Page 53 of The Vintage Dress Shop in Primrose Hill
His hands smoothed down her waist to settle on the curve of her hips, stroking the fabric and stroking Sophy by proxy, so she was swooning and light-headed in a way that had nothing to do with the best part of a bottle of Sancerre.
But the magical, wonderful spell was broken when she gave in to the urge to lean back against Charles, and also because her legs didn’t really want to hold her up any more. He felt so strong and hard against her back and goodness! Sophy gave a choked giggle because she was ridiculous and Charles was so out of bounds, which was why he suddenly snatched his hands away from her as if she were leaking radiation.
‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry,’ he muttered, turning his face away from the mirror as he obviously couldn’t bear to look at Sophy. If he had then he’d have been able to see thepuppy-like adoration on her face and recognise it for what it was. He was retreating back to the safety of the doorway. ‘You must think… That I’m some awful pervert.’
Without Charles behind her, Sophy felt untethered, adrift. Also, like a prize idiot. ‘Oh no, I don’t think that,’ she quickly assured him. ‘I know you’re not interested in me in that way.’
He shot her a curious look, eyes narrowed, lips thinned, which she couldn’t read. ‘In what way wouldn’t I be interested?’ he asked.
‘What?’ Sophy shook her head, confused. ‘Look, I need to get out of this.’
Of course then Charles had to come back into the bathroom to unfasten the dress and Sophy had to try not to shudder, but didn’t do a very good job of it, when his fingers accidentally brushed against her bare,nakedskin.
‘I think you can manage the rest on your own,’ Charles said, further compounding Sophy’s misery by giving her a little push away from him.
Chapter Nineteen
Sophy didn’t want to leave the relative safety of the little shower room. If things had been a bit scratchy and weird before, now they were so bloody awkward that she wished that she could jemmy open the window and flee into the night.
However, that wasn’t really an option. So, with her silver wedges in her hand and back in the green glittery brocade dress, which was actually quite itchy, she emerged from her hideout.
For one glorious moment she thought that Charles had gone upstairs even though it would have been because he couldn’t bear to face her; the woman who was taking advantage of their friendship to lust after him.
But then his long legs were coming down the stairs followed by the rest of him, a bottle in his hand. ‘Brandy. Fancy a nightcap?’
Drinking was what had got her into this mess in the first place. ‘I wouldn’t say no.’
Although Sophy had had a vague idea that she’d escape to the sanctuary of her attic room and stay there until morning, when she’d pretend that nothing untoward had happened, instead she found herself sitting side by side with Charles on the sofa.
He’d taken off his suit jacket and she could feel the heat emanating from his body. His lean, surprisingly muscular body. She’d asked for ice in her brandy, which had madeCharles wince, and now she held the glass to her burning cheeks.
‘So, I still don’t get it, Sophy,’ Charles suddenly said, angling his body so she had nowhere to hide. ‘Why do you think I wouldn’t be interested? You don’t still think I’m gay, do you?’
‘No! We’ve been through this before, I don’t think you’re gay. But we both know that… that… I’m not your type,’ she finished sadly, and also, she’d thought the whole chat they’d had in his office about him not being gay had been embarrassing. But it turned out that had just been a dress rehearsal for this chat, where Charles would gently explain all the reasons why he wasn’t attracted to Sophy.
And right on cue: ‘Why do you think you’re not my type?’ Charles asked.
She threw him a hurt, reproachful look. ‘Don’t make me say it. Look, I know you like to flirt…’
‘But I don’t flirt with just anyone…’
‘…and I know it doesn’t mean anything…’
‘Because I’m an indiscriminate flirter?’
‘Because…’ She was just going to have to come out with it and then die of humiliation at some later date. ‘Because I’m not aVogueeditor or French. I’m not sophisticated. I’m nothing special. I currently live with my mum and I’m not much to look at so—’
‘No, Sophy!’ Charles said sharply enough to pierce her pity party and, when she dared to glance up at him from her slumped position, he was frowning, lips tight, like he was quite cross. ‘I don’t want to hear another self-defeating word. I can’t even recognise the person you’re describing, though she’s clearly been gossiping with someone about my love life. Possibly Phoebe?’
His voice had softened so that teasing edge was back, and his mouth wasn’t set in quite such a tight, thin line any more.
‘Phoebe was actually quite discreet,’ Sophy muttered. She was so confused. Had it not just been indiscriminate flirting? Had it meant something? And the compliments and the hip-stroking; what did they mean? Then again, hadn’t she already been humiliated enough for one evening, so a little more couldn’t hurt. ‘You’ve been showing me the ropes of the vintage clothing business. Which has been very kind of you, but I know you see me more as a project. Like, um, your very own Eliza Doolittle,’ she finished.
‘You do know that Henry Higgins was interested in more than just Eliza’s phonetics?’ Charles was using his dark, purry voice again, which made Sophy’s cheeks fire up but also gave her hope.
‘So, theoretically, are you saying… do you… you’re interested inme?’ She just couldn’t spit out a fully formed sentence.
‘So, theoretically, yes I am very interested in you,’ Charles said, taking pity on Sophy and flinging her from the depths despair to higher, happier ground. ‘But you’re emigrating to Australia as soon as you’ve saved up all those thousands of pounds, so I don’t want to start something only to have my heart broken when you disappear off into the sunset.’
