Page 76 of On Circus Lane

I stare at it for a while and then roll over, looking unseeing out at the darkness. I wanted him to go, and he’s done as I asked.So why do I feel almost lonely without him?The question stays in my mind until the drink and the aftermath of fantastic sex pull me under, and I slide into sleep in a bed that smells of Tom.

Chapter Ten

BEE

Icome awake in a tangle of warm bedsheets that smell of sex and Tom’s cologne. For an instant, my mind is blank, and then all the memories come flooding back with the force of a tsunami—the heft and length of his cock, the scent of his pubes, the feel of his weight on me, and our sweat mingling.

I groan, rubbing my eyes, and as I move, I feel the stretched soreness in my arse. My cock hardens, but I ignore it. It’s already gotten me in quite enough trouble this holiday.

I fumble for my glasses to better see the day. Rolling towards the window shows me a grey and white Edinburgh washed in monochrome. Thick clouds heavy with snow lie low over the city, with an occasional sunbeam forcing its way through the murk and lighting up a building in a startling dazzle of gold stone.

Is Tom out there now or still in bed?My belly churns with nerves, and I don’t know why. My morning afters are usually coloured with irritation if the bloke has slept over, accompanied by a strong desire for them to fuck off.

Tom left after sex last night. He hasn’t bought me a wedding ring and breakfast in bed this morning. He’s stayed away.

So, why am I so nervous? I think the answer may lie in how much I like him and the fact that despite fucking him, I not onlywant to do it again as soon as possible, but I also want to be with him.

I’m thinking about seeing his high-boned face and broad shoulders, that mischievous smile of his, and the rich laughter that makes me smile. I wonder if we’ll be spending the day together again, and instead of dread, my heart skips a beat, and excitement fills me.

Shit, this isn’t good. I really don’t need to go home with a bad case of feelings.

Pushing away that dreadful thought, I throw the covers back and head for the shower. Half an hour later, I’m dressed in jeans, and another of my vintage finds, this one a navy fisherman’s roll-neck jumper. I pause outside the closed living room door. I can hear loud laughter and voices from inside, so people are obviously up. After wiping my damp palms on my jeans, I open the door.

Everyone stops talking for a horrible second, looking up from their plates and cups, and then they all chorus variations on good mornings. The radio is playing “I Was Born on Christmas Day,” and the room looks warm and cosy.

“Sorry, I’m late,” I say hoarsely. Hopefully, they’ll think it’s just morning hoarseness rather than me sucking Tom’s cock down my throat.

“Oh, you’re not late at all,” Sal exclaims. “We’re waiting for Theo and Georgina, but we’re all a bit hungover, so we’re taking it slow.”

“Oh, did you go to a bar after the ghost walk?” I shut my mouth with a snap as I just advertised that Tom and I were not at the bar. Are they wondering why?

Freddy groans. “My hangover feels like I got kicked in the head.”

“Maybe a ghost did it in revenge for you treading on that grave,” Sal says.

“It was very dark in that graveyard.” Freddy grimaces. “How was I to know?”

“Maybe by the fact that it was grassy. That’s when you have to be wary in a cemetery.”

They carry on talking, and my eyes fly to Tom as if I’m a magnet and he’s my due north. He’s sitting on the sofa, his sock-clad feet up on a pouffe, and Freddy is lounging against him. I’d been coming to think of it as “our” sofa. And now I’m wondering if he got up earlier and waited for me to arrive, but I didn’t. That’s an awful thought, and my eyes immediately search his face.

Is he sad? Have I upset him? Ugh, why am I so fucking bothered?

However, he looks his usual self, his face creased in a wide smile and his hair flopping over his forehead. He looks warm and comfortable, and my desire to fall into his lap is so strong that it’s startling. He shoots me a wink that no one notices as they all seem to be talking at once. My smile back is far too wide, and when I find my fingers twitching with the desire to wave at him coyly, I make an immediate beeline for the kettle. Maybe tea will help.

Tea made, I edge over to the others. There aren’t any seats free, but Tom pushes out the pouffe. “Sit down.”

I collapse onto it, and Ivy grins wickedly at me before leaning in. “Hard night?” she whispers.

I shoot her a repressive look, but it’s never worked before, so I’m unsurprised that it doesn’t work now. I eye Tom nervously, but he’s answering something Freddy asked him and isn’t paying attention.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say primly.

She chuckles. “Fair enough. You’ll tell me later.”

The thing is, I always tell hereverything. No detail is so sordid that it can’t be confided to Ivy. However, now I findmyself reluctant, and I don’t know why. I don’t want to share what Tom was like. Somehow, that seems private, which is completely ridiculous.

My silence seems to have amused her because her eyes are twinkling.

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