Chapter Six

Ella

Today isn't going as well as I'd hoped.

It started off okay until Kennedy had to interrupt us, yet again.

She'd come by with Ruby, to show us Blake's publicity photographs. I hadn't even realized they'd taken any, but I guessed that was where he'd disappeared to on Monday, when Ruby sent him to see Kennedy. The pictures themselves were fantastic, and I'd be the first to admit, Blake looked very sexy in them… but it was obvious he was uncomfortable about them. I was wondering about that, and if there was anything I could do or say to help the situation, when Kennedy asked to see me privately. I assumed I must have done something wrong, but couldn't say ‘no', and we went into the side kitchen.

The moment we were in there, she turned to face me.

"Are you related to Drew Bennett?" she said, surprising me.

"Yes. He's my brother."

She frowned. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because I didn't realize you knew him. I'm not in the habit of going around telling people who I'm related to, just in case they happen to have met."

"That's not the point." She seemed flustered, although I couldn't work out why.

"Then what is?"

"That I didn't realize who you are…"

I knew then that she wasn't talking about me just being Drew's sibling, but his multi-millionaire sibling. I saw that fact registering on her face, even as we were speaking.

Her reaction has been bothering me ever since, and I've struggled to concentrate on anything else. I don't know how long she's been aware of the connection between myself and Drew, but I can't help wondering if that's why she didn't argue back yesterday when I told her to stop calling me ‘dear'. If she'd begun to suspect who I am, maybe she thought better of bickering with me… and if that's the case, does it mean things between us will get better, or worse? They surely can't get any worse, can they? I suppose they could, if it transpires the connection between her and Drew is that they slept together. She didn't say anything about how she knows him, but would she, if they'd been in a relationship? And would Drew have slept with her in the first place? God… could it be that he turned her down? She's a lot older than him, but I know almost nothing about his taste in women. I'm not about to call him and ask, either. I'm not sure I want to know. Besides, I've got far too much to do. Aside from all the food I need to prepare, I'm very distracted today.

It's Blake who's the cause of that. I know he keeps looking at me, even though every time I glance in his direction, he seems to be focused on his script. I can still feel his eyes on me every so often, though. It's like there's a switch inside me that seems to flick on every time he looks at me.

I raise my head again, only this time, instead of finding him staring at his script, he's looking straight at me, and I pause, about to slice into the zucchini, my knife poised. He puts down his script, but doesn't move, and just continues to stare for ages, his lips twisting into a smile. I smile back, and after a few moments more, he gets up, leaving his script behind, and walks over. He's not wearing his apron yet, and I can't help noticing the way his tight t-shirt clings to every contour of every muscle. It makes me wonder if the point of this show isn't so much about the food as about Blake himself… or Blain, as we're supposed to call him. I'm not going to… not now I know how much he hates it, which is almost as much as he seems to hate his costume.

Kennedy and Vivian's response to him yesterday, when he came back from the men's room, was almost feral, and it would have been amusing, if it wasn't for the fact that it clearly made Blake so uneasy. What was interesting, though, was that as soon as he could escape Kennedy's clutches, he came and stood right beside me, like I made him feel safe. I think that was when I realized that, in his shoes, if someone had insisted I had to wear something so revealing, I'd have felt exactly the same… and would almost certainly have refused. I thought then – and have thought even harder since – about the way Kennedy had behaved toward him, and it made me angry. She was using her authority and her power over him, and expecting him to be flattered. As he stood beside me, I understood my privileged position better than ever. I can afford to lose this job, I can answer back and take the consequences, just because I'm rich. Hell… I could probably afford to buy the studio, if I felt like it. But Blake has to take whatever Kennedy throws at him… and that's not fair.

"I noticed the food was already unpacked today," he says, coming around the island unit and standing quite close… although it's not as close as I'd like him to be.

"Yeah. I spoke to Ruby before I went home yesterday, and told her that whoever delivered the food needed to unpack it, too. It seems it was Vivian's job to organize that, so she was told to make sure it was done properly today."

He chuckles. "I bet she loved that. Especially as she'd already been told off once in front of you."

"She wasn't entirely thrilled about it."

"We seem to have extra supplies… and two legs of lamb."

"I guess they're expecting us to do more than one run-through today."

He continues to stare at me, and I can't bring myself to break the moment and look away. There's something in his eyes which is different from yesterday, but I'm not sure what it is.

"Where do you want to start?" he says, breaking the moment for me, and although I'm disappointed by that, there's no escaping the fact that we've got work to do.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go through your lines first, and just act out the preparation elements, rather than having to actually do them?" I look up at him and he frowns slightly, staring down at the countertop, which is littered with vegetables, garlic and herbs.

"But you've done all this work."

"I know… and it'll keep. I just think, with hindsight, it might be best if we focus on one thing at a time, don't you?"

"Yes… as long as that's okay with you. I'm a lot more nervous about this than I thought I would be, and I think it'll help if I can get the lines right before I have to worry about pretending to be a chef again."

I move a little closer, although I take care not to touch him. "You've got nothing to be nervous about." His eyes widen and I hope my words have helped, not hindered.

"Do you want to take the part of the guest?" he says, smiling slightly.

"Sure, although I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

"I'll fetch my script." He wanders away, going back to the table.

"Won't you need it?" I ask as he starts back, bringing a stool for me to sit on, which he sets down at the end of the island unit.

"No. I'm hoping I know my lines well enough by now. But if I slip up, let me know."

He hands me the script, and I take my seat, waiting while he gets into position. Then he looks up to where the camera will probably be, and takes a breath before he delivers a perfectly worded welcome speech, introducing ‘this week's guest', who's called ‘Lyla'.

I stare at him, my mouth slightly open, and he spins around, looking at me.

"It's your turn," he says. "You just need to say ‘hello'."

I startle. "I—I know, but you're talking with an American accent."

"No, I'm not."

"Okay, you're not now, but you were just then… when you were being Blain."

"I know. Blain is American. Didn't you know?"

"No. I assumed they'd chosen you because you were English."

He nods his head. "Ahh… so you didn't think they'd picked me for my incomparable acting abilities, either?"

He can hear the disappointment in his voice, and I can't say I'm surprised by it. After all, I've done nothing but insult him since the moment we first met. "I'm sorry." He looks at me like he's waiting, but I'm careful to limit myself to an apology this time, and after a few seconds, he smiles.

"Don't be. I guess I'd better get used to humiliating myself. It's going to be my face appearing on a show called ‘Meal Master', and all the publicity material that goes with it."

"Do you think that's as bad as I do?"

"The name?" I nod my head and his smile widens. "Of course. But what can I say? They've decided on it already, and they're not about to change it."

"I'm just grateful I'm going to be hidden behind the cameras."

"Not for today, you're not…" He stares at me for a moment or two. "Shall we try that again?"

"Okay."

He takes another breath, like he needs it to get back into character again, and delivers his opening lines, his American accent no longer taking me by surprise, although I'm impressed by it. If I didn't know he was English, I'd never have guessed…

We work our way through the script and, with just one exception, Blake gets it word perfect. Even that exception is only very slight, and I don't pick him up on it at the time.

"How was that?" he says, when we get to the end.

"It was amazing. You remembered everything I showed you yesterday, and you were almost word perfect."

"Almost?" He frowns slightly.

"You said ‘pour', instead of ‘drizzle', when you were pretending to put the oil onto the lamb, but that doesn't matter. They both mean the same thing."

"Except ‘drizzle' is more accurate."

"Maybe, but don't beat yourself up over it. You got everything else right."

He nods his head, letting out a breath. "What's the time?" he asks.

I put down the script and check my watch. "Just before noon."

He raises his eyebrows. "Not bad."

Considering we didn't start until ten-thirty, I think it's nothing short of a miracle. "I know. We got through that a lot quicker than I thought we would. I'm wondering if we should break for lunch and then go through it all again afterwards, but with the food this time. What do you think?"

His brow furrows. "I'm not sure. Maybe we ought to check with Ruby first. She said they like to start full rehearsals as early as possible, didn't she?"

I can see his point, but I'm not convinced. "You don't think we should run through it all again ourselves, before we invite everyone else in?"

"I'd love to say ‘yes' to that, but I'm not sure we've got the luxury of that much time."

"Shall I go ask her?"

"I think it might be wise… but I'll go, if you like?"

"No, it's fine." I get down from the stool, and he reaches for the script, flipping over a couple of pages. I know he's checking on the ‘drizzle' speech, and while I want to reiterate that it really doesn't matter, it'll make him feel better if he gets it right, so I leave him to it and exit the rehearsal studio, crossing the hall and knocking on Ruby's door.

"Come in." I push the door open and enter. She's sitting behind her desk and looks up at me, smiling. "Ella… what can I do for you?"

"I just came to let you know we've done our first run-through, without the food, and we wanted to ask whether we should do it all again, by ourselves, or whether you want to get the rest of the team involved?"

"I think we need to get started on rehearsals," she says, nodding her head. "Time's moving on, I'm afraid." She gives me a sympathetic look, which says she's not blaming me, and I feel guilty for my outburst on Monday, right before I went home. She's no more to blame for this situation than I am, but she got the brunt of my tiredness and bad mood.

"What do you want to do, then? Get everyone to come in now?"

She glances at her computer screen. "I think we can allow some time for lunch and start at… one-fifteen?"

"Okay."

"I'll send a message to the team to let them know they're needed in the rehearsal studio. We'll do a couple of dry runs, without the food, so we can work around Blain, and the lighting and camera angles. Then we'll go again…"

"With the food?"

"Not necessarily. I mean, I'm hoping it'll work out that way, but we'll keep going until everyone's happy with the set-up, and only then will we add the food. So, if you can make sure it's all prepared, because you won't get much warning."

"I already have."

She nods her head. "It's going to be a late finish, I'm afraid."

"Okay. I'll let Blake know."

A smile touches her lips. "You're supposed to call him ‘Blain', don't forget."

I don't reply, but leave her office and head straight back to the rehearsal studio. Inside, Blake is sitting on the stool I vacated a short while ago, still thumbing through the script, but he looks up as I come in.

"How did it go?"

I walk over, standing a little distance from him, leaning against the island unit. "We're starting full rehearsals after lunch… at one-fifteen. To start with, you'll do dry runs, like we've just done, and when everyone's set up correctly, they'll bring in the food."

He nods his head, glancing at everything I prepared earlier, most of which is still on the countertop – except the lamb, which I put back into the refrigerator once I'd studded both legs with garlic. "Okay… but is everything going to keep for that long?"

"Most of it'll be fine." I grab the trays of vegetables and put them in the refrigerator, above the lamb.

"What about the green beans?" he calls from behind me.

"They'll be okay, and so will the potatoes. They're in water." I go back over to him. "We'll just move everything out of the way." He helps me put the pans onto the table, so the countertop is clear, other than the spices and oils, which we push to the back. "I hope you didn't have any plans for this evening," I say, turning back to face him.

"No. Did you?"

I shake my head, wondering how I can ask if that's a permanent state of affairs for him, or whether it's just tonight that he's available, and he's normally busy… with someone. How can I, though? I'd be too embarrassed, and I'm worried he might give me an answer I don't want to hear.

"I guess I'd better be prepared to make a fool of myself in front of other people," he says, scratching his head and messing up his hair.

"Are you still feeling nervous?" I ask. "Even though you did so well earlier?"

"A little."

"You've got no reason to."

"That's easy for you to say. You know what you're doing."

"No, I don't. This is all new to me. It's my first job."

He frowns. "In television?"

"Anywhere."

His face clears, and he smiles. "It doesn't show." He looks at his watch. "I guess we'd better get some lunch before we run out of time."

"I can make us something, if you like?"

His smile widens. "Do we have enough ingredients?"

"Sure we do. We've got eggs, so I can make us an omelet, if nothing else."

"Okay." He nods toward the side kitchen. "Shall we?"

"I'm not cooking in there. The only thing in that kitchen that's worth using is the coffee machine." He laughs. "Why don't you sit?" I glance over at the stool, where his script is still lying on the countertop.

"And watch you work? That doesn't seem very fair."

"I'm pretty sure I can make omelets all by myself. They were one of the first things I learned to cook when I got to France."

He doesn't argue anymore, and wanders over to the stool, sitting down, and pushing his script aside as he gazes across at me.

"So that's where you studied cookery, is it… in France?"

I nod my head, then walk over to the refrigerator, grabbing some eggs and an omelet pan from the cabinet before I return to him.

"It wasn't just in France. I spent about six months in London, and then just over a year in Madrid, before I moved on to Paris."

"And how long did you spend there?" He watches, while I quickly get out two plates, and then put the pan on the stove to heat. After that, I crack three eggs into a small bowl that I put out earlier but didn't end up using, and start beating them with a whisk.

"A little over two years."

"Was that because you liked Paris the most?" He's teasing. That much is obvious from his smile… and I like it.

"No. It was because the course there was the longest… although I will admit, I loved living in Paris."

"More than London?"

I smile at him. "Maybe. Sorry."

I lean over toward him, grabbing a handful of fresh herbs from the pot, and he watches my every move. I'm usually a lot more self-conscious than this, but I enjoy being scrutinized by him. There's something oddly comforting about it.

I take my chef's knife and chop the herbs, running it back and forth over them. "How do you do that?" he says, shaking his head.

"It's about rolling the knife." I make my moves more slowly, demonstrating.

"Can I try?"

"Of course."

He gets up, coming around the island unit, and I hand him my knife.

"You're willing to let me use yours?" he says, staring down at me, with that teasing smile on his lips.

"Just this once."

I step aside, giving him space, and he makes a reasonable job of chopping the herbs.

"How's that?" he says.

"Pretty good. We'll make a chef of you yet."

He chuckles, handing me back my knife, and I put it down again, adding some butter to the pan, and watching while it sizzles and bubbles. I add half the herbs to the beaten eggs, stirring them around, and once the butter has melted, I pour in the egg mixture.

"What do you do now?" Blake asks.

"Wait."

"You just wait?"

"Only for a few minutes…" He moves closer to get a better view of the pan and I struggle to breathe.

"What are you waiting for?"

"This…" I grab a fork, teasing the omelet from the edges of the pan. "See? The eggs have started to cook."

He leans in, watching, our heads really close together, while I continue to pull the egg mixture into the middle of the pan until the whole thing is cooked, the top still slightly runny.

Then I tip the pan, folding the omelet into a perfect roll, and slide it onto one of the waiting plates, topping it with a sprig of fresh parsley, before I hand it to him.

"Voilà, monsieur… une omelette aux fines herbes," I say in my best French accent.

"Merci, mademoiselle." He surprises me with his response… his accent at least as good as mine.

"Please don't wait for me. It'll get cold."

I hand him a fork, and he takes a bite, closing his eyes as he chews. "God… that's so good."

I feel myself blush and, to cover my embarrassment, I mix up some more eggs and herbs, adding them to the pan to make my own omelet. It takes but a few minutes to prepare, and Blake hasn't eaten more than a couple of mouthfuls of his by the time I'm serving mine.

"Shall we sit at the table?" I suggest and he nods his head, leading the way, but holding out a chair for me when we get there, and waiting until I've sat down before he sits beside me. We both eat, and I have to admit, the omelet is good, Blake making ‘hmm' noises after every mouthful. "Where did you learn to act?" I ask, looking up at him.

"You're assuming I was taught to do this?"

"You mean, you weren't?"

"No. Doesn't it show?"

"No. You were word perfect earlier."

"Almost," he says, rolling his eyes. "And learning lines is just about having a good memory. It's got nothing to do with acting."

"So you've never had any formal training?"

"None whatsoever. I studied English at university and always wanted to be a writer."

"Really?" I'm intrigued by that. He seems like such a natural when he's acting.

"Yes. When my parents died, I sold their house. It needed a lot of work doing to it, and I didn't want to live there. But it was on an enormous plot of land, so I did quite well out of the sale and once I'd paid off their mortgage, I was left with enough to keep a roof over my head for a few years, while I earned absolutely nothing and slaved over writing my first novel."

"You've written a novel?"

"Written, yes. Published, no."

"Oh."

He smiles. "It's funny. That's how most people react when I say that… with enormous disappointment."

I feel guilty now. "I—I didn't mean…"

"It's okay. I'm disappointed too."

"Have you thought about trying to find an agent?" I ask, wondering if he's lacking in contacts, rather than talent.

"I've got an agent. A friend of mine recommended her, and I sent her my book. We had a video call, during which she told me she thought my story wasn't original enough… and then the next thing I knew, she sent me a message, asking if I'd be interested in coming over here to do some TV work, for a commercial."

"To write it, you mean?"

"No, to act in it."

"But why? You had no experience in acting."

"That's not strictly true. I'd done some stage work in the UK, just for fun, and it was on my CV, which I'd sent to the agent."

"Your resume, you mean?"

"Yeah… I guess. In any case, there wasn't a great deal of acting involved in the commercial."

"Why? What was it for?"

"Fitness equipment. They had a ‘before' guy, and an ‘after' guy."

I can't help smiling. "Which were you?"

He smiles back. "I was the ‘after' guy."

"I'm not surprised. You've got the perfect physique." I feel myself blush… again, but I don't regret my words, or the smile that's formed on his lips.

"Thank you… I think. It was hardly Hamlet, but it paid well, while it lasted."

"How long did it last, then?"

"Initially, they just brought me over to do the one commercial, but it went so well, they gave me a six-month contract."

"And you didn't think about going home, rather than signing it?" I ask as he finishes his omelet, pushing his plate aside.

"No. I'd decided to make the move here when I got their first offer."

"Even though it was just for one commercial?"

"Yes. I wasn't sure how I was going to make it work, but I felt like trying something new, and I certainly got to do that. I'd been here for about four months when I met a couple of people who belonged to a theater company, and when my contract for the TV commercials ended, I went to work with them."

"Here in Boston?"

"Yes."

"But what about your family? Don't you miss them?"

"I don't have any family."

I remember he said his parents were dead but… "You mean you've got no brothers or sisters?"

"No. I'm an only child," he says. "As were my parents. So there aren't even any uncles or aunts, or cousins."

"You said they died?" I say, lowering my voice, because it feels like the right thing to do.

He nods his head. "In a car accident."

"That must have been awful."

"It was."

"When did it happen?"

"Just after I finished my degree. I'd gone traveling in Europe to let off steam after all that studying, and I got a call from the police to say they'd been killed. Obviously, I went straight home again and dealt with everything. I hadn't been away for very long. I think I'd been in Paris for about four days."

"I'm so sorry."

"Why? Paris isn't that bad."

I shake my head, finishing my lunch. "I meant about your parents."

"I know, but it was a long time ago."

"Was it?"

"Yes. I'm older than I look." He's got a mischievous glint in his eyes and I can't help smiling.

"You can't be much over thirty."

"Add three years to that nice round figure, and you'd be spot on," he says.

"You're thirty-three?"

He nods his head. "Yes." That means he's nine years older than me… not that it matters.

"So, you moved your whole life to America? Just like that?"

"I did. But don't sound so surprised. You know how that feels. You moved to Europe."

"I know, but I came home from time to time, like at Christmas and during the summer, and I knew I'd be coming back permanently at some point. It was never going to be forever."

"I guess I didn't know it would be forever when I first came over here. I just knew I wasn't going straight back again. Not that my girlfriend understood any of that."

"Your girlfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Ah… so there was someone you left behind?"

"I didn't say there wasn't. I just said I didn't have any family. If we're talking about everyone, rather than just relatives, then you'd have to include my friends, and my godfather as well."

"Did they understand your reasons for coming here better than your girlfriend?"

"Yes, I think so. Some of them thought I was mad, but most of them – Henry especially – thought it was a great opportunity… an adventure."

"And your girlfriend didn't?" I ask, feeling intrigued by his past.

"No. She wasn't happy about me taking the initial contract, let alone my decision to make something long-term of it. She made it clear she thought I was being selfish, as well as professionally short-sighted, and that she wasn't going to come with me."

"So, what did you do?"

"I came anyway."

"You broke up with her?"

"Yes." He doesn't seem very upset about that, but I guess if they weren't that close, he wouldn't be, would he? The thought that he might have been close to her – or anyone else for that matter – is surprisingly difficult to contemplate, so I don't, and instead I get up, reaching for his plate.

"We should probably clear away."

"Let me," he says, standing up too. "Clearing up is the one thing I do well in the kitchen."

I can't help chuckling and he smiles down at me, taking the plates and carrying them to the island unit.

It's been lovely getting to know him.

I just wish we didn't have to stop so soon.

Blake cleans the dishes, while I wipe down the countertops, and between us we get the kitchen back to normal in no time at all, which is just as well, because he's only just put everything away when Ruby comes in the door. She's followed by several other people, including Vivian, and although I hadn't been feeling that nervous before, I am now. There's something about Vivian's presence that just sets me on edge.

Ruby comes straight over to me, looking around. "Have you prepared everything Blain will need?"

I nod my head. "It's all in the refrigerator."

She frowns. "What about the cooked versions?"

"Cooked versions?"

"Yes. When we do the show for real, you'll have cooked a set of everything in advance so Blain can magically pull it from the oven." Her brow furrows. "Are you telling me all the food is still raw?"

I could kick myself. "Yes."

"You didn't wonder why we gave you two of everything?"

"I assumed that was so we could do more than one run-through."

She sighs. "Okay. It's not the end of the world. As I explained earlier, we're gonna need to read through the script at least a couple of times for the technical set-up. You can cook one complete set of each dish in the meantime, can't you?"

"Sure."

She nods her head and I realize she's waiting for me to get on with it. I can't bring myself to look at anyone, although I catch Vivian's eye as I'm heading for the refrigerator and notice the smug smile on her lips. It's well deserved, though. I should have thought of this myself. They gave me additional ingredients for a reason, and I completely ignored the fact that Blake would need to plate up the prepared food, as well as pretending to cook it… all within the space of an hour.

I get busy putting things into the oven, and when I turn around again, I'm surprised to see three cameras in the space between the island unit and the table, and several people I've never seen before, all milling around. They seem to know what they're doing, and are busy going about it, and I stand aside, watching for a moment.

"Are you okay?" Blake's voice is a whisper in my ear, his breath a dusting against my skin and I turn to find him standing right behind me.

"No. I feel such a fool for forgetting to cook the food."

"You weren't to know. And anyway, there's no harm done, is there?"

"I suppose not."

"In which case, to repeat your advice to me… don't beat yourself up over it." I smile up at him, and our eyes lock, just for a moment, before he looks down at the apron in his hands. "I'm supposed to put this on. Do you think you could help me with the ties at the back? They're meant to be ‘just right' according to Kennedy, so the logo is in the middle."

"Sure."

He puts the apron over his head and turns around, while I grab the ties, binding them in a neat bow behind his back. He turns around again, and I straighten the apron, making sure the logo is centered, and nod my head. "Perfect."

He smiles, shaking his head and while I want to say something to put him at ease, I can't seem to think of anything, so we just stare at each other for another moment.

"Blain?"

We both startle as Ruby approaches.

"Yes?" Blake says, turning to her.

"I've been calling you." She smiles up at him.

"Have you? I didn't hear."

"Probably because ‘Blain' isn't your name," I say, and he grins down at me.

"That might have something to do with it."

"Well… you'll need to get used to it," Ruby replies, and nods over her shoulder. "We're ready for you."

"Okay." I hear him suck in a breath, although he gives the impression of being perfectly calm. "Who's playing the part of the guest?" he asks as he follows her onto the kitchen set.

"Vivian."

He turns to me, pulling a face. "Can't Ella do it? I practiced with her this morning."

"Unfortunately, now Ella's got everything in the oven, we need her behind the cameras, so she can tell us if we're going wrong in terms of where the food will be."

"Oh… okay." I can sense his disappointment, but that's not difficult. It matches my own, and while I wander over to the camera area, he steps up behind the island unit, where Ruby says a few words to him. They're too quiet for me to hear, but he nods his head, looking like he understands. Vivian marches forward, a script in her hand, and Ruby steps back.

"Do you need your script, Blake?" she asks as she moves away from him.

"No. I should be fine."

She seems a little surprised by that, but comes and stands beside me, looking around to check if everyone is ready. At that moment, Vivian leans forward, showing off her cleavage, and the cameraman to my right swears under his breath.

"Sit back, will you? You're blocking the shot."

Vivian does as she's told, and everyone settles again. Ruby clears her throat and says, "Okay… cue Blain in three, two… one…"

***

Mac

I'm not sure how, but we've made it through the first five shows.

Wednesdays and Thursdays are definitely the hardest in terms of the hours we have to work. It's relentless and full-on. Linus Hicks might be a ‘pussycat' in Ruby's eyes, but I've yet to see any evidence of it. He's a perfectionist, and although we rarely see him, because he's up in the director's booth, he picks up on even the slightest issue, making us go again, and again, until he's happy with everything. I have to be at the top of my game for both days, which can sometimes be fourteen or fifteen hours long. That's fourteen or fifteen hours of physical and mental exhaustion.

That first week was definitely a baptism of fire, and because we've been better organised and a little more knowledgeable about Linus and his standards, and what's expected of us since then, it's been slightly easier. That said, we're still having to put up with Kennedy coming by the studio all the time. I've noticed she seems a lot more friendly with Ella than she was, and of course, she doesn't leave me alone. Her attentions are getting more and more annoying, and I'm finding it harder and harder not to snap at her. I have to keep reminding myself she's my boss, and that losing my temper with her is unlikely to end well, but when the woman is literally pawing me, it's tough.

Then, of course, there's Vivian.

During the first week, she'd been less of an issue than Kennedy… at least until we got into rehearsals, when she started playing the part of the guest. She's done so ever since, and to be honest, she's driving me insane. She's constantly in the way and has taken to wearing ludicrously low-cut tops on rehearsal days, so when she leans over, I barely know where to look. The camera operators keep losing it with her, because she's continually getting in their way, too. I overheard a couple of them talking the other day and I gathered they're as relieved as I am when we get around to recording for real. There may be occasional problems with the guests – or at least, with the actors playing them – but at least they all know their lines, and where to sit.

As for Ella… she's been miraculous. She's so professional, and although I know she felt bad about not having everything ready for the first run-through we did in week one, she hasn't put a foot wrong since. Not only that, but her cooking is sublime. I haven't tasted a single thing yet that hasn't been mouthwatering.

It's more than that, though. Over the last few weeks, we've become so much closer… and I don't think I'm the only one who believes that. There's something in her eyes and her demeanour that tells me she's thinking the same thing, too.

I guess that all started in our second week, when she was showing me how to make pastry. I was being far too heavy-handed – according to Ella, anyway – and she took my hands in hers to demonstrate the lightness of touch required. She was talking at the time and it took her a moment or two to realise we were holding hands, to the extent that our fingers had become entwined… at which point she snatched her hands away.

"I'm sorry." She looked up at me, blushing. "I shouldn't have touched you."

"Why not? We've touched before."

She shook her head. "You've touched me." She bit her lip then, and I wondered if she was remembering the way I'd used my fingers to silence her. I hoped so, but I didn't make a big deal out of it. She seemed embarrassed enough already.

"I know, but we've touched by accident as well… like when we've been preparing foods."

"Even so, I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable."

I smiled at her. "I don't think you could, Ella."

Her blush deepened. "Are you sure about that? Because I—I noticed your reactions when Kennedy and Vivian have been around, and…"

"And you thought I had a problem with being touched in general?"

"It seemed that way."

"Well, I don't. I just prefer to choose who's doing the touching."

She smiled at me then. "Don't we all?"

It seemed to me that moment meant something significant… a mutual understanding, maybe? Or possibly that she felt as comfortable around me as I felt around her? I couldn't be sure, but whatever it meant, I liked it.

As I say, since then we've become closer, and although there's nothing overtly intimate about it, I love being near to her. I love spending so much time with her, too… and even though the job is hard work, I wouldn't have it any other way. She's made us lunch a few times since that first week, although it's always been a bit more rushed, and occasionally, other members of the crew have joined us, too. It's impossible for me to object to their presence, but I prefer it when we can be alone. I think she does, too.

If there is a cloud on the horizon, I guess it would have to be that I don't know whether she's free. I keep thinking she must be… especially when she looks at me the way she does. But then I remind myself that I could be over-thinking… over-interpreting, because I want her to want me, like I want her.

I've tried fishing several times, to find out if she's seeing anyone, but short of asking outright, I've not been able to discover anything. I don't know whether that's good or bad. All I do know is that, when we have to work late, she never seems to worry about what time she'll be getting home.

And that's got to be good… right?

I'm so relieved it's Friday, and we've almost finished for the day. It's been a tough week – nearly as difficult as our first one – and Ella's apologised for that so many times I've lost count. It's not her fault, though. The ‘problem' we were given was someone who wanted to cook and eat healthier versions of takeout food that didn't take too long to make. Ella was a genius, as usual, and came up with three different ideas, and while they all look and taste incredible, I've struggled with learning and remembering all the processes involved.

The sticky rice which is going with the Thai green curry had me flummoxed, and as for making pizza…

Ella went into lengthy explanations on Monday morning about how the pizza base would normally contain yeast, and take a lot longer to prepare. I pretended to pay attention, and to understand what she was talking about, while thinking that I'd missed seeing her over the weekend. I wished there was something I could do about that, and by the time I realised she'd moved on to actually making the dough, I'd missed the order she'd put everything into the mixing bowl, and she had to go through it all again. She didn't seem to mind and repeated it all to me with a smile on her face, which made it even harder to concentrate.

I found rolling out the dough really difficult, but we both knew it was something I'd have to master and ‘perform' on the show, so we took our time, and I got there… eventually.

"You see? You can do it." Ella did her best to sound encouraging, even though it had taken me four attempts to get a reasonably circular round of pizza dough, which looked nowhere near as good as hers.

"Thanks to you, yes."

She nudged into me. "Stop putting yourself down. I've had years of training, and you're doing all this in a fraction of the time."

I hadn't been putting myself down at all. Don't get me wrong, I wasn't under the illusion that I was a budding culinary genius, but the only one in the room who deserved any credit for what I'd achieved was Ella. I opened my mouth to say so, just as Gavin barged in with a technical question for Ella, and the moment was lost.

Fortunately, when it came to the recording yesterday, I rolled out the dough quite well… well enough for the cameras, anyway. In fact, most of the cookery elements went okay, but they were especially difficult, and I was tired, so I messed up quite a lot of my lines… which is why today has been so busy. We've been re-recording several sections, mostly of me just talking to camera and filling in gaps. All I've got left to do now is the final element… adding the garnish to the curried chicken that forms the basis of the last dish, while rounding off the show… because I didn't get that quite right yesterday, either.

The bowl of chicken is sitting in front of me, and on the chopping board are some pre-chopped coriander leaves.

Cilantro, not coriander. Cilantro, not coriander… I mutter the words in my head as Ruby counts me in for my final speech and I look up at the camera and plant a smile on my face.

"Okay, so we just need to scatter some chopped cilantro over the top…" I put actions to my words, picking up a handful of the leaves and sprinkling them over the chicken. "And there we have it." I push the dish over towards the ‘guest'; a young woman, whose name for the purposes of the show is Amanda. "Three of the best take-away dishes in town, all made in the comfort of your own…"

"Cut!"

"What?" I look up to see Ruby frowning at me, her finger to her ear. On recording days, she wears an ear-piece so she can communicate with Linus in the booth, and she's nodding her head.

"Linus says you just said ‘take-away' instead of ‘takeout'."

"Did I?"

"Yeah, you did." One of the camera operators peers out from behind his camera, rolling his eyes.

"Oh… sorry." I haven't said ‘take-away', even in real life, since about six months after I moved here. What on earth possessed me to say it now?

Ruby turns to Ella, who's standing off to one side. "Do we have any more of the curried chicken?"

She nods her head, rushing forward. "I prepared extra, just in case."

She takes away the bowl I've just garnished and prepares another one, filling it with creamy curry, then grabs some more coriander leaves and I step aside while she quickly chops them for me, leaving them in a neat pile.

Once she's finished, she smiles up at me, giving me a quick wink. "Okay?"

"Yes, thanks."

I feel guilty for getting it wrong, when I know everyone is desperate to get finished, but the last thing they need is for me to waste more time dwelling on it, so as Ella and Ruby step back behind the cameras, I resume my position.

"Okay everyone?" Ruby raises her voice, and the studio falls into silence. She pauses and then counts me in again.

I take a breath, then look into the camera, smiling. "Okay, so we just need to scatter some chopped cilantro over the top…" I repeat my actions with the freshly chopped coriander leaves. "And there we have it." Once again, I nudge the dish towards ‘Amanda'. "Three of the best takeout dishes in town, all made in the comfort of your own home."

‘Amanda' picks up the fork beside her and starts eating, making all the right noises about how good the food is, even though a couple of the dishes are stone cold by now, and I look back at the camera.

"Thanks for watching, folks, and we'll see you again next week for more masterful meal ideas… with me, Blain… your very own Meal Master."

I hate that line and struggle not to cringe as I say it, but I keep smiling until Ruby calls out, "And… cut!" and we all heave a sigh of relief.

"Sorry about that, everyone." It seems only fair that I should apologise for having messed up, but they all smile at me, and ‘Amanda', whose name is really Bonnie, leans over the island unit, placing her hand on my arm.

"Don't sweat it," she says, gazing up into my eyes. "We all make mistakes."

I know she means well, but she's not the first of our ‘guests' to cause me a problem. Like I said, they at least know their lines and how to behave on camera, but that doesn't stop them from being too tactile, too flirty, or too talkative when it stops rolling.

To be honest, I'm wondering what it is with the women around here.

"Thanks." I acknowledge her kindness, even though I step away at the same time, so she's forced to release me.

"Are you doing anything tonight?" she asks, tilting her head and blinking a few times.

Okay. That's different. None of the others have been quite so obvious.

"Yes. Sorry… I'm afraid I'm busy."

"Oh, that's a shame." She looks genuinely disappointed, but then her face suddenly brightens. "Can I call you?"

She doesn't have my number, so she's going to struggle, but I guess that's what she's asking for, and I lean a little closer to her, lowering my voice slightly.

"When I say I'm busy, I mean I'm with someone," I say, the lies falling from my lips with the consummate ease of an actor.

"Oh… okay." Her shoulders drop, and she climbs down from the stool. "I've enjoyed working with you."

"Me too."

She looks up again, giving me a smile, and I smile back, just to be polite, waiting for her to walk away, before I turn and find Ella standing right behind me. She looks bewildered, maybe even a little sad, and I wonder how much of that conversation she heard.

I wish I could hold her and tell her it was all lies, but I'm aware of where we are, and that we're surrounded by far too many people. I don't want her to leave, though, so I step a little closer. "Were you able to get all your preparations done for next week?" I ask. God, that's lame.

"Y—Yes," she stutters. "In between everything else."

"I'm sorry about that. If I hadn't made so many mistakes yesterday…"

"It's not your fault. I gave you a lot to do." Her voice is devoid of emotion, and I wish we'd never started this conversation now.

"What are we doing next week?"

"Salads."

"That should be easier… no cooking." I smile down at her, but she doesn't smile back.

"I wouldn't go that far."

I'm not sure what she means by that, but I'm done talking about work. I'm done seeing the hurt in her eyes, too. It's making my chest ache.

"Are you okay?" I ask, stepping even closer to her.

"I'm fine." She clearly isn't. Her reply was way too quick… way too artificial.

I want to reach out to her, but I can't. Not here. Not now. I feel the need to give her some kind of reassurance, though, so I just say, "I hate lying, don't you?"

"Lying?"

I nod my head. "Yes."

She frowns. "What are you talking about?"

"Just now… I was lying to Bonnie. And don't pretend you didn't overhear, because we both know you did."

She blushes and looks down at my chest… at the show's logo emblazoned on my apron, before she raises her eyes to mine again. "Which part were you lying about?"

"Being busy tonight… being with someone."

"So you're not?"

"No. I'm very free and very single. I just didn't want to accept her generous invitation, and telling her I was already taken seemed like the best and kindest way of achieving that."

"I see."

"So… are you okay?" I ask again, and she smiles.

"I'm fine."

This time I believe her, and I have to smile too.

"Do you wanna get out of here?"

She nods and, while everyone mills around us, clearing up and dismantling the studio, I grab her hand and quickly lead her from the room.

Outside in the hall, I pull the apron off over my head.

"Are you going to change?" she asks.

"Not tonight." I don't feel like wasting any more time than is strictly necessary. "But we both need to get our jackets."

"Hmm… and my purse."

We left our things in the rehearsal studio, and make our way back there, where I help Ella with her jacket, shrugging on my own, and leaving the apron on the table, before I pick up my shirt and we head for the elevator.

As we're riding down, I do up my jacket, and when I look up, she's staring at me.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. It's just that you usually change before you go home, so…"

I smile at her. "That's why I'm doing up my jacket… so no-one on the bus will notice the unusually tight t-shirt."

"You take the bus?"

"Yes."

"I—I can give you a ride, if you like."

I'm not about to say ‘no' to an offer like that, and I undo my jacket again as I smile at her. "That would be great."

The elevator doors open and we step out.

"What made you say ‘take-away' tonight?" Ella looks up at me as we stroll between the rows of cars.

"I've got no idea."

"I was going to ask if they really needed to make such a big deal of it. The phrase ‘take-away' isn't unheard of over here."

"Maybe not. But we'd used ‘takeout' all the way through the recording."

"I know. That's what I figured, and it's why I kept my mouth shut," she says, shrugging her shoulders. "Sorry."

"Don't apologise. It was my fault, not yours. I was thinking after I did it, I've been used to saying ‘takeout' for ages," I say, shaking my head.

"Maybe you're just tired."

"Let's hope so. I don't need to keep screwing up like that."

She stops right beside a red Mercedes. It's a convertible, with a black canvas roof, which is currently closed, and I stare at it for a second.

"Is this yours?" I ask.

She nods her head. "It certainly is."

I'm surprised, but do my best not to show it as she opens the car and lets us in. It has that new car smell, and while I dread to think what it cost, I guess that's none of my business.

She starts the engine and looks over at me. "Where are we going?" she says.

"I'll give you directions."

She nods, reversing out of the parking space, and driving slowly from the car park and up onto the street. It's late, and there's less traffic than usual, which means it won't take as long as I'd like to get back to my apartment. We're about half-way there when Ella sighs and I look over at her, to see she's smiling.

"I don't know about you," she says, "but I thought that was a hard week."

"Apart from our first one, and maybe the Thanksgiving dinner last week, I thought it was the hardest yet… but please don't apologise again. It wasn't your fault."

"If you insist. Although I'm done with cooking. I'm gonna order something in for tonight, I think."

"Hmm… me too. My excuse is exhaustion, though. I can hardly claim to be done with cooking when I'm faking it." She laughs, and the sound somehow gives me courage where it's been lacking before. "W—Would you like to join me? We could order in together, couldn't we? Unless you need to be somewhere else?"

"No, I don't…"

That's still not a definite answer, but coupled with her reaction to what I said to Bonnie, it feels vaguely promising. Not conclusive, but promising.

"So… would you like to have dinner with me?"

"I'd love to."

That feels more than promising, and I tell her to turn left before we drive past my street.

"You can park anywhere down here."

She pulls into a space, switching off the engine, and we both get out of the car. I step around to her side and although I don't take her hand, we walk together to my apartment building. I open the door, holding it for her, and she passes through ahead of me, waiting until I guide her towards the elevator.

Once inside, I avoid looking at her, knowing if I do, I'll have to kiss her. She's getting harder and harder to resist, and my self-control is waning.

Fortunately, it doesn't take long to get to the top floor, and the doors open onto the narrow corridor that leads to my apartment. I let her step out before me.

"There's just me up here," I say, as we make our way to my front door.

"Hmm… it's the same at my place. I have the whole top floor, too."

I nod my head, putting the key in the lock.

She steps inside and I flick on the lights before following her, feeling grateful that I've hardly been here this week, and haven't had the chance to make a mess.

"This is amazing." She spins around in the enormous space that forms my living area. Her enthusiasm is adorable, and I can't help smiling.

"I know. It used to be a dance studio, but I got lucky. The block is owned by a collective that will only rent to people who work in the creative arts."

"And that includes you?"

"Evidently. Acting counts, and so does writing. They subsidise the rent as well, which is a godsend. I'd never be able to afford somewhere like this otherwise."

I shrug off my jacket, and offer to take hers. She turns around, and I remove it, being careful not to touch her any more than is strictly necessary… which is a challenge in itself, and then I take our coats back to the front door, hooking them up.

"What would you like to eat?" I ask, and she tilts her head at me.

"Anything, as long as it's not curry, Thai, or pizza."

"So… Chinese?"

"Sounds perfect."

I pull out my phone and find the website for my usual Chinese takeout before handing it to Ella. "Take your pick. I'm just gonna go change my top, before this t-shirt cuts off my circulation."

She chuckles, looking down at my phone and I run up the stairs, peeling off the t-shirt as I go, and throwing it into the laundry hamper before pulling out a white shirt, rolling up the sleeves and buttoning it up.

As I make my way back down the stairs again, I notice my phone on the arm of the sofa and Ella standing over by the bookcase.

"Did you choose?" I ask.

She turns, nodding her head, and I pick up the phone, making my own selection. "Let me pay," she says, and I look up, frowning at her.

"I wouldn't dream of it. I invited you."

She opens her mouth, but closes it again, and I pay for the takeout, throwing my phone down on the couch before I look up at her again.

"You read a lot of detective stories," she says. "Is that what your novel is?"

"Yes. It's a country house murder mystery."

"I'd love to read it one day."

"If it ever gets published, I'll let you."

"If it ever gets published, I'll buy a copy, and you won't be able to stop me."

She has a point, although the thought of Ella reading my novel fills me with fear. I've written it to be read… just not necessarily by her. I dread to think what she'd make of my storyline. Would she agree with Delilah that it's lacking in originality?

"Can I get you something to drink?" I feel the need to change the subject.

"I'm driving, so I'd better stick to soda."

"If by that you mean Coke, then would you prefer it with or without caffeine?"

"Without, thanks."

I head for the kitchen, pouring two glasses of Coke, and return to the living area, where we both sit on the couch. I hand her a glass and she takes a sip, while I watch her, unable to stop myself from thinking about how much I want to kiss her. It's a constant thought now, but the problem is, I don't know for sure whether she's available.

I put my glass on the table in front of us, wondering how to go about this, and coming up empty. We can't sit in silence, though. I need to say something…

"Tell me about Paris." It feels like a reasonable starting point.

She tips her head slightly. "You've been there yourself. What do you want to know?"

Okay… that went well. "I don't know. I'm just making conversation."

"Why?"

"Because we can't sit here and say nothing all evening."

She turns in her seat, so she's facing me. "I know that. What I mean is, why don't you say what you're really thinking… because I don't think it's got anything to do with Paris."

"No, it hasn't."

"Okay…" She stares at me, waiting, and I decide I might as well tell her the truth… and be damned.

"I was thinking how much I want to kiss you." Her eyes widen. "But I'm not sure how you feel about that."

"Why don't you try it and see?"

My heart stills and I move closer, taking her glass and putting it beside my own. Then I lean in until my lips are almost touching hers.

"I'm not treading on anyone's toes, am I?" I have to know…

"What do you mean?"

"Are you seeing anyone? Is there a secret husband or boyfriend I don't know about?"

She shakes her head. "Do you think I'd have said you could kiss me if there was?"

I smile and, without another word, I close the gap between us, covering her lips with mine.

Having essentially been invited, I'm not expecting her to slap me, but neither am I expecting what happens next. No sooner have my lips touched hers than she sparks to life, her arms coming up around my neck, her breasts crushed against my chest. Our tongues clash and she moans into my mouth. There's nothing tentative about this, and I like it. I reach over, grabbing a hold of her, and pull her up onto my lap. She straddles me and shimmies closer still, my cock pressing hard against her core. God… this is hot. I flex my hips, cradling her backside, and she sighs, rocking against me. I know I should probably stop before we both get carried away and take our first kiss into something so much more. Except I don't want to stop, and I put my hand up inside the back of her blouse, skin against skin. She gasps, breaking the kiss just long enough to whisper, "Blake," and I pull back, gazing into her fiery eyes, both of us breathing hard.

"Will you do something for me?" I ask.

She blinks a couple of times and nibbles on her bottom lip, which is slightly swollen from our kiss. "What?"

"Will you call me ‘Mac'? You've avoided calling me ‘Blain' over the last few weeks, and I'm grateful for that, but like I said to you when we first met, my friends all call me ‘Mac'."

"Am I a friend?" she says, with a hint of a tease in her voice.

"After a kiss like that, I damn well hope you're not an enemy."

I place my hand behind her head as I'm speaking and pull her in, renewing our kiss. She responds just the same as she did the first time, my touch igniting something inside her. She clasps my face, her fingers delving through my hair as she rolls her hips against mine. I've kissed a few women in my thirty-three years, but I've never kissed, or been kissed like this, and I'm just wondering how much more I can take without stripping us both out of our clothes, when the doorbell rings, and Ella jumps back, startled.

"Hey… it's okay. It's just our takeout."

She nods her head, catching her breath, and climbs off of me so I can get up to answer the door. I don't feel happy about the interruption, or about leaving her behind, but I'm only gone a few minutes. When I return, she's sitting back on the couch, a blush on her cheeks, and she doesn't look up at me.

What's wrong?

I put down the takeout bag next to our drinks and sit beside her.

"Ella? Are you okay?"

She nods her head, but still won't look up.

"Are you sure?"

She raises her head, her eyes connecting with mine at last, and sucks in a breath. "I—I'm just not very hungry."

I'm suddenly overwhelmed with fear that she wants to leave, that she's embarrassed about what we've been doing. "I— I'm sorry. Did I go too far?" If I did, I wouldn't have been alone, but maybe she's embarrassed by that, too.

"No." Her voice is soft, her eyes sparkling. She looks sexier than she ever has, and I wonder if maybe I didn't go far enough… yet.

I take her hand in mine, moving a little closer. "Would you prefer to eat later?"

"Y—Yes." I can't help smiling and I stand up, pulling her to her feet. I'm just about to start towards the stairs when she pulls me back. "What about the food?"

"What about it?"

"If we're going to eat it later, we need to keep it warm. I can't think of anything worse than cold Chinese food."

I'm not sure I care, but I shrug my shoulders, looking down at the bag. "What should we do with it?"

"We can put it into a low oven," she says, confusing me.

"A low oven? What does that mean? My oven is quite low down as it is."

She shakes her head, grinning. "You're an idiot sometimes, you know?"

"Why? What did I say?"

"The word ‘low' refers to the temperature of the oven, not its height."

"Oh… I see."

I grab the bag and, keeping hold of Ella, we go through to the kitchen, putting the Chinese food into the oven. I wait while she sets the temperature, and then as she stands, I capture her face between my hands, bending my head and kissing her again.

Without warning, she jumps up into my arms, wrapping her legs around me, and I hold on to her, not breaking the kiss as I carry her back through my living area and up the stairs.

My bedroom is completely open, up on the mezzanine floor, and I'm relieved I thought to make the bed this morning, even though there's a pile of folded laundry on the chair in the corner that I haven't had time to put away. Not that Ella seems to notice. As I break the kiss and lower her down my body, she keeps her eyes fixed on mine.

I bring my hands up between us, unfastening her blouse, noticing as I do that she's shaking. I stop, putting my arms around her and hold her close.

"We don't have to do this if you're not ready. You're allowed to change your mind."

She shakes her head. "I don't want to change my mind."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

I brush my lips over hers, just briefly, and she sighs, then watches as I finish my task, pushing her blouse from her shoulders and leaning down to kiss her neck. She shudders, and I reach around behind her, undoing her white lacy bra, letting it follow her blouse to the floor before cupping her breasts in my hands. She gasps and then squeals as I pinch her nipples and as she stares into my eyes, I notice she's already breathing hard. I could spend a lifetime just gazing at her, but I want to see more, and I kneel, unfastening her jeans and pulling them down, together with the white lace knickers she's wearing. She kicks them off, along with her shoes, and I take a moment to admire her. She has beautifully rounded breasts, a narrow waist and slightly flared hips… long, sexy legs, and a heavenly, shaved pussy. I'm tempted to lean in and taste her, but I want a better view, so I stand, lifting her off of her feet and carrying her to the bed, where I lay her down, shaking my head as I gaze upon her.

"You're so beautiful."

She smiles and I bend over, grabbing her legs and pulling her back towards the edge of the bed. She yelps in surprise, her eyes widening as I place my hands on her knees, parting her legs, then brush my fingers lazily down her thighs. When I reach her swollen lips, I part them and kneel, dipping my head and running my tongue from her clit to her entrance and back.

"Oh… oh, yes. Do that again… please?"

I oblige, tasting her succulent sweetness, and she shudders, bringing her hand down on the back of my head. I part her lips wider and focus on her swollen clit. She bucks her hips up into me and I flick my tongue over her.

"Yes… yes… right there. That's so good."

I repeat my actions, sweeping my tongue across her, over and over, and moving my hands, so I'm parting her with the fingers of my left, while I reach up with my right, and pinch her nipple. She cries out, spreading her legs, and pushing my head down, clearly wanting more, so I nip at her clit with my teeth, and that pushes her over the edge. Her cry becomes a scream as she writhes and thrashes through her orgasm. I don't relent, but keep up the pressure on her clit until she finally calms, and I release her, staring up into her glazed eyes.

"You taste incredible."

"Do I?" She's breathing hard and I stand, leaning over her, my hands resting on either side of her head, as I bend my own and kiss her. I half expect her to hold back, but she doesn't. If anything, she's even more wild than before, her tongue darting into my mouth, devouring me. I let her for a while, and then I pull back, straightening my arms.

"I'm sorry, but I need to be inside you."

She stutters out a sigh, nodding her head, and I stand upright, lifting her in my arms and turning her around, moving her up the bed, so her head's on the pillows. Then I yank my shirt off over my head and undo my jeans. She watches while I lower them, and my boxers, her eyes widening, although she doesn't say a word. Her eyes don't waver, either, when I grab a condom from my bedside table and roll it along my length before I crawl up over her body.

With one hand up by her head again, I palm my cock with the other. I don't think I've ever been this hard, but I'm desperate for her now, and I rub the tip of my dick along her swollen folds, finding her entrance and nudging inside.

She sucks in a sharp breath, closing her eyes, and I feel her tense beneath me as I push further inward, her muscles tightening around me, until…

I stop, unsure of myself. This can't be right, can it?

I lean back, staring down at her. She opens her eyes, her brow furrowed, and I tilt my head slightly.

"Is this your first time, Ella?"

She blushes and slowly nods her head. "Yes, it is."

I know what she's saying is true, but I still can't believe it. "How is that possible?" I ask.

She frowns. "It's quite easy, really. You just don't have sex."

"I—I know that. What I mean is, how does someone who looks like you end up still a virgin at… how old are you?" How can I not know her age, when I'm practically inside her?

"Twenty-four. And I'm still a virgin because of my brothers."

"Okay. That didn't sound at all weird."

She smiles. "It's not," she says. "Honestly. It's just that I've got two older brothers who spent their younger years sleeping around… and as much as I love them, I always knew I didn't want to end up with a guy like that. I thought it was worth waiting until the right man came along."

I lean a little closer to her, so our lips are almost touching. "And you think I'm that man? The right man, I mean?"

"I—I hope so." She looks a little doubtful now, and I close the gap, my lips brushing over hers.

"So do I." We stare at each other for a moment or two, and then I straighten my arms again. "Are you sure about this?"

"About you?"

"No. About this. I want to be the right man for you, but that doesn't mean we have to do this… not straight away. If you'd rather wait…"

"I don't want to wait, Mac."

I smile. It's the first time she's called me that and it sounds great. "Sure?"

"Positive. I feel like I've been waiting so long already."

"Hmm… me too." She takes a deep breath and I move my right hand, cupping her face as I stroke her cheek with my thumb, leaning in closer. "Relax, Ella." She nods her head, and I push inside her, swallowing her cry with a kiss.

I wait, buried as deep as I can go, my lips caressing hers, until she lets out a long sigh, raising her hips just slightly off of the bed. I guess that means she's okay now, and I lean back up, pulling almost all the way out of her, before I edge back in, taking my time, savouring every second. Within moments, she's matched my rhythm, our bodies writhing in perfect harmony.

There's something new about this. Just like her kisses, I'm aware that it's never felt like this before, and I know – deep down – it's not just because she's so tight, she's gripping my cock, pulling me into her. It's not just because she's gazing up at me, her lips slightly open. Nor is it because her body is divine, yielding beneath me, her soft moans driving me crazy.

It's because I'm in love with her.