Saving Saffron Sweeting (26 page)

‘Right …’ I inclined my head knowingly.
‘I guessed there had to be a reason you’re hanging
around with me.’

He flashed me his sexy grin. ‘Yeah, you have great
potential.’ He narrowed his eyes speculatively, dropping them
to my neckline and then lower. ‘But I haven’t had the
full tour yet.’

‘Yet..?’ I showed him I could flirt back.

Scott rested his elbows on the table and lowered his voice. I
found myself nudging closer, to hear him.

‘Well, obviously, I need to check things out really
carefully,’ he said slowly. His gaze was firmly on my face
now, travelling from my eyes to my lips and back again.

‘How carefully?’ I barely recognised the sexy tone
in my voice.

‘I’d say … inch by inch.’

His words hung in the air and neither of us spoke.

‘Madam, sir, would you be liking dessert?’ The
unfortunate waiter coughed beside us.

Scott raised his eyebrows at me wordlessly, but I had no
interest in trifle and Pavlova. The only taste I was craving was
his mouth on mine. I licked my lips and tried to speak, but had to
settle for shaking my head.

‘No, thanks, just the bill.’ He hadn’t taken
his eyes off me.

The waiter scuttled away. Scott reached out his hand and placed
it gently on the side of my neck, just under my ear. I leaned into
his touch and closed my eyes briefly.

‘I think … I’ve changed my mind,’ he
said slowly.

I frowned, not catching his meaning. By now, I was light with
lust.

He let out a long breath. ‘I think we should go and see
what their best room looks like.’

My embarrassment at checking in without luggage
evaporated as Scott kissed me urgently while we waited for the
ancient lift. Impatience got the better of us: we gave up and
dragged each other up three flights of stairs instead. Breathless,
we reached our room. I fumbled the key card and Scott took it from
me, dropping it, cursing, finally achieving the little green
light.

Normally, when I arrive in a hotel room, I inspect the sheets,
the view, the thermostat and the fake leather binder of guest
information. I examine the plan on the back of the door which shows
the fire exits and then I use the bathroom, careful to unwrap the
miniature soap before I get my hands wet.

I did none of that. Clothes were already coming off as we
tumbled into the suite. Scott kicked the door shut and two jackets,
two shirts hit the carpet. Shoes, socks, boots followed. Neither of
us said a word: we were too busy kissing, touching and exploring.
My arms were around his neck and my eyes were closed as he backed
me over to the bed. When the mattress hit the back of my knees, he
lowered me down gently but insistently.

I opened my eyes to look into his, finding them bluer than ever.
He touched his thumb to my lips and then bent to kiss my neck. His
hands moved over my hair, my shoulders, my ribs and stomach. I
curled my fingers around his lightly tanned forearms, giving a tiny
moan as I stroked hungrily over the tense muscles of his biceps,
chest and back.

But when he started to tug at my jeans, I froze. A sudden image
of James flashed into my mind, so piercing that I dug my teeth into
my lip. Scott leaned away from me, eyes intense but wary.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a low voice.

I swallowed. ‘Sorry.’ Had I ruined this?

‘It’s okay,’ he said, stroking my cheek with
measured gentleness. He found my hand and kissed the palm, then
kissed each finger in turn. ‘It’s okay,’ he
repeated, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair.

When I gave the slightest of sighs, he started to stroke my
shoulders and collar bone. When my tension dissolved through my
toes and I let out a slow breath, he began to kiss me through my
bra. When I began to kiss him back, he dispensed with the rest of
our clothing. As I finally arched up towards him, he framed my face
with both hands and asked me a silent question.

And when I responded with one small, needy word, he covered my
body with his.

‘For someone who’s late for work,
you look awfully pleased with yourself.’ Amelia put down her
phone and gave me a stern look. Still, I spotted the smile that was
drawing at the corners of her mouth.

‘Sorry.’ I pressed my lips together and tried to
look demure, but the grin escaped anyway as I slid into my
seat.

‘So, I take it you had a nice day looking at decaying
sugar factories?’

‘His job’s actually pretty fun,’ I said,
blowing at the dust on my computer screen.

‘Hmm. And how about Scott? Is he fun?’ She failed to
keep a straight face.

I stretched my arms above my head. ‘Indeed he is.’
For once, my croissant lay forgotten.

We had left the hotel at dawn that morning. Scott had broken
several speed limits driving me back to Saffron Sweeting, which was
chivalrous, as he was supposed to be in London.

‘Are you going to be very late?’ I’d asked, as
we grazed a roundabout in fourth gear.

‘I’ll call them,’ he shrugged.

‘Sorry.’

He squeezed my thigh, then changed up to fifth. ‘I’m
not.’

As Suffolk whizzed past us, I’d pushed my guilt about
James to one side. Surely, this didn’t count as being
unfaithful, if your husband had cheated first?

When I’d eventually got round to inspecting the fire exits
– functional – and sea view – beautiful –
from our hotel suite, it had been almost dark. The amazing sex had
been followed by room service cream tea, supplemented with
champagne and extra sandwiches. Feeding each other scones had led
to some delicious fooling around with the clotted cream, and the
generous pot of tea was stone cold by the time we drank it.

‘I just realised, I’ve never actually done that
before,’ I’d said, as he slowed the Jaguar in deference
to the bumpy track to my cottage.

‘Which part?’ He winked. ‘You didn’t
seem like a beginner to me.’

‘Stayed overnight somewhere, without planning
it.’

‘What –’ he replied, ‘you’ve never
got drunk and crashed on someone’s sofa?’

I shook my head. ‘No. Or missed the last train. I’m
too organised.’ Or maybe just too dull, I added silently.

‘Well, in that case,’ he’d grinned, ‘I
think we should do it again.’

Now, Amelia inhaled the scent of her coffee. ‘So you
didn’t spend much time talking, then.’

‘Of course we talked,’ I replied. ‘We looked
at a factory, and a school, and the, um, hotel.’

‘I get the idea,’ she said pointedly as I wriggled
in my seat, glowing a little from embarrassment, but mostly just
glowing.

Amelia walked over to the coffee table and began to rearrange
the glossy property magazines. ‘So, you feel you know him
pretty well?’

‘Uh – well enough, I think. Why?’

‘I know I told you to go and have fun, but, Grace
…’

‘What?’ Something in her voice made me nervous.

‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re
seeing someone.’ She was definitely uncomfortable.

‘So? What are you getting at?’

‘Just … well, that he might only be your rebound
guy. You know that, don’t you?’

‘Well, of course I know that.’ I had reminded myself
of it frequently. I became suspicious. ‘Why have you shuffled
those magazines, like, six times? Is there something between you
and Scott?’ Okay, I was paranoid, but given my recent
history, it was a reasonable question.

Nonetheless, I was startled that she looked so guilty. Her phone
started to ring but she sank down on a chair and ignored it.

‘Amelia? For Christ’s sake, what’s going
on?’

‘Grace, keep your hair on. I can see you like him, and
that’s lovely.’

I watched her fiercely, seconds away from implosion.

‘But … I kept hoping he’d tell you himself.
And I’m dreadfully cross that he hasn’t. You do have a
right to know.’

‘Know what, for crying out loud?’

She made a defeated gesture, both palms up.

‘Grace, Scott’s just bought your cottage.’

I was so angry, I didn’t return any of
his phone calls.

So, it wasn’t a total surprise when I got home from work
on Friday night to find a blue Jaguar parked outside. Both Scott
and Mungo were waiting on the doorstep. They seemed to have formed
an uneasy alliance, each suspicious of the other’s
intentions. Mungo wasted no time in showering me with physical
affection, to prove he was my number one guy.

‘Hey,’ I said, trying to ignore the fresh dog
slobber on my best trousers. Perhaps sensing my unease, Mungo
growled as Scott moved towards me.

Scott stopped in his tracks, eyeing Mungo with dislike. ‘I
was worried,’ he said. ‘You didn’t call me
back.’

‘I’m fine.’ I locked the Beetle and folded my
arms.

‘Right. Okay.’ He looked surprised and I guessed
this was a new experience for him. He was so charmingly gorgeous,
his other girlfriends probably returned his calls before he’d
even hung up the phone.

‘So, are you here on business or pleasure?’ I asked
acidly.

He was watching me carefully. ‘Well, pleasure …
obviously … I came to see you.’

‘Oh, really?’ I looked at the cottage. ‘I
thought you might have come to serve an eviction order.’

‘Grace …’ He squeezed his eyes shut, then
opened them skywards, as if seeking assistance. ‘I’m an
idiot,’ he said.

I waited, tight-lipped. But I tilted my head to one side to show
I was listening.

‘Look, I should have told you. I’m sorry. There just
didn’t seem to be a good time.’

‘There were plenty of good times,’ I shot back.
‘Right before we got a room would have been a
really
good time.’

He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t help it. I’m
sorry. I didn’t want to wreck things.’ He was half
smiling, looking sheepish but sexy.

‘I’m sure.’ A thought occurred to me.
‘That Sunday, when my family was here? You hadn’t come
to see me, had you?’ What a mug I’d been.

He didn’t answer, but dug his hands in his pockets.

‘You’d come to check out my cottage, hadn’t
you?’ Oh hell. And he’d covered up by asking me on a
date. ‘You weren’t interested in me at all.’

‘That’s not true. Yes, I did come to have a peek at
the cottage. But you were a delightful bonus.’

I looked at him in horror.
Bonus?
I’d been a fool
to get involved with another man so quickly.

He saw my expression and tried again. ‘What I’m
trying to say is, I didn’t expect to like you so much.’
He was wrinkling those blue eyes at me now. ‘By the time your
horse won that race, I was hooked.’

Hooked?
I didn’t answer, but hope flared within
me.

‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘can we go
inside?’

‘Do I have the legal right to refuse?’ I huffed, but
he could tell I was softening.

Mungo, traitor that he was, started to paw at the door.

We sat awkwardly at opposite ends of the sofa. Mungo lolled
happily in front of the fireplace, but still kept a lazy eye on
Scott.

‘So, how long have I got?’ I asked with a sigh.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Before you evict me.’

He laughed. ‘Grace, I’m not going to evict
you.’

‘You’re not?’ I searched his expression for
confirmation.

He shook his head slowly. ‘Absolutely not. The cottage is
just an investment. Like the other one. I told you about it,
remember?’

‘Oh.’ I was quiet for a moment and he watched me, a
smile playing on his face.

‘You should have told me about this one too,’ I
said, still grumpy but thawing fast.

‘I know. I know.’ He scooted along the sofa and
touched my thigh. ‘I’m sorry.’

I sighed. ‘It’s just … I really like it
here.’

‘That’s good,’ he said. Then he raised his
hand to play with my hair. ‘I really like it here
too.’

I looked up at him and was defeated.

As Scott leaned me back on the sofa and began kissing me
carefully but deliciously, a wet canine nose was thrust under my
elbow.

‘Bugger off, Mungo,’ I muttered. ‘Can’t
you see we’re busy?’

The following Tuesday morning, a dozen white
roses were waiting for me at Hargraves and Co.

‘Wow, he’s totally fallen for you,’ said Jem
on the phone that evening. ‘Not that that’s
surprising,’ she added hastily.

‘I’m having a hard time believing it,’ I said,
looking at the tall blooms in their vase.

‘So, you spent the weekend together?’

‘Yes. Sunday and Monday, I mean. We went to
Southwold.’

Scott had picked me up after I’d finished work on Saturday
evening and we’d driven to an upmarket boutique hotel. This
time, I’d made sure I had clean undies and a toothbrush.

‘Southwold? Not quite Paris, is it?’

‘Have you ever been? It’s gorgeous. Adorable painted
beach huts – they change hands for tens of thousands of
pounds, Scott says. And the shops were cute too.’

‘Was he trying to buy a beach hut, then?’

‘I don’t think so.’ Scott had, in fact, mixed
some business into our trip but I didn’t mind. So what if he
was deducting me from his taxable income? I was having a great time
and while he wasn’t completely flashing money around,
he’d made sure I experienced the luxury end of Suffolk. Being
chauffeured in a Jaguar and feasting on gourmet meals made a
welcome change from the white Beetle and a Waitrose curry. The days
were getting chilly and I was a sudden fan of heated leather
seats.

As we’d been eating a late dinner on Saturday night,
I’d said to him, ‘There’s something else we need
to talk about.’

He’d flinched slightly, in the way men often do when they
hear the word
talk
.

‘You didn’t tell me about your parents and Saffron
Hall.’

In fact, he hadn’t shared a single thing about his family.
Yet, he knew my mother kept chickens, that my dad had once played
cricket for Lancashire and that my brother’s wife was
nicknamed Puddle-Duck in college. I’d kept quiet about the
Gruffalo, though.