About Last Night

After I left here on Saturday, I decided never to see you again.”
He was sliding the frittata under the broiler, so she could only see his profile, but damn if he didn’t appear to be smirking.
“I know that, darling. It wounds my pride you won’t go out with me, but I can console myself with the knowledge that when you do see me, you can’t keep your knickers on for ten minutes running.”
She threw her cookie at him, feigning indignation. “You bastard! Are you calling me easy?”
“I like you easy. Besides, you’re not to blame. Who’d want to wear wet knickers?

All of it felt like stolen time, an end rather than a beginning. But he didn’t know why, and he didn’t know what to do differently.

Cath called all the shots. She seemed more comfortable that way, so Nev had decided not to press. Much. Instead, he looked for the loopholes and exploited them.

Cath didn’t feel like a mistake to him. She felt like a beginning. A clean canvas, ready to be painted. A gorgeous new idea.

Give me your phone number?” She smiled, looking down at her lap.
“Sorry. No. It would be a mistake.”
“Would it help if I promised not to be?

He traced the shape of the bird, wondering what she could have done to merit writing herself a memo on her body.
“It’s a very permanent sort of reminder.”
She raised herself up slightly, catching his gaze and holding it. “They were really bad mistakes.

He was claiming her, marking her with his touch, but she didn’t feel possessed so much as she felt protected. Cherished. Wanted. The unaccustomed intimacy of it rendered her fragile, vulnerable as a robin’s egg. Somehow with him it was all right. He wouldn’t take advantage. City was one of the good guys.

He wouldn’t hurt her. Never on purpose. Nev was going to hurt her accidentally, and when he did it would be her own fault.

How many times did you come last night?” he asked in a low voice. Three.
“I’m not answering that question.”
“You don’t have to. I remember every one. You like me fine.

I didn't know you owned clothes with colors."

"I have a few things that aren't black."

"Of course you do, darling. Only all the ones I've seen are very small, and I get to take them off with my teeth. You've trained me to salivate at the sight of color, like one of Pavlov's dogs. Your top is making me very hungry.

I have a few things that aren't black." "Of course you do darling. Only the ones I've seen are very small, and I get to take them off with my teeth. You've trained me to salivate at the sight of color, like one of Pavlov's dogs. Your top is making me very hungry

I'm a thoroughly respectable woman."
"You don't kiss like one.

I’m pretty sure you just kissed me.”
“Yes, I did. Shall I apologize?”
“What for?”
“It was terribly impolite. I didn’t ask your permission.

I promise you, whatever we are together, it's not a mistake. It's too good to be a mistake.

Is he actually good?” Judith asked. “He’s incredible.” “Sorry, are we talking about the painting or the shagging?” Nev asked. “The painting!” He grinned. “Right.

I thought you didn’t sit,” she said.
The dimple appeared. “The way I’ve worked it out, this is the closest thing to a first date we’re going to get. On a date, I sit.”
“This isn’t a date. It’s a commute.

It’s different for you,” she said. “You’re a man.”
“I was beginning to fear you hadn’t noticed.

I’ve reformed. The kissing is sort of a holdover.”
“Don’t reform. I like you bad.

I would use my tongue. First through those pretty knickers, and then when I had you soaking and thrashing round, I’d rip them off and spread your thighs wide and hold you open while I made a banquet of you.

Mom had considered Cath a bit of a hoochie, but the truth was that Cath always opened her heart when she opened her legs.

Nev was the man in the parlor and the painter in his studio, the banker and the rugby player. The boyfriend who bought her prawn crisps and rubbed her back when she cried. The tender lover. The caged beast who came out to play when they got naked together. He could be any of them.

Oh, he was perfect. An orgasm— just for her— and a compliment. She would bottle him and sell him and make her fortune.

She wasn’t quiet. Neither was he. While it lasted, they were as close as two people could be. But afterward, she didn’t stay the night.

She wished he weren't so damned fit. Running away was a lot harder when the guy you were fleeing kept in such an excellent shape. -Cath Talarico

The gleam in those green-brown eyes was positively rakish. She hadn’t thought City had a speck of rakishness in him.

The smile widened, and she decided it ought to be classified as a misdemeanor. Grinning with Intent to Discombobulate.

They weren’t lies but promises, however silently made. He wanted to keep her. She wanted to let him. They both wanted for the wrong reasons.

What's your name?" she asked.
He laughed. "Nev."
She sat up suddenly, bracing her elbows on the bed. "Short for Neville?"
It was the world's dorkiest name. Nearly as bad as Rupert. "I never thought I'd be penetrated by a Neville." she said wonderingly. "Maybe a Colin, or a Simon but -"
"Shut up.

You brought me here with impure motives?” The idea gave her a stupid thrill.
He shook his head. “No. I developed them after you arrived.

Your past— It’s not a series of mistakes, love. It’s just you. All the things that happened to you that made you who you are.