‘Hello, you sexy beast,’ she said, watching his eyes as they were drawn down to the low-cut blouse she had deliberately worn. She stroked the slight silvery scar which ran down along his jawline.

‘I’ve been thinking about you, Lynne. I hope you’re enjoying the bubbles.’ He topped up her glass, poured one for himself and toasted her, leaning in between her thighs against the bar stool, and kissing her delicately on the forehead. Already she could feel the heat of him down there, and eased forward on the bar stool to make contact.

The excitement of their tryst just a few days ago was still fresh in her mind; indeed, she’d hardly been able to think about anything else than what Kyle had done to her while she sat on his kitchen worktop. It was hard to believe he had ever needed a crutch to get about, given the athleticism and sheer stamina he had shown. The fact that he had booked a room for them both upstairs for tonight seemed to hint at a repeat performance.

She wasn’t a fool. Kyle might be a beautiful man, but she was fully aware he was a bit out of her league. It wasn’t her job to go barging into his relationship, trying to take ownership. The occasional exciting night would be enough.

As they sat down he said, ‘I want to know all about you, Lynne, how such a lovely sensitive woman fought her way through as a cop. I imagine you need fairly sharp elbows given what a male organisation the police is.’

She smiled. ‘It’s not as bad as it used to be, but there are still plenty of old-fashioned attitudes. Funnily enough it’s supposed to be easier for women once you start getting promoted. There are loads of female chief constables now, and they’ve proved themselves as tough as the men.’

He let her talk, asking intelligent questions, and seemed to be listening to everything she said.

‘When I first got your message,’ she said. ‘I just thought you wanted to persuade me to prioritise the theft investigation. But I realised I misjudged you.’

He laughed, an infectious chuckle that seemed to dissolve his face. ‘Well, don’t get me wrong. I do want to know that you’re all working flat out on it, but like your bullying colleague said, it’s probably in bits in a crate on its way abroad.’

‘My bullying colleague?’

‘Yes. DC Hoskins. I watched him. He talked over you, rolled his eyes at me when you were giving your theory, and generally treated you like a doormat. I hope you don’t mind me saying?’

Lynne was taken aback. ‘I’m just impressed you noticed. Most men wouldn’t.’

‘Can’t stand that kind of behaviour,’ he said, rotating the stem of his champagne glass as he stared into the drink. ‘Of course, once upon a time…’ He shook his head, as if at a painful memory. ‘Look. I’m different from how I used to be. I was once a paratrooper, did a tour of duty in Helmand, and actually realised I wasn’t mentally tough enough for some of the things I saw.’ He described seeing a couple of colleagues terribly wounded by roadside bombs. ‘I lay on my bunk shivering. I thought I’d become a coward or something, but I just couldn’t face it. I was diagnosed with PTSD, and ended up coming home.’