Million Love Songs(24)

‘How boring,’ Mason says, but we down our drinks anyway.

I’m surprised that he’s being so candid with me, but I like this softer, more thoughtful side of Mason.

The waitress brings our food and Mason orders more drinks. We busy ourselves with eating and, when we’ve finished, we settle back in the sofas.

‘I’ve talked enough about me. What about you, Ruby Brown? What do you want from life?’

‘I’m still trying to work that out too,’ I confess. ‘I’m recently divorced and am finding being single more difficult than I thought I would.’ Perhaps the gin – both doubles, I’d guess – is loosening my tongue. Mason is also surprisingly easy to talk to. Perhaps it’s the convivial surroundings. If I was part of a couple with plenty of cash, I’d definitely sign on the dotted line for membership here. ‘I just know that I don’t want to get into another relationship. I want time on my own to have some fun and try new things.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m open to anything,’ I tell him. ‘The more life experiences the better.’ Annoyingly, I get an unbidden flashback to Joe in his diving gear. Well, the particular bit where quite a lot of him wasn’t in his diving gear. I don’t really want that when I’m here having a perfectly nice time with Mason. ‘I’ve taken up scuba-diving.’

‘Cool,’ Mason says. ‘I did my dive training out in the Maldives.’

Of course he did. Not the bottom of Wolverton swimming pool for the likes of Mason Soames.

‘I’ve let my licence lapse now,’ he admits. ‘I’ve been more into skiing these last few years. My family have a chalet in Switzerland which I go out to.’

Hey, and my family like Toblerone, so we have something in common.

‘I’m not sure diving’s really for me,’ I admit. ‘The Maldives are beyond my meagre income.’ Then I realise that it’s Mason who provides my meagre income. ‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ I add hastily. ‘I like working at the Butcher’s Arms, but I don’t think it’s my forever job. Though it does mean that I’m going to have to consider a cheaper hobby unless I want to dive at a gravel pit in the Midlands.’

Birdwatching. Embroidery. Bridge.

He clinks his glass against mine. ‘Here’s to life experiences.’

‘To life experiences,’ I echo.

We polish off our drinks and then I find myself stifling a yawn. ‘I should go. I have work tomorrow.’

‘Me too. I thought we might have a dance before we leave. We haven’t checked out the dance floor yet and I can throw some great shapes.’

He’s a funny one is Mason. One minute, he’s all swagger, the next he seems to be eager to please, almost seeking approval. Perhaps having a daddy who’s as rich as Croesus but is a complete bastard means that you’re always trying to live up to unrealistic expectations. I don’t know. It’s late and I’m a bit pissed.





Chapter Twenty-One





He takes me by the hand and leads me to the dance floor. We are the only couple here which is just as well as you’d never manage to re-enact Saturday Night Fever in this space. The music is slow and soulful, Mason pulls me close and we sway together. I can feel the warmth of his body on mine, his breath against my hair. Every sense is on full alert and I think it’s just because it’s been a long, long time since I had good sex. Or even rubbish sex. Or even sex all by myself. The last six months that Simon and I were together had been particularly bad. But you don’t need me to go into detail. Suffice it to say that Mason is reviving dormant emotions. The heat of his hand through my blouse is more than distracting. His body is slender, all angles, but I can feel the firm muscles in his arms through his shirt. Must be all that skiing. He’s clearly a good mover too, sensual, and maybe that’s why he’s so popular with the ladies.

I don’t go home. We have another drink and another. Then we dance again. I feel light-headed and loose. Loose as in relaxed not in, you know, the other kind of loose. OK, I feel a bit loose in that way too. Mason is one hell of a sexy man and, despite vowing not to, I can see myself falling under his spell. Definitely no more gin for me.

When the song ends, I take the cue to move away from him. If I don’t go now, I never will. But he keeps me pressed against him and my resistance is low.

‘It’s late,’ I say, reluctantly. ‘I really should be going.’

‘You could stay,’ he murmurs softly, his lips so, so close to my ear. ‘I have an apartment on the next floor.’

I shake my head. ‘Bad idea. You should never sleep with the boss.’

‘I was only asking you in for coffee, you hussy,’ he teases. ‘What kind of boy do you think I am?’

A bad boy, Mason Soames. ‘I’ll call a cab.’

He stands away from me and gives me a reproachful look before saying, ‘Let me.’ So, as we walk to the door, he punches a number into his phone and orders a car for me. ‘We have an account with them. The bill will be sorted.’

‘Thanks. That’s very kind.’

‘My pleasure.’

When we reach the lift, he says, ‘Do you mind if we say goodnight here? I’d take you down to the lobby, but I’d like to go back in and have a word with the staff before they finish for the night.’