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with, anyway. This morning had been an early start, the journey had been long, and she could do with relaxing in hot water for an hour or so. Who cares who’d turned the taps on?
    ‘Thank you,’ she cried as loudly as she could. ‘It’s just what I need.’
    Penny approached the bathroom door, then leant against the door surround.
    ‘So this,’ she said brightly, her eyes squinting for any reaction from him, ‘is the bathroom.’ He was bent over the bath, pouring something into the water from a long plastic bottle with a very interesting neck. The water eddied in pink whirls of varying degrees as a result of the added essence before it formed small mounds of white bubbles.
    As he didn’t answer, she took the opportunity to look more fully at the bathroom. Pure white fitments with gold taps and fittings sparkled beneath deep-seated spotlights. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors covered one wall opposite the bath where steam rose from the streaming tap.
    Automatically she undid the top two buttons of her blouse as she walked back into the bedroom, her naked breasts sensitised as the input of air caressed them. In need of clean underwear, she unzipped a bag. A hand gripped hers and stayed its action.
    ‘I’ll do that,’ he said crisply. ‘You have your bath.’
    There it was again, that voice that made her breasts tingle and her crotch moisten with fluid anticipation. His hand, including his fingers, was cool upon her arm.
    Open-mouthed she took the opportunity to study his eyes, which looked at her with such strange intensity. This close, his face was even more beautiful, even more breathtaking. His eyebrows, she noticed, were arched and darker than his hair. His lips were sensuous and pinkly soft as though they could suck at her very soul.
    His fingers released her and she felt their loss. Disinclined to argue, and having received no answers to anything she had asked, Penny sighed and slumped down on the bed. She was tired after an early start this morning and the journey itself. Why not let this man with the face of an angel and the body of an Olympian athlete wait on her?
    Placing the toe of one boot against the heel of the other, she started to nudge the boot off her foot.
    Without being asked, his legs straddled hers. Suddenly, she was lost in her own fantasies, her own lustful desires. There was his bottom, turned towards her face. His cheeks were rounded, the flesh tight and made of muscle rather than fat.
    He tugged, his firm hands and strong arms struggling with the reluctant boots.
    She let her head fall back and allowed her hair, which had broken loose from its black velvet band, to brush the counterpane. This was luxury. How could she not let him do this? There were his buttocks, open to observation, plus his muscular haunches curving down to tight knees and well-shaped calves.
    She had a sudden urge to run her hand between those fine legs, to feel for the soft scrotum that lay so secret, yet so exposed, between his parted thighs.
    An ache of wanting tightened her chest as she raised her head and studied his body. Dare she touch him? Dare she feel the most private part of this man who barely spoke to her, yet was so beautiful that he was almost a work of art?
    But the moment passed.
    Once one boot was off and lying in the middle of a dark red and blue carpet, the same strong grip was applied to the other.
    ‘I’ll get these cleaned,’ he said, and promptly put them outside the door. Then he closed it and came back in. She hadn’t expected that, but voiced no objection.
    Penny rubbed her toes together. Oh well, she thought to herself, if that’s the way it is . . .
    With urgent fingers she began to undo her buttons. She had an urge to catch him here, to expose her body so he had to say something, and had to stay to take her.
    ‘I’ll do that,’ she heard him say.
    Her own hands halted, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. This was something else she hadn’t allowed for.
    Now the fingers that had been