Artistic Licence (39 page)

‘I’m not arguing. You’re doing it all on your own. And if you liked me so much, why didn’t you ask me out, like a normal human being?’

‘I’ve told you. Because of Veronica.’

‘Well, Veronica’s still alive, isn’t she? Why is it all right to bring me here now?’

‘Because now your gallery will be a success whatever she does. And no judge would give her custody of Toby when they hear Toby tell them how much he wants to live with us.’

A horrible thought struck her. ‘Ben, you’re not doing all this because of Toby, are you? I mean, I really do
love him, but I’m not going to marry you just to make him happy.’

‘What about making me happy?’ he whispered. ‘Or you?’ He caressed her cheek with his hand. ‘Would marrying me make you happy? Because that’s the most important thing.’

She couldn’t speak. She knew that if she tried she’d burst into tears.

‘Listen, why don’t you come and sit down? Your feet must be killing you in those ridiculous heels.’

Glad that he was back to criticising her, she said, ‘They’re not ridiculous, they’re essential to go with this dress.’ She turned to him. ‘Don’t you like it? It was very expensive.’

‘It’s wonderful, but I can’t stop thinking about what you’d look like without it on.’

‘Oh.’

‘I’ll give you two seconds to get to the door, but if you don’t run I’m very much afraid that I’m going to have to make love to you.’

She gave a petulant little sigh. ‘These heels are all very well, but they’re hell to walk in.’

He growled and came towards her, picking her up with terrifying ease. She started to giggle. ‘This is terribly romantic, Ben, but where are you going to take me? This dress cost far too much for me to make love on top of.’

‘Shut up and let me worry about that.’

She was giggling and he was panting as he carried her up the dusty staircase, along a moonlit corridor to a bedroom. He kicked open the door and revealed a double sleeping bag, some pillows and some carrier bags.

He lowered her to her feet, suddenly diffident. ‘It’s not very romantic at all. In fact, you may want to change your mind. We could easily go to a hotel, somewhere with a proper bed.’

Thea turned to him and pushed her arms round his body under his jacket, feeling the heat of his skin through the fine cotton. ‘Whatever you think is best.’ She burrowed into him, inhaling his scent, trusting he wouldn’t take too long to decide that a sleeping bag could be just as romantic as a honeymoon suite with en suite bathroom and complimentary basket of fruit.

He hesitated just a second too long for her liking. She took hold of his hand and put it on her breast, under the top of her dress.

‘Oh, God, Thea,’ he breathed and seconds later her dress had rustled to her feet, leaving her in her high heels and her briefs. ‘You are so beautiful. I could look at you for ever.’

She sighed, tutted and kicked her dress out of the way. ‘Not if I have anything to do with it, you couldn’t. Now get your gear off – you’ve pulled.’

At first they were so urgent and hungry for each other that there was no time for tender caresses or subtle movements. It was only after they fell apart, sweating and panting, that they had time really to enjoy each other.

‘I didn’t realise sex could be like that,’ said Thea, still out of breath.

‘I’m a bit surprised myself. Would you like a glass of champagne?’

‘What?’

‘What I said. I may not be able to offer you a goose feather duvet, but I did get in a few essential supplies.’

‘Ben, what are you talking about?’

He sat up, his muscled torso highlighted by moonlight, and reached for one of the carrier bags. ‘Two bottles of champagne, originally ready chilled, but possibly warmer now. A tin of foie gras, some Bath Oliver biscuits, a few tomatoes and some cheese. Oh, and some chocolate truffles for pudding. I hope you like them.’

He rolled off the sleeping bag and crossed the room to where his trousers were lying in a heap. From the pocket he produced a Swiss Army knife.

Watching him move, Thea longed to have a camera with her, to capture for ever the sight of his beautiful masculine body as he moved about in the moonlight. Then she remembered she didn’t need a photograph of it after all. It was hers to look at whenever the moon was full. ‘I think I’m going to like being married to you, Ben,’ she said when he handed her a biscuit loaded with pâté.

‘I’m going to make absolutely sure you do.’

His kiss tasted of champagne.