One Summer in Cornwall by Karen King (best books to read for success .TXT) 📕

She thought about it. It was tempting, she was sure she’d have a good time with Lucas, no strings attached, obviously, but the timing was wrong. She had too much to sort out to be travelling to London.

‘Sorry, but I’m too busy at the moment. I’m in the middle of selling my cottage and setting up a new business,’ she said.

‘If you do, message me,’ he told her. ‘I’ll send you a Facebook friend request.’

She nodded. ‘Thanks.’ She might just take him up on it.

After a couple more dances, one of the other women from the crowd claimed Lucas, and Hattie was about to walk off the dance floor and give her feet a much-needed rest when she heard Marcus say, ‘Fancy a dance?’

He’d unbuttoned the neck of his shirt now and rolled up his sleeves, his long hair free from its ponytail and curling on the top of his shoulders. He looked incredibly sexy, and even though she’d rationed the glasses of wine she’d had, she felt encased in a mellow glow. ‘Sure,’ she agreed.

He put his arms around her and drew her close as they moved to the music, and she nestled into him, savouring the warmth of his body, the tangy smell of his aftershave – the chemistry she had tried so hard to deny between them sizzling. Did he feel it too? she wondered, or was it just her? She looked up, wanting to see the expression on his face, and their eyes met, held. Hazel eyes that seemed flecked with gold under the disco lights. She stared into them, mesmerised. He did feel it, she was sure, and that knowledge made her breath catch in her throat. There was a question in his eyes now and she held her breath as his head lowered, then she threw caution to the wind and raised her lips to his.

Chapter Nineteen

Her head was throbbing. Hattie opened her eyes, blinked at the harsh sunlight, then quickly closed them again. She hadn’t meant to drink so much wine, but it had been such a lovely day, the photographs had gone well, she’d had another couple of queries about commissions. And she’d danced with Marcus. She remembered that dance, his strong arms around her, holding her close, the tangy scent of his aftershave, his mouth brushing against her ear, trailing down her neck then kissing her slowly, deeply, making her heart race and her knees weaken underneath her.

Then another memory flashed across her mind, Marcus bending over the bed and kissing her. Surely they hadn’t . . . ? She opened one eye tentatively and shot a glance at the space beside her. Empty. And thankfully there were no dents in the pillow where a sleeping head had lain. Marcus’s head. She must have been dreaming. God, did she fancy him that much that she was actually dreaming about him now?

She rubbed her eyes and looked at the clock. Almost ten. She had totally zonked out. Good job it was Sunday. She yawned and sat up. Her throat was parched. She could do with a cup of coffee. She pushed the sheet back – it was too hot for a duvet – and set off downstairs, stopping off at the bathroom to go to the loo first.

‘Bugger off!’ Buddy squawked as she walked into the lounge. He was climbing up the bars of the cage, watching her.

‘Nice to see you, too!’ She walked over to the cage; it had been cleaned out and he’d got fresh food and water. She couldn’t remember doing that. ‘Morning, grumpy,’ she said.

Buddy eyed her, cocking his head to one side. She really thought he was getting used to her. She’d do a piece of toast and marmalade and give him some, that would win him over. She walked into the kitchen, reached for the kettle, then paused as she saw a note propped against it. She squinted as she read the loopy blue writing:

You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to wake you. Thanks for a fantastic night. And for agreeing to partner me for Lord Thomwell’s birthday party this afternoon. See you later.

‘Thanks for a fantastic night!’ Oh God! It hadn’t been a dream: she’d spent the night with Marcus. What the hell had she been thinking?

She needed a coffee – strong and black – then to get her head together. She couldn’t believe that she’d actually slept with Marcus and couldn’t remember any of it. Had she been that drunk? Had it been that uneventful?

And what was this birthday party she’d agreed to accompany him to? And for a Lord at that!

She put the kettle on and spooned coffee into a mug, her mind going back to yesterday evening as she poured in hot water, then added some cold to cool it down. She needed to get sober fast! She remembered dancing with Marcus at the wedding reception but nothing past then. She couldn’t even remember getting home. She hoped that she hadn’t shown herself up; she’d only just moved here.

She took the mug of coffee over to the table and sat down. She had to get her head straight. How could she face Marcus if she didn’t remember what had happened between them? Then panic seized her. Had they taken precautions? What had she been thinking?

That’s the trouble, you weren’t thinking, you were drinking.

She groaned and put her head in her hands. This wasn’t the first time she’d had a bit too much wine and done something she regretted. The trouble was, wine went to her head. One minute she was fine, and the next, that was it, total blackout. She had been determined to stick to two glasses but must have relaxed, and let her guard down because the photography session had gone well, so had an extra glass or two. Had Marcus encouraged her? Taken advantage of her? She shook her head, the memory of how it had felt to have his arms around