Page 37 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay
He had half-expected that Jess wouldn’t show up, or that she’d be wearing jeans and trainers when he had promised to take her somewhere classy. But she had emerged from the hotel’s staff entrance at seven on the dot, and she’d gone for the classic little black dress. Simple, elegant, skimming over her slender figure — and short enough to start a riot.
And her legs. Long, long legs in sheer black tights. And strappy black sandals with killer heels. And a provocative sway of her hips as she strolled across the car park.
She slanted a sardonic glance along the sleek lines of the car. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
Paul laughed. “No, you’re supposed to relax in supreme comfort as you’re whisked to our destination.”
She rolled her eyes. “Are you ever lost for words?”
“Rarely.”
She shook her head, conceding a reluctant laugh as she slid into the comfortable leather seat. “Okay, where are we going?” she challenged. “I warn you, I’m expecting something special.”
“It will be.” He walked round the long bonnet and climbed behind the wheel. He fired the ignition and the engine purred into life like a sleeping lion. “Music?”
“What have you got?”
“What do you like?”
“Springsteen?”
He shouldn’t have been surprised at her choice — she wasn’t a soupy ballad type of woman. “Certainly. Classic or recent?”
“Oh, classic, of course.”
He clicked through his listing and chose theDarknessalbum, and as ‘Badlands’ blasted through the speakers, she sang along, beating out the rhythm on her knees.
He smiled across at her. “Ah, I finally got something right.”
“It had to happen eventually.”
Oh, he liked her. He liked her a lot. She was fun, challenging — he’d never known a woman quite like her. She’d be great in bed — hot, wild, exciting. It wasn’t going to be easy to get her there, but it would be worth it.
* * *
It was a beautiful car. Glenn would have been green with envy, Jess mused with a touch of dark humour. Aston Martins were one of the few cars he would choose over a motorbike.
Paul turned out of the hotel’s car park, drove past the Memorial Gardens, and accelerated smoothly up Church Road. “So, what brought you to Sturcombe?” he asked conversationally.
She gave him a flickering glance. “A slightly rusty hatchback.”
“Not an Aston Martin then?” His eyes glinted with amusement. “There aren’t too many of these babies on the road.” There was a distinct note of pride in his voice. Men and their modes of transport!
“It’s a nice car,” she acknowledged.
“Something else I got right?”
She conceded a smile.
“You didn’t answer the question,” he prompted. “What brought you to Sturcombe?”
She took a pause to consider what, if anything, she was going to tell him. “I just dumped my boyfriend of five years, six weeks before we were due to get married.”
“Drastic. What did he do?”
“I found out that he was sexting women on one of those hook-up sites.”
“Unacceptable.”
