The rest of what I was going to say was cut off as he stepped forward and wrapped me tightly in his arms. Before I could resist, not that I wanted to, he softly brushed his lips against mine. He pulled away for less than a second and then kissed me again, deeply this time and with all the technique I had imagined he had at his disposal. By the time we broke apart, my temperature had climbed high enough to make a thermometer pop and my body was yearning to take the moment further.

‘Sorry,’ he said, closing his eyes, which were all pupil, but just as quickly opening them again. ‘I shouldn’t have done that.’

‘Kissed me or closed your eyes?’

‘Both,’ he said, letting me go, running his hands through his hair and almost falling over as a result.

Just for the briefest moment, I felt hurt that he regretted it, but then common sense kicked in and I acknowledged that in view of everything we had going on, and in spite of the fact that I fancied the pants off him and now knew he felt the same way about me (assuming it wasn’t all beer talk), a more intimate relationship was a complication we didn’t need.

‘Well, that’s disappointing,’ I smiled, making light of it while brushing the moment off at the same time, ‘because I thought it was a decent way to end the day.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Ned drunkenly grinned, ‘I always think a bacon sandwich is a fitting end to a trip to the pub.’

Chapter 8

As soon as we were back inside the lodge, Ned forgot all about his hankering for a bacon sandwich but it was immediately obvious when he emerged the next morning, cradling his head in his hands, that he wasn’t going to forget the impact of six pints of lager in a hurry.

I wasn’t going to forget them anytime soon either because I’d laid awake for much of the night thinking that if he could kiss like that drunk, then what was he capable of sober. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be thinking anything like that, but in the long watches of the night, my brain seemed to have a mind of its own.

‘Morning,’ he huskily said, as he gingerly descended the stairs and slumped on a stool at the kitchen counter.

His voice was unusually deep and very sexy.

‘Good morning,’ I responded, ignoring the fluttering in my tummy. ‘I thought you were getting up extra early this morning.’

‘I planned to,’ he winced, ‘and I would have done, if it wasn’t for you and your bloody pint glasses.’

‘Don’t blame me,’ I said, wiping down the counter. ‘I was only responsible for the first one. It was Theo who kept them coming and you didn’t have to drink them, did you?’

‘I suppose not,’ he muttered.