Page 27 of Midnight Wishes

‘What?’ Sarah blinked slowly, trying to bring her brain back into her body.

‘Your favourite artist. Who is it?’

He lifted himself on one elbow, blue eyes boring down into hers. She ought to go. But hisking-sizedbed—with its soft feather duvet, memory foam mattress, and pillows that were a perfect medium firmness—was coaxing her towards sleep. It would be so easy to drift off.

‘Oh. Wasn’t planning on it,’ she said, around a yawn. Five more minutes, then she’d leave.

‘Why not? I can see you naked, but this is an intimacy too far?’ Amusement sparked in every line of his face.

‘It’s just so much more fun keeping you waiting.’

He’d asked her each time they’d seen each other that week. Three surreptitious meetings that had involved one of themslipping out after Abby and Erik went to bed and venturing to the home of the other. Her eyes fluttered shut but, feeling the mattress shift, flew open again to find Alex hovering above her. It offered a spectacular view of his arms, and she wondered—after a string of cigarette-thin creative types—when obnoxious muscles had become so attractive. Probably around the same time as obnoxious smirks.

Which she was presently faced with.

‘I’ll remember that for next time, Princess.’ His lips ghosted down her throat towards her breasts, never quite making contact. When he reached her nipple, he paused, blew out a light breath that had her body stiffening in anticipation, and abruptly rolled away.

‘Bastard,’ she hissed.

‘It’s just so much more fun keeping you waiting.’

‘Not the same,’ she groaned.

‘Isn’t it? We both want something, and the other is holding out on us.’

‘Why do you care so much?’

Something that looked surprisingly like desperation transformed his pretty features for a fraction of a second. It was immediately replaced by a smirk. ‘Just do.’

***

He texted herguesses each day after that.

Alex: Basquiat?

Sarah: Not exactly my style.

Alex: Warhol?

Sarah: Seriously?

Alex: I thought you’d enjoy the critique of consumerism and hisattempts to equalise art.

Sarah: Sure. Not my favourite though.

Alex: Duchamp?

Sarah: Go fuck yourself.

Alex: Gladly. Can I think of you while I do it?

Sarah: I’ll give you a clue if you never ask me that again.

Sarah: We’re talking pre-19th century.

Alex: Raphael?

Sarah: No.

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