A thrill went through her. She needed him, in her bed, soon. It seemed he felt the same way. “Yes, I’m sure, not in here…but soon…somewhere else.”

“When can I see you?” he asked.

“Tonight.”

“It’s too damn long to wait. I’m going to be in agony.”

“You’re a big boy.” She grinned. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to figure it out.”

“I’m not so sure.” He groaned.

She dropped her leg from around his hip and enjoyed a happy, fluttery feeling in her chest. He’d forgiven her. He wasn’t mad anymore. And she’d make damn sure she made it up to him, big time. She kissed him again.

Chapter Fifteen

Megan looked at her phone. James Carter. That was the name next to the number ending in three twos. Two was her favourite number, so of course it made sense that was a connection to James.

They were meant to be.

It was all going to be all right.

And she could hardly wait until evening. A night of hot, sweaty fun was exactly what she needed, and what was even better, she knew James was up for the job. He could press all her buttons, make her gasp with delight and take her as high as a kite.

She squirmed a little on her office chair and watched as her new assistant, Enid, efficiently slotted files into the cabinet.

Nightfall couldn’t come soon enough.

Georgie had come up trumps and after only a few hours Enid seemed very at home at Winter Shoes and was getting to grips with the straightforward way Megan had of doing things.

She had a greying bun that bobbed as she moved and wore a cream twinset complete with pearls. Megan was thrilled with the confidence she exuded and certainly her past experience was very impressive. Plus she seemed enthusiastic about the shoes and the marketing opportunities Brendon was working on.

All in all, she was perfect for the job.

The lone bridal shoe on a shelf by the window caught Megan’s attention. She stared at the long, slim heel and the diamanté that caught the sunlight. Despite its pretty design, looking at it made Megan nauseous. It had become the symbol of her recurring nightmares.

It was time for it to go.

She stood and straightened her blouse—still a little creased from James’ cupboard caress—and walked towards it. She had to stand on a stool to get it down and when she did, she thought how heavy it was. It was as if the sum total of what it represented—Dylan, running away, a future that would have dragged her under—had made the materials denser, thicker.

She held it at arm’s length and walked to the bin, staring at the scraped heel where the gravel had chipped it. She pressed the pedal with her pink pump and the lid sprang upwards.