It had taken him a few weeks of living and working nearby to notice the bar, what with it’s blacked-out windows, small sign and no pavement advertising, but once he had, it had become the perfect place to sit when he hadn’t fancied going straight back to an empty apartment and eating a meal for one.

Yes, that’s what he’d do. He’d stop off, order a beer and sit at the table they’d shared yesterday. Maybe she’d come in, he’d order her a glass of white wine and apologise for his appalling behaviour. Seriously, what had he been thinking?

He vaguely remembered the crash and bang of folders and other stuff falling to the floor as he’d scooped her onto the desk. But it had barely registered. All he’d been thinking about was getting closer to her.

For a few minutes it had been so good, so damn hot… The memory of her letting him slot between her thighs as he’d kissed her and leaned her back on the desk would always be with him.

He clicked onto an image of an empty food cupboard and hoped Grant wouldn’t notice his fidgeting.

He pulled in a long, deep breath. It seemed where Glitter—Megan—was concerned, all control went out of the window.

Which was, the more he thought about it, probably the very reason for her running. He’d come on too damn strong, scared the poor soul witless. And that wasn’t the type of man he was. He’d always prided himself on sophistication, cool, calm collectiveness. Even if he had been in a bit of a sexual drought lately, that should still be the case.

But this woman had him unravelling at the seams.

His phone bleeped and he glanced at the screen.

“Is that your Megan?” Grant asked, not looking up from what he was doing.

“No, it’s Roxy.”

“Oh God, really. Now what?” Grant rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Needs collecting from Brighton? Bailing out? Or maybe you need to go and explain to the London Eye that she’s very sorry for flashing the lower pods her lacy knickers.”

James laughed, but there was little humour there. His young niece had put him through all those things while she’d spent a month completing work experience in London. It had been a joke that she’d wanted to learn about making a documentary, she’d only wanted to party, push the English sense of propriety to the limits and embarrass him as much as she could—or so it seemed.

“No, no trouble,” James said, flicking his phone locked and sighing. “She’s home, thank goodness. Just landed at LAX and into the arms of her parents again.”

“That’s a relief.”

“You’re telling me. That is the last time I agree to let a twenty-year-old hang out with me. Bloody nightmare from start to finish.”