that I was worried that if I told you, it would spoil everything. Because everything was so perfect. The moon, the stars." He grinned suddenly. "All those _layers_ of stars."

"Hey, it was hard to concentrate on a good description," I protested, blushing at the reminder of his head between my legs. He was teasing me. Again.

"Then I was going to tell you when we lying there after the sunrise. But then that bloody dog came running up."

I smirked. "Kind of wrecked the moment."

"It kind of did, yeah." He gave a small sigh, his breath warm on my face. "And then, well. I think you already know when I panicked."

Oh yes, I knew.

He smiled. "I was looking at you, thinking how amazing you were—and I got scared. Scared I'd got carried away. Scared I wouldn't be able to follow through." He hesitated. "You see, I'd thought I'd never want to be with anyone again."

I nodded slowly, hardly trusting myself enough to speak. "But?"

He smiled again. "The moment you went to get on that bus, I knew I wanted to be with you."

And finally, wonderfully, he kissed me, the sort of kiss where there ought to be an orchestra playing, with sweeping, swelling strings, and maybe a choir for good measure. And in all probability, it would have gone on for a lot longer and we would have gone a lot further—Adam's hands were already burrowing inside my blouse—if it hadn't been for an extremely loud knock on the door.

We sprang apart like guilty teenagers. "Fuck!" Adam muttered, barely managing to repress a snort of laughter as he took in my dishevelled state. "Whoops."

"Ssh, it's Lisa!" I hissed, my face feeling as though it was on fire, already struggling to do up my buttons. "Oh God! What do we do?"

Still shaking with mirth, Adam thrust me forwards, sprang up behind me then forced me back in the chair, spinning it around to face the window. "Come in," he called, after taking a glance to check I was hidden.

I heard the door open. "Hello?" Lisa sounded more uncertain than I'd ever heard her. "Griff, I'm sorry, but I couldn't find that folder anywhere—oh! Where's Emma gone?"

"She's still here," he said cheerily. "She's just admiring the view."

"Hi Lisa," I trilled, at last managing to fasten my blouse and patting down my hair. "It's fabulous. You can see for miles." I jumped up and stepped forward to the window, still not daring to turn around.

"Hmm." Lisa sounded decidedly unimpressed. "You get used to it after a while, believe me. So." She paused. "You two fixed a date yet?"

I darted a panicked glance at Adam. "Actually, yes," he said, smiling at me. "You see, I'm free now. I know she was supposed to having lunch with you, but I was wondering whether you'd mind if I took her to lunch instead."

"Oh!" But Lisa didn't sound at all put out. Far from it. "Yes, of course," she gushed, the note of victory obvious in her voice. "We can get together anytime. Emma—yes—go out with him now. And give me a call tonight, okay?"

So she could interrogate me for all the juicy details, I thought, amused.

"Okay," I said grinning, risking a glance at her over my shoulder. "Thanks Lisa. I owe you one."

She gave a grunt of derision. "You owe me a lot more than one." And then she was gone.

Adam came up behind me, his arms sweeping around me. "You know," he said, as I gave a sigh of pleasure, "I've spent a long time looking across at that hill this morning."

"Really?" I smiled, loving the feeling of being in his embrace.

"Mmm. You see, I reckon if we could find a good enough pair of binoculars, we could probably still see our bum prints in the grass."

" _What_?"

"Easy," he murmured contentedly, kissing my neck. "Way too easy..."

***

We called her Catherine, of course. Katie for short. And though I tell Adam repeatedly there's no way of knowing for sure she was conceived that morning when we were up on the hill watching the sunrise, he remains, well, _adam_ ant there can't be any doubt about it. He says you only have to look at the colour of her hair.

I watch her now with a smile, her red-gold curls spilling across the pillow, one chubby hand resting up by her ear. Beautiful awake, even more beautiful at rest, exhausted after a busy morning playing in our garden.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Griffin."

I gasp, startled to feel Adam's arms sliding around me.

He laughs softly. "Ssh," he murmurs, peering at our fifteen-month-old daughter over my shoulder. "You'll wake her."

"Home for lunch again?" I whisper, not really surprised. It's the third time this week.

"Something like that." I smile as his hands begin to roam across my tummy. "Ooh. Someone's awake."

"And whose fault's that? You just made me jump."

"Aw." He chuckles again, moving around in front of me and hitching my dress up to my waist, staring at my rounded belly with undisguised pleasure. "Hey son," he says, dropping to his knees and planting a kiss just above my distended navel. "Stop beating up your mother."

We both watch as the baby squirms inside me, the taut skin of my tummy undulating with the pressure of his tiny fist. Or perhaps his tiny foot. To be honest, I'm never entirely sure.

Adam's mouth is on me again, trailing kisses in a decidedly southerly direction now, his darkening gaze lifting to mine as he reaches my underwear. And as he glances across at Katie's cot I know exactly what he's going to ask.

"How long has she been asleep?"

"An hour and a half," I say innocently, even though it's only been about ten minutes. Because the bigger I get, the more Adam seems to want me, delighting in my expanding curves. But then, it was just the same when I was expecting Katie. I sometimes think he has every intention of keeping me pregnant for the next ten years. "I was just about to wake her up actually."

" _What_?"

The look on Adam's face is priceless. But then I've learnt a thing or two about teasing in the last two years.

"You don't mean it," he guesses, straightening up as I start to smile. "You little minx..."

And laughing, I drop my hand into his. "Easy," I murmur, even as I lead him across the hall towards our bedroom. "Way too easy..."

###

# About the Author

Emma Lilly (also known as Lily Evans but growing weary of being mistaken for being a certain young wizard's mother...) lives in Northamptonshire, England with her husband and teenage son.

Emma started writing novels at the age of seven and hasn't stopped writing since! Luckily, she has plenty to write about, thanks to taking her time over settling on a career. So far, Emma's varied occupations have included selling electronic widgets, teaching, nursing and working in the Civil Service. Who knows what's next...

She loves watching films (especially romantic comedies!), cooking and reading.

She also enjoys taking long walks along sandy windswept beaches so it's a bit of a shame Northamptonshire's around 75 miles from the nearest coast...

# Also by Emma Lilly and available at Smashwords

Anything for You

Caught by the Tide

