‘What do you mean, he’s not your boyfriend?’ said Joan, ignoring the rest. ‘You said Nick wants to see you. It’s not one of these modern open sort of things, is it? Where he can do what he likes and so can you?’
‘Not exactly.’ To be truthful, she wasn’t sure what it was, but she couldn’t very well say that.
‘I’d like to meet him,’ stated Joan definitely.
Cory’s nerves jangled. Joan had only met William once and it had been such an unmitigated disaster that they hadn’t repeated it. ‘I’ve only seen him twice myself,’ she objected. ‘I can hardly ask him round for an inspection by you.’
‘Not an inspection.’ Joan fixed her with a look that said she wasn’t about to be deflected. ‘Just to dinner.’
‘Not yet,’ Cory said firmly. Maybe not at all. She was due to go out to the theatre with him in the middle of the week and she was preparing herself already for the possibility that things might have changed between them. The weekend they had just shared had been…good—she wouldn’t allow herself a more enthusiastic summing up—but they might meet again and there would be nothing there. For him at least. And that would be fine, it would. She was expecting nothing from this relationship that wasn’t really a relationship at all. She was ordinary, for crying out loud.
She had spent most of the day in the house of a family who hadn’t a clue about personal hygiene or the most elementary social graces, trying to ascertain if the children were neglected out of intent or simply because their young parents didn’t have a clue.
She had returned home exhausted and stinking of the smell peculiar to the Massey family—a mixture of cat’s urine, dirt, cooking smells and body odour—which permeated every nook and cranny and ingrained itself into clothes, hair and nails. After washing her hair and having a long, hot bath she had gone round to her aunt’s house for dinner as she did every Monday, only to find that the odour seemed to have lodged itself somewhere between the end of her nose and her brain.
She could just imagine Nick’s reaction if he had seen her earlier. She almost laughed to herself. Nick, with his incredible flat, cars, designer clothes and immaculate appearance. No, they were miles, tens of thousands of miles apart. It was never going to come to anything. He was like a bright shooting star and she was like a damp squib.
‘Not yet?’ Joan was the original British bulldog when she wanted to be. ‘When then? Now your parents are gone I feel responsible for you.’
Now Cory did laugh out loud. ‘You know as well as I do that Mum and Dad barely knew I was alive,’ she said, just the merest trace of bitterness showing through. ‘And they would never have claimed to be responsible for me.’
‘Their loss.’ Joan sighed, looking into the lovely young face opposite her and wondering how two intelligent people like Cory’s parents could have been so criminally blind to their own daughter’s needs. ‘But I do worry about you. I can’t help it. And I know you are a perfectly modern woman who is in control of her life and her destiny, but still…’
Cory wasn’t at all sure about the control bit. ‘Maybe in a couple of months,’ she said placatingly. If they were still seeing each other then. Which she doubted. The tug at her heartstrings which followed was worrying.
‘I shall keep you to that,’ Joan said with great satisfaction. ‘Now, have a piece of the shortbread I made this afternoon with your coffee. I’m really getting the hang of this cooking lark, aren’t I, Rufus,’ she added to the dog sitting drooling at her feet. ‘After all those years at work when I ate out or had a ready meal in front of the TV, I’ve found it’s very satisfying to start a meal from scratch with fresh ingredients.’
‘You and Nick are going to have a lot to talk about,’ said Cory wryly.
They did. Two months later—months in which she and Nick had seen each other almost every night—Cory found herself watching him charm his way into her aunt’s affections. He had arrived at the house with a vast collection of herbs, all in little plant pots—‘thought it’d go down better than a bunch of flowers’, he’d murmured to Cory, who’d arrived early to help her aunt with the dinner—and an enormous hide bone for Rufus. The dog had promptly claimed Nick as his own personal companion, sitting on his foot all through dinner and then plonking himself down at the side of Nick’s armchair when they’d retired to Joan’s conservatory overlooking her pretty little garden.
The doors had been open to the warm August evening and in the distance somebody had been cutting their lawn, the drone of the lawnmower soothing. When Nick and her aunt had begun an in-depth conversation concerning the merits of certain herbs in certain dishes and other gastronomic delights, Cory had found herself beginning to doze. She’d had a hard week with a particularly harrowing case, and now the big meal, comfortable chair, mellow evening sunshine and general sense of well-being was seductive.
She was woken by a lingering kiss on her lips. She opened her eyes to find her aunt was nowhere to be seen. ‘Where’s she gone?’ she asked Nick drowsily.
‘Your aunt? Taken Rufus for a quick walk in the park. Apparently they have a little routine at nights now her leg’s better. Rufus has a chance to meet Oscar—an Old English Sheepdog,’ Nick explained knowledgeably, ‘and Periwinkle—a German Shepherd. According to your aunt, they are the canine version of the Three Musketeers and Rufus is bereft if they don’t meet up.’ His expression changed. ‘Were you bored earlier?’ he asked softly.
‘Bored?’ She gazed into the hard handsome face and wondered if he was aware of how devastatingly gorgeous he was. ‘How could anyone be bored listening to the merits of basil and thyme, or curd cheese over butter icing?’
He was used to her chaffing him. She had decided in the very early days that the only way she was going to hold her own in this relationship was not to fall foul of his charm.
He grinned at her now and she caught her breath as the blue eyes crinkled sexily at the corners. ‘Worked though, didn’t it,’ he said with a great deal of satisfaction. ‘Your aunt is putty in my hands.’
So was she but she wasn’t about to let him know that. ‘I’ll set her straight another time,’ she promised drily.
‘Come here.’ His voice had changed and as she stood up he pulled her into his arms, his tone husky as he said, ‘I’ve been wanting to do this all evening.’ His kiss was fierce, hungry, and she matched him in fierceness and hunger. It was always like that. And she knew the day was fast approaching when he would want it all, want her in his bed. She wanted it too. It had never been that way with William. Nothing was as it had been with William. That ought to be comforting but it wasn’t because she just couldn’t bring herself to believe that the bubble wouldn’t burst.
They stood moulded together and swaying slightly as their hands explored each other while their mouths fused. Nick nipped and sipped and savoured the sweet taste of her, pressing the tip of his tongue against her throat where her pulse pounded in reaction. He knew just what buttons to press, exactly how to please her. She knew going to bed with this man would be an experience she’d never get over. She would be his slave for ever.
‘Pity your aunt’s going to be back any minute.’ Reluctantly he raised his head, his voice husky as he adjusted her clothing.
His eyes had turned a deeper blue than usual and she smiled at him, the thrill she always felt at knowing how much he wanted her sending little ripples down her spine.
‘I want you, Cory.’ He ran one fingertip down her throat and into the dip between her breasts and she shivered. ‘And you want me. Not in little snatched moments or an evening here and there.’