Chapter 16 #2
Hannah made the mistake of glancing in Jude’s direction as Ed said, ‘Got you.’ Eager to get a full complement of ‘yes to the dress’ reactions, she’d looked at him without thinking about how odd and inappropriate it was to seek his approval.
She found his eyes were already fixed on her, his blue-grey irises alight with an intensity she recognised. Her stomach flipped over.
‘Turn for us, please,’ Richard said, in a strong Mancunian accent that was warm but seemed incongruous coming from someone not dressed like a member of Oasis. ‘All the way round, three hundred and sixty degrees. Nice and slowly, so we can see how the dress hangs from every angle.’
Ed and Joe had now focused their attention elsewhere, but Hannah could feel Jude’s gaze on her as she moved.
There was something heavy – almost erotic – about how he was watching her now, though she was sure only they could feel it.
Somehow, they’d stumbled into an imperceptible but sexually charged situation with no warning or intent.
The sharp pull of lingering attraction between them had manifested from nowhere but was suddenly so tangible, Hannah almost believed she could reach out and touch it.
Jude didn’t look away, and – though she very easily could have – she didn’t break the spell with a joke or a mundane question about fabrics or stitching.
And now she was falling, sinking into a warm bath of memories she thought she’d shut up and locked down.
God. The first night they’d properly kissed.
The first time they’d meant it; had finally allowed the spark between them to start a raging fire.
Hannah had gone to visit Jude during his final year in Sheffield, and they’d been at a desperately uncool but very drunken New Year party with a load of other postgrad students.
She’d been adrift on a sea of wanting him by then. Drowning in it.
In a dark corner of someone’s sparsely furnished flat, he’d tentatively stepped towards her, eyes burning.
Toe to toe, their stomachs pressed together, he’d brought his beautiful face so close to hers she could feel his breath ghost over her parted lips.
The sensation had sent her almost mad with wanting, but still she’d hesitated.
She’d stood, frozen, breathing him in – unable to look away but too terrified to step forward.
And then he’d closed the distance between them, kissing her gently at first, with caution that soon became a barely controlled urgency she’d found herself matching.
He’d pressed her into the wall, and she’d revelled in feeling his weight on her, pushing her hands beneath the hem of his t-shirt to find the bare skin of his back.
Stop, stop, stop, she told herself – certain that the heat building in her body must be visible on her face. It didn’t help that the sight of Jude in a suit was no less rousing to Hannah than the sight of him half naked.
Ed and Joe had chosen simple, three-piece dinner ensembles for the men of the wedding party: not quite tuxedos, but ‘Hollywood classic’ in style.
The three of them were going to look like they’d stepped off a red carpet right into the Derbyshire countryside.
And there was something about the clean lines and precise edges of these clothes on Jude – something in how neat, buttoned-up and in control he looked in them – that made her want to ruffle him. Discompose him. Make him come undone.
Christ, what was wrong with her? Hannah’s heart seemed to be beating in her throat.
Just a couple of weeks ago she’d told herself that, whatever appeal Jude still had for her, she was strong enough – professional and determined enough – to ignore it.
Apparently, all it took to demolish this resolve was one thirty-minute drive, a single semi-clothed encounter and some sharp tailoring.
With an effort that felt almost physical, Hannah wrenched her gaze away from him to look out of the window.
Immediately, she remembered Richard’s semi-transparent blinds had been drawn; they still let plenty of light into the room, but left nothing visible through the glass.
Her eyes swept the space for something else to look at and met Joe’s.
Bollocks. She felt the flush on her cheeks deepen, immediately aware that he’d been watching her for a while.
Alarmed that she’d been caught out, she expected Joe to send a signature, knowing smirk her way.
However, his expression stayed soft. Serious.
Not quite like he was warning her to be careful, but not not like that, either.
‘We’re all going to look sick in the photos,’ Ed said, to no one in particular. Hannah noted this was the first positive thing he’d said about the wedding coverage in a while, and it cheered her.
‘And sick’s . . . good, is it?’ Jude asked, eyebrows raised above the thick frames of his glasses.
‘Oh, yeah. We’ve got serious rizz in these suits, and Hannah is a full-on snack in that dress. Even though she is my sister.’
She felt Jude looking at her again, but only briefly. ‘What do those words mean, please, O Teacher of Teens?’ Ed’s ironic use of Gen Alpha slang was often amusing, but frequently required him to translate.
‘We look hella charming, and you look hot,’ Ed supplied.
‘Great,’ she said, smiling and rolling her eyes.
A quarter of an hour later, Richard, Jason and Rav’s work was done. Appointments for final suit and dress fittings for each member of the wedding party would be made by Richard’s admin assistant next week. With a flurry of thank yous, shoulder slaps and handshakes, the appointment was over.
As she, Ed, Joe and Jude stepped out into the warm evening air, Hannah felt like her skin was on too tight.
She wished she hadn’t said she’d stay over in Manchester this evening so she could make some work-related excuse, head straight to the train station and go home.
After the way their last dinner for four had ended, she should have known better than to risk a repeat.
Was it hubris that had made her say, ‘Oh yeah, food and drinks after the fitting sounds great,’ when Ed had suggested it three days ago?
Or had her motivation been murkier? Dimly, it occurred to Hannah that some part of her – one she’d been straining not to acknowledge – actually wanted this, even though the rest of her understood it was irrational and risky.
It wanted her in a bar or restaurant with Jude, knees knocking from opposite seats, or thighs pressed together under the table . . .
‘How do we feel about Mexican?’ Joe said, stopping her thought spiral before it could spin completely out of control.
‘Hungry,’ Ed replied, grinning.
‘And you two?’ Joe asked, indicating Hannah and Jude. They were next to one another on the pavement; close enough that she could smell the fresh, clean scent of his skin.
‘Great,’ she lied. ‘Perfect. Lead the way.’