Page 98 of Wife After Wife
Harry encouraged Janette to talk about herself, his deep blue eyes warm and interested. She told him about her family in Wiltshire, and about her love of needlework and embroidery. “But you must think that’s so boring, Harry!”
“Not at all. Everyone should have a creative hobby, one that takes them out of themselves for a while. I like to write music. And poetry—but that’s between you and me.”
As she finished her coffee, she realized they were the only people left in the restaurant.
Harry put his napkin on the table. “Right then, we should call it a night. I have to speak to the good advertisers of Manchester tomorrow, and you, my dear Moneypenny, need to be PowerPoint ready.”
As the lift made its way upward, she wondered if he could sense her tension. She was ready to explode with it.
“Good night, then,” he said as they reached her door. He smiled, and there was a question in his eyes.
Wasn’t there?
“I, um, well, there’s a minibar, if you wanted a nightcap.”
“You’re blushing again.” He raised his hand and stroked her cheek with the back of it.
“Oh god, am I? I wish I knew how to stop it.”
“Don’t ever. Your blush is utterly charming.”
“No, it’s so embarrassing,” she said as her knees threatened to give way.
“It’s lovely. Now, are you going to stand out here being embarrassed, or are you going to pour me that nightcap?”
Once inside, she was so nervous that she missed the glass as she upended the miniature. As she tried to mop the whisky up with a paper coaster, Harry came over, taking the glass from her hand. “I prefer my drinks stirred, not shaken, Moneypenny. But I don’t really need another after all that bubbly.”
“No, I’m a bit squiffy myself!”
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, and she nearly fainted with longing. Or was that just a line from one of the romance books? No, she really did feel awfully wobbly.
“You’re so ridiculously sweet and adorable.”
“Am I?”
“I don’t think you realize. You’re like an oasis of kindness and calm in the madness of my life. That’s a bit purple prose, but you get the picture.”
He ran his hand down her arm, making her shiver. When he reached her elbow, he slid his hand onto her waist. “I don’t even know if you have a boyfriend.”
“I don’t.” She didn’t want to sound too available, so she added, “Atthe moment.” She could hardly hear her own voice above the thumping of her heart.
His other hand moved up to her head, stroking her hair. “I like your hair up like this, it shows off your lovely neck.” He bent and kissed it gently, where it met her shoulder, then trailed more kisses up her neck, getting closer to her jawline.
“Oh, Harry,” she sighed. “I’ve imagined this for so long.”
He pulled away slightly, and looked down into her eyes. “Please don’t think of it as a boss-with-secretary cliché thing. You know how much I value you.” He bent again and softly brushed her lips with his.
She was melting.
“Harry?”
“What?” he murmured.
“Will you... would you mind...”
“Would I mind what?” He kissed her again, deeply, and all the romance-book things were happening. The weak knees, the fireworks, the things that went on “downstairs” when a woman was kissed by the man she’d desired for at least twenty chapters.
“Would you unclip my hair?”
