Read My Naughty Little Secret for Free Online Page A

paper.
    “Legitimately got,” I couldn’t resist the dig. He had the good grace to look sheepish as he stepped in the door. I brought him in to say hello to Claire and Tara, handed over his details, and made as little small talk as I could engineer. It was kind of awkward being in the living room with him and the girls when we had only just said hello and neither of us knew what footing we were on.
    He led me over to a red Mercedes convertible with French license plates and held the passenger door open. He shut the top to protect my hair and clothes. The journey into town was fairly stiff. I tried to worm it out of him where we were headed, but all he would give me was that we were parking at his apartment and getting a taxi to our next destination. Work seemed to be a no-go area once again. Thank Christ for the stereo system. He had an eighties mix on his mp3 player and it was really good. I just had to be careful not to sing along; I didn’t want to scare him off. Finally the journey was done; forty-five minutes can seem a hell of a long time when you’re stuck in a car with one other person and neither of you knows what to say.
    When we arrived at his apartment, he pulled into the underground car-park. He opened the door to the apartment, then stood back to let me in. I was contemplating teasing him about his perfect manners when he took me firmly in his arms and pushed me against the wall, kissing me hard. Manners, my arse! That fairly took my breath away. I was trembling with desire, wanting more, when he abruptly pulled back.
    “Oh, God, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that,” he apologised in a raspish voice.
    “S’ok, it was pretty nice,” was all I could think of.
    Lame, I know, but it didn’t seem appropriate to say don’t be sorry, that was shit hot, on a first date. But fuck, it was passionate and very, very hot.
    “I’ve wanted to do that to you since the first time I saw you, and today you look really beautiful,” he said.
    Not giving me a chance to reply, he pulled out his mobile phone and called for a cab. I was reeling, physically and emotionally. All this time I thought he was scathing of me. I had no idea.
    “Cab’ll be fifteen minutes,” he said, snapping his phone off. “Can I get you a glass of wine?”
    “Please, or brandy,” I teased.
    Ah, a genuine smile. I knew there had to be a sense of humour hiding in there somewhere.
    “Red or white?”
    I opted for red and he opened a bottle of Chateauneuf-Du-Pape, pouring just one glass. Jesus, this was a man with expensive tastes: Chateauneuf-Du-Pape, a Mercedes convertible, and renting a large apartment in Knightsbridge, all by himself. Where did all the money come from? He must be on some dough at work, I thought. He was a complete enigma; I wondered how much would be resolved before the evening was out, but I doubted it would be much. I wanted him to kiss me like that again, but he behaved impeccably. We stuck to neutral topics as I sipped my wine. For the first time ever, I felt quite at ease in his company and amazingly, he was quite a good conversationalist—well-read and informed. Just as we were starting to break the ice, the buzzer announced the arrival of the taxi.
    Michael pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it to the taxi driver, so I still didn’t know where we were going. I had to hand it to him; he was good at this surprise thing. It was only when we pulled up outside the Ritz that I knew what was happening. We were booked in to an early dinner and he had something else up his sleeve, but he wasn’t telling.
    After a glass of champagne, we were shown to our table. I chose a foie gras starter followed by a seafood medley. Michael selected escargot and veal. The food was wonderful, and after another glass of wine, Michael was loosening up. I had just commented on how impressed I was that he had managed to get a table here with such short notice, when out of the blue he announced, totally off