Page 82 of The Invitation

“Oh my God, you’re catching feelings.”

“No.” I grimace. “People don’t catch feelings after one date.”

I think I’m in more trouble now than I was an hour ago.

Me too.

“Fuck,” I whisper, getting up, walking back to the bedroom, through the dressing room, and into the bathroom. I close the door behind me. “I really like him, Abbie,” I say, admitting it out loud, resting my arse on the edge of the bath, my face in my palm.

“Oh shit,” she breathes. “I guess that means he’s as good as he looks like he’d be in bed.”

“Better,” I say quietly into my hand. “But it’s not just that.”

“Oh, you mean the dirty great big luxury hotel and the fact he was clearly first in line when God gave out good looks is swaying you?”

“He’s charming.” I fill my lungs and come out of my hiding place. “We talk, he sounds genuinely interested in what I say, he’s funny in a dry, serious way, seems to have his head screwed on, says all the right things. And I’ve seen vulnerability. He told me he lost both his parents. His dad when he was just twenty-four, and his mum during the renovation of Arlington Hall. She never got to see her dream completed.”

“Wow, that’s tough.”

“I know.”

“Are thereanycons?”

“Apart from the fact I’ve just stepped out of a relationship and need to concentrate on my career?”

“Yes, apart from that.”

“I think he could be a little possessive.” A little? No, a lot. And there’s nothinkingabout it. “And he maybe has a bit of a temper.” Maybe?

Abbie hums. I’m not sure I like that hum.

“What are you thinking?” I ask, desperate for her thoughts.

“I’m thinking you’re at risk of being in my boat.”

“What?”

“But at least you know who blew your world apart.”

It clicks. “The man in France,” I say quietly. She’s never got over that brief, explosive encounter with the nameless guy she met in a backstreet café. Compares every man she’s dated since to him. “Do you still daydream about him?”

She laughs. “Every fucking day, and it’s been two years, Amelia. The universe was definitely being plain fucking cruel giving me that gift.”

I chuckle, looking up when Jude appears with two glasses of champagne. “Hey, listen, I have to go.”

“Call me,” she demands.

I hang up and stand. “Abbie.”

“She’s a good friend.”

“She is.” I go to him and take a glass. “Now she’ll be reporting back to Charley.”

Jude nods, taking my hand and walking us back to his bedroom.

“I should probably get out of your hair.” I look around for the speakers when I hear music again. Moby. “Porcelain.” Christ, he has the ultimate playlist for seduction.

“No, you shouldn’t.”

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