by Kate Hardy
Besides, he wasn’t what Jane needed. Given what she’d told him about her family, it was obvious she wanted someone who’d settle down. Someone who didn’t have itchy feet. Someone who wasn’t in Iceland one day and Oklahoma the next, literally blowing around the world in the middle of a weather system.
The sensible thing to do would be to ease away from her. Have a cool shower while she slept, to dampen his libido. Dress. Do some work until she woke up, offer her breakfast while being distantly polite and businesslike, and then wave goodbye to her. Within a few minutes she’d be out of his life, and everything could go back to being just the way he liked it.
But he couldn’t quite drag himself away from her. Not when her body fitted so perfectly into the curve of his.
So he lay there in the quiet of the early morning, an arm wrapped round her waist to hold her close. Losing himself in the moment—in the scent of her hair, the softness of her skin, the warmth of her body against his—until finally he felt her stir.
‘Good morning,’ he said softly.
Jane wriggled round in his arms so she was facing him. ‘Good morning.’
He scanned her face quickly. No sign of morning-after-itis. No awkwardness, no hope in her eyes that he’d change his mind and ask her to stay—that he’d offer her for ever.
Then again, he had a feeling that Jane Redmond was a woman of her word. And they’d both agreed that yesterday was just one day. She wouldn’t expect what he couldn’t give her.
‘Sleep well?’ he asked.
Her eyes were full of laughter as she replied, ‘Ish.’
They hadn’t actually slept that much. They’d been too busy exploring each other. Finding out where each other liked being touched, being kissed.
She’d found some erogenous zones he hadn’t even known he had. Or maybe it was just her.
No.
He wasn’t going to let himself think it. This was over. One single night. Exactly as they’d agreed.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
He leaned over to pick up his watch. ‘Nearly seven.’
She nodded. ‘I’d better get my skates on, then. I need to get home and change for work.’
She sat up, and he was amused to note that she was holding the duvet across her breasts. Shy? Considering that he’d looked, yesterday…More than looked. Touched. Tasted. Explored every inch of her skin. Lost himself in her warm, sweet depths.
But he rather liked her sense of propriety. The way it drew a line between last night, when they’d let their inhibitions go, and today, when they were going back to their own lives.
‘Maybe I’d better text my boss and warn her I might be a little bit late,’ she said. ‘Um, would you mind passing me my handbag, please?’
It was on the table, on his side of the sofa bed. He passed it to her, and she fished out a mobile phone. Her eyes widened as she flipped up the top. ‘Oh, no.’
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I forgot that I switched it off, yesterday. After I, um, took your photo.’ She switched it on.
It beeped. Time after time after time.
‘That’s quite a lot of texts,’ he remarked when the beeping finally stopped.
‘And voicemails.’ She winced as she skimmed through the texts. ‘Mainly from my housemates. I really should’ve phoned home and said I wasn’t going to be back, yesterday evening.’
Except they’d distracted each other.
And how.
She pressed a speed-dial button, obviously dialling home. And despite the fact she hadn’t switched her phone into speaker mode, Mitch could hear the very second her housemate answered because the shriek was so loud.
‘Jane? Jane, are you all right?’
‘I’m fine, Charlie.’
‘Then where the bloody hell are you?’
Her eyes widened and she looked at Mitch, mouthing, ‘Where is this?’
‘Harley Street,’ he said softly.
‘Harley Street,’ she repeated into the phone.
‘Oh, my God. Are you at some posh doctor’s or something? Is there something you haven’t told us?’
‘Calm down, Charlie. No. I’m not seeing a doctor for anything.’
Hmm. Maybe now wasn’t the time to tell her he had a PhD—that he was officially Dr Mitch Holland. He pulled his jockey shorts on, then went over to the little compact kitchen, filled the kettle and spooned instant coffee into two mugs.
‘Anyway, I’m too young and too sensible to have come to Harley Street for Botox treatment or what have you. I’m staying at, um, a friend’s place. Don’t worry. I’m fine.’
Charlie’s voice had lowered to a more normal tone by now, but Mitch could tell exactly what she was saying from Jane’s responses.
‘You rang Stella? Why? Oh-h-h. Well, no, I know I didn’t tell you I was taking a day off. Because if I had, you’d have asked me why.’
There was a pause.
‘Um. I thought you’d forgotten.’
So her housemates had remembered her birthday, after all?
Jane was clearly squirming. ‘Yes, I know you’re not my parents. Yes, I know you’re my best friends and you wouldn’t have forgotten something as important as my twenty-fifth birthday. But, Charlie, you’ve been under a lot of strain with the reorganisation at work, Hannah’s run off her feet at the surgery and Shelley’s on the run-up to exams and she’s under pressure for her class to perform. Of course I wasn’t going to start stomping round the house like a teenager in a strop, asking you all why you’d forgotten my birthday—none of you needed the hassle. I honestly thought you’d all been so busy it had slipped your minds, and I didn’t want to make a fuss or make you feel bad.’ She sucked in a breath. ‘Look, I just decided to have a day doing…’ she blushed to the roots of her hair, and Mitch stifled a grin ‘…things I wouldn’t normally do. I climbed the Monument, went to the meridian line and had tea at the Ritz.’
No mention of kissing a stranger, he noticed.
And definitely no mention of what they’d done last night after dinner. All night.
And he really shouldn’t be feeling so smug that he’d been the one to introduce her to the concept of the multiple orgasm. This wasn’t going any further. He couldn’t offer her a future. As she’d said, she was sensible. Her life wouldn’t map with his. Words and action. Too far apart.
‘You did what? Oh, Charlie, I’m so sorry.’ Jane drew her knees up to her chin. ‘I had no idea. No, none at all.’ She looked horror-stricken. ‘I’m really sorry I spoiled the surprise.’
He handed her a mug of coffee, and she mouthed her thanks at him before turning her attention back to the phone call.
‘No, it was a really lovely thing to do. If I’d guessed…No.’ She laughed again. ‘Yeah, I know. I’m buried in my old documents and don’t notice what’s happening under my nose—as bad as my parents and Alex. Uh-huh. OK. I’ll see you tonight. Yeah, give them my love. Bye.’
She ended the call and tucked the phone back into her handbag.
Mitch sat on the edge of the bed, cupping his hands round his mug of coffee. ‘So what was that all about?’
‘My housemates were worried because I’m, um, a bit predictable. So when I disappeared yesterday and didn’t tell them I wouldn’t be home…’ She dragged in a deep breath. ‘Charlie rang my boss to see if I’d swapped shifts with someone and was working a late shift—and when she found out I’d booked the day off, she was worried because I hadn’t left them a note.’ She shrugged. ‘I’d intended to be back before any of them came home from work.’
‘Except I persuaded you to spend the evening with me instead.’
She nodded. ‘And I forgot my phone was switched off, so I didn’t pick up their messages. I didn’t even think about ringing home.’ She bit her lip. ‘Hannah rang the emergency department of every hospital in London, in case I’d had an accident. Shelley called the police, except they told her I wouldn’t officially be a missing person until today. And I have about a hundred worried
messages on my phone.’
‘They know you’re OK now.’
She nodded. ‘But I didn’t know they’d planned a surprise party for me.”
‘So they didn’t forget your birthday after all?’
She shook her head. ‘I feel horrible. I mean, I know my housemates aren’t scatty like my family. They’re all really organised and together.’
‘But you assumed they’d been busy at work and it’d slipped their minds and you didn’t want to put any pressure on them.’
‘While they’d secretly been organising this big party, in the function room of the local pub,’ she explained. ‘Charlie’s boyfriend, Luke, plays in a band—they were doing the music, Hannah’s mum made the cake and they’d done all the food between them. Everyone had been invited and they’d all been sworn to utter secrecy. They’d beaten me to the post so I’d have a sackful of cards and presents to open on the night.’ Jane took a gulp of coffee. ‘And then I didn’t turn up. Charlie, Hannah and Shelley were going frantic. Oh, God. If only I’d thought to call them yesterday and let them know I wasn’t going to come home last night.’
Mitch looked at her over the rim of his mug. ‘Don’t feel too bad about it.’
She frowned. ‘Of course I feel bad about it! They went to a lot of trouble, and I ruined their surprise.’
‘But they made you think that they’d forgotten your birthday—they could’ve told you they were taking you out for a pizza or something, then taken you to the party instead,’ he pointed out, ‘so you didn’t spend the whole day thinking nobody had remembered.’
She made a dismissive movement with her hand. ‘I still ruined their surprise. They’d done something really nice for me—they knew I didn’t have an eighteenth or a twenty-first party, and they’d been plotting this for months.’
‘It’s not your fault. You’re not a mind-reader.’ On impulse, he reached out and touched her cheek. ‘Jane. No regrets. That’s what we agreed last night.’
‘No regrets.’ She took a deep breath. ‘But I need to go. I’ll be late for work.’ She handed him her mug; it was still half full. ‘And you need to see your agent and catch up with yesterday’s meeting.’
‘No guilt, either,’ he warned.
‘No. Um, would you mind…?’ She gestured at him to turn his back.
‘Hold on.’ He fetched the robe from where it was hanging on the bathroom door and handed it to her, then turned his back.
‘Thank you,’ she said, and he glanced at her to discover her tightly belted into the robe. She fished in the carrier bag and took out clean underwear from the pack she’d bought yesterday, plus the clothes she’d worn during the day. She shook them out and grimaced. ‘A bit crumpled, but they’re decent enough to get me back home. I’ll change for work there,’ she said.
He raised both hands in surrender. ‘Hey. I’m not commenting on your clothes.’ Especially when most of the time he lived in scruffy jeans and an old T-shirt that was washed regularly but didn’t even have a nodding acquaintance with an iron. He could barely see a crease in her clothes—what was she on about? ‘I’ll make us breakfast.’
She shook her head. ‘Thanks, but I’m not a breakfast person.’
Although Jane wasn’t overweight, she also wasn’t the type who spent her time totting up every calorie. She’d eaten with enjoyment yesterday. So was this just an excuse?
She headed for the bathroom; he’d pulled on jeans and a T-shirt and had turned the bed back into an innocuous sofa by the time she emerged. ‘At least have another coffee before you go,’ he said. Why he was trying to encourage her to stay was completely beyond him. But his mouth just wouldn’t stop.
She fastened her watch to her wrist. ‘I’m going to be late anyway. Another five minutes isn’t going to make much difference.’ And then she gave him an impish smile. ‘And I’m a much nicer person when you add caffeine.’
He almost told her he liked her without the caffeine, too, but he bit the words back. They’d sound too much like an offer. And he couldn’t offer her anything. ‘Sure you don’t want anything to eat? Harry’s stocked the fridge with fruit and what have you.’
‘Your agent stocked your fridge?’
He wrinkled his nose. ‘In storm season, I live on fast food. I love American breakfasts of pancakes and syrup. Sugar overload—Harry nags me over it. So fruit and yoghurt and what have you balances it out when I’m over here.’ He opened the fridge. ‘Nectarines, strawberries and blueberries. There’s a bowl of apples and bananas as well.’ He gestured to the worktop. ‘And I’m never going to eat all this before I leave. I could do with a hand.’
‘You’re leaving London today?’
‘No, I’m here for a couple more days. Then I need to move on, see some people.’ His family. But she didn’t need to know that. ‘And then I’m back in the States.’
‘Chasing tornadoes.’
‘Chasing tornadoes,’ he confirmed. He took fruit from the fridge, washed it and chopped it, then shared it between two bowls, topping it with plain live yoghurt and a sprinkle of sunflower seeds.
She smiled when he put the bowl on the table in front of her. ‘You’re well trained. Very healthy.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘Harry’s good at nagging.’
‘Thanks. This is good,’ she said after her first mouthful.
And then breakfast was over. Time to say goodbye.
She gathered her bags together. ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘for yesterday. For making my birthday special.’
‘My pleasure.’ And it had been. A day for just them. A day without any worries or guilt. A day when he’d been able to breathe.
‘Good luck with your exhibition,’ she said.
‘Thanks. Good luck with facing your housemates.’
‘Thanks.’ She smiled. ‘Well, have a nice life.’ She reached up and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
Then the door clicked shut behind her.
He should be relieved. It was what he’d wanted. No tears, no ties. Everything back to normal.
So why did it suddenly feel as if the sun had gone behind a bank of clouds?
‘Don’t be so soft,’ he informed himself loudly. ‘You like your life as it is.’ OK, so he had a couple of days of awkwardness to get through back in Sussex, but he’d done it before. And it was only for a couple of days.
And then he could get back to the one thing he really loved. The place where he felt safe again.
Tornado Alley.
That evening, once Jane’s housemates had hugged her and had satisfied themselves that she was perfectly all right, they made her sit at the kitchen table. Charlie even grabbed a desk-lamp and trained it on her.
‘The interrogation starts now. So who was this friend whose place you stayed at last night?’ Charlie asked.
Jane made a dismissive motion with her hand. ‘Ha, ha. Very funny.’
‘We know it was a man, because you’ve got The Look,’ Hannah announced.
Jane frowned. ‘What look?’ she asked, mystified.
‘The look in your eyes that said you had good sex last night, and lots of it,’ Charlie said. ‘So you’ve been holding out on us. There’s a secret lover, isn’t there? And you sneaked out to meet him yesterday.’
Jane felt her face heat. ‘Oh, come on.’
‘With a blush like that—I reckon you really did spend last night having hot sex!’ Shelley grinned, opened a bottle of wine and poured it into four glasses, then handed one to each of them. ‘Right. Spill the beans, Jane-Jane-Superbrain. We want to know all.’
‘No.’
‘You had us all worried sick. You owe us,’ Charlie pointed out.
Jane took a large swig of wine. ‘OK. I thought you’d all forgotten my birthday. And I wasn’t going to stay in and mope around and have a pity party—I went into town, intending to do some of the things I hadn’t got round to doing since I moved to London. Look, I told you about that on the phone this morning.’
‘The Monument and tea at the Ritz.
Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ Charlie said. ‘Now give us the real details. Who was this man and where did you meet him?’
‘Do I have to do this?’ Jane asked.
‘Yes, you do,’ her housemates chorused.
‘Or we could just push her face into the cake,’ Shelley suggested.
‘No, we can’t—my mum would have our guts for garters if we wasted her best chocolate cake recipe,’ Hannah protested.
A cake that had been made in the shape of an open book, with ‘Happy 25th birthday, Jane’ iced on it in white chocolate. They’d really made an effort for her.
‘It’d be a waste,’ Jane agreed. ‘And I need cake.’
‘Then you have no choice,’ Shelley said. ‘You have to tell us.’
Against three of them, Jane knew she didn’t stand a chance. She sighed. ‘OK. Top of my list of things I wanted to do yesterday was kissing a tall, dark, handsome stranger. I saw him on the South Bank.’
Hannah gaped. ‘You went up to a total stranger and snogged him?’
Jane shuffled in her seat. ‘No. I chickened out. I took his photo and he saw me. We had coffee and I told him about my list of things, so he suggested joining me on the day.’
Charlie’s eyes narrowed. ‘What kind of man can just take a day off when he feels like it, with no notice?’
‘He’s self-employed.’
‘Doing what?’ Charlie asked.
‘What is this—twenty questions?’ Jane prevaricated.
‘Good idea,’ Shelley said. ‘Question one. What does he do?’
Oh, hell. She’d really started something now. Jane was tempted to fib, but she knew she was a hopeless liar. It was better to be honest right from the start. Tell the truth—but maybe not all the truth. ‘He’s a stormchaser.’
Shelley blinked. ‘A what?’
‘That’s question two. Same answer,’ Jane said quickly. ‘He chases storms.’ The expressions on their faces told her she needed to elaborate. ‘He takes photographs of extreme weather.’
‘Tornadoes and that? Then he’s a thrill-seeker. One of these people who take outrageous risks and get off on it. You went off with a maniac!’ Hannah accused.
‘He wasn’t a maniac. He was very nice.’ Just how nice, she wasn’t prepared to admit.
