She’d never felt like this. Never wanted to lose herself so entirely in a man’s embrace, kiss, body. There were murmured words, caresses, as his kisses left her lips and went lower, as he stopped to look at her, to admire her, to compliment her. She lay on his bed, now naked as he was, and closed her eyes and felt his fingertips and his lips trace her body, her breasts, lower, her body arching, reaching for him in turn. A whispered conversation, more kisses, yes to protection, yes to not stopping, yes, yes and yes, so many times, as she felt the weight of him on her and she shut her eyes and felt an explosion of pleasure like never before.

He held her tight afterwards. She felt him kiss her, felt his fingers trace patterns on her naked back. And then, moments or minutes later, movement against each other’s bodies again, as slow kisses became faster kisses, as desire flared between them once more. The second time was even better.

She woke at four a.m. He was asleep, an arm across her. She gazed at him, so peaceful, dark lashes, dark eyebrows. She was thirsty. Carefully, trying not to disturb him, she reached down, put on a shirt she found on the floor beside the bed and tiptoed out. She was standing in the kitchen, sipping the water, when she heard a noise behind her.

It was Lawrence. Smiling. ‘That shirt suits you. You can have it if you like.’

She gazed down at herself in his shirt. Knowing his eyes were on her, she walked over to him through the dark room, slowly slipping the shirt off as she reached him. Their kisses replaced words.

They woke again at six. More quiet conversation, bodies entwined. She felt sated, cherished.

‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing him again.

He laughed softly. ‘You’re welcome.’

‘You’re good at this.’

‘I was about to say the same thing to you.’

He needed to leave for the airport, she knew.

‘I’ll walk you home,’ he said.

He made her a coffee as she showered and dressed. In the dawn light, she joined him in the kitchen. Cups in hands, he did show her his paintings. They looked even better in the light.

Edinburgh was barely awake as they walked back to the Montgomery. This time they did hold hands. It felt good. As they reached the hotel’s street, he stopped, touched her cheek.

‘I hope you can find your way from here?’

They were less than two metres from the hotel. ‘I think so,’ she said.

The briefest of kisses. A beautiful kiss.

‘Have a great time in France,’ she said to him. ‘I hope the new job goes well, too.’

‘Safe travels back to Australia,’ he said.