Beautifully Unexpected by Lily Morton

Chapter Nine

Mags

He followsme as I set off, moving at a slower pace so his leg won’t hurt.

“Are we walking there?” he asks.

“It’s only a few streets away.”

He falls into step beside me, and we walk together, an easy silence falling between us. After a few minutes, I stop. “Here we are.”

He looks up at the building. “Athena Spa and Sauna,” he reads. He nudges me. “Sounds a bit rude. Have we come here for a happy-ending massage?”

I roll my eyes. “I have never paid for a happy ending in my life, and I don’t intend to start today.” I shoot him a quick glance. “Have you?”

“Paid for it?” He shakes his head. “Just a few weeks ago, you had me down as a penniless artist, and now you’ve made me into a baller.”

“I’ve made you into a cretin.”

I enjoy the sound of his laughter as we walk into the foyer. It’s an instantly calming atmosphere with whitewashed walls and lush plants. Recessed lights are dotted about, which will be better for Laurie’s eyes, and the air smells of mint and eucalyptus.

He gazes around with lively interest as I turn to the receptionist. “How are you, Mr Carlsen?” she says.

“Fine, thank you, Cynthia. We’re here for the sauna, and my friend needs a massage.”

“I do?” Laurie’s stunned question overrides the receptionist, and he grimaces. “Sorry,” he says to her. “Go ahead.”

She smiles at him. “What massage would you like?”

“Oh, I don’t know that I do need one—”

“Shoulders, back, and face,” I interrupt, looking at him in a contemplative fashion. “They’re all the areas he’s holding tense.” I wrinkle my nose. “At this point, it would be easier to name the places where he isn’t tense.”

“Not the face,” he says quickly. “I don’t think that would be advised.”

He immediately looks discomfited, and the receptionist stands up. “That’s good, sir. I’ll go and get you some robes, and Annika will come and find you.”

She glides away, looking very at home in this tranquil environment.

Silence falls and Laurie keeps his gaze fixed on the reception desk. Finally, he stirs. “I can feel you looking at me,” he complains.

“What a superpower. Who wants the ability to see through steel and climb buildings? I’m not sure how much use looking at your face would be to world peace, though.”

He laughs, but his gaze skitters away from me. Interesting. However, I don’t push it. Even if I wanted to know why he doesn’t want a face massage, it isn’t for me to grab for answers that he doesn’t want to give. Years of my profession have taught me that little gem. Well, that, and a desire not to get too intimate with anyone.

The receptionist returns, trailed by another woman.

She smiles at Laurie. “I understand you’re here for a massage, sir.”

“Apparently so,” he says dryly.

She shoots a professional glance at him and, in particular, the way he’s standing with his weight to one side, probably to ease the pressure on his leg.

“I notice that you’re favouring one side, sir.”

“Laurie,” he says immediately, giving her a charming smile. “I had a car accident a couple of months ago.”

“Ah.” She gestures for him to follow her. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me where you were hurt, I can assess what massage is best for you and then we can get started.”

He follows her obediently and without a backward glance. I clear my throat. “Don’t mind me,” I call.

They both look back with surprised expressions, as if they’d forgotten I was here. “I’ll be in the sauna,” I say. “I’ll meet you afterwards.”

He gives a careless smile and a jaunty wave of his hand that shouldn’t irritate me as much as it does and then vanishes into the massage rooms. The door closes with a soft thunk behind them.

“Gah,” I say, unfortunately out loud. “Irritating idiot.” I look over to find Cynthia regarding me with an amused smile. “Men,” I say.

“Yes,” she replies fervently. She hands me my robe. “You’re in sauna number three, Mr Carlsen. I’ll show the other gentleman where to go when he comes out.”

I nod, feeling thirty different kinds of awkward, and take the robe from her.

Half an hour later, my irritation has vanished into the dry heat of the sauna. I breathe in the scent of wood and coals, and when I exhale, tenseness eases out of me. The room is small but beautiful, with a perfect temperature, and sweat dampens my skin. I’ve been coming here for years. I like the combination of luxury and comfort.

I lean back against the wooden bench and look contemplatively at the opposite wall. Usually, my thoughts bleed away in here, my focus on nothing more complicated than the tiny bronze tiles on the walls. It’s my form of zen with sweat and silence, and I always come out refreshed. Today my thoughts are tumbling over themselves. I can’t grab a coherent one, but they all seem to centre around Laurie.

The door opens, and the man himself appears. “Blimey, it’s hot in here.”

“Who would have thought it, Laurie? A hot sauna. Whatever will happen next?”

He rolls his eyes. “Maybe you not attempting sarcasm.” He enters the room, the door shutting behind him, and looks me up and down. “Oh, so it’s that kind of a sauna.”

“You shouldn’t wear clothes in a sauna. It’s unhealthy,” I say serenely. “Like wearing your clothes in the bath.”

“That’s the Danish in you. We English would insist on wearing a woolly jumper even on a trip to hell.”

“Hopefully, one of the jumpers that you seem to like so much. They could do with a good burning.” I look down at my naked body. “Are you okay with me being nude?”

He smirks. “Of course. You haven’t got anything I haven’t seen before.”

“It’s what you do with the apparatus that counts.”

But, as he comes closer, I immediately realise the drawbacks to my nudity. He’s wearing a towel wrapped around his narrow hips, and so much of his body is free for me to gaze at. He isn’t plucked or toned like any of the men I usually pick up. They typically have abs like supermodels. Laurie lacks that definition and has a scattering of hair on his chest. He’s wiry and still far too thin and utterly unlike my type, but his olive skin glows in the low light, and when he moves, the muscles in his biceps flex. For some odd reason, everything about Laurie makes my heart beat faster.

I breathe in unobtrusively and will my cock to behave. My gaze slides down over his long legs, and I immediately lose my semi. “That’s a nasty scar,” I observe.

He approaches the bench and looks down at the raised purple-coloured scar. “It looks a lot better now,” he says. “When my mother first saw it in the hospital, she cried.”

He removes his towel, throwing it insouciantly on the bench and settling onto it. I see a flash of a long thin cock and a bush of dark pubes and swallow hard.

He grins at me. “So, are we really okay being naked here, or shall I prepare to be dragged out of the building and thrown into the back of a police car like a TV show from the seventies?”

“You have far too vivid an imagination. This is a private sauna. They have twelve of them, plus the massage rooms and a small spa.”

“You obviously come here a lot.”

“Once a week for a sauna, and I usually fit in a massage when I’m in the middle of a trial because sitting around for all those hours hurts my back.”

He lounges back as easily as if sitting in his bathtub. I note the signs of sleek lassitude that always comes from a good massage. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

“So much,” he says with feeling and chuckles. “Remind me to listen to you sometimes.”

“You’d be better doing that all the time,” I correct him, not even attempting to hide my smile.

“Only if I wanted to court disaster. Before I knew it, I’d have legions of men pursuing me with ribbons flapping around their genitalia. How could I paint under those circumstances?” His smile falters suddenly, and his expression darkens.

I suddenly forget all about my own rules and ask, “How did you have your accident?” My tone is far too abrupt, and he winces. I’m not sure why I’m so irritated that the masseur knows the details, and I don’t. But I am cross.

“I was driving home one night, and a dog ran across the road in front of me. I swerved to avoid it, and the car ran off the road.”

I whistle. “The roads around your home are steep.”

He shoots me a wry glance. “And I have intimate knowledge of the fact. The car rolled three times.”

I go cold at the thought. He could easily have died, and the idea hits me in the solar plexus. I raise my hand to rub at the pressure, and his gaze roams over the expanse of my chest.

I wonder what he sees. I keep fit, running every day and walking everywhere, but it’s a fact that things aren’t as tight as they were. There’s a softness around my stomach and a blurring of areas that were previously well-defined.

I’m gratified to see heat flare in his eyes, but his expression shutters as he returns to the conversation. “The car crumpled. I hit my head on the window and was knocked out. My leg was trapped and suffered a compound fracture.”

“Shit, that’s nasty. You could have bled to death.”

He shrugs. “It wasn’t the best,” he says with typically British understatement. “But it’ll get better. I just need to keep doing the exercises that the physio advised, and it should go back to normal.”

He drinks from his water bottle, the strong muscles in his throat working. His skin is already damp with sweat, and I can smell his lemony soap scent.

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask about his headaches, but if he banged his head in the accident, the migraines make sense. He’ll probably get them for a while, and if they’re as bad as I had after getting a concussion, his occasional grumpy mood is understandable. I settle for changing the subject.

“What was your first sexual experience?”

He promptly chokes on his water, and I smile evilly at him.

When he’s finished coughing, he glares at me. “Really? You want to discuss this while we’re naked and sitting in a hot room?”

“It’s the perfect time. We Danes are a social lot in the sauna.”

“I think you use the words ‘we Danes’ rather a lot to excuse bad behaviour.”

My evil smile doesn’t fade. “You might be right.” I nudge him. “You first.”

“You actually want to discuss this?”

I nod. “I get so bored of hearing about politics and recipes and the academic performance of private schools. Sometimes I need a little honesty.”

“That explains so much about why you’re the darling of the dinner parties.”

“Is that my title?” I ask, immediately distracted. “That’s rather fitting.”

“Well, it’s definitely not King of Modesty.”

“No fear. I wouldn’t get very far in life with that.” I eye him. “Go on, then. First experience?”

He settles back against the wooden bench, and I swallow as I watch his muscles move under his damp olive skin. I lean forward to pour more water on the coals and hide my cock, which appears to have a mind of his own today.

“Hmm,” he says, staring into space.

“You have to think about your first, Laurie? Have there been so many men, or are you just rather forgetful?”

“I love how you slut-shame me in one second, and sound concerned the next. I can remember it. I’m just contemplating why it merits remembrance.”

I laugh. “It was bad, yes?”

He scratches his eyebrow, looking thoughtful. “I expect it was the same as everyone else’s. He was my tennis coach, and he fucked me over the net bag of balls in our garden shed with a jockstrap in my mouth to keep me quiet. We got caught by my stepfather, who was so horrified he didn’t know where to look. He recovered his equilibrium enough to send me to my room and ground me for a month before sacking the coach. And there ended my possible run at Wimbledon.”

I gape at him, and the silence stretches. His mouth twitches as I search for words. “You seem to have an affinity with sheds,” I finally observe.

He loses his grip on his hilarity, his laughter pealing.

I’m unable to keep from smiling as his face lights up. He takes a deep breath and catches my gaze. “And that’s my tale of sexual awakening.” He snorts. “Common or garden, really.”

“Oh, undoubtedly.”

“What was yours?”

“Hand job behind the village shop,” I say.

He laughs again. “How very boring, Mags.”

“You got caught with your tennis instructor. How old was he?”

He wrinkles his nose in thought. “Early thirties. I thought he was terribly old.”

We look at each other and start to laugh.

“I know,” I say, wiping my eyes. “I used to think my university tutor was ancient. I later found out he was thirty-five.”

He grins at me, and I shake my head. “You win,” I concede. “That would have been a lovely story to tell at my parents’ dinner table. They enjoyed tales of sexual awakening. I don’t know why they didn’t just stick to reading Anais Nin and Henry Miller like everyone else.”

“Oh God, those were the days. I once spent ten minutes trying to convince our school librarian that I wanted to read Lady Chatterley’s Lover because I was interested in estate management.” I snort, and he carries on. “Kids today don’t know how lucky they are with online porn. If we wanted porn in our day, the mood was rather killed by the fact that we had to rewind the video tape and then keep stopping and starting it to pause the action.”

He sprawls on the bench, spreading his arms across the back. The position shows off every inch of him, and I give in and stare. His ribs are too pronounced, but his olive skin gleams in the heat and droplets of sweat glisten in his sparse chest hair. Everything about him is deliciously long—his legs, his feet, his fingers, which are tapping a beat on his knee. I curse the fact that I’m naked for possibly the first time in my life as my cock stiffens.

When I look up, he’s watching me, and the atmosphere thickens as though we’re sitting in a bath of warm honey.

“I think you should kiss me,” he says in a conversational tone.

Shock roars through me. “I beg your pardon?” I sound regrettably like Miss Marple.

“Kiss me,” he repeats.

“Did you sustain a head injury in the massage room? I don’t kiss my friends.”

“Try it,” he says with a sunny smile that doesn’t quite conceal the daredevil glint in his eyes. “Go on. Just the once,” he instructs. “I dare you.”

“You are Satan sitting on a towel,” I say.

He huffs a laugh, but his gaze is steady on me, his eyes lingering on my mouth. I lick my lips, and his pupils darken.

“I want to know how you taste,” he says.

My heart thunders in my ears, and I wonder if I’m going to have a stroke in this sauna. If anyone were going to cause it, it would be him. Nevertheless, I hear my mouth say, “Just once?”

He nods. “Can’t hurt.”

“I’m quite sure that was what Samson said to Delilah before she got out her hairdressing scissors,” I observe.

He bursts into laughter, and my control snaps. I reach out, and, grabbing his skull between my hands, I fit my mouth to his. The laughter immediately dies, but I fancy I can taste it on his lips—a tart, lemony taste like sunshine in my mouth.

He groans, and his mouth opens beneath mine. Our tongues slide together, and I lose my mind between one heartbeat and the next. Grabbing him closer, I suck on his tongue, gratified to hear his low moan and its echo coming from me.

He laces our fingers together and opens his mouth farther, kissing me furiously with low gasps of pleasure that make my dick throb.

My hands are moving over his body before I know it, sliding over the slick skin and pulling him closer, my fingernails likely leaving red marks behind. He gives a throaty groan of approval and twists sinuously in my arms, and I grab the last thread of my common sense and push him away from me. He doesn’t go far because my hands operate beyond my brain’s commands and hold on to him, my fingers digging into his arms to keep him still.

We look at each other for a long second, and then he gives me a filthy smile. “I thought so,” he says hoarsely.

“Thought what?” My voice is rough, and he shivers as if I’ve run my hands over him.

“We’re compatible, Mags. I knew we would be.”

“How?”

“We make each other laugh. It’s always a sign.”

I shake my head. “I’m fairly sure that is complete misinformation. Or comedy halls would have a completely different vibe.” I draw in a noisy breath, searching for calm. “That was a mistake.” Even I can hear the reluctance in my voice. “I don’t do this with friends.”

“I hate you beyond all bearing,” he says promptly. “Everything okay now? Can we shag?”

I can’t help my laughter this time, and my fingers caress his damp skin as I reluctantly let him go. I rub my eyes. “What on earth are you doing?” I groan.

He nudges me. “Come on. What can it hurt, Mags? We’re compatible as hell. I’m not fucking anyone, and neither are you at the moment as far as I can see.”

I startle and think back over the last few weeks. He’s right. I haven’t fucked anyone since the day we first met. I push that disturbing revelation away to be dissected, hopefully never.

He raises one eyebrow, looking devilish and entirely too composed. “See. It’s kismet.”

“I’m absolutely certain that kismet isn’t referring to fucking in saunas.”

Instead of looking cowed, he seems immediately entertained. “Are we going to do that?”

“No, we are not,” I say repressively, standing up and gathering my towel around me in a dignified manner. “I have no intention of being thrown out of here and brought up on a public indecency charge.” My practical nature rears its head. “Besides, I would probably have a stroke performing in this heat.”

He stands up too, but makes no move to pull his towel over himself. Instead, he stands facing me, and my eyes automatically drop to his dick. It’s hard like my own, and straining towards his belly button, the head flushed a violet red. My mouth waters, and his smirk shows me he’s noticed my own erection lurking behind my towel.

“What do you think?” he says far too airily. “We can keep it casual. I’m leaving in a few weeks, so you’re in no danger of me appearing with ribbons. Shame, though.” He pauses to consider that ridiculous notion. “I’ve got a lovely amber-coloured one which would have looked smashing against my pubes.”

Swallowing hard, I scrub my fingers through my hair. Then I reach out and pull him close. The abrupt move startles him, but he melts into me, pressing the long length of his body against mine. He chuckles. “Mags, this is so sudden.”

“Shut up,” I say, and I stop his clever mouth with another kiss. When I draw back, he’s flushed, and his eyes are gratifyingly bleary. “Follow me.” I turn and leave the room.

He swoops immediately to my side like we’re musketeers embarking on an exciting adventure as I head into the changing area. The huge room has wooden lockers and benches positioned around it like a labyrinth, but I’m interested in the bank of showers at the back.

I guide him through the maze of lockers until we come to the first glazed glass door. I shoot a look around me. There’s no one in sight, even though I can hear men talking from somewhere to my left. I grab Laurie’s hand, whirl him into the tiled enclosure, and pin him to the wall.

The door closes behind us and he gasps at the coldness of the tiles. But he immediately melts into me, his cheeks flushed and his eyes half-lowered and fixed on my lips.

I lean closer and whisper into his ear. “This isn’t a soundproofed room, so you’re going to have to be very quiet in here. I have no desire to have my membership revoked. Do you understand me?”

I’m using my bossy voice, which has always served me well with my younger men. I should’ve known that it wouldn’t work with Laurie.

He grins in a delighted manner. “Really?” he breathes. “Shall I keep my cries of Master to myself?”

I glare at him repressively. “Start the shower,” I instruct.

He swallows, amusement finally flying away as he reaches to the side and twists the dial. Spray erupts from the rainfall showerhead. I tug at his towel, loosening the knot, and it falls away. I remove my own and, after hanging the towels on a hook, I press my body against his. I feel a strange, frantic sort of relief as our skin touches.

He’s hot and damp, his chest rising and falling in a fast rhythm, and I can’t resist the temptation. I take his mouth in a deep kiss. He moans, and the sound echoes in my dick. I pull him even closer, eating at his mouth, our tongues twining and our breaths mingling.

Eventually, I pull back, gasping for breath. He stands still, his gaze on mine, and his slightly submissive air is like pouring petrol onto a bonfire. I take another step back and lean against the wall.

“Wash yourself.” The command is so soft it can hardly be heard over the noise of the shower.

A daredevil grin crosses his full lips. Holding my gaze, he steps under the spray, lifting his face to it. Within seconds, he’s soaked, his hair clinging to his face as sleekly as a seal pelt. He turns under the water until he faces me. I swallow hard as one hand touches his chest, flicking at a nipple until it tightens, while the other hand lowers as slowly as treacle from a jar until finally, he cups his balls. He breathes in sharply, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Laurie,” I say softly but with a note of warning, and his eyes fly open.

He gives me a sly smile and arches his back, letting the water spray over his body, and my mouth goes dry as he fists his cock. It’s long and slender, and he gives a sharp intake of breath as he strokes himself.

“Turn around,” I order.

He immediately obeys, turning to face the wall and letting the water pound his shoulders and cascade down his body. His back is a graceful arch, his buttocks round and biteable.

I open my mouth to issue more commands, but he lowers his hands at that moment, grabbing his buttocks and pulling them apart. I watch the water run down his crack and something short-circuits in my brain.

Between one breath and the next, I step into him, plastering my body to his. He gives a choked sound, and I immediately push my hand over his mouth.

“Be quiet,” I hiss.

He twists his head slightly to the side, his eyes meeting mine over my hand. They’re slumberous and heavy-lidded, but that spark of mischief is still there. It’s charming—and surprisingly not irritating—and I find myself smiling back at him.

It’s worrying enough to get my head back in the game.

I remove my hand and kiss him hard, the power of it jolting him. I fasten one arm to his chest, keeping him still as I pull my mouth away.

“Give me some gel,” I say hoarsely, offering my palm. The steamy air fills with a citrussy scent. I’m glad to see the tremor in his fingers and hear his harsh breathing. It means I’m not alone with the incredible lust that’s seized me.

I kiss him again and send my hand down his chest. He’s thinner than me, but his chest is broad and covered with a light smattering of hair through which his nipples peek pinkly. I tweak them, and luckily my mouth is back on his because I swallow his startled groan.

I pull away and kiss his ear, sucking gently on the lobe, and he pants out a low sound and backs into me. I stifle my groan in the sleek skin of his shoulder, biting down gently as his full buttocks caress my cock. Looking down, I can’t help my loud grunt as I see my cock slipping through his crevasse, the head purple and the foreskin fully retracted.

“You’re not being quiet at all,” he says, trying for scandalised but ending with amusement.

I encircle his chest with one arm again. If he’s got time to be amused, I’m not doing my job correctly. I lower the hand with the shower gel still on it and fist his cock as I lick down his neck in sucking, biting little kisses.

I raise my head, and he’s waiting for me as we kiss over his shoulder. I twist my hand on the upstroke, and he grunts and arches into my grip, looking down so he can watch his cock shuttle through my fist. I indulge myself in rubbing against him for a second, the water giving me smooth traction.

Then I release him, and he half turns in shock as I fall to my knees. Well, not so much fall. It’s actually more of a slow descent, because my knees aren’t up to too much punishment on a hard shower floor.

I gaze up at his face when I’m finally kneeling, and for a second, there’s a soft sort of tenderness to his eyes as he looks down at me over his shoulder. The sweetness vanishes as I spread his cheeks. I let the water rinse the soap away and then slide my tongue up from the back of his balls to the base of his spine.

“Shit,” he mutters. “Yes, Mags.” There’s wild excitement in his flushed face now, and no sign of amusement, and I swallow hard as he bends at the waist, bracing himself on the wall and spreading his legs for me.

His hole is dark pink like the inside of a shell, and I drop a kiss on it, feeling the crinkly texture of the skin and the tickle of the tiny coarse hairs. I kiss it again, and he chokes out a desperate sound before covering his mouth with his hand. Still kissing his hole, I reach through his spread legs and cup his balls, gently rolling them in my hand as I lick and suck.

His moan this time is far too loud, and we both go still as footsteps sound outside the shower.

“Everything okay in there?” a man’s voice calls.

My eyes go wide in alarm as I’m pretty sure it’s someone from my chambers. From what I can see of Laurie’s face, he’s somewhere between alarmed and amused. I pull away from his arse and shake my head reprovingly at him.

“Quite fine,” I call. “I just remembered some work I left on my desk.”

“Is that you, Magnus?”

Laurie gives a soft snort of laughter, and I pinch him. “It is. Is that Brant?”

“Small world,” my colleague says chattily.

“You have no idea,” I say wryly. “Well, I must be getting on, Brant. I have a lot to do.”

“Oh, dear. I know the feeling. Hope you get it all done.”

His footsteps move away, and we both sigh in relief before Laurie starts to laugh softly. “Is it me you’ve got to do?” he whispers.

I rise to my feet and spin him around. “You are incapable of obeying even the smallest of instructions, aren’t you?” I mutter. “You just had to be quiet for a few minutes, but I should have known you were incapable.”

He chuckles. “In fairness, you were rimming me and rolling my balls in your hand. Did you expect me to be silently composing a shopping list?”

I give a long-suffering sigh. “Only one thing for it.” I step into him and kiss him again.

It’s a deep and filthy kiss, and he seems to catch fire from it. His hands rise to cup my skull, and I bless the fact that we’re the same height as I grab our cocks, working them together as we continue to kiss.

I swallow all his desperate sounds, and the ones I’m making myself. There’s something so hot in feeling his body hair against mine. All my other men have been plucked or waxed to an inch of their lives, with perfect gym bodies and tanned skin. Laurie’s thin, wiry body is white in places, telling me he’s not a sun worshipper. His tan probably comes from painting outside with his shirt off because his groin is as pale as porcelain and looks curiously vulnerable below his slightly rounded belly.

No, Laurie is not the kind of man I’ve become used to. Which is why it’s mystifying that he’s the hottest man I’ve ever been with.

There’s something about our encounter that’s so raw and honest, and I’m shocked to feel my climax rapidly approaching. Laurie’s sounds tell me he is the same, and I work our cocks, pulling back slightly to watch him and feeling the water hit the side of our faces.

He arches into my grip, going up on his toes, every muscle tightening. He buries his face in my shoulder as he starts to come, and the sharp sting of his teeth makes me come too. I pump cream over my hand. It mingles with his own hot spend on my fingers until the water washes it away.

For a long few seconds, we lean against each other, trying to draw in big gulps of air without making too much noise. Now that passion has passed, I have time to wonder how loud we were, but the noise of distant conversations and laughter in the changing room seems to indicate we got away with it.

Laurie pulls back, and I’m amazed to see the grin on his face. It’s wide and slightly crooked, which shouldn’t be as charming as it is. His eyes are narrowed in amusement, the lines at the corners lengthening. I smile helplessly back at him.

“Thanks, Mags,” he says, giving me an affectionate smack on the arse before stepping back and winding a towel around his hips. “God, I needed that,” he says cheerfully.

My mouth drops open as he knots his towel and saunters out of the shower enclosure. As if he does this every day.

I stare after him. What the fuck?

We’re silent as we get dressed. I don’t like chatter after sex, but the quiet leaves me feeling discomposed. It’s irritating that it doesn’t have a similar effect on him. Once we’re outside, I hail a taxi, and he falls into the seat next to me. I send him a few furtive glances, but he only gazes out of the window, a serene look on his face as the driver makes his way through the traffic.

An afternoon shag is nothing new to me. I’ve been with a great many men in my years and in a lot more daring places than a spa shower. So, why is my heart beating fast and my dick still half hard?

I stare unseeingly out of the window, already missing Laurie’s ready chatter but trying to use the silence to decide how to play this. I want to stay friends with him, but it’s a fact that I don’t usually repeat myself either in court or in bed. I like fucking a man once and then being able to move on to the next one. This situation has all the hallmarks of a disaster.

I’m an idiot,I think morosely.

The taxi stops, pulling me from my thoughts, and Laurie pays the driver before I can get my wallet out. I follow him into the building and the lift. He doesn’t say a word, his gaze focused straight ahead, and I wonder if he’s angry with me. Or planning something that will result in a scene. I try to think of something to say, but the lift opens on our floor, and he bounds out, moving quickly down the corridor.

I gaze after him. What is happening?

He has his keys in the lock before I engage my brain.

“Wait,” I say quickly.

He stops and looks back at me. For a second, he seems almost surprised to find me standing there. As if he forgot me somewhere between the showers and home. It’s a surprisingly irritating feeling being the subject of that regard.

His brow clears. “Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Are you?” He stares at me, and I make an awkward gesture as if pointing towards the spa. “After the shower?” I say. “You’re okay with everything, yes?”

He looks confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I scuff my foot into the carpet, feeling like an idiot. “I don’t know,” I finally say crossly.

An expression of concern crosses his face. “Oh no. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” I snap. “Just making sure we’re on the same page about it not meaning anything.”

His face clears in relief, and he grins. “Of course, we are. Relax, Mags. It’s fine.”

“You were very quiet on the way here.”

“Oh. Sorry. I was just thinking about a painting I want to do.”

“You were thinking about a painting?” I say incredulously.

He ignores my outburst and looks at the open door longingly. “I’ve just got to…” He gestures to the door.

I wave my hand. “Don’t let me stop you,” I say, sarcasm heavy in my voice.

“Thanks, Mags,” he says cheerfully. “See you soon.”

And then he’s gone, the door closing in my face. I stand alone in the corridor, trying to analyse what I’m feeling at this moment. I can’t. I wonder whether this is what my men feel like when I kick them out.

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” I say softly.

There’s no one to hear me, and I doubt I’m even listening to myself. It’s a rare and not pleasant feeling.