Page 53 of Lie For Me

She nodded.

‘Feeling better.’

He stood up and took her hand, pulling her up after him. ‘Come on then,’ he glanced at his watch. ‘It’s not late. We can rescue this evening yet. Ollie and Sophie will wonder where you’ve gone.’

‘I got Heathered,’ Lucy mumbled. ‘Not to mention my near-death experience from choking,’ Lucy added, raising her glass.

‘Yes, that too. Thank god you made it back from the brink.’

He draped his arm casually around her shoulders as they made their way towards the door. It felt good. Lucy nestled into his side, the fragrance of her shampoo wafting up to him. He pulled her into him, so they were walking in tandem. The most natural thing in the world. His hand dropped down over Lucy’s shoulder, and she reached up and took it, her fingers brushing over his. A shiver went through him at the easy intimacy of the touch, and he laced his fingers through hers and tipped his head down to look at her.

‘You can have the bed tonight,’ he said. ‘No coin toss necessary.’

If she raised her head to meet his eyes, her face would be close, so close he would feel her breath on his cheek. He wanted her to look at him, look up through the smudged eye makeup. Wanted to see if the current he felt between them was only in his imagination.

Then, as easily as she had taken his hand, Lucy abruptly unlaced her fingers from his and stepped away from him. For a split second, his arm hung awkwardly by his side. He missed the feeling of her shape tucked into him.

‘Sure,’ Lucy said, avoiding his gaze. ‘My turn to take the bed, I think.’

She hurried ahead of him to the door and heaved it open.

A few steps behind her, Jack heard her voice echo from beyond the door.

‘Wait, this isn’t the right way, is it?’

She turned and barrelled straight into Jack’s chest as he stepped into the corridor. He caught her and steadied her, feeling the soft warmth of her arms beneath his hands.

‘Oops, sorry!’

Her face flushed, and she avoided Jack’s gaze as she stumbled backwards, heels catching in the carpet.

Jack’s arm shot out to catch her again, but she moved out of reach. Jack stepped back and slipped his hands into his pockets, unsure of her. She seemed jittery. Lucy was tugging on the door handle to go back the way they had come, but it didn’t budge.

‘Hey, steady on,’ Jack laughed. ‘What did that door ever do to you? Here,’ he took her gently by the elbow, and this time she didn’t pull away. ‘We’ve just come out the other side of the room. There must be two doors. But we can follow the sound of family arguments to find our way back to the party.’

He raised an eyebrow and grinned, his eyes trained on her face, watching for her reaction.

In response, she muttered, ‘Ha ha.’ and let him guide her down the corridor, following the sound of music and voices. As they rounded a corner, they were met with a door with a sign that read, Staff Only.

‘Oh dear, wrong way,’ Jack said.

He tugged on the door in case they could slip through regardless, but it didn’t budge.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ Lucy said and shrugged.

She ambled part way back along the corridor, then stopped to pull off her heels before they and the thick carpet conspired to send her headlong.

‘A little more time and distance between me and Heather is no bad thing.’

She hooked her shoe straps over the fingers of one hand and tilted her glass at Jack with the other.

‘And this whisky isn’t going to drink itself.’ As far as Jack could tell, she’d already pretty much emptied the glass, but he said nothing. He watched as she leaned against the wall and wondered if she had any idea how sexy she looked. Hair tousled, bare-footed, shoe straps looped over her fingers, sipping her whiskey. Her head tipped back, throat exposed, a dress strap slipping off one slender, freckled shoulder.

‘Let me have a sip of that,’ he growled as he stepped towards her, his fingers brushing hers as she handed him the glass.

He didn’t know what was happening to him. He and Lucy had been on plenty of nights out. They had shared drinks, milkshakes, brunches, late night cheese on toast. He’d seen her dressed in old leggings losing her balance trying to hold tree pose in yoga; and he’d seen her dressed up to the nines for birthday parties and Christmas dos. He’d always appreciated that she was an attractive woman—he wasn’t blind—but he hadn’t been attracted to her.

Tonight, she was having a new and entirely distracting effect on him. Maybe it was seeing her so raw in front of her family and wanting to protect her. Or maybe it was pretending to be her boyfriend—holding her hand, feeling her soft skin when he put his arm around her, the curve of her body pressed into his side. He took a sip of the whisky and leaned in to slip the glass back between her fingers.

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