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  As she regained control bit by bit, he tugged gently at her hip until he’d turned her over. The sheet felt momentarily cool against her stomach and breasts and then he slid his hands to the front of her thighs and pulled her back against him until she was on her knees. A pause as he ripped open a condom and then she felt his erection, big and hard between her thighs. She bit her lip in anticipation as he rubbed it against her slick entrance and then he thrust smoothly forward, as far as he could go, deep inside her. She heard herself cry out softly and then he pulled back with smooth, tantalising slowness almost all the way, and began to thrust forward deeply again and again at a slow delicious pace. Her pleasure began to climb again.

  Tangling a hand gently in her hair he tugged softly.

  ‘Look,’ he whispered. ‘Look how gorgeous you are.’

  She lifted her head, unsure of what he wanted, and then saw. The huge gilt mirror leaned against the opposite wall, depicting them in the honeyed glow of the single table lamp as he took her steadily from behind. He held her reflected gaze steadily with his own as he thrust into her again and again, one hand cupping her breast and teasing the nipple as the other moved between her legs to circle her most sensitive sweet spot with one finger. She moved against him, working towards the height of her pleasure, feeling it there for the taking, unable to tear her eyes away from the mirror, watching him take her. She felt the tension in his body change, his breathing up the pace, and as she finally tipped over into a sublime deliciousness she had never known he was right there with her.

  ****

  The light filtering through Izzy’s closed eyelids was brighter than she was used to, and her first thought was that she’d forgotten to shut the bedroom curtains in her flat.

  She opened her eyes. The light was brighter because the high sash windows of the hotel room were dressed with the flimsiest of silk curtains. They put the tiny windows and concrete view of her flat to shame.

  Boutique Hotel. Reinvention Get-Over-Joe Mini-Break. One-Night-Stand.

  She froze in the king-size bed, the vague cushion of euphoria on which she had woken deflating as if stuck with a pin. She turned over inch by careful inch, knowing perfectly well what she would see before it came into view. She stuffed a mouthful of squashy pillow into her mouth to stifle her own squeak of shock.

  Dark tousled hair, smooth skin with a faint tan, the beginnings of stubble on the chiselled jaw and thick eyelashes that were wasted on a guy. They’d spent half the night screwing every ounce of energy out of each other. Her toes curled just at the thought of it.

  She peeled the pillow out of her mouth so she could take in a big calming breath.

  It could be worse. Wasn’t it practically obligatory for a one-night-stand to never look as good as you remembered them the next morning? He certainly bucked that trend. Which was more than could be said for her. Sitting up carefully, she caught sight of her own insane reflection in the huge gilt-framed mirror at the side of the room. Her hair stuck out at odd angles and last night’s mascara was smudged panda-style beneath her eyes. Her face reddened as she flashed on last night’s use of that mirror. Had that really been her? Shy, retiring Izzy?

  She had to get out of here.

  Thank goodness he was sound asleep. She checked her watch. A little past five o’clock. A new undiscovered benefit to having a body clock that woke you up at cockcrow no matter how little sleep you’d had: you could make a swift exit after an ill-conceived fling without discovery.

  She held her breath and eased her way out of the bed then around the room, picking up her clothes, dressing, keeping every movement smooth and pin-drop quiet. Oliver didn’t stir. She wondered randomly where in Highgate he lived, and squashed the thought immediately.

  The flipside of last night’s triumphant fingers-up at Joe trickled into her mind. Last night it had been all about getting even, all about trying to make some kind of sense of what he’d done so she might move on. Now in the cold light of morning the wider implications of what she’d done kicked in.

  Was this what the morning after was like for Joe? Making a sharp exit, backing out of what he’d started before it went any further. She looked at the dark head on the pillow. All she knew of him was what he’d told her and she’d accepted it all without question. For the first time she saw a new parallel with Joe. Was there some other girl somewhere, thinking Oliver was away on a work trip, waiting for him to call her, trusting him? He’d told her he didn’t do relationships, had sounded so convincing, but no doubt Joe said exactly the same thing to all his conquests.

  She needed to get out of here. Right now, before he woke up.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Oliver came to life slowly. Bright sunshine slanted onto the empty pillow next to him.

  Not his hotel room. Not his bed. He leaned up on an elbow and rubbed his scratchy eyes. Not enough sleep.

  The events of the previous night trickled back into his consciousness, driving out his usual first waking desire for caffeine, and he glanced immediately around the room.

  For her.

  No clothes anywhere. No cosmetics, no bags. No sign that he’d shared this room with anyone except for the crumpled bedclothes and the hot rerun that flashed into his mind. His stomach give a slow flip which he insisted to himself was due to hunger, nothing more. It was breakfast time, after all. He threw the covers back and checked the ensuite. There was no question about it – she was gone.

  Unless.

  Her package deal included dinner, bed and breakfast, didn’t it? Maybe she’d decided to make the most of the thrown-in breakfast buffet on her way out. He dressed at speed and headed for the dining room, his shoes whispering on the deep nap of the carpet.

  Not that he needed to see her this morning of course. All that needed to be said had been said the previous evening. They were both crystal clear about where they stood. It was simply a matter of politeness, right? Checking she was fine, saying a perfunctory goodbye before she checked out.

  Down in the ornate dining room, no longer intimately candlelit and instead now flooded with sunlight from the high windows and reset for breakfast, he pointedly filled a glass with freshly squeezed orange juice from the buffet, while in reality he scanned the room for her.

  Right up to the moment he realised she wasn’t there he had been utterly certain that she would be. As his mood took a stupid inexplicable nosedive, he discarded the orange juice and left the room.

  He approached the high marble desk in the morning-busy lobby poised to question the receptionist.

  ‘Can I help you, Mr Forbes?’ She remembered him from check-in yesterday. And he knew immediately from the over-attentive smile she gave him that with a few carefully-chosen sentences he could persuade her to give him the information he wanted. Izzy’s last name might be a start.

  He hesitated.

  Ground rules, not second thoughts.

  Her words of the previous night came back to him and he bit back the question that lurked in his mouth. If she’d wanted to be found she would have told him her name or left him a note. She would have joined him for breakfast. She wouldn’t have made her excuses and left halfway through the night.

  And why the hell was he feeling so piqued anyway? Just because she had robbed him of the chance to be in control, to be the one who did the backing-off?

  He thought of the reason she’d been staying here. Some kind of waste-of-space boyfriend had let her down.

  ‘Mr Forbes?’

  ‘Can I order a newspaper?’ he said randomly.

  He took a breath.

  What was he thinking? Like he needed or wanted a woman in his life. Like he had time or headspace for that kind of distraction.

  Let it go. Let her have got her own back for whatever wrong had been done to her. She’d done him a favour here, why the hell was he questioning it? One glorious night and he didn’t even have the dirty work of backing out to do.

  He realised suddenly that the Receptionist had asked him three times which paper he woul
d prefer.

  Her quick exit should feel like a gift.

  Why the hell then, had it left him feeling so short-changed?

  ****

  ‘You had a one-night-stand?’ Shauna stared at Izzy, incredulous. ‘You?’

  Izzy took a defensive sip of her coffee because she still couldn’t quite believe her own behaviour, and glanced around the café to make sure no one had heard.

  ‘It WAS on the ‘Get-over-Him List,’ she pointed out, keeping her voice low and hoping Shauna and Suzy might do the same. ‘You suggested it. Right there at number nine, right after eat your own body-weight in ice-cream, blow some cash on a new wardrobe and get plastered on white wine.’ She paused. ‘All of which I did.’

  Shauna was shaking her head.

  ‘It wasn’t a real suggestion. I’d had a couple of drinks. It was just one of those things that come up when you brainstorm. I never for one second thought you’d actually DO that one. If I did, I would have told you about all the caveats that come with it.’

  Oh for Pete’s sake.

  ‘Caveats?’

  ‘Exactly.’ Suzy, veteran reader of womens’ magazines, leaned in as if about to impart a great secret. ‘There are rules you need to follow if you’re going to do something as reckless as have a one-night-stand.’

  ‘Go on.’

  She flapped a hand at Izzy, the other clapped to her forehead.

  ‘Don’t rush me, don’t rush me, I’m trying to remember. OK, first and foremost, you don’t pick anyone you’re likely to encounter in daily life. Far too complicated. No bosses, no brother’s-best-mates, no colleagues…’

  ‘That’s fine then,’ Izzy said with a note of triumph. ‘Box ticked.’

  Suzy nodded approvingly. ‘There’s more.’

  Of course there was.

  ‘You make it clear from the outset there won’t be anything further than this one night.’

  Izzy took a sip of her coffee and nodded.

  ‘Ground rules. I did all of that. I’m not a complete idiot.’

  ‘Safe sex?’ Shauna said and Izzy inhaled a mouthful of coffee.

  ‘Of course,’ she managed, trying not to cough.

  ‘And you can give him no way of finding you afterwards. No phone number swapping.’

  ‘Even if you want it to be more?’ Izzy asked with sudden interest. Not, of course, that she did.

  ‘Especially if you want it to be more. They never look that good the next morning you know. You go to sleep thinking you’re with an Adonis and then you wake up and he looks like a troll.’

  Whatever Izzy was uncertain of regarding the previous night, she was sure about one thing.

  ‘He wasn’t a troll,’ she said. She could hardly think of him without her stomach melting.

  ‘Trust me, he was. They always are. The magic never extends past the next morning,’ Shauna insisted. ‘Best to bail out of these things while it’s all going well.’ She sat back in her chair and folded her arms authoritatively. ‘Basically, what it all comes down to is one thing: A one-night-stand can only ever be a success if it’s anonymous. Meddle with that and it can only end badly.’

  Suzy flapped a hand for Shauna to be quiet.

  ‘Never mind all the rules. Did it WORK? That’s the most important thing. Are you feeling better about what Joe did, are you empowered and ready to move on?’

  A night with Oliver had certainly opened her eyes. It hadn’t negated the loss but there was less of an ache somehow. She understood now that she hadn’t so much been grieving for Joe but for the idealised future she’d had in her mind, which had included him. That had been her guiding light for over a year. Without it she’d felt like she was cruising round in circles. What she needed now was a sense of direction. And she intended to get that by throwing herself into her work, something that actually gave a return on the effort she put in.

  As far as Joe was concerned, she was well out of it.

  Being with Oliver had made her feel capable of that, better about herself. Made her feel like the gourmet meal instead of the usual boring old shepherd’s pie. It had been the best fun she’d had in years.

  She looked at Suzy and Shauna’s expectant faces.

  ‘Damn right I feel better for it,’ she said. ‘It was an ego boost.’

  It was also over with.

  She hadn’t even told Oliver Forbes her last name. She’d never see him again.

  She insisted to herself that was exactly what she wanted. There was no way in the real world she would want a man who thought nothing of having a one-night-stand with a woman he’d barely met. And let’s not forget Oliver might have a girlfriend in the real world outside last night’s bubble. Why the hell would she want to see him again? She may as well just call up Joe and invite him right back into her life.

  Toe-curlingly gorgeous it might have been, but the one stomach-flipping night would have to be enough. Men were off-limits for the foreseeable future unless they happened to be offering her a big fat lucrative gardening contract.

  ****

  Izzy pasted on another smile and shook yet another hand. Arabella and Gordon, her biggest clients to date, had been somehow landed through an advertisement she’d placed in the local paper and Izzy still couldn’t quite believe they’d accepted her quote, even now the work was done. Thrilled to show off their newly-finished garden, they had thrown a summer party and true to their word had invited her along. She just wished she didn’t feel quite so out of place. Perhaps if she’d worn her old jeans and work boots instead of the kitten heels and the silk tea dress that fluttered against her legs, she would have felt more like herself. She took a sip of champagne. It would all be worth it if she could pick up just one or two more contracts from this evening. Word of mouth was worth a hundred times more than newspaper ads. She’d put her heart and soul into this project and she was thrilled that Arabella and Gordon were so pleased with the result.

  ‘And this is Gordon’s solicitor,’ Arabella said, tugging her by the arm as she struggled to digest all the new names and faces. She’d have to do some serious mingling after this if she was to make the most of the opportunity for new work, and nothing looked more unprofessional than getting someone’s name wrong.

  She turned, automatic bright smile pasted on her face, ready to meet as many people as Gordon and Arabella could throw at her, and her heart did an unbidden somersault as the smile gave way to stunned jaw-slackening.

  It was him.

  Last seen asleep in her bed as she made her quick exit from the Romantic Getaway suite. Six weeks had done a great job of convincing her he hadn’t been all that, so the sight of him now - dark hair, perfect strong jaw, lopsided smile - sent her mind into a mad tailspin. His dark suit was impeccably cut, his tie was loosened and his shirt unbuttoned at the neck. He was utterly, breathtakingly gorgeous. She realised her mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap.

  ‘Oliver Forbes,’ Arabella said. ‘This is Izzy Shaw, our amazing project manager. Genius she is, never know it to look at her but she can wield a spade like a navvy.’

  Warmth rose in Izzy’s cheeks. For Pete’s sake a more feminine introduction might have been nice.

  He shook her hand, her fingers enveloped in his, the touch of him sparking dizzying flashbacks of the last time his skin had been against hers. Inhibitions, shed so easily when she knew she’d never see him again, flooded over her in a wash of icy shyness.

  ‘Shaw?’ he said, eyes fixed on hers, softly amused. Her face continued to burn.

  ‘Isabella Shaw Garden Design’, she managed.

  Anonymity flew out of the window in that one sentence and she heard Shauna’s voice in her head, A no-strings-fling can only work if it’s anonymous. Formal introduction now precluded any repeat performance then. Good thing really, because from the bone-melting way he was looking at her, an encore obviously wasn’t far from his mind. No chance of that now.

  If you stick to the rules, a voice in her mind whispered. If. She crushed it. That voice belong
ed to another Izzy, one with a whole different and dangerous agenda that she thought she’d left behind in that hotel room.

  ‘Would you both like another drink?’ He didn’t wait for a reply, just left them to cross the terrace to the drinks table and glasses of champagne, already poured for the taking.

  ‘Gorgeous, isn’t he,’ Arabella said, linking her arm through Izzy’s as they watched him. ‘And such a lovely guy. Close friend of Gordon’s, always happy to go the extra mile.’

  ‘Really?’

  It felt odd, listening to such basic character details about him when she already knew him so intimately on a physical level.

  ‘Wasted of course. Never has a girlfriend, confirmed bachelor. Tried to introduce him to a couple of my single friends but he never shows an interest. Gordon says he’s married to his work. But he’s just renovated a new property and he might be in the market for garden remodelling if you play your cards right, darling.’

  As Oliver made his way back and handed them each a glass, Arabella was mercifully oblivious that Izzy’s knees had turned to jelly and she was concentrating hard on not swaying in her kitten heels.

  ‘You should have seen the building site that was here before she turned up,’ she told Oliver. ‘The whole project ran like clockwork and we couldn’t be more delighted. Do excuse me, both of you, lots more people arriving.’

  Izzy deliberately focused on Arabella’s back as she drifted away, freshening drinks and making small talk as she went. She felt his gaze upon her and held her champagne flute in a vice-grip to stop her fingers from shaking. There was no wronged girlfriend. No third person fallout to feel guilty about. Whatever their night together had been about for him, it wasn’t playing away. His motives were not the same as Joe’s. Guilt relinquished its grip on her and the memory of the deliciousness of their night together came crashing back to her, this time unfettered by it. Her mouth felt dust dry.