Page 45 of Taste

“Just let me get used to this.”

I’d nodded as they’d walked off, stopping by the door to look back. “By the way, you asked the wrong question. You already have my forgiveness.”

“Then what’s the right question?”

“Can you forgive yourself?”

I’d been thinking about it ever since, and I had no answer. No solution. I couldn’t fix what had been fractured, but maybe in time, I would find a way to forgive myself, just as time had let me figure out who I really was.

Which was someone who was standing here hoping he would come for me when he could just as easily slide out the front entrance, despite the clear rules of staff always leaving by the employee entrance. Mark Quinton never followed the rules. And the grinding feeling in my stomach was worrying me, because it came from a heady mix of hope and despair. I always fucking needed so much.

But here he was, coming out of the changing rooms, his hair a wet mess pushed under that beanie of his to protect his freshly showered arse from the elements. London in February was brutal, and it was bitterly cold out there.

“Hi.” I raised my hand in a meek wave, suddenly terrified of my own shadow.

“Hi.” He punched his code into the screen by the turnstile and slid through with an elegance that made me smile. I jabbed at the screen and followed him, getting my coat stuck in the metal barrier as usual. He helped me release it, which was sweet…but embarrassing.

“See?” he said, his eyes twinkling in fun. “Even this damn hotel likes you and doesn’t want you to leave. Take note.”

I loved hearing him talk. Loved the slight lilt to his voice. I liked it even more when he was nice to me.

“So, Finley. Are you walking me home?”

“Mr Quinton,” I said, laying it on thick with ridiculous poshness. I was a stupid farm kid who’d reinvented himself as someone else, but I wasn’t posh by any stretch of the imagination. “I was…”

I had to stop with the fake Queen’s English. I sounded bloody deranged. It also gave me a flashback to mocking Mabel, long in the past, for wanting to become someone completely different. They’d thrown it in my face tenfold, because they were the real deal while I was the bloody master of faking being someone else. I was a fraudster, at best, pretending I could do this. That I could be with Mark. Be good enough for him to love me.

“Yes?” he asked with a smile. He could probably rob a bank by just walking up to the counter and smiling.

“Mark…” And now he had me at it. One of those stupid grins you can’t shift. “Wanna come home with me and get naked?”

His laugher spilled out in the street. My cheeks flamed with my flash of brash bravery.

“I need to be back here at eleven tomorrow morning. Will I still be able to work tomorrow without walking funny?”

“I need to be back here at seven sharp,” I admitted. Maybe this was a stupid idea. He made me stupid.

“Then what the hell are you still doing here?” He looked me up and down. He was so cool and casual, standing there with his hands in his pockets, while was still rocking on my bloody heels with no idea how to answer his question when I should have left at five but had hung around waiting for him. I opted for honesty.

“I wanted to be with you.”

“You have me right here.” His whispered reply made me do that thing again, where I lost control of my sanity. I lunged at him and kissed him, over and over again, savouring the taste of him, my tongue tingling with flavours of happiness and laughter and hope.

With a smile, he pushed my face away. “Can I suggest a sneaky Uber then? Because Mr Klutz might finally see red and call us into the office if we get caught on the security cameras here. Especially since I really want to…”

I shushed him with my mouth, but he already had his phone in his hand, jabbing blindly at the Uber screen finding us a ride.

“Wanna come home to mine, it’s closer?” I think that’s what he said, and I think I nodded back. I couldn’t be sure because kissing Mark Quinton was everything. I knew that now, having pined for him for days. Weeks. Months. I could admit it freely now. Ineededhis kisses. I needed his hands and his smiles.The distinct taste of him on my tongue. His hair between my fingers. His approval.

“Our driver Mazood is four minutes away,” he murmured. “Can you keep kissing me that long?”

It was more of a problem knowing how to stop, as half an hour later we stumbled out of the Uber in front of his house, swollen-lipped and smiling like we were both drunk. He apologised to poor Mazood the driver for our outrageous PDA and then snorted with laughter when my coat got stuck again, this time in the car door. Thank God he was there to rescue me from that little disaster.

I was a disaster.

Time was a strange, fleeting concept as we tumbled down the stairs, and I vaguely remember the front door closing behind us before my jacket was off and his trousers were history. The whole situation made me giggle as I stumbled out of my dress pants and struggled to pull off my socks, only then noticing that I was the only one with no clothes on.

“Get ’em off,” I demanded, and he duly pushed his briefs down his legs, looking a cheeky mix of proud and shy as he stood there in front of me. Naked.

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