“Hurry, hurry!” She plucked at his belt. She didn’t want hands or tongue. Not this first time. She needed to be filled by him, to take him inside her and ride the wave with him.

Understanding the need that raged in her, he scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed. Locking eyes with her, he made short work of his belt buckle and jeans, fumbling the condom from his pocket. Her eyes were almost black in this light, he saw. The urgency in them whipped his need to an unbearable level.

Then he was on her and, with a quick tilt of the hips, in her. She started coming almost at once. Her muscles closed around him like a fist as she gasped. He tried to hold on, but it was too much for him and he let himself fall after her.

––––––––––

Jamie lay spread-eagled on the bed, trying to catch her breath. Every drop of tension had run out of her body. She slid her hand up and down Tom’s back, enjoying the ridges of muscle and bone under her fingertips, and the feeling of being pressed against the mattress by his weight.

Yes, she would probably need to breathe again sometime in the future, but until then, she was enjoying the sensation of his heaviness and the thunder of his heart against her chest.

He grunted something into the pillow. It sounded like, “hurry”.

“Mmmm?” she said.

He lifted himself up onto his arms and smiled down at her. “I said I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” Jamie couldn’t imagine being sorry about anything ever again.

“That it was all a little quick. I usually have more finesse than that.”

She smiled back at him, loving the way his eyes held hers steadily, without a trace of post-coital awkwardness. “Since I was at least fifty per cent responsible for the rush, I can’t bring myself to be sorry back. Besides, it really worked for me – speed and all.”

“Yeah, me too.” He dropped a kiss on her forehead and rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him so that she now lay on top of him. “Still, I must remember to show you some of my smoother moves sometime.”

Jamie laughed. “I’ll hold you to that.”

“Boy, I’ve been thinking about that for a long time.”

“Thinking about what – sex?”

“Thinking about having sex. With you.”

“Really?” She smiled against his chest.

“Oh, yes. Since the day I first saw you, actually. I was so mad at you that day … and so mad at myself for noticing how sexy you were while I was trying to sustain the mad. Plus there was the awareness that I had no right to be mad at all, when I actually owed you big time. That wasn’t my finest hour. No wonder it’s taken me this long to get you into bed.”

A silent laugh shook Jamie. “You didn’t get me into bed. I got you into bed. Who sent the note that precipitated all this?”

“You did, you nymphomaniac.”

“Stop making me laugh,” she begged.

He pulled her closer. “I like it when you laugh. You kind of jiggle against me, in a way that makes me think maybe I should show you some of those moves I was talking about.”

“Now who’s the nympho?”

“That’s a very shaky grip on Greek mythology you’ve got there, Chef. I’ll be the satyr and you can be the nymph.”

His hands were busy again, stroking the dip of her back, making their way down to the curves of her bottom.

“What are all these big words you keep using?” she said. “Maybe you should tell me again.”

Tom grinned at her before he pulled her mouth down onto his. “Show, not tell.”

It was some considerable time later before either of them had the energy to talk again.

“I wish you could stay over,” Jamie said. “But I know it’s not possible.”

“I wish I could stay over too, but as it is, I’ll have to be going quite soon.” Tom rolled over to take a look at his watch on the nightstand. “Nearly nine o’clock. Vuyiswa likes to leave by ten at the latest on week nights. Which is fair enough, considering that both of us have to work the next day.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Now that you mention it, no. I was too nervous earlier, what with having to enter the den of the man-eater…”

“Ha! And I was too nervous because I had Svengali coming over. I fully expected you to be twirling your waxed moustache when you arrived.”

Tom stroked his chin. “I could grow a moustache if you like. And invest in a little tin of beeswax.”

“Oh, please, no. You’d look like a member of Special Branch.” She opened her mouth to explain this, but he shook his head.

“I get the reference. I went to school here, remember?”

“So you did. Sometimes you sound so American I forget that you actually grew up here.”

“Ours is one of the hardest accents to lose.”

Jamie swung her legs out of bed. “I’ll go and put something together for supper.”

Since Tom had first-hand experience of her “putting something together”, he had no fault to find with this programme. He took a quick shower, got dressed, and wandered through to the kitchen to see if he could help. His jaw dropped when he saw she was already putting warmed plates of lamb tagine on the table.

“I don’t care if you are Superchef,” he said. “There’s no way you whipped that up in ten minutes flat.”

She smiled. “Of course not. I made it yesterday. It’s all part of my plan to soften you up for the favour I need to ask you.”

“Oh, so that’s what this was all about.” He nodded towards the bedroom. “You softening me up.”

“Did it work?”

“Like a charm. So what am I being softened up for?”