Page 75 of On Circus Lane

“Is it? Well, that’s a bit basic.”

His body shakes with laughter. “If you want, you can add a little something extra, like squeezing me and telling me how wonderful I am in bed.”

“You? I did all the work.”

He chuckles. “Well, you’re excellent in bed.”

“Am I? That’s good to know.”

“I can put it in writing if you like. Especially that bit where you rotate your hips.”

I snort and pinch his nipple, making him jerk and laugh out loud.

“Who does that during cuddle time? You’re amonster, Bee Bannister.”

I hesitate, not able to believe what I want to say.

“You okay?” he asks. “You’re awfully quiet, which I somehow know isn’t a good thing.”

“It’s not Bee Bannister.”

“What?”

“That’s not my real name.”

I can feel his interest now. “No? What is?”

“You can’t laugh.”

“Now Ireallyam intrigued. Spill it.”

I take a deep breath. “It’s Beethoven Amadeus Bannister.”

There’s a long silence as he digests the full horror and then he says, “That’syour real name?”

I close my eyes in resignation. Now the pisstaking starts. “My father was a great fan of the classics.”

My eyes fly open as he rolls me to my back and hovers over me. His eyes are warm and somehow knowing, as if he can see right down to the small boy who was always a little isolated through his family, through his intellect, and even through his bloody name. Then I blink as he leans down and kisses me. When he pulls back, he rubs his nose against mine, making my eyes cross before rolling onto his back again and pulling me close again.

“It’s nice to meet you, Beethoven Amadeus Bannister,” he says quietly.

My eyes get hot. I drop a kiss on his shoulder and snuggle in, and the room falls silent, with only the sounds of our soft breathing and the patter of snow at the window. One hand holds mine tight across his torso, and his other is raised, stroking slowly through my hair. It’s hypnotic, and I feel my eyes closing in pleasure.This cuddling business isn’t that bad, I think begrudgingly.

My eyes fly open as he moves. “Where are you going?” I ask before I can censure myself.

He drops a kiss on my mouth. “To my bed.”

“Yourbed?” I say too loudly.

He hesitates. “Well, yes. You don’t want me in yours. You said that on the way home.” His lip twitches. “At least five times.”

“Did I?”

He nods solemnly. “You told me that under no circumstances did you share a bed for longer than it takes to come. It was very stern and rather like going to bed with a headmaster.” He winks. “It was curiously erotic, though.” He hesitates. “Shall I go, then?”

I stare at him. I would like nothing more than for him to come back to bed and cuddle me some more, but the fierceness of that need is unsettling, so instead of telling him to stay, I just nod. “If you don’t mind,” I say.

His eyes soften, which surprises me. I’d have thought he’d be irritated by that. He leans in and kisses me again. “Until tomorrow, Beethoven,” he says softly, and then he’s gone, the door clicking softly behind him.

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