Bloody fucking men. I’m in the wrong fucking job.

‘Necessary equipment?’ Ben furthers, captivated by the sight of her heaving chest.

She’s not wearing a bra.

‘A dic-ta-phone?’ he enunciates clearly.

‘Ah!’ Luca responds cheerfully, ‘that’s the sodding word – dictaphone.’

‘How are you going to remember Luca giving you a long one if you don’t have a dictaphone?’ Ben asks her, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

Cat’s jaw drops. She looks from one man to the other. Luca with his lovely, boy-beautiful open face; Ben, handsome and magnetizing. She could cry.

I could kiss them both.

But of course, she does not. She gives Luca a gentle shove. Then she gives Ben a sly, sideways glance coupled with a fleeting squeeze to his biceps. Just to steady herself. Just to feel. An exploratory squeeze? A gesture of gratitude? She’s not about to tell us, she’s far too absorbed by the fact that Ben’s hands are lightly at her waist and he has kissed very quickly, just catching the tip of her earlobe with his lips.

‘Luca,’ she beams, ‘you know what? I do want my dictaphone – and I want to speak to my boss about the slant of the interview. It’s late – it’s nine o’clock. Tomorrow is a short but intense Stage for you, the first Time Trial is looming too. I want you to have a good sleep,’ she says, looking from Luca to Ben and then moving back to Luca, ‘more than I want you to give me your big one in private.’

‘You are so much more than a journaliste,’ Luca praises her, ‘you care.’

‘I care about every pro cyclist,’ Cat says honestly, ‘you’re my heroes.’

Luca loves the compliment. ‘A good idea,’ he agrees, ‘let’s do it properly, let’s do it after the Time Trial. I’m going to bed. Buona notte.’

‘Good night,’ says Ben.

‘Sweet dreams,’ Cat says, waving as the rider disappears into the lift. ‘You’re a sod,’ Cat says to Ben, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

‘I couldn’t resist,’ says Ben, gazing at her neck.

Eyes meet and fuse.

Is it chemistry? Cat wonders, patting a hand unconsciously against the butterflies rampaging around her stomach. Ben’s lips part slightly as his gaze burrows further into her.

‘Cat,’ he says. She purses her lips and then licks them, observing how it releases his eyes from hers to focus on her mouth. ‘You’re having a drink with Rachel.’ It is a statement and not a query.

Cat nods.

‘I’m having a drink with Josh and Alex,’ Ben says.

Cat nods again. She clears her throat.

‘We could join forces,’ she suggests.

‘We could,’ Ben answers, ‘but where’s the fun in that? I’d rather have you to myself.’

His tone is matter of fact. His eyes have her captive again. ‘Another time,’ he says. He smiles at her and then heads off into the bar. Cat remains stock still.

Chemistry. Undeniably. I don’t need my O Level to tell me so.