“Yes, that would be great, fingers crossed.” Megan watched Brendon as he reached for hairspray and applied fast little squirts to the tips of his hair to keep it just so.

She’d bet her best stockings that James had never applied hairspray in his life. He didn’t strike her as a man who had an ounce of vanity or any time for primping and preening. Not that he wasn’t drop-dead gorgeous and perfectly presented, it just all seemed natural. The thickness of his dark hair that held a hint of wave had been left to its own devices and luckily it suited him to perfection. His stubble had been neat but dense when she’d seen him and it had made her wonder what it would feel like against her skin, equally when she’d noticed him clean-shaven on the odd occasion she’d have been just as happy to feel that against her cheek too.

Well, at least now she knew what his stubble felt like on her cheek, her neck…

She turned from the mirror. What was she doing? There was no point daydreaming about James Carter. That was one moment that had been and gone. It had a great big tick next to it. Done. Finished before it had started.

And all because she’d been so stupid. All because she’d had a sudden flash of nerves and hadn’t been able to keep up with a moment of passion.

Because that’s what it had been—raw, blinding passion. They’d admired each other from afar and suddenly, in a blustering whirlwind, had come together. The moment they’d had privacy and been wrapped in desire, there had been nothing to stop them.

Megan had to be honest with herself—it had scared her a little, the intensity in his eyes, the desperation in his voice, the rush of his hands. She’d been with Dylan for so long, the idea of being with another man—at the very last moment before it had happened—had rocked her confidence.

Could I?

Would I?

And what if?

Damn it. Sex was like riding a bike and she was really bloody good at it. She had no reason for a lack of confidence. She was well practiced in all the moves and techniques.

A small tremor went up her spine. She had a feeling James would be well practiced in all the moves and techniques too. He had an air about him that made her think he’d be very good at everything he did, whether it was directing documentaries or making sure a lover was pleased.

“You okay?” Brendon asked, putting down the hairspray.

“Yes, fine.”

He turned and frowned. “You look pale.”

“I’m just… It’s been a full-on morning.”

“Have you eaten?”

“No.”