The Notting Hill Diaries: Ripped / Burned

I’d like to say lunch was delicious, but honestly I couldn’t have told you what I ate because Christmas lunch was all about the man seated next to me.

When he reached across and forked turkey onto my plate all I saw were lean, bronzed hands and a dusting of dark hair on his forearms. He’d rolled his sleeves to the elbow. I guessed that was as close to casual as this man got.

‘Enough?’

I looked at him blankly.

‘Turkey,’ he said gently and I blinked.

‘Yes. Thanks.’ What was it about a man’s forearms? Although, if I were honest, it wasn’t just his forearms. It was all of him.

He leaned forward to pick up a dish of potatoes and I saw the muscle flex in his powerful shoulders. Then he sat down again and this time he was thigh to thigh with me. Our legs might as well have been glued together.

I experimented and eased my leg away slightly, but his followed.

My heart swooped upwards like a paraglider hitting a thermal, taking my mood with it.

Rosie glanced at me. ‘Is it good?’

‘Oh, yes.’ I focused on my plate even though I knew she wasn’t talking about the turkey. ‘Brilliant. You’re brilliant.’

People were swapping stories about their Christmas traditions, but I didn’t hear a word because I had this noisy, happy sound ringing in my head.

Nico was here.

Sitting next to me.

And whatever our relationship had been in the past, right now it was hot and electric.

I decided one of us had to say something or we’d draw attention to ourselves. ‘So what sort of lawyer are you?’

He reached for his glass, although I’d noticed earlier that he was drinking water. Maybe he was afraid his control would slip if he drank alcohol. ‘A good one.’

‘That’s not an answer.’ I turned my head to look at him and of course that turned out to be a mistake because his wasn’t a face you wanted to look away from. I could have stared at him until I’d died of hunger, thirst or frustration, whichever came first. I could tell you at this rate it was going to be frustration.

And of course, he knew. ‘You really want to talk about law?’

There ought to be a law preventing a man driving a woman this crazy.

His voice was so soft I knew no one else would be able to hear him.

The blood was pumping through my veins and I could still feel his thigh pressed hard against mine.

I was just about to make a second attempt at polite conversation, when I felt his hand slide over my thigh. The warmth of his palm pressed through my jeans and I almost jumped out of my seat with shock.

I could no longer pretend any of this was an accident or that we were fused together because of a lack of space. He left his hand there, as if testing to see if I was going to jump, jog the table and knock all the glasses over.

When I didn’t move, he slid his hand higher up my thigh and no matter what anyone said about some men, I could tell you there was nothing wrong with his sense of direction. He knew exactly where he was going.

My stomach clenched. The excitement was almost painful. The chemistry was off the scale. I didn’t understand it, and I was good with all the sciences. I could explain nuclear fission but I couldn’t explain this. What I felt made no sense at all to me, but that didn’t stop me feeling it and also the frustration that came from being in public.

There always seemed to be something between me and sexual satisfaction. In this case it was denim and a room full of my friends.

I wished I’d worn a dress with stockings instead of skinny jeans and thigh-length boots, but he was obviously a man who didn’t let obstacles get in his way because his fingers moved higher and higher until he was pressing right there.

I knocked my wine glass over. Fortunately I’d already drunk half of it, so we had a puddle, not a lake.

‘Oh, crap.’

My sister threw me a look and a napkin. Then she turned back to her neighbour and continued the conversation.

Nico didn’t move his hand, nor did he relax the pressure. As I said, obviously not a man to let anything stand in his way. I felt shivery and weak. The atmosphere between us was heavy, thick and so scorching hot I was surprised we hadn’t set off the smoke alarm.

I decided I might as well make the most of the thigh-length boots and ran my foot up his calf.

‘More turkey, Hayley?’ A guy I knew vaguely from Rosie’s gym smiled at me from across the table and I smiled back, shook my head and murmured an acceptable response. It was a surprise to me I could still string a sentence together because I was gripped by raw desire and the delicious friction created by Nico’s clever, persistent fingers. The frustration was almost unbearable. I decided pleasure this good shouldn’t be one-way and slid my hand up his thigh and covered him. If I’d needed confirmation that he felt the same way, I had it now. His erection was a thick, hard ridge under my hand, pressing through the constraining fabric of his jeans. For a moment I was tempted to pull that zip down, but I decided I’d had enough public exposure for one year.

‘Answer me a question—’ His voice was soft and just for me.

Given where my hand was, I was worried about what the question might be.

‘Only the one?’ I had millions I wanted to ask him, and then I remembered my resolution to have a sex-only relationship. I’d never done it before, but I was fairly sure a sex-only relationship involved—well, sex only. Asking questions about other things, particularly family, was a fast way of turning it into something I didn’t want. ‘What’s your question?’

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