Anita was the first to be dropped off; they let her out at the end of Cordelia’s road so they wouldn’t have to make the tight turn outside the cottage. Anita climbed out of the car and called her goodbyes to its drunken occupants, picking her way along the short distance back to the gate. She had given up on her shoes and was carrying them in one hand, holding up her dress, which was now too long, with the other. She was a little dishevelled, wisps of hair, having escaped their pins, falling around her face, and her mind was foggy from all the wine. It was misty and the only light came from the moon, Anita glad she knew the road like the back of her hand; she could have made it blindfolded. As she approached the cottage, she felt powerful energy up ahead and immediately tensed, on guard. She kept moving cautiously towards the house, trying to make as little noise as possible, until, out of the mist, emerged a familiar, lean figure leaning against the garden wall. The figure was clad in a dinner jacket with his bow tie and top button undone, and Anita stopped dead when she saw him.
‘Marcus?’ she asked, a little confused.
‘Hi,’ he said, smiling secretly when he saw her, pushing himself easily off the wall and walking tantalisingly towards her.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, laughing lightly, her eyes flirtatious.
He stopped just in front of her and sent her a soft, teasing smile. ‘You forgot something,’ he said scathingly, his energy building, an electric tension filling the air between them, seeming to draw them together.
She didn’t say a thing, looking provocatively into his chocolate brown eyes as he brushed a stray strand of hair seductively behind her ear. He dropped his fingers casually to her neck, caressing the soft skin below her ear, a dangerous smile dancing across his enticing lips before pulling her slowly towards him, bowing his head to meet her waiting mouth. She felt shivers of energy pass between them as they kissed. He tasted of cigars and ginger, his other hand reaching for her cheek, pulling her voraciously to him, his tongue probing impatiently against hers. Anita was lost; the ground seemed to disappear, her head began to spin, her senses useless as she responded to his touch. She regained her composure as Marcus pulled back, both hands now on her cheeks, his face an inch from hers, hungry eyes bearing down on her, full of unsated desire. She dropped her gaze and raised her hands to his waist, running them alluringly up his toned torso to his chest, where they pushed him sensuously backwards. She left her hands on him as she looked up heatedly, her eyes on fire, her silent rejecting yet enticing challenge plain. He held her gaze, a carnal smile accepting, as she leaned back in for a short, final, calculated kiss. ‘Goodnight Marcus,’ she whispered, in a slow, sultry voice, before brushing past him.
‘Good night,’ he replied elated, matching her tone as she veered off the path and around the back of the cottage. There was nothing Marcus loved more than the thrill of the chase.