A Chance Encounter Rae Shaw (ebook reader with built in dictionary .txt) 📖

destroying what dignity she had left. But now a casual acquaintance had rekindled her natural desires; her choked needs were about to be made flesh again.

‘I’m flattered that you picked me.’ Mark swept a strand of hair out of her eyes.

The smallest of touches was sufficient to unfreeze frozen limbs. They were adults, Jackson had said so himself. Adults made choices and lived with the consequences. She rose up onto her tiptoes, meeting him at eye level. ‘I didn’t pick you. I want you.’ She crossed in front of him to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Also, my feet are killing me.’ She led him upstairs.

~ * ~

Bathed in the Sunday morning light, Julianna woke first. Mark was snoring softly, one leg lying on top of the duvet and one arm draped across his brow. Their clothes were strewn across the floor. Creeping out of bed, she picked up his white shirt and slipped it on. It just reached the tops of her knees.

Downstairs, she made fresh coffee. She had no clue what he liked for breakfast. She checked the fridge for eggs and bacon. He wasn’t a vegetarian, she knew that much about him, but little else. She’s spent half the night having sex with a man she barely knew.

She carried the two mugs upstairs. Nudging the bedroom door open with her elbow, she slipped inside. Mark was sitting up in bed, the duvet patted over both his legs and his eyes bleary, but open.

‘Ooh, smells good.’

‘Here.’ She put the mug on his bedside table, then carried her own to the other one.

‘Thanks. You’re wearing my shirt. That’s brave of you.’

She smoothed the tails down and gave a twirl. ‘It seemed like the thing to do, you know, wear your man’s shirt. All actresses do it.’

‘So we’re in a film?’

She climbed back into bed and clasped her mug in her hands. ‘I feel like I’m in one of those film noir movies. I should be drawing on a cigarette, plumes of smoke coiling above our heads. We’re draped in dark shadows, engaged in enigmatic half-sentences about obscure things.’

He stared at her. ‘Thank God, because I thought for a minute you were going to burst into song like Bette Midler or Barbara Streisand.’ A broad smile spread his lips wider. He had a sweet, boyish smile.

She thumped his arm and nearly spilt her coffee.

‘Ow.’

‘So…’ Another sip, another pause. ‘We’re here.’

‘Yes.’ He puffed out his cheeks in contemplation. He needed a shave. During the night, she’d touched those dark bristles with her lips.

‘And… this is it?’

He frowned. ‘It sounds terribly final.’

Relief bubbled up inside her. A peculiar sensation, because she was determined to be indifferent to everything they’d done.

Mark cleared his throat. ‘I hadn’t expected you to want what we did last night.’

‘Meaning?’ She thought they had done everything she wanted, and more.

‘Kissing. Cuddling. Those kind of things.’

‘Oh.’ She had misjudged him again. ‘Why not?’

‘Because, we both know this isn’t about love.’ He watched her reaction closely. No blinking, just in case he missed the slightest hint that he had got it wrong.

She faltered, unable to speak. Julianna had never experienced sex like it before. Even before she met Alex, her previous bedfellows were amorous, but lacked any sense of adventure. Julianna sought an edge, a thrill to life. It was the reason she took up martial arts, learnt how to shoot a gun and kicked down doors. Love was Alex’s gift, his promise, until he shattered it.

She swallowed a mouthful of scorching coffee. ‘No, it’s not about love. But it’s not one night either, is it?’

He blinked. ‘No.’

‘We should get to know each other a bit better then. Over cooked breakfast?’

‘Excellent idea.’

He showered while she cooked a brunch of sausages, eggs and toast. He had nothing else to wear apart from his tuxedo while she had the luxury of changing into jeans and a woollen sweater. The house was a couple of hundred years old and the heating was diabolically bad in cold weather. She couldn’t afford to buy a new system. She had bought out Alex's half of the mortgage and could barely pay the taxes and utility bills. However, given its location, its value was shifting constantly upwards and she didn’t want to sell. Mark was right – the house had character, it was all hers, and she had grown quite possessive of it.

‘He was a successful lawyer. Extravagant,’ she explained. ‘I wanted something further out, he insisted on this location.’

‘How did you two meet? University?’

She shook her head. ‘I skipped Uni and went straight into the police force. Life in Cornwall was dull and I got impatient. I moved to London and joined the Met. Alex was working on a big property deal, which is how he gets his kicks, and I was investigating fraud. We were introduced by a mutual friend.’ She glanced away, briefly. He understood: Alex was off topic.

‘You've always been into fraud and corruption?’

She dipped her toast in the egg and swirled the yolk around. ‘I got noticed. They thought I was wasted on the beat and I was transferred to the serious fraud office. I solve complex things. I should have gone to university perhaps; become an academic with my head in the clouds. Oxford, somewhere like that.’ Her parents were surprised when she turned down an offer. It wasn't as if they couldn't afford to send her, but it wouldn't have been easy for them. ‘You went?’

‘I did. To Oxford and I read Mathematics.’

‘You met Jackson... no sorry, that can't be right, you're too young.’

‘No. I met Jackson because I chatted up his wife. Big mistake.’ Mark's cheeks glowed. ‘Somehow he got wind of my stupidity and invited me to meet him. Technically, I already worked for him at Daneswan, which he