The Plus-One Agreement (12 page)

‘Mum, it’s no different to any other wedding. You can take or not take whatever name you please,’ Emma said, pasting on a smile to counteract any offence that might be caused. ‘You’re living in the past.’

‘I don’t agree. I don’t see why Adam should change his name.’

‘I’m not,’ Adam said. ‘And neither is Ernie.’

Her mother rounded on Ernie, who took an automatic defensive step backwards.

‘Why not?’ she demanded. ‘Is our family name not good enough?’

‘Mum, please...’ Emma said.

Ernie held his hands up.

‘It’s perfectly fine, Emma. It’s nothing to do with family names.’ He looked kindly at her mother. ‘I’d walk over hot coals for him, darling, but I cannot possibly be known as Ernie Burney.’

Adam took his arm and they moved away. Her mother gaped for a moment, and then took refuge in her usual critical safe bet in order to save face.

‘Of course if
you
could only find a man who would commit there wouldn’t be any of this lunacy,’ she snapped at Emma. ‘We could have a proper wedding with all the trimmings.’

The band chose that moment to launch into full-on swing music, mercifully making it impossible to hear any further argument, and the compère took to the glossy parquet floor.

‘Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...the groom and groom.’

Her mother’s mouth puckered and then disappeared as a pool of light flicked on in the centre to reveal Adam and Ernie striking a pose. A kitsch disco track kicked into action and they threw themselves into a clearly pre-rehearsed dance routine.

Dan stared in amazement as Adam danced past them, finger stabbing the air above his head, back to his full quota of sweeping flamboyant enthusiasm. Ernie skidded across the parquet on his knees, snapping his fingers above his head. A circle of guests began to form at the edges of the dance floor, clapping along. The room worked itself into a crescendo of rhythmic toe-tapping. It was bedlam.

‘And...the parents of the happy couple...’

Ernie’s father, completely unaware of what he was letting himself in for, held out a hand to Emma’s mother and began propelling her around the floor. Emma watched her mother’s stiff and obvious fluster with a grin.

‘She can’t complain. She did want a bit more tradition after all,’ she said.

‘And...family and friends...please take the floor...’

Dan held his hand out, a smile crinkling his eyes. She stared at him, her heart skipping into action.

‘I don’t dance,’ she said, shaking her head.

He totally ignored her. Before she could wriggle free he’d caught her fingers in his own and tugged her against him, curling his free hand around her waist.

‘Just hang on, then,’ he said.

The jaunty music demanded a lot more balance and rhythm than a swaying slow dance, and Emma silently cursed Adam for his disco obsession.

Dan turned out to be an excellent dancer. He propelled her smoothly around the floor in perfect time to the music and she somehow managed to hold on to him instead of falling over. Then at last the music mercifully slowed and embarrassment slowly gave way to consciousness of him. She could feel the hard muscle of his thighs moving against her own. Sparks jumped from her fingers as he laced them through his. His heartbeat pressed against hers.

‘Why now, then?’ she said, looking up at him, a light frown shadowing her face. ‘You haven’t answered that question. You had
months
to make a move on me if you were interested. Months of work dates back in London. Why now? Why here? Because you’d made it clear our agreement was over? Is that it? You were pretty keen to draw a line under our relationship when this weekend finished, so did that make me fair game?’

‘If I’d known you were interested maybe I would have made a move before,’ he said, knowing perfectly well he’d never have allowed himself to do so.

She made an exasperated sound.

‘That’s crap. I’m
so
not your type.’

‘In actual fact you’re
exactly
my type. And that’s why I never made a move. I met you in your work role and you were so bloody good at it I wasn’t about to ruin that by sleeping with you. I needed you too much.’

She pulled away from him a little as she processed what that might mean.

‘And now you don’t need me any more, sleeping with me is suddenly back on the agenda? Is that it?’

‘That’s not it at all. This weekend is the first I’ve spent with anyone at such close quarters without sex being the only thing on the agenda. And it isn’t a piece of cake, I’ll be honest with you. Nothing about you is easy. You’re a pain to share a room with, and your family are more bonkers than I realised, but for the first time in I don’t know how long work isn’t the first thing I’m thinking about.’

She looked up at him and met his eyes, his expression clear and genuine.

‘When I talked to Adam I realised there would be a massive fallout if the wedding didn’t go ahead. I could imagine the embarrassment, the fuss, having to send the guests away. It wasn’t about Adam. He’s got himself into trouble and he should dig himself out of it. It might even be character-building. When I couldn’t walk away I realised that the person I was really doing it for was you. And that’s when I knew that, whatever I felt about you, platonic work colleague didn’t really cover it any more.’

He carried on talking, thinking vaguely that they seemed to have lost time with the jaunty beat of the music. Other guests began to whirl past them.

She stopped dancing. He attempted a couple more steps before giving up and joining her. The thing about dancing was that you needed your partner at least to
attempt
to engage—otherwise it was akin to dragging a sack of potatoes around the floor at speed. Trepidation spiked in his stomach at the look of disbelief on her face, telling him that his feelings for her had climbed way further than he’d thought. He’d been kind of banking on a smile at the very least.

‘Say that again.’

‘Emma, we’re in the middle of the bloody dance floor. Let’s go and sit down, get a drink.’

‘I don’t want a drink. Say that again.’

‘I couldn’t give a toss about Adam getting into trouble?’

She punched his shoulder.

‘Not that bit.’

He saw the mock-exasperated smile on her lips, saw it climb to her eyes.

‘Platonic work colleague didn’t cover it any more?’

The smile melted away. She was looking up at him, brown eyes wide, soft lips lightly parted, and the madly circling dance floor around them disappeared from his consciousness.

‘Yes. That bit.’

He tightened his grip around her waist and slid his fingers into her hair, stroking his thumb along her jawline as he tilted her lips to meet his.

* * *

Emma’s heart was thundering as if they’d done another disco turn instead of swaying languorously around the dance floor.

The Dan she’d known for a year and long given up on would never have helped Adam out for nothing in return—would never have taken the time to explain his feelings to her. And he would never have turned back having driven halfway to London—not when he’d made his point before he left. She’d bucked his little-black-book no-strings trend. He’d put her first.

Sweet excitement began to swirl in her stomach as her mind focused on the feel of his body hard against hers and she breathed in the scent of spicy aftershave and warm skin as he kissed and kissed and kissed her.

At last she opened her eyes to see the
déjà-vu
disapproving stare of her mother across the room. Necking on the dance floor, this time, instead of in corridors—how common. Except that this time she found she really couldn’t give a
damn.

She laced her hand through his and tugged at his arm.

‘Let’s go upstairs.’

TEN

She followed
him into the hotel room, buying a bit more time and space for her skittering nerves by leaning gently back against the door until it clicked shut. The party carried on in the marquee below them and music and faint laughter drifted in through the window, open a crack. The closed curtains fluttered lightly in the night breeze.

Delicious anticipation fluttered in her stomach as he turned back to her in the soft amber glow of the table lamp and tugged her into his arms, his mouth groping for hers, finding it, sucking gently on her lower lip and caressing it softly with his tongue.

His fingers slipped beneath the fall of her hair to find the zip of her dress and he pulled it slowly down in one smooth motion, sliding the fluttering sleeves from her shoulders, his mouth tracing the blade of her collarbone with tiny kisses. He smoothed her dress lower, until it fell from her body into a gleaming puddle of silk on the floor. And then her mind followed his hands as they explored her body, as he unhooked her bra, cast it aside and cupped her breasts softly in his palms. Her nipples were pinched lightly between his fingers, sending dizzying flutters down her spine where they intensified hotly between her legs.

Then came brief unsteadiness as he slid his hands firmly beneath her thighs and lifted her against him. She could feel his rigid arousal press against her as she curled her legs around his waist and he carried her the few paces across the room to the antique desk. He held her tightly against him and she leaned sideways as he swept her belongings carelessly onto the floor. Body lotion and hairbrush fell with meaningless thuds onto the deep-pile carpet, and then there was cool, smooth wood against her skin as he put her down on the desk in just her panties.

She’d had a few boyfriends, yes. In the dim and distant past she’d done the rounds, albeit in a minor way, at university. None of it had felt like this. And if during the last year she’d let herself imagine what it might feel like to be with him it had never touched this reality. His every touch made her heart leap and her stomach flutter. His touch was expert, but there was nothing by rote about this. He seemed in tune with her every need and desire, as if he could read her mind.

His hands found her thighs again, parting them softly, and then he was tracing kisses down her neck, his mouth sliding lower until he closed his lips over her nipple, teasing it softly with his tongue. Heat simmered in her stomach and pooled meltingly between her thighs as he sank to his knees and traced his mouth lightly over the flat of her stomach. She sucked in a sharp breath as his lips sank lower still and the heat of his breath warmed her through the lace of her panties. She gasped as his fingers teased the thin fabric aside and his tongue slipped against the very core of her.

Her hands found his hair and clutched at it as he stroked and teased until she ached for him to go further, and then delicious pleasure flooded her veins as he slid two fingers inside her in one slow and smooth movement. She moaned softly as he found his rhythm, moving his fingers steadily as his tongue lazily circled the nub of her, moving with her, until she cried her ecstasy at the ceiling and he moved both hands beneath her, holding her against his mouth, wringing every last second of satisfaction out of her.

* * *

Anonymity was gone. That inconsequential, easy gratification wasn’t there. Because for once this wasn’t about quick fun, satisfaction. Dispensable satisfaction.

This was about her. Wanting to please
her.
And that was a real novelty that knocked his senses sprawling.

The light change in her breath as he ran his fingertips over the softness of her thighs, the way she gasped and clutched at his hair as he moved them higher—all those little gestures delighted him and turned him on all the more.

Dan got to his feet in the hollow between her parted legs and pulled her close. She curled her arms around him, tugging him against her, her fast, short breaths warm against his lips. Her evident excitement, such a foil to her usual carefully controlled attitude, thrilled him to the core, and in the all-encompassing heat of his arousal he marvelled at the surge of excitement pleasing her elicited.

He had been going through the motions all this time. His dates, his easy flings... Plenty of them, but all a simple good time means to an end. The cost of that had been the detached quality about them that meant pleasure had failed to touch him below the physical surface. The combination of his visceral hot need for Emma, his delight at her eagerness to please him and his own desire to please her took him way beyond that level. There was nothing run of the mill about this.

The thought crept through his mind, tinged with fear at the deeper meaning of it, but he moved on regardless, powerless to stop.

He lifted her, his hands sliding across the cool satiny skin of her lower back, the sweet vanilla scent of her hair dizzying his senses, and crushed his mouth hard against hers. His desire for her was rising inside him like a cresting wave, driving him forward. Her legs wrapped around his waist as he carried her the few paces from desk to four-poster and eased her down gently onto the softness of the quilted bedspread.

And now he moved with intimate slowness, the better to savour every second, to explore. She slid gentle hands over his back and sparks of arousal jumped and flickered in his abdomen as her fingers found his hard length and stroked with deliciously maddening softness. A guttural moan escaped his lips as he tangled a hand in the silk of her hair and crushed his mouth against hers, easing her lips apart with his tongue.

Before he could be consumed by the deliciousness of it he caught her hand and moved away briefly to find a condom. And then control was his again as he moved against her, and her gasp thrilled him as he eased slowly into her. As she raised her hips with a soft moan, urging him on, sliding her hands around him to push him deeper into her, greedy for more, his spirits soared. And only as she clutched at his back and cried her pleasure against his neck did he finally let himself follow her over that delicious edge.

* * *

Bewildering
déjà vu
kicked in as Emma woke to birdsong and sunshine for the second time in a weekend. And then all thoughts of her surroundings disappeared as she came fully awake in one crushing instant of consciousness. She turned her head slowly on the pillow.

Not a hallucination brought on by wedding stress and too much champagne.

Dan was in the bed next to her.
And they’d spent the night exploring every inch of one another. Hell, her cheeks fired just at the thought of what they’d done and she pressed her face against the cool top sheet. Had that
really
been her? Super-cool, professional Emma? Brazen—that was what she was.

His dark hair was dishevelled even beyond its usual spikes by action and sleep, and there was a light shadow of stubble now defining his jaw. She lifted a hand to her dry mouth as her gaze ranged down the defined muscles of his torso to the sheet that lay haphazardly over his hips. He was the stuff of dreams.

But the cold light of day was streaming in right through that window. She’d joined the ranks of Dan’s little-black-book girls. How long did he usually leave it before he did his backing off? A day? Two?

She held her breath and without sitting up began wriggling inch by slow inch towards the edge of the bed, not really thinking much further at this point than getting some clothes on. They might have spent half the night screwing, but that didn’t mean he’d have the chance to ogle her cellulite in daylight.

She was right on the edge of the bed and just thinking about how to manoeuvre her feet onto the floor when he took a deep, relaxed breath and opened his eyes.

She froze like a rabbit in headlights.

‘You look surprised,’ he said, stretching easily.

He gave her that slow, laconic grin that never failed to make her stomach do flip-flops. Clearly she had the
look
of a rabbit in headlights, too.

‘Is it such a disappointment to wake up next to me?’

She clutched the top of the sheet a modest few inches above nipple height and tried to move her bum cheeks back fully onto the bed so he wouldn’t realise she’d been trying to make an exit.

‘I wasn’t sure I would,’ she said. ‘I half expected you to make a swift exit under cover of darkness. Didn’t you tell me that was your usual modus operandi? Not to make it through to breakfast?’

He pulled himself up onto one elbow and smiled down at her. The benefit of having hair that naturally spiked was that he actually looked
better
first thing in the morning. How typical. She could just imagine the fright wig on her own head after the active night they’d spent.

‘Emma, nothing about this is my usual modus operandi.’

His blue eyes held her own and her stomach gave a slow and toe-curling flip as the delectable things he’d done to her last night danced through her mind. He reached a hand out to stroke her cheek softly and a surge of happiness began to bubble through her. He was right. None of this fitted with him acting to type. Yet still it was hard to let herself trust him.

‘I know you too well,’ she said. ‘That’s the thing. None of your usual lines will work on me.’

‘I wasn’t aware I’d used any,’ he said.

He had a point. He’d bailed her brother out, he hadn’t washed his hands of her and disappeared to London after she’d called him selfish, he’d carried himself brilliantly through her brother’s crazy wedding and he was still here at breakfast time. She let her guard slip.

* * *

Self-doubt. Any other reaction from her would be a surprise, wouldn’t it?

Just looking at her lying next to him, all long limbs and messy hair and uncertainty, made heat begin to simmer again deep inside him. The night they’d spent replayed in his mind on a loop—the way she’d slowly put her trust in him, shedding her inhibitions, giving as much as taking. He wanted to smooth every kink of doubt out of her, convince her that this was far more than the throwaway night she clearly thought it might be.

He reached across and pulled her into his arms, fitting her long, slender body against his own, breathing in the faint sweet vanilla scent that still clung to her hair. His mouth found hers and he parted her lips hungrily with his tongue and kissed her deeply.

* * *

Desire rippled through her, peaking at her nipples and pooling between her legs as he gently turned her over, his mouth at her shoulder.

In her dreams of all those months ago he had been skilled. In reality he was melt-to-the-floor perfect. How did he know how to make her feel that sublime? Where to touch her? How hard to stroke? How softly to caress?

He lay behind her now, her pleasure his sole focus. One hand was circling her waist, his fingers easing slowly between her thighs, softly parting them to expose the core of her. She felt his moan of satisfaction against her neck as he discovered how wet she was. His thumb found her most sensitive spot and circled it with tantalising slowness. His fingers slid lower, teasing until she ached with emptiness and desire.

And then he was turning her expertly, one hand pressed flat beneath her stomach, the other cradling her breasts as he moved behind her. A moment of delicious anticipation as he paused to grab a condom, then she felt him press against her. And then he was thrusting smoothly deep inside her, filling her deliciously, his free hand teasing her nipples to rock-hard points, his mouth at her neck. As she cried out in uncontrolled pleasure he moaned his own ecstasy against the smooth contours of her back, not slowing or changing pace until he knew she was satisfied.

Afterwards, she lay in his arms, the warm length of his torso against her back, his soft breath against her hair. His hand circled her body, lightly cupping her breast, caressing it. They fitted together perfectly, as if they were meant to be together. For the first time she let herself tentatively believe that they might be. He’d made love to her again instead of making a sharp exit. He was still here with her. Yet still there were things that needed to be said.

‘I didn’t say thank you, did I?’ she said softly. When he didn’t answer she turned her head slightly, to catch his expression at her shoulder. ‘For restoring Adam’s shadow for me.’

She felt him tense briefly, then he tugged gently at her shoulder until she turned over in his arms and lay facing him. His mouth was inches from her own and his gaze was holding hers steadily.

He looked at her resigned expression and mentally kicked himself.

‘I didn’t mean that,’ he said. ‘It was a crappy thing to say. I know how difficult your family can be.’ He paused as if groping for the right words. ‘It wasn’t a personal dig at you. It was more about reacting to your telling me where to get off.’

‘You always have to have the last word,’ she said quietly. ‘I’ve noticed that about you. Why is that? Why is it so hard for you to accept anyone else’s agenda? People
do
have them, you know—it’s not just
you
living in a bubble.’

Was that how she really saw him? Was he really that blind to other people’s feelings?

‘It wasn’t intentional,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry if it seemed that way to you. It was...’ He groped for a way to explain that wouldn’t sound totally crap. ‘I like staying in control,’ he said at last. ‘Being the one that makes all the decisions. Perhaps it’s become a bit of a habit.’ He paused and added, ‘A defence mechanism.’

The same one he’d used so successfully since childhood.

‘If the only person you look out for is yourself, you can’t be hurt.’

‘I don’t understand.’

He looked at the ceiling, at the blank white expanse of it.

‘There was someone once,’ he said. ‘I’m not talking about one of the girls I see now. They’re just dates. Nothing more to it than that. There was someone else a long time ago.’

He didn’t look at her. It felt easier, not doing that.

‘Maggie and I were housemates at college,’ he said. ‘There were six of us. Couple of girls, four blokes, each of us renting a room and sharing a kitchen and bathroom. You know the kind of thing. Student accommodation. For the first time I was living away from home.’