There’s no hiding the pain behind the comedy. The break in her voice. The hurt she’s not ready to face. I understand.
The conversation drops away, silence settling between us.
And I feel it. The attraction. Strong and inconvenient. Ridiculous, if I’m honest.
Katie is older. Curvier. And completely not my type. But it’s there—the want, the need. She’s enchanting, and I don’t want to leave.
“Would you like some supper?” she asks softly. A simple question that hums with an invitation for more. I should decline, but…
“Katie,” I say, heart thumping, “I believe I would like that.”
Chapter seven
Lance
Tonight has been the most surreal experience of my life.
I’m sitting opposite a woman who shouldn’t fit into my world at all. Yet, every story she tells, every joke she cracks, pull me a little closer. She twirls a stray curl between her fingers as she launches into another tale. I just grin like an idiot.
“Bex and I walked into the cancer clinic. Unbeknownst to us, the father of her child, who happens to be a doctor, was there. She hadn’t told him about the cancer. But he had found out at work. He didn’t want her to know he knew, so...” She pauses, chuckles, then shakes her head.
“He ducked under the reception desk out of sight so we wouldn’t see him. The receptionist didn’t know what to do, and when Ben looked up, he could see straight up her skirt.”
Her laughter rolls around the room, echoing off every wall, joy sparking in her eyes as she remembers her lost friend. She’s beenthrough hell. My heart breaks for her. Yet, she squeezes light out of every dark corner in the stories she tells.
“The funniest part,” she continues, wiping a stray tear, “is when he stood back up, and an old couple were waiting. He winked at the receptionist and told her he liked her stockings.”
She swallows, the old memory shattering her composure.
“Bex loved that story. She laughed so hard every time she told it. Well, eventually, once they got back together, and he confessed all.”
I move without thinking. I stand and gather her into my arms. We’re strangers, but she cries into my chest as if we’re not. Her arms loop around my waist.
Hours of talking have connected us in a way I can’t explain. But it feels good. Safe even.
Her eyes lift to mine. A shy smile flickers, highlighted by rosy cheeks.
Drawn like a magnet, my lips touch her forehead. Soft. Gentle. And damn inappropriate. I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I’m already there.
“I’m sorry, Lance.” She wriggles from my grip. “You must think I’m a daft old woman. Thank you for being so kind.”
“Old?” I splutter. “You’re not old, Katie. What are you? Forty? Forty-two?”
A huge grin splits her face, and she bites her lip.
Oh, fuck. Those lips. That mouth. The way she bites it like she’s hiding a secret. I blink to clear the image.
“I’m nearly fifty, actually,” she says, the corners of her mouth quivering upwards. “But you’ve made my day.”
“Well, you look damn good for an experienced bird then.”
She smacks me playfully on the hand, laughing.
This woman is fun.
We polish off another bottle of wine by the fire. It crackles, throwing a reddish glow across her skin. The light dances in her eyes—the conversation is lighter now, more comfortable.
She tells me about her work as an erotic novelist, talking about the characters as if they’re real.