Jamie walked quickly to the postbox next door, dropped it in, and walked away again.

She was trying very hard not to think about what she’d just done. Nice girls didn’t invite boys over for sex. She had just invited Tom over for sex. Therefore she was not a nice girl. Yes, she had long since rejected that kind of thinking, but early socialisation was a bitch. And now she had to wait for a reply. Which would no doubt take hours.

Her postbox clanged shut, startling her. She ran to the window just in time to see Tom retreating to his own house.

Dear Cat,

I tried to pass the message on to my human, but he was just a blur of motion heading towards your human’s house. I have managed to persuade him that 7pm is a more civilised time to make social calls…

Regards,

The Dog

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When the doorbell rang just after seven o’clock, Jamie was glad there was no one around to see her jump. Her legs felt rubbery as she went to open the door. What exactly did Tom expect, she wondered. Would he jump her straight away? Would he expect her to lead him straight to the bedroom?

Even worse, was there any way he could have misinterpreted that exchange of letters and think this was just a casual visit?

Jamie tortured herself with a brief image of Tom pulling away from her in puzzled disgust as she made a move on him. It was such a hideous thought she felt her cheeks getting hot.

Then she told herself to stop it and let him in.

“You’re nervous,” he said as he stepped into the light of the entrance hall and took a long look at her. “It takes one to know one. I’m nervous too.”

“You don’t look nervous,” Jamie accused. He looked, as usual, composed in jeans and a crisp shirt. Then he dug his hands into his pockets and she saw that he was indeed not entirely at ease.

“Let’s take the pressure off.” She led the way to the kitchen and flipped on the kettle. “Let’s pretend you’ve come over for a regular visit. We’ll have a stress-free chat and see where we go from there.”

His shoulders relaxed. “That’s fine. A stress-free chat. I can do that.”

They exchanged their first real smile of the evening. “I’ll make us some coffee, shall I?”

“Sure,” he said, leaning against the counter. But when she turned to get the mugs out, she found him in her way. Not just in her way, but so close she bumped into him. She put out a hand to steady herself against the cupboard, and found that his was already there. Her heart beat a little faster as she felt the heat radiating from his body and caught the piney scent of him.

She stared at the second button of his shirt. “You’re in the way.”

“Uh huh.”

“I can’t seem to reach the cupboard.”

“Nope.”

“It’s a problem. What are we going to do about it?”

His hand drifted up to brush the ends of her hair. “Well, what I was thinking, seeing as we’re both so relaxed now, was that we should say a proper hello to each other.”

“You mean before we get on with the coffee-drinking and stress-free-chat portion of the evening?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

She tore her eyes away from his shirt and glanced up at him, but the look on his face did nothing to soothe her.

“Just a quick hello?” she repeated. “Before coffee?”

“Yeah.”

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It was amazing, Tom thought, how calming it could be to realise that the other person was nervous, too. In the hours that had passed since Jamie’s note arrived, she had somehow evolved in his head from the sexy girl next door into a hard-edged sophisticate who would expect him to bring his own props and toys to their assignation.

But the moment he saw her face, he realised she’d spent the afternoon in exactly the same agony as he had. That was when everything smoothed out for him.

Now he wasn’t aware of anything except how close she was. He could hear the rush of breath from between her lips and feel the unsteadiness of her hand as it rested on his. He closed the gap between them by leaning down to brush her mouth with his.

“Was that it?” she whispered as he pulled back. “Was that the hello?”

“Not quite.”

Gripping her waist with his hands, he clasped her against him and brought his mouth onto hers. Her arms lifted to his shoulders, her body pressing against his. He felt scalded by the flash-and-burn urgency of her response.

When Jamie’s knees started to buckle, she grabbed a handful of his shirt.

“Bed,” she said. “My bed. Now.”

He didn’t argue, but stumbled after her down the passage, stopping every few feet to drag her back for another kiss. Freed from the control he’d imposed on them, his hands went everywhere, roaming all over her body. When they closed over her breasts and his thumbs brushed across her nipples, she thought she might die.

“Now, now, now,” she chanted as her own hands pulled at his shirt. “Too many buttons. Too many clothes.”

“Tell me about it,” he muttered, fighting with her shirt. He gave up on the buttons, tugged the whole thing over her head, and hurled it away. He smiled when he saw that she wasn’t wearing a bra, just a light support tank. In two seconds that had gone the same way as the shirt.