Pleasure, Pregnancy and a Proposition

The bold offer shocked her a little. She adored flirting—the long looks and secret touches, the sensual hum of anticipation—but over the years she’d become very discerning about taking it any further. For the simple reason that sex had always been such a huge disappointment.

At twenty-six she’d never had anything even approaching an orgasm. She’d stopped kissing frogs a few years back, because, frankly, faking her enjoyment had got old really fast. But despite that, in some small corner of her heart, she’d always known that she’d get her bells and whistles when she found her Mr Right.

Tonight, when she’d been introduced to Luke in Mel’s living room, his thick wavy hair falling over dark brows and the penetrating look in his smoky eyes making her pulse skitter, her heart had whispered, Could this be him?

They’d hit it off instantly, and become so absorbed in each other they’d virtually ignored the other dinner guests. Then he’d offered to walk her home. As they’d strolled through Regent’s Park together—the sky dusky with twilight, pink blossoms scenting the air and the comforting weight of his arm around her keeping her warm—everything had been so perfectly romantic, the connection between them so clear, she’d had no trouble at all convincing herself Prince Charming had finally put in an appearance. This potent zing of arousal was just the icing on the cake.

He frowned in the shadows, his hands slipping down to her shoulders. ‘Are you sure you want to ask me in?’

‘You don’t want to?’ Her heart stuttered. Wasn’t this where they had been headed all evening?

He gave a half-laugh, the sound pained. ‘Of course I do. But I should tell you…’ He paused. His thumb drew a lazy circle on her bare collarbone under the lapel of his jacket, making her skin burn. ‘Once we’re in your flat I won’t be all that interested in coffee.’

‘Phew, that’s a relief,’ she said, her heart pummelling. ‘Because I’m not even sure I’ve got any.’

He laughed softly. ‘I’m glad we got that settled,’ he said, nipping her earlobe as the taxi shuddered to a halt outside her house. Any reservations she had left dissolved in a liquid pool of lust.

He paid the driver as she stepped out of the cab, then led her up the front steps of the Georgian terraced house she indicated, his hand swinging in hers.