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might I add, and although my shop is in Camden, its tiny interior is about as far from an “emporium” as you could get. As much as I might dislike the name, however, the business has an established reputation so I’ve bravely stuck with it.
    If only I’d been as brave in sticking to my decision of cancelling my lessons with Nicholas, I thought as I pulled a bunch of keys from my bag and selected the correct one to open the shop. If I had, I might not be standing on the street, still able to remember the slight ache on my rear from the episode with the cane.
    But I hadn’t called him to cancel, of course not. I’d fancied him like crazy; why would I cancel? To give myself a little credit, I had tried several times. I’d even dialled his number fully on two occasions but I’d chickened out both times and hung up as soon as I heard ringing. The fact of the matter was that as well as being incredibly attracted to Nicholas Jackson he scared me slightly, and because of this I’d been too worried about what he might say if I tried to cancel, so in the end I’d just gone along the following Friday.
    To make matters even more confusing, Nicholas had acted in a completely professional fashion at the next lesson. There had been no inquisitive glances or strange questions and I began to wonder if my lust-filled brain had dreamed up his actions that first week.
    After several weeks, my piano playing had made a marked improvement and I gradually began to relax my guard around Nicholas. He hadn’t tried anything or made any more suggestive comments so I decided to be an adult about it and try to see him solely as my tutor and nothing else.
    Unfortunately, this was when all my troubles really began.
    After he’d asked me if I was single and then done nothing when he knew I was, I had convinced myself that Nicholas wasn’t interested in me. Even though I had promised to view him as my tutor and nothing more, I couldn’t help the thrill of attraction that ran through me every time he was near, or the way my pulse spiked if I caught his eye for a moment or two. He was so good-looking that I think even a celibate nun would have had some sort of response to him.
    I decided that it might be a one-sided crush, but if I was careful he’d never know, and besides, I’d get over it in time. That was what I told myself anyway, but in the weeks that followed, I noticed that Nicholas developed a certain way of looking at me that made me feel completely transparent to him.
    It had continued like this, Nicholas distant and daunting and me uncharacteristically on edge and nervy, until, one evening after I’d forced myself to try and start relaxing around him, he finally touched me.
    It occurred just as I was finishing a new piece he had taught me. Unbeknown to me, he had moved to stand behind me, and as I completed the song, he placed a hand lightly on the centre of my back.
    As ridiculous as it sounds, I couldn’t help but gasp as the heat from his palm seemed to sear my skin and froze me to the spot. Very slowly, he used one finger to trail a path up my spine before resting his hand on the nape of my neck and seeming to rip the breath from my body as he did so. Involuntarily, I shuddered from the intense pleasure of his contact, still slightly shocked that he was touching me at all. Shooting sparks danced across my skin, causing me to jab the piano keys clumsily and make an awful racket. It ruined the otherwise successful piece and made me look incredibly foolish to boot.
    ‘Am I mistaken, Rebecca, or do you feel it too?’ Nicholas asked in a silken tone as he lowered himself to sit on the piano stool next to me, heat positively radiating from his body. Or perhaps the heat was coming from me: things felt so surreal that I couldn’t quite tell.
    Part of me wanted to play dumb and say, ‘Feel what too?’ but even though I’d tried to tell myself he didn’t like me, I wasn’t entirely naïve. The tension between us these past few