Page 31 of Resisting Mr Black

“No, I’m not. I saw the way he looked at you last night.”

I want to stop her right there. “Don’t be stupid. We barely know one another. We haven’t even… you know.”

“All this romantic, gentlemanly stuff makes up for the kinky S & M stuff in my opinion.” She pats the back of her chignon. “Have you spoken about that?”

“A little.”

“And?”

“I still don’t quite understand it. He wants to take me out for dinner after work.”

“Excellent.”

“I’m not going.”

She looks at me as though I’ve just landed from outer space. “Why ever the fuck not?”

“It wouldn’t just be dinner, would it?”

“And?” She shrugs. “Jesus, Soph. I think it’s time you had a bit of fun. Go and shag his brains out.”

The very thought makes my stomach turn over with nerves. I scroll through my emails, which I’ve already read. “There’s nothing fun or light-hearted about Art. He’s intense and dark, and passionate.”And he’ll hurt me. One night with him wouldn’t be enough. I just know it. I’d want more and he wouldn’t.

The ding of the reception bell echoes down the corridor. Lucy pushes herself up and huffs. “I suppose I’d better get back to it. God, it’s hard work today. I’m not touching another drop of alcohol until the wedding.”

“What about the hen-do?” I shoot back.

Lucy hovers in the doorway. “Oh… well, apart from that,” she laughs. “See you later and... I say go for it.” And with a cheeky wink, she disappears out of the door.

Thankfully, the calendar is quiet for today and it allows me some prep time for the upcoming wedding on Saturday. Two hundred guests, an outdoor marquee, and a dove coop of five white doves takes some organising, which I relish because it’s provided a distraction from my conversation with Art this morning. I’m thankful I haven’t seen him all day because I need time away from him. When he looks at me and when he’s close to me I can’t think about anything else but him, and when he touches me…

It’s late afternoon when I hit the wall and the temple-throbbing, churning stomach I’ve suffered from all day is overtaken by tiredness. I stare at the seating plan for next weekends wedding on my laptop screen for what feels like the hundredth time in as many minutes, when an email from him appears in my inbox entitled “Help”.

My heart automatically skips a few beats at the sight of it and I hate myself for it. I double click and open the email.

Can you come up to my office please? I’ve got a problem that I need your help with.

I place my pen in my mouth and chew at the plastic lid as I try to work out why he might need my help rather than George’s. I type my reply.

Be right there.

The smell of fresh paint hits me as I make my way down the corridor towards his office. The door is ajar, and I knock politely, wait a few seconds, then walk in.

The office has been totally transformed and I can’t help but stare in amazement at the refurbished room. Gone are the old, stained grey floor tiles, battered old wooden desk, and antiquated, mismatched chairs. The walls are painted white, making the compact room look huge. A large Scandi modern style desk is facing the door witha stylish tan leather chair behind it. A light oak floor gives the room a traditional touch and a pale brown chesterfield sofa is positioned alongside the far wall with a glass coffee table in front.

He sits on the edge of the couch staring at his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. “Close the door behind you, please,” he says without looking up.

I close the door and wander round the room, admiring the revamped office. “They certainly worked quickly to get this done. It looks good.”

“It’s amazing what you can get people to do when you put them under a bit of pressure.” He moves over slightly on the sofa to make room for me.

I settle myself down, keeping a safe distance away from him. “What’s the problem?”

He shifts round so his body’s facing mine and lays his left arm across the back of the sofa behind my head. “It’s not work related.”

There’s an intensity in his eyes that’s got my heart flapping round in my chest like a headless chicken. Nerves churn in my stomach and I’m pinned to the spot, unable to move even if I wanted to.

“But I think you can help me.” His voice dips low and rich and my skin prickles in response. My eyes drift from his intense eyes to his beautiful, full mouth. I’m still not used to being this close to a man this attractive and my brain’s short-circuiting. He’s cast his line; I’ve taken the bait. Now he’s reeling me in and I’m floundering on the end of the hook.

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