‘I don’t know. How long would it take?’ She would feel so ridiculous lying around naked for hours, flaunting her body like she thought she was all that.
‘A few days maybe. It would just be me,’ he said persuasively, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.
‘But what about afterwards, when it was finished?’
‘I wouldn’t sell it. I wouldn’t even show it to anyone else, if you don’t want me to.’
‘Days?’ She frowned. She didn’t like the idea of lying around naked for days with him staring at her. He’d seen her naked plenty
of times, of course, but this would be different. His gaze would be so intensely focused on her. She didn’t know if she could handle that.
‘I could do it from photographs, if that would be easier for you. I’d just have to take a few snaps. I could make the painting from those.’
‘Is it just as good using photographs?’
‘Well, I’d rather have the real thing, but …’
He obviously really wanted this, and he’d been so nice to her. It seemed like the least she could do. Besides, it would be good practice for her – she had to get used to being looked at naked. ‘Okay,’ she whispered.
‘You’ll do it? You’ll pose for me?’ His eyes lit up, and she couldn’t help smiling back at him.
‘Yeah, if you want me to that much.’
‘Thank you.’ He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, his fingers going to the buttons of her shirt as he kissed his way down her neck.
‘You want to start right now?’ she asked, pulling back. She wasn’t sure she was ready just yet.
‘Right now, I want to fuck you. I wasn’t joking about all that twat talk turning me on. Besides, I want to paint you afterwards, when you’re all glowing and voluptuous with that just-fucked look.’
‘Oh!’
He took her hand and led her to the bedroom, and they spent the next couple of hours working on Claire’s post-coital glow.
‘This is how I want to paint you,’ Luca said some time later, propped up on one elbow beside her in bed. ‘Just like this.’ His thumb stroked over her swollen lips and then his hand moved down to cup her breast, his eyes following wherever he touched. ‘You’re so beautiful – all full and sated, and alive.’
Maybe it wouldn’t be so hard posing naked for him, Claire thought. Because the way Luca looked at her made her feel so sexy and beautiful, like she really was all that.
On Friday, Claire left work early and went straight to the airport. It had been a busy week in the shop, and she had hardly had time to think about seeing Mark, just look forward to relaxing on the flight. But on the plane it hit her that she hardly knew Mark, and she could be letting herself in for a very awkward weekend.
So she was feeling nervous as she made her way into the arrivals hall, searching the crowds around the barrier for Mark. Then she spotted him waving at her, and was instantly reassured by the sight of his friendly face. She made her way quickly to him, and it seemed like the most natural thing in the world when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her. It was a gentle, tentative kiss – less than lovers but more than friends.
‘It’s really good to see you,’ he said, smiling down at her.
‘It’s good to see you too.’
He took her bag and led her to his car, swinging her case into the boot. Her flight had got in just after eight, but the evenings were lengthening, and the sun was setting as they drove towards London.
‘So, I thought we’d stay in tonight,’ he said. ‘I figured you’d probably be tired after your journey.’
‘I am tired,’ Claire said, stifling a yawn, as if by the power of suggestion. ‘Why is travelling always so exhausting, even if it’s only a really short trip?’
‘Tomorrow night I’ve booked us a table for dinner at a little bistro in the village. I hope that’s okay.’
‘It sounds lovely.’
He asked after her mother and work, and they chatted easily for the rest of the journey. Mark’s place was a large garden flat in a period building just outside Highgate village.
‘This is lovely,’ she said, as he led her into a bright, modern living room with wooden floors. She had expected his flat to be very sleek and minimalist, but it was much more homely and cosy than she had imagined, and felt comfortably messy and lived-in. There were books piled everywhere, and floor-to-ceiling shelves lined the walls in the living room.
‘Come on, and I’ll show you around,’ he said, leaving her bag on the floor.
He took her on a quick tour of the flat, the kitchen living up to some of her bachelor-pad expectations, with lots of chrome appliances, high-tech gadgets and granite worktops. ‘I knew you were coming so I baked a cake,’ he said, pointing to a sponge that was sitting on a rack on the worktop.
‘You really baked? For me?’ Claire asked, touched by the sweetness of the gesture.
‘Sure. It’s lemon drizzle – my speciality.’
‘Oh, that’s my favourite! My mum makes it a lot.’
‘I have a lot to live up to, then. Are you hungry, or have you eaten?’
‘No, I haven’t and I’m starving.’
‘I thought I’d make you my world-famous nachos tonight. Is that okay?’
‘Perfect.’ She smiled. ‘It’s not fair, you know all my weaknesses.’ Their Twitter conversations had revolved around food almost as much as books.
‘I do,’ he said, with an evil grin. ‘I’ll take all the unfair advantages I can get.’
‘Are your nachos really world-famous, though?’
He shrugged. ‘Well, Twitter covers the world, so I’d say yes.’
Claire smiled.
‘Now I’ll show you the rest,’ Mark said, and led her into the hallway.
After showing her the bathroom and his bedroom, he showed her into a second, smaller bedroom across the hall from his. ‘This is you. There’s an en-suite shower, or you can use the main
bathroom. I’ve left you some towels. If you need anything else, just let me know.’
‘Thank you.’ Claire smiled at him. ‘This is lovely.’ She was so glad she had established the five-date rule, that she could get to know Mark without feeling anxious about having to fend him off and make excuses for not wanting to sleep with him.
‘Well, I’ll leave you to settle in, and I’ll make the nachos. When you’ve got yourself sorted, come and join me.’
Claire quickly unpacked a few things from her case, washed her face and put on some mascara and lipstick. When she went back to the living room, Mark was in the kitchen area. A bottle of red wine was open on the counter. He poured a couple of glasses and handed one to her.
‘Have a seat,’ he said, gesturing to the sofa. ‘This’ll be ready in a couple of minutes.’
‘Thanks.’
The coffee table in front of the sofa was set with knives, forks, plates and napkins, and there were dishes of salsa, sour cream and guacamole. Moments later, Mark joined her, placing a large plate of nachos on the table.
‘Dig in,’ he said, handing her a plate.
‘Oh, my God, these are amazing,’ Claire said. ‘They deserve their reputation.’
‘They live up to expectations?’ Mark smiled.
‘Definitely. If I wasn’t here incognito, I’d tweet about them right now.’
‘Speaking of incognito,’ he said, wiping his hands. He picked up a hardback book from the side table beside him and handed it to her.
She wiped her hands on a napkin before taking it from him. She gasped in pleasure, recognising the title. The author was Mark’s latest signing, and Claire was friendly with her on Twitter. ‘Thank you! I can’t wait to read it,’ she said, turning it over in her hands. ‘It sounds great.’
‘I hope you’ll love it.’
‘How did the launch go on Wednesday?’
‘Really well. It was fun. I got it signed for you,’ he said, nodding to the book.
‘Oh!’ Claire opened the book to the title page and saw that it was signed to @NiceGirl ‘whoever you may be’.
‘I said I could get it to you.’
‘Thanks.’
‘I’m dying to know what you think of it. Let me know when you’ve read it.’
‘I will.’ It pleased Claire that Mark valued her opinion. They had become friendly on Twitter through chatting about books. The first time Mark had tweeted her it was because she had been raving about the book she was reading, and it turned out to be one he’d just published. Over time, they’d found they had very similar taste, and when they did disagree on something, Mark was always keen to hear her views.
She put the book on the arm of the sofa, and helped herself to more nachos, loading them up with sour cream, salsa and guacamole.
‘How’s your writing going?’ Mark asked. ‘How’s the novel coming along?’
‘Very slowly. I don’t have a lot of time, what with work and looking after my mum, and the blog is very time-consuming. But I’ve almost finished the first draft.’
‘Don’t forget to send it to me whenever you’re ready.’
The prospect of Mark reading her novel was exciting and also terrifying. She’d hate if he didn’t rate something she’d written.
‘I will.’ She took a gulp of her wine. ‘I just hope you like it.’
‘I can’t imagine not liking something you’d written.’
‘Well, it’s very different from the blog, obviously.’ If not quite as different as he thought. They were both fiction.
Mark forked the last of the nachos onto his plate. ‘What are you reading at the moment?’ he asked.
The talk turned to books, and the time flew by as they
discussed what they’d read recently and writers they knew on Twitter or in real life. Mark shared some gossip about writers he’d met, and Claire told him about the ones who had held events in the shop, who was rude and obnoxious, who had turned out to be unexpectedly sweet and unassuming. Suddenly it was after midnight and she found she was exhausted.
‘I’m going to have to call it a night,’ she said, yawning.
‘God, sorry – I didn’t notice the time.’
‘I didn’t either,’ she said. She had been so caught up in their conversation, she hadn’t noticed it getting late, or how tired she was.
‘Well, good night,’ he said, as he got up. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her slowly and lingeringly. ‘Help yourself to anything you need. I’ll see you in the morning.’
The next morning at breakfast, Mark announced that he was going to take her to ‘the most romantic place in London’, so she was more than a little alarmed when they turned up at the gates of Highgate Cemetery.
‘Seriously, this is where we’re going? A cemetery?’
‘I know – such a clichéd second date.’ Mark smiled.
‘Is there something I should know about you?’
‘Wait and see.’ He took her hand. ‘Unfortunately, we can’t just wander around on our own. You have to join a guided tour. Apart from that, the west cemetery really is the most romantic place I know in London.’
‘I knew you were too good to be true.’
But it turned out he was right, and Claire found herself completely enchanted as they walked along the twisting wooded paths among ivy-clad monuments and ancient crumbling tombstones watched over by winged angels. Despite the presence of the tour group, the atmosphere was tranquil and ethereal – it was like being transported back in time as
they explored the dank catacombs and gazed in awe at colossal ornate mausoleums.
‘Okay, you were right,’ Claire whispered to Mark, as they walked along. ‘This is incredibly romantic.’
‘You like it?’
‘I love it! It’s so beautiful.’ She thought it was one of the most extraordinary places she’d ever been to, and she only wished they could have stayed longer. She could happily have spent several hours wandering around on her own.
They picked up bread and cheese at a deli on the way home, and had lunch in the garden as it was a warm, sunny day. The errant Millie finally turned up, stalking imperiously across the grass to Claire and circling around her chair before trotting over to Mark and springing into his lap, where she curled up.
‘I think you’ve been maligning her,’ Claire said, nodding to the ginger tabby that was nuzzling Mark’s hand as he petted her. ‘She seems quite devoted.’
‘She’s just marking her territory because you’re here,’ Mark said, stroking Millie’s ears. ‘Bloody cat in the manger. Aren’t you?’ But his features softened as he looked down at her adoringly.
Claire rubbed her arms as the sky clouded over and the air turned chilly.
‘Let’s have coffee and cake inside,’ Mark said, standing and starting to clear the table, ‘and we can discuss the book.’
‘I’ll just ring my mother first,’ Claire said.
She went to her bedroom to make the call while Mark loaded the dishwasher. When she came back into the living room, he was sitting at the table waiting for her with the promised coffee and cake, and a large pile of paper in front of him. When she joined him at the table, she was alarmed to see it was printouts of her blog. She had to will herself not to blush as he calmly
leafed through some of her raunchiest posts, discussing the different ways the book might be organised, chronologically or according to topic.
‘This cake is delicious. I’m impressed.’ A man who baked was a definite plus, Claire thought – and she was glad of the sugar to calm her nerves. She had to remind herself she was supposed to be the ballsy girl who had done all this stuff, and force herself to act casually.
‘I thought maybe it could be arranged episodically,’ Mark said, ‘but obviously with regular characters and a constant theme running through it – a bit like
Sex and the City
. The book, not the show.’
‘Right.’
‘So I think maybe you need to write some extra material to give it more cohesion. I also think it needs some sort of conclusion. Maybe you should end up with one of these guys.’
‘Who would you suggest?’
‘You know, I always kind of thought you’d end up with Mr Bossy.’
‘Really?’ She gulped.
‘He seemed like the one you were always drawn back to. But that was before I met you, of course. Now that I know you, he doesn’t really seem your type.’
‘I could still write it that way – it doesn’t have to be true.’ It could be fun to do, she thought. She had always enjoyed writing about Mr Bossy.
‘Or how about Mr Strange? You had something pretty solid going with him.’
‘Uh-uh.’ She shook her head. ‘The clue is in his name.’