He came up behind me, hooked his finger in the loop of my trousers and whispered, ‘How about you and I get out of here, gorgeous?’ I guess he must have noticed me after all. I swivelled round to face him. Joe was about twice my size when I was sitting, and he had to bend down to speak into my face. He had a broad face with chiselled cheekbones and a couple of faded scars above his brow. Like an old tomcat he wore the marks of previous fights well. His collar-length hair was swept back from his face; a couple of stray grey hairs were obvious at his temple. His skin was clear and tanned and he had a touch of stubble on his cheeks and chin. He was untouchable–nobody who didn’t have a death wish messed with him–and I’d thrown him away on more than one occasion.

God, the drink was getting to me.

Glasgow Joe held my chin with his free hand, and his dark eyes stared into mine. He didn’t blink. They say that people in love stare into their partner’s eyes for eighty per cent of the time–it stimulates the sex hormones. Mine were certainly beginning to stir.

‘There’s a lot to think about,’ I slurred.

‘What’s there to think about? I’m promising you more booze, a carry-out pizza with up to three toppings of your choice, and any sexual position you can think of-within reason.’

‘The pizza sounds good.’

‘Don’t kid yourself, darlin’–you like the sound of the rest of it too.’

‘I need time to think,’ I said, guzzling some more champagne and trying to sound ladylike. The truth was that I would have jumped on Joe quicker than the pizza order would have been ready, but, even in my drunken state, I knew that he didn’t do one-night stands. At least, not with me. Anything more was a scary prospect, at least for me. Every reconciliation we’d ever had had broken down because he’d wanted to get married again, have children, and settle down. The more I learned about my own history, the less likely that seemed to be an option. So I pushed him away. I insulted him and bristled at him. I told him I wasn’t interested in anything but casual sex, and then flaunted Jack Deans in his face. And all the time I was desperate for him.

He could probably see my forehead furrow with all of these thoughts.

‘You’re thinking too much, Brodie,’ he growled, kissing my neck. ‘Let me go over the high points for you–food, drink, sex.’ His finger was still hooked into my trousers. I inadvertently glanced at the door–and that’s how I ended up with Glasgow Joe back in my bed again. As if I didn’t have enough trouble in my life.

Chapter Thirteen