Chapter 5
It was after eleven when Claire pulled up outside a red-brick semi-detached house on a tree-lined road in Ranelagh. Luca took off his boots in the porch and she led him inside, dropping her keys on a table in the hall. He followed her into a small, cosy sitting room.
‘Nice house,’ he said, horribly aware that he was dripping onto the cream carpet.
‘Thanks.’ She bit her lip. She seemed nervous, as if she wasn’t sure what to do with him now that she had got him here. ‘I was going to make something to eat. Are you hungry?’
‘Well, I had that prawn. So, yeah. I’m starving.’
‘Let me take your jacket. I’ll hang it up in the airing cupboard to dry.’
‘Thanks.’ He peeled it off and handed it to her.
‘Um, sit down.’ She waved to a sofa. ‘Or would you like to have a shower? It’d warm you up. And I could put your clothes in the tumble dryer.’
‘Thanks. A shower would be great.’
‘Okay, this way.’
She led him up the carpeted stairs, and he wondered if she was aware of him perving on her arse as he followed her.
It was a very nice arse. She had great legs too.
He was tempted to slide his hand up between them, under her dress.
Still, that could wait until after they’d eaten.
If she had plans to feed him, he certainly wasn’t going to do anything to stop her.
Besides, she obviously wanted to get him clean first before having her wicked way with him.
Maybe she was one of those uptight girls who always insisted on showering before sex.
‘It’s in here.’ She opened a door off the landing and showed him into a bright, modern bathroom with a stand-alone shower in one corner and a large, claw-footed bath.
Luca dropped his bag on the floor, while Claire opened a cupboard and pulled out a couple of towels.
‘I’ll put these here to warm up for you,’ she said, draping them on a chrome towel rail on the wall.
‘There’s shampoo and stuff in the shower. Do you need anything else?’
‘No, I don’t think so.’
‘Okay, well… I’ll leave you to it.’ She smiled shakily. ‘Come down whenever you’re ready.’
‘Thanks.’
As soon as she left, he scrambled out of his clothes, throwing them in a pile on the tiled floor.
Then he cranked the shower up as hot as it would go and stepped in.
It was bliss standing under the scalding spray, clouds of scented steam billowing around him.
He could have stayed there for ever, letting the heat seep through to his bones.
Eventually he turned off the water and grabbed a towel, warm from the heated rail and instantly comforting.
When he was dressed in the dry jeans and sweatshirt he’d brought, he picked up his wet clothes from the floor and made his way downstairs.
Following the noise of clattering pans, he found his way to a large kitchen.
Claire was standing at the hob, watching over a steaming pot.
She had swapped her shoes for a pair of fluffy slipper boots and had pulled a big woolly jumper over her dress.
He was amazed to see that she was actually cooking.
It was almost midnight. The most he had hoped for was a toasted sandwich.
‘Perfect timing,’ she said, as he came in. ‘This is just ready. Did you find everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it was great. Thanks.’
‘Give me those.’ She reached out for the bundle of wet clothes and he handed them to her. ‘They’ll be ready for the morning.’ She crossed the kitchen and bent to open a cupboard door that concealed the tumble dryer. She tossed the clothes in and switched it on.
‘Sit down,’ she said, as she straightened, gesturing to a large wooden table in the centre of the room, set for two.
Clearly she was the sort of girl who thought there should be some sort of date before sex, he thought, as he pulled out a chair. He sat and she put heated dishes in both their places.
‘I made carbonara,’ she said, as she placed a steaming bowl of pasta in the middle of the table. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you cooked at this hour.’
‘Pasta’s quick. Help yourself. Would you like some wine?’ she asked, going to the fridge.
‘Yes, please.’ The pasta made a satisfying squelching sound as Luca dug in the serving tongs and took a generous helping.
Claire poured white wine for them both, then sat down opposite him and served herself. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
‘Mm.’ Luca swallowed a mouthful. It was divine – salty, creamy, unctuous, and incredibly soothing. ‘It’s amazing,’ he told her.
‘Good.’ She smiled.
‘So how come I’ve never seen you around before?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, I don’t know those people – just Yvonne. I work with her.’
‘Right, at the bookshop.’ He nodded. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s just a job. But the people are nice. And I love books, so I’d rather work in a bookshop than any other kind of shop.’
She took a gulp of her wine. She was so nervous. For some reason he found that really sexy. He wanted to soothe and calm her, to put her at her ease, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it so far. He needed to get her into bed. He was good at making women relax there.
‘Do you work?’ she asked. ‘I mean apart from painting. Do you have a regular job?’
‘No, I’m just a starving artist – a living cliché. Hence no electricity.’
‘Right.’
‘But not so starving tonight.’ He grinned as he wound another forkful of pasta. ‘This really is fantastic. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She ducked her head shyly.
‘Where do you usually hang out?’ he asked her.
‘Nowhere really. I mean, I don’t go to bars and clubs much. It’s not my thing.’
‘So what do you do for fun?’
‘Well, I…’ She fell silent, thinking. ‘I read, watch TV, go to the movies, meet up with friends,’ she said finally. ‘The usual, I suppose. Nothing very exciting.’
‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She dropped her fork, took a sip of wine. ‘I live with my mother.’
‘Really? Your mother?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her tone was defensive, as if she was sensitive about it, expecting him to mock.
Luca glanced towards the door. He hadn’t seen any evidence of someone else in the house. She must be in bed. ‘Well, that explains the house,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It just seems a bit… old-fashioned, I suppose. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d swear there was a doily in the bathroom. At least I think it was a doily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.’
‘It’s just a doily – nothing to get your knickers in a twist about.’
‘Sorry, it wasn’t a criticism. I don’t mean to be unkind.’
‘It just comes naturally to you?’
He sighed. ‘It seems to. I just meant this house doesn’t feel like you.’
‘And how do you know what I feel like?’ She blushed as soon as she said it.
‘I don’t.’ Yet.
‘This is my home, okay? I’m sorry it doesn’t have the edgy cool of your place.’
‘Sorry. Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous. I love this house.’
‘You secretly long for doilies and net curtains?’
‘I do. I go doily-hunting every weekend, but the old ladies always beat me to the best ones.’ He was relieved that she smiled slightly at that and relaxed a little.
Still, a mother in the house was problematic. That meant they would have to be quiet, and he’d like to see Claire let rip. She was so tense – a good shouty fuck would do her the world of good. He hoped her headboard wasn’t too close to the wall of her mother’s room.
‘I hope we don’t wake her up,’ he said tentatively, glancing at the ceiling.
‘She’s not here. She’s… away at the moment,’ Claire said.
‘So, we’re all alone,’ he said, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Um… yeah.’ She grabbed her wine and drained the glass.
God, poor thing. No wonder she was so out of practice.
Living with her mother must really cramp her style.
It might also explain why she was so desperate to make something happen tonight, while she had the place to herself.
Maybe it was the only chance she’d had for a long time and she was determined to grab it, even if the effort was killing her.
She obviously wasn’t used to bringing guys home, and she was very shy.
He wished he could make it easier for her.
If only she knew she was already way ahead of the game.
She didn’t need to go to all this trouble – setting a table, cooking food, making conversation.
He was used to girls dragging him home to fuck them in unmade beds with barely a hello.
Well, he’d give her his A game tonight. If this was her once-a-year day, he’d make sure it was one she’d never forget.
‘Well, it’s late,’ she said, when they were finished, standing and starting to clear the table. He could feel her tension as she scraped plates and fussed with the dishwasher. He was about to go over and take her in his arms when she turned around.
‘I’ll show you the spare room,’ she said. ‘I mean, you don’t have to go to bed now. You can stay up as long as you like. If you want to watch TV or anything…’
She was suggesting he watch TV? Jesus! She had obviously used up all her nerve getting him here, and she had no idea how to make the next move.
‘I don’t.’
‘Okay. Well, I’ll just show you where you’ll be sleeping and then you can do whatever you want.’
Whatever I want? It was on the tip of his tongue to make some suggestive remark, but he thought better of it. It might give her a heart attack.
He followed her upstairs again and she showed him into a small, neat room, the walls painted duck-egg blue.
A high bed took up most of the space. It looked soft and billowy and welcoming, with four plump pillows and a thick white duvet.
He was ready to crawl into that bed right now.
He wanted it so badly it hurt, his eyelids drooping at the very sight of it.
But he had some chores to do before he could climb under the duvet.
He didn’t mind. They were very pleasant chores.