Noah is looking bemused.

Gabe is pushing the pram with one hand, the other arm cradling the cute toddler that’s balanced on his hip. The perfect father.

I stare into Noah’s eyes. For once he’s not grinning. He’s sexy when he’s serious. Looking at me so intently. Even sexier than normal. Gorgeous. Full lips. I run my tongue over my own. This is no hardship. This is fine. I can do it.

His hip nudges mine, any other time I’d pull back, his crotch nestles … oh my God.

I grab his T-shirt and go for it.

For a moment his lips are firm, unyielding, like his firm chest beneath my palm. And then his mouth softens. Oh boy, does it soften. I can’t help myself, I melt into him, close my eyes (which I really need to keep open) and let my hands do what they want to do. Which is move to his shoulders, slide to his neck, allow my fingers to thread their way into his hair.

He smells amazing, he tastes amazing. He’s holding me firmly now, his mouth moving beneath mine. He is taking control and, oh my.

Kissing Robbie was never like this; kissing Robbie didn’t leave me desperate to get even closer, to explore his mouth with my tongue, to groan in an indecent demand for more.

A low wolf-whistle breaks into my consciousness. ‘Well if it isn’t the old devil himself! Still up to your old tricks eh, Noah! Hey, it is Noah, isn’t it, buried under that lovely lady?’ There is a laugh. It’s a bit like a chuckle, but not a proper one, not an earthy one like Noah’s. Oh shit. I keep my eyes closed and think about burying my bright red face in Noah’s chest. Seems like a good idea, so I do, briefly, then surface and look round at him.

Gabe.

In the eye.

He hardly registers me, he’s too busy catching up with his old buddy, Noah.

The baby makes a mewling noise. ‘Shush.’ It cries louder. ‘Sorry, can’t hang about, he doesn’t like it if I stop! But we should get together some time, mate!’ He thumbs up, pats Noah on the arm and is off, walking backwards briefly, then turning to look where he’s going.

I count to ten under my breath, listen as the crying dies away. ‘Mate?! You bloody know that, that, that … man?’

Noah grimaces. ‘Yeah, sure, well slightly. I don’t know him that well. He’s a mate of my sister’s husband. They both work at this PR firm; it’s just down the road from my office.’ He gestures, as though showing me where.

‘His name isn’t Gabe, is it?’ I say weakly as I realise my hands are still on his chest, so I let them drop and take a step back. Concentrate on not touching my swollen, throbbing lips.

‘That was Gabe?’ He stares after the sauntering Gabe, or whatever his bloody name is.

I nod.

‘Your Gabe?’