Chapter 18

There's nothing like soft cotton and clean sheets and I snuggle into them, inhaling the scent of fabric conditioner. It's only as I catch my sore leg that I come to properly, realising that I've been asleep.

To my surprise Tom is beside me, stretched out on the other side of the bed, propped up against the pillows and absorbed in reading a Jeffrey Archer novel.

Yawning, I peer over the edge of the duvet, which in my sleep I'd pulled right up over my nose. He glances towards me, enquiry in his eyes.

‘How are you feeling? And points are deducted if you say fine.'

‘I didn't know I had any points. My shoulder is feeling better. Still sore,' I add as his eyes narrow.' I sit up to prove my point, the duvet falling away and then I'm aware that my nipples, objecting to being removed from my cosy nest, have hardened into stiff points beneath the soft, thin fabric of his T-shirt, which I am now wearing properly. ‘What time is it?' I ask, gathering up the duvet to cover myself.

I needn't have bothered, he's seen them and he takes more than a second to look up at my face, not doing a very good job of hiding his smile or the sudden flare of interest in his eyes, even though he manages to say quite deadpan, ‘It's about two in the afternoon. You must be hungry.'

‘Mm, a little.' I'm horribly conscious that that my nipples are tingling, hardening further, demonstrating a different kind of hunger altogether.

Shit, I remember his mouth on them, the hot wet heat of his mouth, him sucking and licking with lazy, arrogant swipes of his tongue, holding me firm and smirking whenever I writhed beneath begging him for more.

‘In fact, do you know what, I'm starving,' I say in a desperate bid to defuse the growing tension coiling through my body. I fling back the covers and make a grab for the big sweatshirt in my rucksack, hastily tugging it on, grateful that I can use my right arm again, even though it's still a little tender.

‘This is a lovely room,' I say, looking around as if I'm noticing it for the first time. Actually, until now, I hadn't noticed how amazing this room is. Above me is the apex of a sloping ceiling, which ends with a floor-to-ceiling triangular window opposite the end of the bed. Even though the rain is still coming down in horizontal sheets, which makes me appreciate the cosy bed even more, I can see that the view is usually spectacular.

‘This place is stunning,' says Tom, thankfully following my lead and ignoring the buzz of chemistry in the air. ‘Someone's spent a lot of money on it and the good news is, according to the booking sheets downstairs in the hall, it's available this week, so we've got it all to ourselves.'

‘That's good news?'

‘In that no one's going to turf us out.'

‘See what you mean.'

‘If I had my credit card and a phone, I'd book it. Would that make you feel better?' asks Tom.

‘Yes, it would.'

‘When we get back, I'll contact them and explain and pay.'

I stare at him. ‘That's very honest of you.'

‘It's the right thing to do. Besides I think they must be pretty decent people; they obviously want their guests to have all mod cons. You should see the living room, it's got an amazing panoramic view. They've even got binoculars. A wood-burning stove. A decent sized TV and Bose sound system.'

‘As far as I'm concerned, this bed alone is one of the seven wonders of the world. It's so comfortable.'

‘After two nights in the great outdoors, anything is going to be comfortable,' says Tom. ‘I'll go make you something to eat.' He holds up a hand before I can say a word. ‘Just enjoy being looked after.'

I give him a grudging smile. ‘Am I really that difficult?'

‘No, you're not. But you are allowed time off for good behaviour and bad accidents. It's a miracle you didn't break anything.'

‘Mmm,' I say rubbing gently at the bruised tissues around my shoulder joint.

‘Tom!' I call as he's about to leave. I feel a need to reassure him that I'm not going to hold him back. ‘We'll just rest up tonight and then get back on the road tomorrow.'

He comes back and sits on the edge of the bed. ‘We're not going anywhere tomorrow. A day's rest will do us both the power of good. I've looked it up on the map and as the crow flies we're only twelve kilometres from the motorway. If we leave early on Saturday morning, we can be at the slip road by ten and hitch a ride. There's bound to be someone heading South, if not all the way to London. We could be there by teatime and the deadline is eight p.m. That's achievable.'

‘But more realistic if we leave tomorrow,' I persist.

I can see him swallow but then he shakes his head. ‘You heard the doctor. A day's rest, give your leg a chance to heal.'

I sigh. My leg is throbbing at the moment, pulsing with pain. I'd only slow him down and the thought of walking for any length of time fills me with anxiety anyway. I don't want to let him down.

‘Okay, but we leave really early on Saturday.'

‘Deal,' he says.

* * *

Tom returns a little while later with a tray with a plate of toast and jam, the opened pack of digestives and a mug of pasta, chicken and sweetcorn. ‘Those packs really aren't too bad.'

‘I get them from Aldi. Cheap and cheerful.'

‘What and pack them as a midnight snack in case you get hungry?' He's teasing but he has no idea how close to the truth he is.

‘Thank you, this looks lovely.' It's the first time I've ever had a tray in bed and it's wonderfully decadent. I feel like I'm a film star staying in a swanky hotel with room service.

He gives me an odd look as if I'm being sarcastic or something.

‘How's that leg? I ought to wash it with saline solution like Annette suggested. And I'm going to need some more dressings. We've used them all.'

‘Yes, Dr Dereborn,' I say with resignation. I know he's right.

He gives me a crooked grin. ‘I've always wanted to play doctors and nurses.'

I laugh. ‘I bet you have. Do you want me to come back to the bathroom?'

‘Not really.'

But I throw back the covers and get to my feet. My leg is throbbing and quite a bit of blood has oozed through the dressing.

Tom frowns and mutters something under his breath that I don't catch. Not that I need to, I can tell he's not happy.

‘I—'

‘If you tell me you're okay or that you can sort it out, I swear I will …'

I raise an eyebrow in challenge.

‘I'll think…' His face changes and there's a smirk tugging at his lips. ‘I'll think of something.'

I'm glad of his ministrations when we get to the bathroom. I sit on the chair with my leg hanging at an awkward angle while he undoes the bandage and dressing. Disappearing downstairs for a minute, he returns with a bowl of water.

‘Here, I made this earlier. Saline solution.' Using it he gives my leg a really good wash, apologising for hurting me every time I hiss out a breath while he's rinsing the wound.

We both look at the ugly mess. The gash is a good few inches long and the edges are ragged. ‘Bugger,' I say. ‘There goes my future as a leg model.'

‘You need stitches.'

‘Steri strips will do.' I give him a no-nonsense look. ‘Look in there.' I nod towards the bathroom cabinet, beneath the sink. ‘There might be a first-aid kit.'

A second later he says ‘Aha!' and pulls a white packet from a big green first-aid kit on the top shelf. ‘Look what I found. And fresh dressings and bandages.'

Swivelling me round he sits on the edge of the bath with my leg in his lap. I watch him as once again he sorts me out. Honestly, the man deserves some sort of medal.

‘Do you want to go back to bed?' he asks. A zing shoots through my body as we both shoot a look at the shower and it's like a bolt of electricity has arced between the pair of us. He asked me that question once before, after a shower in his flat, after a long and indulgent breakfast that consisted of more than food on his breakfast bar. I've never looked at a breakfast bar in quite the same way since.

My nipples are up again, like shouty capitals, yelling yes.

‘I mean, Do you want to go downstairs? Or stay up here. I thought we could watch a film or something. They've got loads of DVDs.'

There's a faint blush that tips his ears, which is rather endearing.

‘Yes. That would be good. Thank you.'

Even that weekend when it was all about unadulterated sex we were never awkward with each other. This constraint is quite weird in comparison. Maybe because now we're real people whereas that weekend we were totally anonymous. Just two people who hooked up. Unfortunately, now I know Tom Dereborn, I find him a bazillion times more attractive than the fuck buddy who knew his way around a woman's body.

* * *

The lounge is another gorgeous room. God knows how much it costs to stay here. I'll make sure I split the cost with Tom when we get back. In the meantime, he's made a fire in the squat cast-iron stove, which is glowing merrily, and lit the side lamps on the tables. I'm tucked up in a fine wool throw on the big L-shaped sofa that could seat a family of five quite comfortably, with my leg propped on a footstool. I could be on holiday.

‘Don't suppose you've got a bottle of wine stashed in that rucksack of yours?' asks Tom, bringing two mugs of steaming tea through.

‘Sadly no,' I say.

‘Oh well, we'll have to make do.' His face is as mournful as a basset hound and I burst out laughing as we both look around at the luxurious surroundings.

‘Not sure this is what counts as fleeing for our lives.'

He grins. ‘Wonder if the other contestants are this warm and cosy.'

‘I doubt it. You know, we might be the only ones still on the run. If the others didn't twig about the trackers,' I say thoughtfully. ‘We're in with a good shout at winning the grand prize. We can get to London on Saturday.'

I wonder what Tom wants the money for. It must be for something important. Now I've got to know him, he doesn't strike me as someone who's going to blow that sort of money on a fast car or a speedboat.

Before I can ask him, he says, ‘We're not going anywhere tonight, that's for sure.' He looks out of the window at the rain still streaming down the glass. ‘Let's enjoy this place while we can. After the last two nights I think we deserve it. Especially you. How are you feeling?' His eyes soften and my heart does one of those little trips.

‘Better,' I say almost in a whisper. ‘The painkillers are working a treat.'

‘Good,' he says a bit awkwardly, as if he doesn't know what to do now.

‘Do you think we ought to film this?' I say to save him from his discomfort.

‘I did a bit of filming while we were out walking this morning before you fell. They can have that, but this is for us,' says Tom and his eyes catch mine and for a moment there's a stillness in the air, but then almost as quickly he turns his back on me and crosses the room to the DVD shelf.

‘Now, for the entertainment. I think it's time we rectified the deficit in your film education.' He's got an air of small-boy enthusiasm about him.

‘I'm not sure I like the sound of that,' I reply with narrowed eyes. ‘What are you proposing?'

‘Star Wars.' He looks so pleased with himself I can't help but smile back. ‘You can't die without seeing it.'

‘I hadn't planned on dying this week. I don't think my leg's that bad.'

‘It's bad enough, Lydia. As soon as we can, we'll see a doctor.'

I want to tell him to stop fussing but I know he's being kind and caring, so I keep my mouth shut. A little part of me is rather thrilled with the ‘we'll see a doctor', but I don't give in to it, instead I'm all business.

‘Come on then, let's see this film.'

Even though the sofa is enormous, Tom comes to sit next to me and tucks the blanket around us both.

The white lettering, which even I know is iconic, rolls up across the screen and Tom settles back into his seat with a happy sigh.

‘You're so lucky,' he says cheerfully.

‘Why?'

‘Because this is the first time you're seeing it. It will stay with you for ever. I still remember the first time I went with my uncle. We went to a Bafta screening.'

This enthusiasm and happiness – it's a new side of Tom. He seems utterly content for a change and it makes me relax.

We watch the film and I'm relieved that he's not one of those annoying people who has to give a running commentary advising me, ‘There's a good bit coming up,' ‘This scene is really important' or ‘Remember this bit.' I'm also relieved that I'm thoroughly enjoying it. I'm not quite sure I get why people are so nerdy about it, but it's full of action and, as I've said before, who doesn't love young Harrison Ford. Tom is happily absorbed in the story – or so I've assumed – until about three quarters of the way through when I become aware of him.

I nudge him in the ribs without turning round. ‘Stop it.'

‘Stop what?'

‘Watching me.' Now I do turn and look at him to find his face is very serious. He's studying me intently.

‘What if I like watching you?' The question hums with a thread of tension. I flush, suddenly very aware of him.

I return my concentration to the screen but it's not so easy now. I'm conscious of Tom beside me and I know he's still studying my face.

‘Will you stop it?' I say without turning.

‘Why?' he asks softly, and he reaches forward and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. But then his hand slides down, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin of my neck.

I turn and look at him, our eyes lock and neither of us blink. We stare at each other, the sound of the film receding. His Adam's apple dips in his throat. I'm holding my breath because I don't want this moment to break, for reality to intrude.

My heart thuds so hard in my chest I can feel it pounding beneath my ribs and there's a warmth between my legs that if I'm honest has been on a low simmer ever since we showered together earlier. Or maybe since that first night in the tent when he made me come.

He cups my face with his hand. I'm a goner. Everything inside me turns to molten chocolate and I sigh. A sigh of consent. A sigh of hell, yes, you can do anything you like to me, with me, for me. The truth bursts inside. I want him. I never stopped wanting him. I want him with a ferocity I didn't think I was capable of.

‘I never stopped thinking about you, you know,' he says, his voice raspy with desire.

‘You ruined me for anyone else,' I say.

‘Good.' His smile is wicked as he lowers his mouth onto mine.

His kiss is better than I remember, or maybe I just know what's coming this time and I'm revved in anticipation like a 2000cc motorbike. He coaxes my mouth open with firm, no-nonsense intent but I'm straight back at him. Giving as much as he's taking. His tongue touches mine, intimate and possessive. He's confident but so am I and I match him, pressing my lips against his, teasing his tongue in a dance for supremacy. This is what I remember. We both know what we want.

We shift so that we are lying side by side on the sofa and we pull away to look at each other.

‘You're so fucking sexy, Lydia, do you know that?' he says dragging a finger down my neck between my breasts. ‘Demure and confident at the same time. It's one hell of a turn-on. That dress you wore that night at the dinner. Prim at the front and sexy as fuck at the back.'

The black silk number is my all-time favourite dress. It always makes me feel like a million dollars with its high neck, three-quarter-length sleeves, flowing skirt and the dramatic slash all the way down the back. It should, it cost a fortune, but when I'm wearing it I'm confident that I fit in, that no one is going to find out I'm faking it.

‘Even in this,' he says, circling the neckline of his T-shirt, ‘I still want to get you naked.'

‘Why don't you?' I ask, stroking his throat, my finger catching at the rough stubble.

‘Because we've got all night,' he says and kisses me again, his hands sliding up under the T-shirt, skirting the undersides of my breasts. His touch lingers and teases. He's the king of slow and careful.

‘What do you want me to do, Lydia?' His voice purrs in my ear as he continues the cat and mouse perusal of my skin, shying away from what he knows I want. It's torture but I'm not giving in.

‘Do you really want to know?' I ask, squirming slightly against that light insinuating touch and ignoring the twinge in my shoulder.

‘Yes,' he says, his voice firm, a little rough.

I give him a sultry smile.

‘I want you to tell me what you want.'

A smile of approval tugs at his lips. ‘You play dirty.'

‘Always.' I run a hand across his firm, flat belly just above the waistband. ‘You gonna tell me what you really want me to do?' I love the power this gives me over him.

His eyes are glittering as he sits up.

‘Tell me,' I demand with a teasing, knowing smile.

‘I want you to go down on me. I want to watch that mouth of yours on me, while you take all of me.' He pauses and then he says, ‘Please, Lydia.'

Oh fuck. That breathless plea excites me so much, it almost makes me come there and then.

I kiss him this time, my tongue circling his lips and then sucking his in, as a prelude to what is about to come. He stifles a groan. I sit up and straddle his thighs, trapping them between mine. I strip off my T-shirt. He leans forward to kiss my breasts and I let him before I pull back shaking my head, my hair falling loose down my front.

‘Uh huh. That's not on the agenda.'

‘It isn't?' He looks disappointed.

‘Not yet,' I say and tug his T-shirt from his jeans. ‘You have to help me. Take this off.'

He does as he's told, pulling it over his head, and then slumps back against the cushions, and I slide down his thighs to open up his jeans, taking my sweet time to work the zip over the swollen bulge. It's not easy one-handed, but I'm enjoying his squirms. He shifts slightly as if impatient for me to get to the good part, which makes me slow down even more. When I pull down his boxers, his dick springs free, eager and ready.

I run an experimental finger around the smooth swollen top, using the glistening drop there as lubrication. I hear Tom hiss out a breath. His eyes are slitted as he watches me and I can see the control he's exerting.

When I finally take him into my mouth he moves my hair aside so that he can see me. I give him a thorough workout, swirling my tongue around the head, sucking hard, my hand encircling his thickness, enjoying his little breathless groans. I'm relentless, never letting up, but it's such a turn-on hearing him make those incoherent noises and having complete control over him.

‘Lydia, Lydia, Lydia.'

I carry on, slowing the pace. His moans are half words, quite inarticulate now.

‘Lydia,' he gasps. ‘You've got to stop.'

I suck harder and I feel him go rigid.

‘Fuck, I'm going to come if you don't stop,' he cries out, a desperate edge to his voice.

I take my mouth away but replace it with my hand, giving him a long slow pump. ‘And what's wrong with that?' I ask, knowing I'm holding all the eggs, as it were.

He closes his eyes and heaves in a ragged breath, his hips still hitching. I can feel him barely holding back. There's no way I'm letting him off the hook. I'm going to make him come, milk every drop from him.

‘Because I want to come inside you,' he groans.

Warm wet heat floods between my legs at his words as he grips my arms and hauls me to my feet. He crushes me against his chest, kissing my mouth deeply as if he can't get enough of me.

‘Please tell me you've got a condom in that Tardis rucksack of yours,' he says before his mouth roams over my neck, nipping at the skin in the dip of my collar bone.

‘Yes,' I gasp, as his hands close over my breasts.

‘Thank fuck for that.'

‘In the bedroom.'

‘Shit.'