Loving Our Heroes

As if in slow motion, she saw Campbell lower his head towards her, and then his mouth captured hers and sensations Tilly hadn’t even known existed exploded inside her. She parted her lips on a gasp that was part thrill, part alarm at the dizzying loss of control as she felt herself submerge beneath a rush of response. Every cell in her body was clamouring to press closer, taste more, touch again and again and again…

Her arms went round his waist and she leant into him, giddy with the feel of him. His lips were warm and sure as they explored her mouth, his tongue teasing, his hands hard and insistent. He smelt wonderful, tasted better, and she clung to him almost feverishly. He was her solid anchor, her safe harbour, the one point of certainty in a world that was unravelling with electrifying speed, and she kissed him back, oblivious to the waiting taxi, oblivious to anything except the gathering need and the deep, dark pulse of desire inside her.

And then, abruptly, it was over.

Campbell stepped back and opened the taxi door. His jaw was set and a muscle jerked in his cheek, but Tilly was too dazed to take much else in. Somehow she got herself into the back seat of the taxi. Campbell closed the door without a word and the taxi drove off, leaving him standing on the pavement and cursing himself for a fool.

CHAPTER EIGHT

TILLY fumbled with the seat belt. Her body was raging with disappointment and frustration. Why had he stopped? She had no idea now of how long the kiss had lasted. Could it really have been just a brief goodnight kiss?

But then why would it mean any more to Campbell? Tilly asked herself disconsolately. He must have picked up on the vibes she had tried so hard to suppress all night, and realised that all she could think about was touching him. Maybe he had thought to himself, why not? Or, worse, had decided to indulge her.

Body still thumping, she scowled miserably out of the window. I told you so, her mind said smugly. I knew you’d regret it.

But she didn’t, not really. She had had to know what it felt like to kiss him, to hold him. The trouble was that now that she did, she wanted it again, she wanted more. Tilly had never had much time for the saying that a taste of honey was worse than none at all, but it was starting to make more sense.

Perhaps she could have more. The daring thought slid into her mind and she sat up straighter, as if shocked at her own presumption.

If she made it clear to Campbell that she had no expectations of any relationship, if she could convince him that it would just be a physical thing as far as she was concerned, would he be prepared to kiss her again? To make love to her? To share a night where they could shrug off the past and the future, where they could put aside hopes and fears, and not think at all, where nothing would matter but touching and tasting and feeling and the heady swell of pleasure?

Tilly’s mouth was dry, her heart hammering at the mere thought of it. A single night … Would it be worth it? Yes, her body shouted. Yes, yes, yes!

What about your poor heart? her mind countered immediately, the way Tilly had known it would. What if Campbell breaks it?

She wouldn’t let him break it, Tilly decided firmly. She would keep her heart intact. There would be no question of loving him. It would just be…sex.

She could suggest it, and see what Campbell said. She was a grown woman, he was a man. Surely they could talk about sex without embarrassment. He could only say no. It would be perfectly simple.

Or would it?

Tilly’s confidence, ever fragile, faltered whenever she imagined facing Campbell with her proposition. Campbell, about Friday night, she could begin, but she couldn’t decide what to say after that. Could we try that again, she might suggest, but next time, don’t stop and put me in a taxi.

Perhaps it would be better to be more upfront. I was wondering how you felt about a brief affair before you go? Somehow Tilly couldn’t see herself carrying that one off.

She couldn’t decide whether she was glad or sorry that she wouldn’t see him the next day. The arrangement had been that the participants in the competition would have the weekend off, presumably so that they could go home if necessary, but when Campbell had indicated that he wouldn’t be going back to London it had seemed only polite to invite him for Sunday lunch.

Seb and Harry were coming home for the weekend on Saturday, and Tilly had been pleased at first. She had thought that her aching awareness of Campbell would be easier to handle if the boys were there to dilute the atmosphere, but now she wished they were staying at their respective universities and partying too hard the way they usually did. She loved Harry and Seb dearly, but she could hardly propose an affair in front of her younger brothers.

As it turned out, Seb and Harry were both still in bed nursing hangovers when Campbell arrived on Sunday. Having practised exactly what she would say if the opportunity arose, Tilly promptly forgot every word when she opened the door. The sight of him was like a fist thumping into her stomach, driving the breath from her lungs and leaving her reeling with a strange mixture of shock and delight.

Somehow she’d expected him to have changed since that kiss, but he looked exactly the same as always: cool, contained, faintly austere. It was hard to believe that only thirty-six hours ago he had held her hard against him and kissed her, that the stern mouth had been warm and sure and exciting on hers.

Campbell’s expression gave nothing away. The pale, piercing eyes were guarded, Tilly thought, and her entrails churned. It was all very well deciding to be cool and upfront, but it all seemed a lot harder when you were faced with six feet of solid, detached male.

Flustered, she led the way to the kitchen and explained about Seb and Harry in far too much detail.

‘They should be down any minute now. Would you like a coffee while we’re waiting?’

‘No, thanks. I’m fine.’

He might be fine, but she needed something to do to distract herself from the memory of that kiss that reverberated in the air between them. Tilly busied herself checking the meat, and tried to ignore the silence yawning around them.

This was ridiculous, she told herself, exasperated. She was being pathetic. It was just Campbell, for heaven’s sake. She had been able to talk to him perfectly easily before, so she should be able to now. Taking off the oven gloves, she turned from the oven with a deep breath.

‘About Friday night,’ she began, exactly as she had planned. She even sounded calm, which was quite something given that her nerves were jumping and jittering and jangling in a way that that made it hard to think, let alone string a coherent sentence together.

She didn’t get a chance to say any more. Campbell held up a hand to stop her.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to say any more.’

‘Er…I don’t?’

‘I need to apologise,’ he said stiffly. ‘I was out of order on Friday night. I didn’t mean to kiss you, I was just…I wasn’t thinking,’ he confessed. ‘All I can say is that I’m sorry, and that it won’t happen again. I’ll keep my hands to myself in the future.’

Ah.

How was she supposed to respond to that? Tilly wondered. Clearly Campbell regretted the kiss and had no intention of repeating it, so she could hardly force herself upon him now. Her heart twisted at the realisation, but the only thing to do was put a good face on it.

At least it wouldn’t be difficult. She had years of experience of being ‘good old Tilly’ who could be relied upon to dispel any potential awkwardness with a smiling face.

‘It must have been that wine,’ she said lightly. ‘I don’t think either of us was thinking clearly on Friday evening. That’ll teach you to leave the choice up to the wine waiter!’

There was no mistaking the relief in Campbell’s expression. He had obviously been dreading a scene, or that she might do exactly what she had been planning to do and throw herself at him.

‘It’s good of you to take it like that,’ he said. ‘I’d be sorry if I had spoiled things between us.’

‘There’s no question of that,’ said Tilly, keeping her bright smile firmly in place.

‘I was afraid I might have jeopardised our chances on the programme.’

Of course, the programme. Tilly had almost forgotten about that. It was telling that Campbell hadn’t. He might be momentarily distracted by a kiss, but he would never lose sight of his ultimate goal.

‘The only thing that will really jeopardise them is if you can’t make Cleo’s cake,’ she told him and he grimaced.

‘I know. It’s harder than I expected,’ he admitted.

Convincing herself that it was all for the best was harder than Tilly had expected, too. No matter how fiercely she reminded herself that he was leaving soon, or that he was still hung up on his ex-wife, disappointment still twisted painfully inside her. She made herself remember how much it had hurt when Olivier had gone, of how much better off on her own she would be in the long run, but none of it helped.

There was nothing to be done but keep the smile on her face, but it was feeling fixed by the time first Seb and then Harry appeared, yawning and rubbing their rumpled hair. In spite of their hangovers, they brightened considerably at Tilly’s suggestion that they take Campbell to the pub while she finished getting lunch ready.

Campbell was all set to demur. ‘We can’t leave you alone to do all the work,’ he protested.

‘Honestly, it’s better if we do,’ Seb confided, and Harry nodded vigorous agreement. ‘She’ll just get ratty if we hang around.’

‘We could help,’ Campbell suggested, but they only looked at him as if he had sprouted a second head.

Tilly rolled her eyes. ‘Their idea of “helping” was to send me off for a weekend in the Highlands and look where that got me! No, you go,’ she told him. ‘Seb’s right, you’ll all just get in the way. There’s not much more to do, in any case.’