Page 40 of Kissing Games
‘It was a dark and stormy night,’ he began.
Valentina’s mouth watered and she took a large gulp of her drink.
‘My parents were out playing bridge and my older sister, Tabbie, was away at Sandhurst.’
‘You have a sister?’ she interrupted. ‘What is she like? Do you have any other siblings? What’s Sandhurst?’
‘One question per drink. Do you want to know about my chocolate eclair catastrophe or my family?’
She took another drink. ‘Catastrophe, then family.’
‘My family is a catastrophe,’ he replied. ‘Although, in fairness, they all think I’m the problem.’
She raised her eyebrows again.
‘Okay, okay, the story of Charlie and the Patisserie Peril. The house was dark. The house was empty. The house was mine. I crept to my father’s liquor cabinet and picked the lock. Once in, I decanted an inch from every bottle, replacing the stolen liquid with water. I was left with a glass of what could only be described as drain cleaner. However, I was a young man on a mission. A mission to get as drunk as possible in the shortest amount of time. My dad had made sure all the local pubs and shops knew I was underage, despite being six foot four, so I was going to drink this and go hang out with my mates in the park.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘Hey, this was the high life in Chumleigh Underbottom.’
She snorted with laughter. ‘Chumleigh what?’
‘Underbottom,’ he replied with a straight face. ‘It’s a village that predates the Norman Conquest. Only the very best people live there. Not like the riff-raff who live in South or East Underbottom.’
She snorted again, leaning back and holding her tummy. She laughed with the story and she laughed with the telling. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt such giddy joy. She took another drink. ‘Thank goodness your Underbottom was the best. But where do the eclairs come in?’
‘So, I’ll skip all the boring stuff about hanging around in the park sharing a cigarette and pretending we liked it whilst talking about all the girls we definitely weren’t shagging. Suffice to say, Jack had a bottle of vodka from his cousin and we necked the lot. I managed to get home and into bed before my parents returned, but woke the next morning, late for work, having slept through my alarm. I ran out the house as Dad was yelling that I smelled like a brewery and demanding to know what I had done, got on my bike and made it to the factory only half an hour late for my shift.
My job was to fill the eclairs. I had to stand in front of a conveyor belt on which they trundled. There was a nozzle in front of me, dishing out exactly the right amount of cream. I had to lift off an eclair, stick it on the end of the nozzle, take it off and put it back on the conveyor belt, all within five seconds.’
‘Sounds complicated.’
Charlie gave her a look that sent an electric shock through her. ‘Mock not. It was harder than defusing a bomb. If you got behind with your timings, the nozzle would squirt you with cream, and the eclairs would continue on the belt unfilled.’
She finished her drink. ‘Is that what happened?’
‘Partly. Within five minutes, I was covered in cream. Then I broke the machine by fiddling with the controls, panicked and puked over the conveyor belt. I cost the factory thousands of pounds that day and went home jobless, covered in cream and vomit, and still wearing a hairnet. Even now, I can’t look at a chocolate eclair without experiencing PTSD.’
She wrapped her arms around herself as she laughed.
He grinned and pushed over a glass. ‘Baileys. You’ve probably had this before. Chocolate and cream to go with the story.’
She got herself under control and took a sip. ‘Oh my god, this is amazing!’
‘Try it on your porridge in the morning. It’s a religious experience.’
She closed her eyes and let the taste and the alcohol amplify the desire for him surging through her. Every part of her body was buzzing with heat and need. She opened them to see him staring at her, his lips parted. She held her breath, then let it out with a rush. ‘Your family, your sister, Sandhurst.’
He started as if woken from a dream. ‘Three of the biggest passion killers known to man. I need more alcohol.’ He downed a shot of whisky. ‘Right. I only have one sibling, my older sister, Tabitha. She’s perfect and graduated top of her year from the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, where army officers are trained. She’s now a colonel and runs the Royal Signals Camp in Blandford. She thinks I’m an arsehole.’ He took another glass and drank.
Valentina finished her Baileys and picked up another brown drink.
He gestured at her glass. ‘Same, same but different. It’s Kahlúa, coffee liqueur. Okay, my folks. Let’s make this quick. You know how you and your family are joined at the hip?’
She frowned. ‘Joined at the hip?’
‘Close. You like each other.’
