Page 25 of The Invitation

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“I dashed into the bathroom to hide. He followed me in.”

“Why did you hide?” she asks but doesn’t give me a second to answer. “Oh my God, you like him!”

“I don’t know him.” But my hands certainly do. I hit the call button again.

“Wait, we need a three-way.” Abbie’s phone rustles as she dials Charley and lets her join the call. “Amelia’s hands just had sex with the disgustingly hot guy’s hands from the spa.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Charley asks, and then immediately apologises to her babies for her bad language.

“I just saw him in the lobby at work,” I explain, trying to get Charley up to speed, looking over my shoulder. I freeze, snapping my mouth shut. And there he is, watching me beat the crap out of the call button while talking urgently down the line. He smiles at the phone on my ear, surely knowing I’m putting in an emergency call to my girlfriends.Great.“He’s looking at me now,” I whisper. “I’m fucking melting.”

The girls laugh, and the doors open. I rush inside and start breathing easy again.

“Talk to me about hand sex,” Charley orders, clattering and bangs happening in the background. “It’s a new one to me.”

“He followed me into the bathroom. Helped me wash my hands. I think I groaned. IknowI groaned. His dick was fucking solid and pulsing into my—” I snap my mouth shut when he appears at theelevator doors, stopping them from shutting. “I’ve got to go,” I whisper as he steps inside.

“Amelia, no!” Abbie yells as I pull my mobile away from my ear. “His dick was what?”

The doors close. “I want to hear more about hand sex!” Charley adds.

I slam my thumb down on the red icon to end the call and shut my friends up, dying on the inside as he joins me. He’s so close. So I take a step away, suffocating, staring at the mirrored doors, my eyes on his lovely brown dress shoes and perfectly fitted trousers. I can’t stop my gaze creeping up his legs. “Still stiff,” he murmurs.

“Jesus Christ,” I say, laughing. “And now you’re following me into the elevator.”

He leans past me, his arm brushing my breast. He stills. “I’m not the only one with something stiff around here.”

I press my lips together and will my nipples to pipe down as he hits the button for floor three. Frans Franklin & Co Solicitors. Okay, so he’s definitely here on business. It’s a coincidence. Just a coincidence.

The elevator starts moving, and he steps back into position beside me, his hands joined in front of him. Those fucking hands. My mobile starts ringing. Abbie. I reject the call. Then Charley. I reject her too, peeking out the corner of my eye at him. And quickly looking away when he catches me.

The lift stops, the door opens and he steps out, giving me air. Or some, at least. He gazes at me through hooded eyes. “My hands want to have sex with your hands again.”

He tilts his head, and the doors close. “Fucking hell.” I fall back against the wall and fan my face with my salad pot, trying to get my body under control before I combust. I laugh to myself. Cringe. “Fucking hell,” I murmur.

By the time I’ve gathered myself, the girls have called me a further five times and I’m back on my floor much later than I hoped. I have a call to prep for. I text them that I’ll see them at the gym after work and ignore their disgust but smile to myself when Charley says she’ll bethere. Obviously my recent encounter with the good-looking bastard from Arlington Hall is good enough reason to cancel the playdate and get her arse to the gym while the kids are in the creche.

Gary’s in my office when I get there, still somewhat flustered. “Hey,” I say, dumping my lunch on my desk. “How was your meeting with the partners?”

“Uptight Uriel is still uptight, and Sue is as frightening as ever.” He drops a file on my desk. “Check out the new short-term plans released by Hello World. You might like them.”

“Thanks.” I fall into my chair and pull my salad close, but my appetite has run for the hills, my stomach in knots. I scrunch my nose and push it away.

“The conference next week,” Gary goes on.

“What about it?”

“The venue’s changed.”

“Oh. What happened?”

“The Hilton double-booked us. Luckily, they have an alternative option.”

“Where?”

“Arlington Hall,” he says, easy-breezy, smiling.What?“It’s in Oxfordshire. Dead posh. Every cloud and all that.”

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