For a second he looks mystified and then I watch in fascination as a tide of red floods over his face. “Oh erm,” he stammers, and I take pity on him.

“Do come in. Watch out for the gigantic expensive picture though.”

He edges his way into the flat, and I shut the door behind him, suppressing a smile as he tries to look anywhere other than at the six-foot picture of pink peonies that’s propped against my lounge wall. Ivo Ashworth-Robinson’s work looks rather incongruous in my drab lounge with the peeling paper and beanbags. Like a very expensive racehorse sitting in a cow shed.

I fold my arms and look at Zeb. He’s wearing white jeans with a faded denim shirt and leather deck shoes, but I’m particularly loving the way he’s accessorised with a severe case of the fidgets.

“It looks very nice,” he finally says in a slightly high voice.

“It certainly does,” I say blandly. “Not quite the setting it’s used to though.”

For a second we stare at each other and then he breaks. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, running his hand through his hair. “It’s just that you loved it so much in the gallery, and I wanted you to have it.”

“I love Ryan Reynolds too. When is he arriving?”

“Not for a while. We ran into problems with Customs.” I laugh, and he shakes his head. “He couldn’t cope with you anyway,” he says dryly. “He’d be checking in for mental health care within twenty-four hours.”

I laugh again and tug on his shirt to pull him closer. I can see the flare of nerves in his eyes, and I welcome it because they’re a twin to the flutters in my belly.

“Thank you. I love it so much. It’s the nicest present I’ve ever had,” I breathe and bridge the gap between us to kiss him. For a second he’s still and our mouths rest against each other almost in astonishment that we’re here. Then he’s in movement, pulling me close, his hands on my lower back as he licks into my mouth. I open my mouth, moaning under my breath as his hands slide lower, grabbing my arse and tugging me sharply into him so I can feel the weight of his big cock against mine.

He moans, and I push my hands under his shirt, feeling the satiny hot skin underneath the sun-warmed denim. I rub my hands there, and I’m just pushing his shirt up further when I hear a key in the door. We break apart almost guiltily as the front door opens and Charlie appears.

“Afternoon,” he says. He looks between us. “Oh sorry, have I interrupted a work meeting? Are you having an appraisal?”

Zeb looks at me in a panicked way, and I try to stop myself but burst out laughing anyway.