The Innocent's One-Night Confession

After all, the conversation, however enjoyable, had remained strictly impersonal. They hadn’t even exchanged surnames, she reminded herself, which made it very much a ‘ships that pass in the night’ occasion.

And she should put out of her mind the sense of comfort and security she’d experienced in the taxi when he’d held her in his arms as she wept. Once again, he was just being kind. Nothing more. And far better—safer—to believe that.

The arrival of the coffee, however, prompted a move back to the sofa. And it had also, she realised, signalled the departure of the serving staff, leaving them alone together.

She made a thing of looking at her watch. ‘Heavens, I didn’t realise how late it was. I should be leaving. I—I’ve already taken up too much of your time.’

‘I think we both know that isn’t true.’ He paused, then added, ‘Have some coffee,’ filling one of the small cups from the tall silver pot. ‘Then I’ll call the desk and order a cab for you.’

As he passed her the cup, their fingers brushed and she felt the brief contact shiver through her senses.

It was so quiet in the room that it seemed the swift uneven pounding of her heart must be audible to them both.

She pushed back a strand of hair from her forehead and saw him watching the swift, nervous movement of her hand and stared down, trying to calm herself, concentrating her attention on the dark swirl of coffee in her cup.

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