Page 53 of Pride and Privilege

“Yes. I keep it next to my lobster cracker and caviar spoons.” He winked as he bit into a piece of chicken, and she watched, her brain unhelpfully commenting,My tongue has been in there…

She tore her attention away and stowed it securely on the TV. But although that’s where her eyes looked, every other sense was laser-focused on the man at her side. The kiss felt like a third person in the room, sitting squashed between them on the sofa, its head turning from side to side, looking wide-eyed from him to her and back again and going,Now what?

Maybe he wasn’t going to say anything. Maybe that kiss had been nothing but what they’d pretended—a tipsy little joke, soon forgotten. It was probably best that way. If he took it seriously, he might feel obliged to consult his moral code, say they couldn’t live together, couldn’t work together, not if it led to boundaries being blurred. He was her boss. This could not happen.

Chicken finished, Roscoe started rummaging through the carrier bag it had come in.

“Still hungry?” she asked.

“Looking for a serviette.”

She laughed. “They’re not going to provide heated lemon towels at the Cluck’N’Tuck.”

He gave her a disdainful look but gave up the search and went into the kitchen. She heard the faint beep of the microwave, and he returned a moment later with…two heated lemon towels in plastic wrap.

“They’re handy when eating lobster,” he said, grinning at the way she shook her head in disbelief.

“Only you.”

“Only me,” he agreed, still smiling as he wiped his fingers clean. “Here…”

He knelt down in front of her, pulled out the second towel and held his hand out, asking for hers. She blushed, but she did it—gave him her hand, let him wipe her fingers clean. He gestured for her other hand, and she gave him that one, too, heart racing as he gently cleaned her fingers, his head bowed over his task.

“You don’t need to…” she protested—far too late. He had already finished, but her brain had struggled to conjure any words at all while it trembled, giddy, confused.

Then he folded the towel to a clean section and wiped the corner of her mouth, his other hand holding her jaw. Gently, slowly, he cleaned her, eyes focused on that, not meeting hers, until he finished, dropped the towel and looked at her, his other hand still cradling her cheek.

“I’m sorry.”

She didn’t need to ask what for.

He stroked his thumb over her cheek, almost to her lips, and his eyes dipped. She didn’t breathe. Couldn’t. But he sighed and dropped his hand, sat back on the edge of the coffee table. It didn’t do much to reduce the impact of his presence. His knees nearly touched hers, but he was higher now, looking down on her, eyes serious and weighted. “That was wrong of me, back inthe takeaway place. I shouldn’t have done that. I let a joke get out of hand.”

“Ross…”

“I was tempted to take the coward’s way out, pretend it was nothing. But I can’t do that. As your landlord. Your boss. I can move out, I have another place to stay. I—”

“Don’t.”

“Poppy, this can’t—”

“We’re both adults. I’m consenting.”

His gaze tightened at the word. A flash of heat. A hint of the Roscoe she remembered, unleashed and hungry, voice a rough promise in her ear.

All night, Poppy. Can you take me—

She shifted position, heat swamping her inside and out. They were poised on the edge. They both knew it. Moments away from choosing whether or not to—

“Kiss me,” she said, eyes meeting his, the words out of her mouth before she could call them back.

Roscoe almost flinched. He went deadly still. “I can’t.”

“But you were terrible,” she said, making herself smile—summoning all her courage as she forced herself out onto this precarious bridge. She held the smile on her face, gripping it as though it was the only thing stopping her falling. “I think, for the sake of all women everywhere, I need to help you practise.”

Join me,she begged, smile starting to falter.Please step out and join me halfway…

Roscoe’s eyes were dark, entirely serious. But he said, “Is that so?”

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