Page 74 of Enemies to Lovers

I don’t know!

You tell me!

Hope

I think …

Follow your heart

And if she’s busy

Follow your fanny.

Jamie scares me half to death when I get up there after dinner. It’s dark, there are no street lights, and I’m using my iPhone torch to see.

‘Sorry,’ he whispers, when I let out aGah!‘There is no way to loiter in the dark for a woman without it being innately creepy.’ I hit his arm and tell him he’s an idiot, and in the beam of my phone light I see him smirk and say, ‘Fright as an aphrodisiac? Maybe?’

‘Spoken like a true psychopath,’ I laugh, rubbing at my chest to catch my breath. ‘What are we even doing here?’ I ask. ‘Have youactuallyplanned to murder me?’

‘I feel like if I tell you the French for orgasm isthe little deathyou’ll accuse me of being off-topic,’ Jamie offers, to which I nod.

‘It feels like you’re stalling for time,’ I reply. ‘Which is inherently suspicious.’

‘Noted,’ he replies. ‘Take my hand then, and come this way.’

Jamie laces his fingers through mine, and I relish the touch of his skin; how easy it feels, how natural, to walk this way with him. I’m aware that’s a bit OTT for a fling, but I figure it’s okay to enjoy the bits of this that I do enjoy – if I withhold the pleasure of the small things from myself, what’s the point of doing this?

We trudge up to an old outhouse and Jamie positions himself behind me, hands on my hips, so that I face the door.

‘Okay, now I’m really worried,’ I joke, noting the pressure of Jamie’s pelvis in my back, how excited he already is.

A guy passes us then, making us jump, but it’s nobody we know or anything – simply a bloke smoking a cigarette, passing through.

‘Oυγγν?μη,’ he says, apologetically, and Jamie replies in Greek. I assume he’s saying,Don’t worry.

‘Go on then,’ Jamie says, and I reach out to push the crumbling old door to the crumbling old building, only to be confronted with the most romantic set-up I have ever seen in real life. In fact this could come straight from a big-screen movie.

Inside this derelict barn are hundreds of tea-lights in glass jars. They’re on the floor, on upturned crates, in the rafters: everywhere. On the floor is a throw and some pillows, with a small vase that has a single rose peeking out of it. It’s a cosy love-den, just for the two of us.

‘Jamie!’ I say, amazed. ‘What did you do? How did you get all of this stuff?’

He pulls a face. ‘I know a guy who knows a guy,’ he tells me.

‘Is this why you weren’t at dinner?’ I marvel. ‘You were doing all this?’

Jamie steps inside and gently closes the door. He puts his arms around me from behind and rests his chin on my shoulder. He whispers, ‘I thought you deserved a little more than the great outdoors.’ I turn my head and we kiss, slow and deep and surprisingly gentle. ‘Not that you aren’t fantastical fresco,’ he adds.

‘Thanks,’ I laugh. ‘I think.’

There’s a cooler that I recognise from the house, and inside it a bottle of champagne. Jamie pops the cork and pours us both a glass, and we toast.

‘To doing …this,’ I say, and Jamie smiles.

‘To this,’ he echoes. ‘It’s probably warm by now,’ he goes on. ‘But, I don’t know. I’ve thought about us doing this for so long, and I know it would be easy to just have sex and not talk, but for what it’s worth: I want you to know I’m so happy about this.’

‘Me, too,’ I say.

Jamie eyes me, and I can see his fondness for me. He makes me feel safe. And I trust him. I do.

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