The Accidental Mistress. Sophie Weston

for the tiniest moment. He could not bear it. His hands tightened in spite of himself.

      ‘Please,’ he said in a ragged voice. He could not ever remember saying please like that before. It shocked him for a moment.

      But then she shook back her head and gave him the most wonderful smile, and he forgot everything except that they had to be alone. Now.

      ‘Get your coat,’ he said curtly.

      Her eyes widened. She looked almost dazed.

      ‘No coat?’

      She swallowed. Shook her head.

      ‘Then let’s go.’

      He put a hand under her bare elbow and turned her towards the door. She did not resist but she was quivering. Well, hell, what was surprising about that? So was he.

      They were like machines that had just been turned on. Engines thrumming. Idling, but under power. Ready.

      He wanted her so badly it hurt. And she wanted him. No doubt about that. She was not looking anywhere but at him, and the pulse in her throat throbbed to the same beat as his own.

      Dom gave a laugh that was half a groan.

      ‘Shawl? Bag?’

      She did not answer. But there was a tiny bag in the same scarlet material as her dress on the bar. Dom swept it up as they passed.

      On the stairs, her trembling increased. She clung to him.

      ‘You should have brought a coat,’ scolded Dom, teasing.

      But he paused to shrug off his jacket and tuck it round her shoulders. As the silk lining slid over her shoulders she gave a voluptuous shiver. Their bodies were so close that he felt it run through from hip to heart.

      ‘Don’t do that,’ he murmured, in mock despair. ‘Not yet anyway.’

      She gave a little excited laugh, and leaned closer.

      ‘Yes,’ he agreed to that silent demand. ‘Home. Now.’

      He pushed open the outer door into the September night. She swayed.

      ‘Imagination,’ she said.

      Late arrivals were getting out of a taxi. Dom commandeered it. He looked over his shoulder. ‘What?’

      ‘Imagination doesn’t get going until the lights go down.’

      He turned to face her. ‘A philosopher,’ he said, his eyes full of tender amusement. ‘You’re wrong, though. My imagination got going the moment I walked into that place and saw you.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come with me?’

      She stopped swaying.

      ‘Yes,’ she said.

      It was not until later—a lot later, when Dom was asking himself what on earth had happened—that he remembered. She had sounded surprised.