The Secret Mother(51)

‘I go out,’ he says defensively.

I widen my eyes and we both laugh.

‘Okay, sometimes I go out,’ he amends. ‘Occasionally I go out. All right, once in a blue moon I meet the lads down the pub. You know, exciting stuff. Truth be told, I’m a bit of a workaholic. Moretti’s has kind of got under my skin this past year.’

I nod. ‘I can see how you’d want to spend all your time here. It’s a pretty amazing place.’

‘Glad you think so.’

I hope he doesn’t ask me about the promotion again. I’m not quite ready to give him an answer.

‘I like having you working here,’ he says, looking me in the eye. I stare back for a moment, but I can’t hold his gaze. I’m nervous about what might be happening. The butterflies in my stomach flap their wings. I take a sip of wine and spear a cushion of ravioli.

‘How come you’re not married?’ I ask, finding my voice again, but feeling immediately embarrassed for asking such a personal question. ‘Sorry,’ I stammer. ‘Tell me to mind my own business if you’d rather not answer that.’

‘No, I don’t mind,’ he says with a shrug. ‘It’s a boring story about an Italian boy and his girlfriend. The boy thought they’d live happily ever after. The girl shagged his best mate.’

‘No!’ I say. ‘That’s awful. What a bitch.’

He smiles and nods. ‘Yeah.’

‘When did that happen, if you don’t mind me asking?’

‘Couple of years ago. I should’ve known something wasn’t right between us. I asked her to marry me three times, and each time she wanted to wait.’ His tone is light, but I can see the pain behind his eyes.

I put a hand on his arm. ‘I’m really sorry.’

‘It’s fine, all ancient history. And anyway, I didn’t invite you to dinner so I could wail and gnash my teeth over ex-girlfriends.’

‘I don’t mind. Wail away, it’s better than talking about my shitty life.’

There’s a pause before we both dissolve into laughter.

‘God, we’re a right barrel of laughs,’ I say.

‘Yeah, you can tell I don’t have many dinner guests,’ he replies, rolling his eyes and topping up our glasses. ‘I need to brush up on my social skills.’

I realise that I’m actually enjoying myself. It’s a novel situation. ‘I think your social skills are just fine,’ I say.

He catches my eye and then takes a deep breath. ‘In case you haven’t guessed by now, I like you, Tess.’

I stop laughing and scan his features to see if he’s messing with me. To see if he means what I think he means.

‘I like you a lot,’ he murmurs. Then he leans forward and, without warning, kisses me on the mouth, his lips soft and achingly tender. The fresh, warm scent of him surrounds me.

Before I know what’s happening, we’re on our feet, my fingers caught up in his dark hair, his hands sliding beneath my jumper, his touch electrifying. We’re kissing so hard it sets the core of my body alight.

‘Tessa,’ he murmurs as he trails kisses down my neck and across to my ear lobe, making me shiver with pleasure.

I don’t care about my earlier doubts or what happens after tonight, all I know is that I need him now.

‘Let’s go upstairs,’ I gasp.

‘You sure?’ He pulls away from me for a moment, his dark eyes soft and enquiring.

‘Yes.’

We tumble out of the kitchen and I’m hardly aware of our surroundings as Ben pushes me up against the wall. All I want is his hands, his tongue, his body hard against mine. He stops, and I pull him back towards me, but he resists. Instead, he takes my hand and leads me up the narrow staircase to his bedroom. We shed our clothes in a blur of tangled kisses, and fall onto his bed. I don’t feel anything like myself: I’m hungry, angry, demanding. Skin, salt, sex – he gives me all I need to blot out the rest of the world. I don’t want this to end. Not ever.





Chapter Twenty-Five





I wake up to darkness. Hot. Panicked. Where am I? And then I remember: me and Ben. We… Oh God. I’m in his bed, his arm draped around me. I slept with my boss! That sounds so seedy. But it was more than that, wasn’t it? We had a moment. A real moment together. But he’s still my boss. Shit. Has this put my job in jeopardy? I inhale and try to clear my head, squint at my watch to make out the time – 2.30 in the morning. I’ll tell him it was a mistake – no, that sounds too harsh. I’ll tell him it was an amazing night, but probably a bad idea. I’ll make light of it, joke about how we got carried away. Then, hopefully, we can go back to being friends again.

I turn towards him, my eyes adjusting to the darkness, taking in his features – the strong jawline with a hint of new stubble; full lips, Roman nose, dark eyebrows, and that stray lick of hair that falls over one eye. In another lifetime, Ben and I could have been something, I’m sure of it. But in this life, things are too difficult. I can’t drag him into my drama, my sadness. He’ll go off me. He’ll run for the hills and then I’ll have lost him, too. He’ll leave me heartbroken and I’ll have to stop working at Moretti’s, and find a crappy job in a soulless chain-store garden shop somewhere. It’s better this way.