“Just tell me, is he naked?”
“Not yet,” I say, eyes glued to Nick, who is trying to balance on one leg as he pulls off his socks, “but I think he will be soon.”
Nick wiggles off into the bathroom.
“Fucking hell,” I whisper quickly. “He’s gorgeous!”
“As long as you know what you’re doing,” she laughs.
“Having fun,” I say. “Something I haven’t had for a while.”
“Okay,” she says. “I’ll let you go. Call me first thing, and for God’s sake use a condom.”
“Right,” I say, and laugh, because Jules is the only person in the world who knows about the condom drawer—a drawer in my bedside table that’s filled to bursting with condoms of all different shapes, sizes and colors, most of them, it has to be said, supplied by her.
I can hear the bathwater running, so I get up, walk through the bedroom, thanking God I had the presence of mind to make the bed this morning, and gingerly push the door open before creasing up with laughter.
Nick is sitting in the bath as the water pours in, and he’s put in practically a whole bottle of bubble bath. This doesn’t bother me because it means I can’t see anything, which I’ve been dreading because I don’t know him well enough to take it in my stride—and he’s put a plastic shower cap on his head.
If he wasn’t so damn gorgeous he’d look ridiculous. As it happens, he looks cute as hell, and I pull the loo seat down and sit on it, shaking my head.
“You really are crazy,” I say, as he rubs his face.
“No I’m not,” he says, lying back. “This is lovely. Why don’t you join me?”
“I had a bath earlier,” I say.
“So? I need someone to scrub my back.”
Oh fuck it, I think, standing up and untying my cardigan. This isn’t exactly the way I’d planned it, but what have I got to lose?
Thankfully Nick doesn’t watch me getting undressed. He lies back in the bath and closes his eyes, and I keep a close watch on him to check he isn’t peeking. I’m not quite ready to take off all my clothes in front of him, so when I’m down to my underwear I grab a towel and go back into the bedroom.
“Libby?” he shouts as I go. “Have you got any candles?”
I find three, and, after I’ve taken my bra and knickers off in the relative privacy of my bedroom, I wrap a towel around myself, light the candles, and switch the light off in the bathroom, putting the candles around the room.
Nick sits up, facing away from me, and I let the towel drop and climb in behind him in the bath.
“Here,” he says, handing me the soap over his shoulder. “Back scrub time.”
“You just did this because you wanted a massage,” I say, soaping his back and wondering how on earth I’ve managed to get so intimate with someone I hardly know in such a short space of time.
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “A bit lower. Yup, that’s perfect.”
I look at my hands circling his back with soap, at the flickering candlelight picking up the definition of his spine, his shoulder blades, and when his back is covered I put the soap on the side of the bath and slowly, smoothly rub his back.
I have my legs on either side of him, and, as I rub his back, Nick picks up the soap and starts soaping my calves. I catch my breath as I feel his big, strong hands gently soap my legs, over the knee, down to the ankles, holding my feet as he rubs them in silence.
And as we half sit, half lie in the bath, the music coming from the living room seems to take on a distinctly sexual feel, and before I even know what I’m doing I lean forward and kiss his neck. I hear him groan as my lips touch his skin, and I open my lips and taste him, sucking softly as my lips travel up to his earlobe. His hand stops circling on my leg. He’s stopped moving, and everything seems to be happening very slowly.
He turns as the water sloshes around him in the bath, then looks at me through eyes glazed with lust, before kissing me softly, open lips teasing mine for what seems like hours, before finally licking my upper lip as I moan and slide my tongue into his mouth.
I’m vaguely aware that as he’s kissing me he’s half standing up, twisting his body round, and when he sits down again in the warm water he’s facing me, his legs over my legs, his lips never leaving mine.
And as we carry on kissing, I pull the bath cap off his head and drop it over the edge of the bath, and slink my hands around his neck, pulling him closer as he drops his head and kisses my collarbone.
I shiver.
He sits back and picks up the soap again, still looking at me as if to check this is okay, which by this time it most definitely is, and very gently starts soaping my arms, my elbows, my hands, and sweet Jesus, I never knew how sensual hands could be, or how turned on I could be by someone gently slipping and sliding soap over my fingers.
And he moves the soap up my arms, on to my shoulders, then slowly circles my breasts, moving closer and closer to my nipples, which are rock hard, but not quite touching them, not yet.
Then he slides the bar of soap over my left nipple and I gasp, and look down into the water because by this time the soap has made all the bubbles disappear, and I can see his cock, thick and hard, and I slide the soap out of his hand and down the side of his cock, and it’s his turn to gasp as I slide it up and down the shaft, around his balls, up around the head.
The soap slips out of my hand, and he picks it up and traces a line down my body, over my nipples, down my stomach, and across my clitoris as I close my eyes to feel these incredible feelings, and all I can think of as I reach again for his cock is that I want to feel him inside me.
I hear a slurping noise and I jerk my eyes open and Nick laughs as he holds up the plug, and it breaks the spell for a second, but just a second, because as the water slips out of the bath Nick pushes me on to my back, and, as my legs rest on either edge of the bath, he kisses his way down my body until I feel him pause between my legs, and I open my eyes and look at him, and he’s looking at me as if to ask, is this okay, and I close my eyes and sigh to show him that it is.
And I feel his tongue slip in between my legs, and, as he licks, sucks, laps at my clitoris, I feel a wave of orgasm building up inside me, and after I’ve come, my body jerking like crazy in the confines of the bath, Nick looks at me and smiles, and I kiss him, tasting myself in his mouth, and I lead him out of the bathroom and into bed.
I slip a condom on his cock that is jerking with anticipation, and I push him on to his back and straddle him, positioning myself so I can ease him inside me, and when he’s about an inch in, I gasp because I really had forgotten how good this feels.
And it’s perfect. The perfect fuck. Not too short, and not too long, because nothing, nothing is worse than men who think all it takes to satisfy a woman is hours and hours of deep, hard pounding. Please. I’d rather watch paint dry.
But Nick is perfect, and I love that feeling of power, being on top, being in control, and I love watching his face as he finally gives in to an orgasm.
When it’s over I think he’ll probably be the type to roll over and fall fast asleep, but he doesn’t. He puts his arm around me and cuddles me for ages.
“That,” he says, after squeezing me very tightly, “was lovely.”
“Good,” I say. “I thought so too.”
“And you,” he says, kissing my nose, “are one hell of a sexy lady.”
“I aim to please,” I laugh.
“You certainly did,” he says. “And now I want a story.”
“A what?” I raise myself up on one arm and look at him.
“A story. I want you to tell me a bedtime story.”
“What about?”
“Anything you like.”
“But I can’t think of anything.”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” he sighs dramatically. “I suppose I’ll have to tell you one, then.”
“Yes, please!” I say, in a little girl voice, feeling strangely like a little girl, all safe and warm and protected, encircled in his
arms.
“Once upon a time,” he starts, in a soft, low voice, “there lived a little girl called Libby. Libby lived all by herself in a huge yellow sunflower at the bottom of a beautiful garden.”
I sigh and snuggle up closer.
“At the back of the garden,” he continues, “was a great big house, and in the house lived Mr. and Mrs. Pinchnose. They were called Mr. and Mrs. Pinchnose because every time they went into the garden they pinched their noses because Mr. and Mrs. Pinchnose hated the smell of anything fresh and beautiful, but what they never knew was that it wasn’t the smell of the flowers, or the trees, or the river, it was the smell of Libby.”
“Are you saying that Libby smelled?” I say indignantly, although I’m smiling.
“I’m saying that Libby smelled fresh and beautiful,” he says.
“Oh,” I say. “That’s okay, then,” and I pick up his hand and kiss it as he carries on talking, and before I know it I’m fast asleep.
I hate the morning after the night before, because you never know how you stand, and even though we wake up and have sex again, I’m still not sure what will happen once we both break the spell by getting out of bed, and, in my case, going to work, so I try to put the moment off for as long as possible by snuggling up to Nick, because let’s face it, it’s not as if he has anywhere to go.
But after the fifth time the alarm goes off I have to get up or I’ll be severely late for work, so I go into the kitchen to make some coffee, and Nick rolls over groaning about the sunlight.
I wrap myself up in the silk dressing gown that was a present from Jules last year, which I only ever wear if a man stays the night, so needless to say it still looks brand new, and try to fluff up my hair and wipe away the mascara from under my eyes in my powder-compact mirror in the living room.
I carry a mug of coffee back into the bedroom for Nick, and stand for a while watching him. He isn’t asleep, but he has his eyes closed and he’s lying there, the duvet covering his legs, the rest of his body bare, with one arm slung across his eyes, and I stand there thinking, fucking hell, he may not be what I’m looking for but Jesus is he gorgeous.
And as I stand there he opens his eyes and when he sees me he holds his arms out and says, “Come and give me a cuddle,” and as I’m lying in his arms and he’s making me laugh by giving me big, punchy kisses, I’m thinking, God, I could get used to this.
No, Libby. No, you could not. He’s not what you want. You really think you could spend your life in a grotty bedsit in Highgate? You think you could spend your social life in pubs drinking warm beer? You think you could forget all about your dreams of being a rich man’s wife and a lady who lunches? I don’t think so. No. I am not going to fall in love with this man. I’m going to be a woman of the nineties and just enjoy the sex, and so what if he happens to be affectionate and quite funny? That’s just a bonus.
Nick sits up in bed and drinks his coffee while I get ready for work. He makes me laugh when I open my wardrobe, and he says, “What on earth are those?” pointing to a load of hangers covered in tissue paper and cellophane.
“That’s my dry cleaning,” I say, as he shakes his head in amazement.
“Dry cleaning? Jesus, we really do come from different worlds.”
“I suppose you don’t even do ironing,” I laugh.
“Not if I can possibly help it,” he says, and then, when I’m putting my makeup on in the bathroom mirror, he comes in and sits on the edge of the bath to talk to me and, as he puts it, “see what I’m doing.”
“What’s that for?” he keeps saying, as I root around in my makeup bag and pull out yet another suspiciously alien thing—at least to his eyes.
“I dunno,” he says eventually, shaking his head as I pout at my perfect reflection. “If you ask me you look far better without anything.”
“Now I know you’re joking,” I say, because I’d never dare leave my house without the full appliance of science.
“No, I’m serious,” he says. “You don’t need to wear all that makeup. I know there are some women who do need it because without it they look like complete dogs, but you’re really pretty naturally, and you honestly do look better without.”
I don’t know about you, but flattery, for me, will get anyone just about anywhere they want to go, and I could kiss him for saying that. In fact, I do. I completely forget about the makeup bit and just concentrate on the pretty bit. He says I’m pretty! He thinks I’m pretty!
By the time we leave the house and walk up to the tube station, I’m flying as high as a kite. Not that I’ve fallen in love, not even close, but it’s just so nice to have had a night of snuggling up to someone, to have someone to talk to in the morning, to have compliments again.
But as we separate in the tube station, him to go north, me to go to Kilburn, I do feel a tiny twinge, because even though I know this isn’t going to go anywhere, I don’t think I can stand it if he just says, “Bye.” I think Nick must see this in my face, because he puts his arms around me and gives me a huge hug.
“That was the nicest night I’ve had in ages,” he says, while my heart sinks, because surely this is the lead-in to, “Take care.”
But no. I’m wrong.
“When can I see you again?” he says next, and, despite myself, I feel like doing a little jig on the spot.
“Umm,” I say, pulling away and digging my diary out from my bag. I flick the pages open and have a quick look. “I’m a bit busy this week,” I say. “So either the weekend or next week?”
Please say weekend, I think.
“Saturday?” he says.
“Great,” I say, beaming.
“Okay,” he says. “Why don’t you come to me?”
“What, and set foot in your hovel?”
Nick laughs. “We could go out for something to eat. I’ll give you a call at work to arrange a time. How’s that?”
It’s fine. It would have been better if he’d arranged a time there and then, because once a man says he’s going to call you, even if you know you’re going to see him again, you still sit and wait for his call, but hell, at least I have a firm date, if not a time, and I’m suddenly feeling a lot happier than I’ve felt in months.
“You look like the cat that got the cream,” says Jo, our super-trendy receptionist at the office.
“Do I?” I say innocently, but I can’t help it, a huge Cheshire cat grin plasters itself to my face.
“You’re in love, aren’t you?” she says.
“Nope.” I shake my head. “Definitely not. But”—and I skip away at this point, just turning back before I disappear through the doorway—“I may well be in lust.” And I wink at her before making my way to my desk.
Do I get any work done? Do I hell. I sit and moon at my desk, looking out the window and shivering with lust at the occasional flashbacks of my passion-filled night.
And the flashbacks seem to come at the most ridiculous times. I’ll be talking on the phone to a journalist, and suddenly, mid-sentence, a picture of Nick licking my neck slides into my head and I’ll pause, grin and lose the plot completely.
It really isn’t that I’m falling for him, it’s just so damned nice to have had a gorgeous man in my bed, to have been reminded that I am attractive, sexy, that I can still pull.
Because, to be perfectly honest, I’ve been starting to doubt myself these last six months. Not hugely, because there haven’t been that many men I’ve been interested in, but I do have a tendency to fall for the ones who will never be interested in me, and the ones that fall for me are generally pretty revolting.
I can’t figure out why I fall for the wrong ones. Jules can’t figure it out either. I meet these men, fall desperately in love, and become friends with them in the mistaken hope that one day they’ll see the error of their ways and realize they’re madly attracted to me. But of course that doesn’t happen. I just go out with them as friends and misinterpret every look, every sigh, every touch, and try to convince myself they’re about to make a
move, and each time I end up feeling like shit, because yet another man I fancy isn’t interested.
The last time it happened was Simeon. I made a beeline for him at a press launch, and, because I fancied him, was the brightest, funniest, sparkiest person I could be, and naturally Simeon thought I was great.
But thinking I’m great doesn’t mean he fancied me, and I set off on a mission to make Simeon feel the same way. I started by phoning him a couple of times a week, and he didn’t seem to mind, he always sounded really pleased to hear from me, which is hardly surprising since I did all the talking, digging up my wittiest stories to make him laugh.
And eventually I invited him to a party, and spent the whole evening glued to his side, and he didn’t seem to mind that either. In fact, he rather seemed to like it.
And gradually I forced my friendship upon him until he had no choice but to be friends with me, and soon he was phoning me as often as I was phoning him, and each time my heart would lift and I’d convince myself he was slowly starting to feel the same way.
Eventually we ended up at a party, where Simeon made a beeline for a short brunette with crappy dress sense and an American accent, and I stood on the sidelines watching this and feeling like shit.
And a week later when he phoned, full of excitement at his date with the American the evening before, I put down the phone and burst into tears, and that was when I decided I’d had enough of falling in love with men who didn’t want me. I was going to let someone fall in love with me, and they’d have to treat me like a princess for me to be even the slightest bit interested.
But that’s love. Lust is something completely different, and it feels like ages since I’ve been attracted to someone who feels the same way about me, and okay, that doesn’t mean anything, it certainly doesn’t mean Nick’s The One, but it just makes me feel good about myself, which is good. Isn’t it?
In fact, I’m feeling so good that I’m not the slightest bit stressed about my job, which is a bloody miracle, because lately I’ve been given more and more accounts and I have to confess that there are times when I really don’t know how I’m going to cope.