by Leah Ashton
‘My husband left me,’ she said.
Silence.
She’d expected him to recoil. Because surely this wasn’t the conversation Hugh Bennell wanted to have with her?
Instead, he nodded. ‘Are you okay?’ he asked simply.
She smiled. Genuinely this time. ‘Yes,’ she said with confidence. ‘Now. Sucked for a bit, though.’
He smiled too.
‘I needed a change. So here I am. Unpacking your boxes and stacking supermarket shelves. Trust me, it’s not as glamorous a midlife crisis as I’d expected.’
‘What happened?’ he asked. Gently.
‘We fell out of love,’ she said. ‘Him first, but me too. I just hadn’t realised it. So I’m okay. Not heartbroken or anything. But it was still sad.’
‘Not heartbroken?’ he prompted.
Her gaze had travelled downwards, along his jaw and chin. Now it flew upwards, locking with his.
‘What do you think?’ she asked.
Her gaze was heated. Hot. Deliberately so.
Nope. Definitely not scared any more.
‘No,’ he said, his voice deliciously low. ‘I don’t think you are.’
And just like that weeks of tension, of attraction, of connection were just—there. No glancing away, no changing the subject, no pretending it didn’t exist.
It was there. Unequivocally.
Oh, God.
His eyes were dark, and intensely focused on her. He’d moved closer again, so that only centimetres separated them, and there was no question about what he wanted to do next.
He leant closer. Close enough that his breath was hot against her cheek and then her ear.
‘I want to kiss you,’ he said, and the low rawness of his voice made her shiver.
How did he know? April thought. That she needed that? That she needed a moment? That despite the crackling tension between them doubts still tugged at her?
Could she trust her instincts after what had happened to her marriage? She’d got it all so very wrong. And, even more than that, could she actually kiss another man?
It had been so long—so very, very long...
‘Kiss me,’ she said, because she couldn’t wait another moment.
Although it turned out she had to.
His lips were at her ear, and he didn’t move them far. Instead he pressed his mouth to the sensitive skin of her neck, at the edge of her jaw. Suddenly her knees were like jelly, but strong hands at her waist steadied her.
The sensation of his lips against her neck and his hands against her body was so good, and April’s eyes slid shut as a sigh escaped from her mouth.
Her fingers untangled themselves from the sleeves of her jumper and reached for Hugh blindly, hitting the solid wall of his stomach and sliding up and around to the breadth of his back.
Hugh dotted her jaw with kisses that were firm but soft. And glorious. But not even close to enough. More than almost anything, she wanted to turn her head to meet his mouth with hers—but she didn’t. Because, even more than she wanted that, she wanted this anticipation to last for ever. This promise of Hugh’s kiss that, she realised, had been growing from the moment they’d met.
But he was definitely going to kiss her now—this mysterious man who was so different to anyone she’d ever met—and the wonder of that she wanted to hold on to. Just a few seconds longer.
By the time his mouth reached hers April felt about as solid as air. His hands pressed her closer, and then her own hands drew his chest against her breasts.
His mouth was hot against hers, and confident.
If she’d been tentative, or if her brain had been capable of worrying about her kissing technique or other such nonsense, his assuredness would have erased it all.
But, as it was, April didn’t feel at all unsure. In fact, Hugh made her feel that this kiss was about as right as anything could get.
His tongue brushed a question against her bottom lip and her own tongue was her crystal-clear answer. Her hands slid up his chest to entwine behind his neck and in his hair, tugging him even closer.
Their kiss was as intense as every moment between them, and as volatile. He kissed her hard, and soft, and voraciously. As if he could kiss her for ever, and as if they had all the time in the world.
But April was impatient.
She took the lead now, kissing him with everything she had and more. More than she’d thought she was capable of: with more passion, less control.
This was raw and passionate and...near desperate.
April wanted to be as close as she could be to him. She wanted him pressed up hard against her. She wanted to feel his solidity and his strength.
She wanted to feel his skin.
Her hands drifted down his back, skimming wide shoulder blades and the indentations of his spine. And then they slid beneath jacket and T-shirt to land at the small of his back. Against smooth, gorgeous, hot skin.
His hands followed a similar path, and his touch made her sigh into his mouth as it moved against her back, her stomach, and then upwards—against her ribs to the underside of her—
Something vibrated and Hugh went still.
He broke his lips away from hers, but not far. She could feel him breathe against her mouth as he spoke.
‘My phone,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Me too,’ she said, all husky.
His smile was crooked. ‘Yeah...’
Then he stepped away, and her skin felt bereft without his touch.
He fished his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. It appeared to have been a notification vibration, not a call, and he turned slightly to scroll through his phone.
When he turned back to her, he just looked at her for long moments. At her still slightly askew jumper, at her lips that felt swollen, at her eyes that she knew were inviting him to pick up exactly where they’d just finished.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he said, ‘That probably shouldn’t have happened.’
April blinked, her brain still foggy. ‘Why?’
‘Because you work for me. And your husband just left you.’
She shrugged. ‘You definitely didn’t take advantage of me,’ she said. ‘And the husband thing—that’s my problem, not yours. Nothing about what just happened was a problem for me.’
Mila and Ivy’s encouragement fuelled her. For all her misgivings up until their kiss, she didn’t regret it one bit now. She felt amazing: alive, and strong, and sexy and feminine...
‘I don’t want a relationship with you, April.’
Ouch.
It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did.
‘And you thought the desperate divorcee must be keen to jump straight into another relationship?’ Her tone was tart. She didn’t give him time to respond. ‘And also, that if I did, I’d want a relationship with you? That’s rather presumptuous.’
April crossed her arms.
His forehead crinkled as he considered her words. ‘I suppose it is,’ he said. ‘I apologise.’
April nodded sharply. ‘Just to be clear—the last thing I want is a relationship. I was with my ex for a long time—I need to just be me for a while. That being said, I really liked what we just did. I’d like to do it again.’
She didn’t know where this bravado came from. She was practically propositioning Hugh Bennell. In fact, she definitely was. She was propositioning him.
Because that kiss... She’d never experienced anything like it. She’d never felt like this before and heat continued to traverse through her veins simply from the memory of his mouth against hers. His body against hers.
‘I’d like to do it again, too,’ he said. His gaze was steady and his words measured—as if he’d carefully considered her proposal before c
onstructing his answer. ‘But, I’d also like to be clear. I date, but that’s it. I never take it further. I’m never anyone’s boyfriend. I’ll never be someone’s husband. You need to be aware of that before this goes any further.’
April found herself fighting a smile in response to his seriousness. ‘That seems a bit extreme,’ she said. ‘Never? Really?’
‘Really,’ he said.
He didn’t elaborate. He still looked at her with a determinedly serious expression.
‘Well,’ April said, smiling now, ‘I must say my experience of marriage wasn’t ultimately positive, so maybe you’re onto something.’
His lips quirked now. ‘It would seem so.’
‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I can deal with that. No relationships. Deal.’
As she’d told Hugh, it was exactly the right thing for her. Quite honestly, the last thing she wanted was to leap from one relationship into another. But for some silly reason, Hugh’s rejection of anything more with her still stung.
There was another noisy buzz as his phone, now on the kitchen bench, vibrated again.
‘I need to go,’ he said. ‘I have a meeting. Can we do dinner? Tonight? I can email you the details.’
He was in business mode now, as efficient as his instructions and his emails.
‘Sure,’ she said. ‘But I only have a few hours before my second job.’
He paused, looking up from his phone. ‘How much extra would I need to pay you so you could quit that job?’ he asked.
‘Ah,’ April said, ‘that sounds like a conflict of interests. I don’t think HR would approve of that.’
‘I own the company,’ Hugh pointed out. ‘And I don’t like rushing dinner.’
‘Well, then, I don’t approve,’ April said firmly. ‘Let’s keep this professional.’
Hugh stepped closer—much closer. He leant down and spoke just millimetres from her lips. ‘Sure,’ he said, ‘except for making out in the kitchen.’
Long minutes later they came up for air, and April lifted her fingers to her thoroughly kissed lips as Hugh finally walked away.
‘Agreed,’ she said, as the front door clicked shut.
* * *
The conference call was endless.
Hugh sat back in his chair, letting the wheels roll him back a small distance from his desk.
He’d docked his laptop, so the other attendees’ faces were displayed on the large slender screen before him. Everybody else allowed their faces to be shown, so Hugh could see each of them: the red-headed product manager in Ireland, his gaze focused on his keyboard, the dark-haired user experience manager in Sydney, her attention focused on the slides that the senior developer, also in London, was showing them...
The developer was talking directly into his camera as he discussed some of the technical difficulties his team was currently encountering, his purple dreadlocks draped over his shoulders.
Of course, Hugh’s face didn’t appear.
Hugh still insisted upon that, despite the recommendations of the digital collaboration expert he’d engaged to improve the effectiveness of his widely dispersed team. Yes, he could see how a video feed might—as the consultant had advised—improve both rapport and communication, but no matter how large his company became he was still in charge. Hence—no cameras. For him, anyway.Even now, so many years later, old habits died hard. Because, of course, it wasn’t about him. He didn’t care if his colleagues saw him and his slightly too long hair and three-day-old beard.
It was about his house. Everyone on the conference call was in their home. This meeting had a backdrop of contrasting wallpapers and paint colours, of artwork and photographs, of bookcases and blinds and curtains.
Hugh wasn’t going to contribute his home to that landscape. He didn’t let anyone into his home. In any way. Ever.
Except April.
It seemed April had become the exception to several things.
Such as his structured approach to dating.
It had been timely that he’d received an alert from Ryan’s dating app mid-kiss with April. It should’ve been a reminder that he already had a tried and true approach to meeting women. And that kissing an employee in his mother’s kitchen was not his modus operandi.
Instead, he hadn’t even bothered to open the profile of the woman he’d been so carefully matched to.
After all, he’d just experienced a kiss that made his pulse beat fast and his body tighten simply by the act of thinking about it. It had been all-consuming: a hot, intense phenomenon of a kiss. Which was, after all, the point. He dated. He liked women. He wanted to meet women who liked him. And he definitely wanted that spark of attraction. April ticked each and every one of those boxes. Except the spark was more like a bonfire.
So—why not?
If the parameters were made as clear to April Spencer as he always made sure they were with other women, what was the problem?
Logically, none.
Although somewhere right at the edge of his subconscious doubts did twinge.
But they were easily overcome. At the time he’d simply had to look at April to forget anything but his need to touch her again. Now he just needed to recall the shape of her waist and the heat of her skin beneath his palms.
When he did that there was no need to analyse it further.
CHAPTER NINE
APRIL HAD NEVER been more grateful for an unexpected delivery in her life. But she only had a minute to photograph her new peep-toe, sky-high ankle boots before heading out through the door.
Taking these lovelies out to dinner! #highheels #peeptoes #CovetMyShoesCo
She had hardly anything to wear, what with her nonexistent social life since arriving in London, but her new shoes teamed with black jeans and her dressiest shirt made her look marginally more glamorous than she did when unpacking cardboard boxes.
At least she’d recoloured her hair the week before, so there was no hint of her blonde roots. And she’d left her hair down, although there had been hardly any time for her to attempt some loose curls with her straightening iron. Back in Perth, she put more effort into getting ready to go to the supermarket.
Part of her was a little disappointed that she didn’t have the time—or the money—to really go all out for Hugh. A lot disappointed, actually. But then—did it matter? Hugh hadn’t seem bothered by her dusty, messy-haired dishabille that morning.
Plus, it wasn’t as if she needed to impress him. They’d both been pretty clear about what they wanted: each other. For a short time.
That was it. No complications. No relationship.
It should be...freeing.
But it wasn’t. Instead this felt very much like a first date to her. A first date full of nerves and anticipation and possibilities.
April knew she couldn’t think like that. It wasn’t what Hugh was offering, and it wasn’t what April wanted.
It wasn’t.
She meant that with every cell in her body—except for that little chunk of her heart that had ached when Hugh had so summarily rejected her.
She supposed I don’t want a relationship with you, April had too many echoes of Evan’s I don’t love you rejection not to hurt, at least just a little bit. She wouldn’t be human if it didn’t. Surely?
So it didn’t mean anything.
She was strong and independent and single—and she had a date with Hugh Bennell.
April grabbed her scarf and coat, and headed for the Tube.
* * *
Hugh had booked the same table he always booked.
He figured that while April might not have been matched with him by any computer algorithm, really tonight was no different from any other date.
Except for the fact she was his employee, and that he’d already kissed her...
&
nbsp; No, he told himself firmly. There was nothing different or special whatsoever about tonight.
It was just a date.
And so they were at his favourite restaurant. A very nice restaurant, with white linen tablecloths and an epic wine list. Importantly, it valued the privacy of its customers, and kept tables well-spaced and the lighting intimate. He’d had many very pleasant dates here, with great food and robust conversation.
‘This is lovely,’ April said from across the table. She held a glass of sparkling water in her hand, and her long hair cascaded over one shoulder in chocolate waves. ‘I wish I had more time to enjoy it properly. To be honest, I just thought we’d go to a pub.’
She started work at nine p.m., so they didn’t even have two hours before she had to leave.
‘I don’t like pubs,’ he said truthfully.
‘Really? But London does them so well. There’s a pub near your place I’ve been wanting to try for ages. But I’m such a Nigel now, I haven’t had the opportunity.’
‘Nigel?’ Hugh asked.
‘No Friends. You know? Nigel No Friends? Or is that another Australianism I didn’t realise was one?’
Hugh grinned. ‘Like Billy No Mates?’ he prompted.
‘Exactly,’ April said, looking pleased. ‘Seems being a loser is universal.’
He laughed out loud. ‘I don’t believe for a second that you don’t have friends,’ he said.
‘Well, I do have friends,’ April said. ‘Just not here. And I’ve been working too much to meet anyone. Not that I particularly wanted to—especially at first. I just wanted to be on my mopey lonesome.’
‘Not any more?’
‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘I guess I’m a pretty social person usually. I’m always out—catching up with friends for coffee or lunch. Going to parties or—’
Her voice broke off, and he raised an eyebrow in question.
‘Or...ah...the movies, or a bar, or whatever.’
Her gaze had slid downwards, was now focused on her bread and the untouched gold-wrapped pat of butter. She seemed suddenly uncomfortable.