Tilly Bagshawe 3-book Bundle: Scandalous, Fame, Friends and Rivals. Tilly Bagshawe

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      ‘What time is it?’ she asked, closing her eyes and sinking back against the cushion that Horatio had arranged behind her head as a pillow. Before he could answer, another thought struck her. ‘How did you know where I live? How did you get in?’

      ‘It wasn’t that much of a brain teaser,’ he joked, sitting down on the other end of the couch, by her feet. ‘After you passed out in the car I looked in your wallet. Your driving licence had the address on it.’

      ‘Oh.’ Theresa blushed. ‘Of course.’

      ‘I couldn’t find a key in your pockets, thought I might have to jimmy open a window or something, but the place was unlocked. You should be more careful.’

      His tone was admonishing, as if he were the teacher and she the pupil. It – all this, the knight-in-shining-armour routine – was a side to Horatio that Theresa had never seen before. As his three faces merged back into one, she watched him tuck the blanket around her feet and thought, He’s really very handsome.

      ‘You mentioned something outside the pub. About Theo.’ The name seemed to stick in Horatio’s throat. ‘Is that why …?’

      ‘I was drinking? Yes. Stupid, I know.’ She ran a hand through her drying curls. ‘Getting hammered’s not going to help anything. It’s certainly not going to stop him coming back to Cambridge, if that’s really what he wants. When Theo wants something he’s like the Bad Rabbit. He doesn’t say “ please ” . He just takes it.’

      Horatio missed the literary reference, but he got the gist of what she was saying. He looked almost as horrified by the prospect of Theo Dexter’s return as Theresa had ten hours earlier. ‘Dexter’s coming here? Moving here? Why, for God’s sake?’

      Theresa told him the whole sorry story. By the time she’d finished she was fighting back tears again. Without thinking, Horatio leaned over and hugged her. Misinterpreting her distress, he said sadly, ‘You still love him, don’t you?’

      ‘No!’ Theresa pulled back, surprised by the vehemence of her own reaction. ‘No, I don’t still love him. Not in the least. In fact at this precise moment there’s a possibility I might even hate him. And I make it a policy never to hate people.’

      ‘A policy. I see. Like your “ policy ” not to date students, you mean?’

      All of a sudden Theresa was aware of how close he was. She could see the stubble on his chin and jawline, smell the faint scent of aftershave on his skin. She looked up and his eyes were boring into her. This was not the Horatio Hollander she remembered. This version was a man, not a boy. And he was smouldering.

      When she spoke, her voice cracked. ‘Yes. Like that.’

      ‘You have too many policies, Professor O’Connor.’

      The kiss was so fast, and so bold, Theresa told herself she had no time to resist. The truth was, she didn’t want to. It was so long since she’d been with a man, so long since she’d even thought of herself as a sexual being, she’d convinced herself that that part of her was dead. Apparently not. Horatio’s desire was intoxicating, far more of an aphrodisiac than the alcohol or the roaring fire or the romantic snowflakes still falling softly outside the window. He kissed her again, his hands caressing the back of her neck, then sliding down under her shirt, reaching for her breasts, stroking them briefly – too briefly – before he sat up.

      ‘No!’ Was that my voice? thought Theresa. ‘Don’t stop.’

      Horatio grinned. ‘I’m not stopping.’

      Pulling his jumper off over his head along with his t-shirt and wriggling out of his jeans like an eager puppy, he was naked in seconds, revealing a body surprisingly strong and athletic. In the flickering firelight he looked like a marble sculpture, alabaster pale but exquisitely beautiful. It was a different body to Theo’s. Taller. Leaner. Younger. Theresa tried not to look at his dick, but it was impossible, like walking round Trafalgar Square and ignoring Nelson’s Column.

      ‘Your turn.’

      She started to unbutton her blouse, but Horatio was too quick for her, his fingers working expertly, opening the wet cloth to reveal an embarrassingly old grey bra.

      ‘Sorry,’ Theresa blushed.

      ‘For what?’ he asked incredulously. ‘You are so fucking perfect I could cry.’ And she knew in that moment that he meant it. That he wanted her, really wanted her, not as some passing student crush, but as a man, wanting a woman. She relaxed then, and he seemed to sense it, slowing down his movements, undressing her slowly, not tentatively, but with infinite care and wonder. Pulling away the pillow from beneath her head, he gently lifted her up and lay her naked on the floor. The worn Persian rug felt coarse against her back, but Theresa soon forgot any discomfort as Horatio stretched out above her, stroking the hair back from her forehead, and began kissing her cheeks, neck and breasts, working his way down slowly to her stomach. By the time she felt his warm breath between her legs, she was already squirming with excitement, longing for him to do what she knew he was longing to do.

      ‘Please,’ she murmured, ‘now. Do it now.’

      Horatio didn’t need to be asked twice. Sliding back up so his face was over hers he slid inside her and began to rock gently back and forth. ‘OK?’ For the first time all night, he looked nervous.

      ‘Perfect,’ sighed Theresa. And it was. In that moment it was completely perfect. Perfect, and quick. Horatio had waited so long, and so hopelessly, it was all he could do not to jump for joy when he felt Theresa’s breath quicken and her muscles tighten gloriously around him. He came the second she did, collapsing onto the floor next to her, afraid to open his eyes in case he discovered it was all a dream.

      ‘Time for a policy review, don’t you think?’ he said playfully, once he’d got his breath back. But Theresa didn’t answer.

      She lay sprawled out beside him, soundly, drunkenly asleep.

      ‘I’m not going.’

      Dita Andreas was screaming. The veins on her forehead looked as if they were about to burst through the skin, and her usually flawless, porcelain complexion had turned an ugly shade of purplish red.

      ‘I’m not going and nor are the children. I want a divorce!’

      ‘You can have a divorce,’ said Theo equably. They were sitting in a ‘private’ rooftop cabaña at the SLS hotel in Beverly Hills, although Dita’s decibel level ensured that nothing about their conversation was private. ‘Half of all my worldly goods – and debts. And good bloody luck to you.’ Just to increase Dita’s fury, he lit a cigarette. ‘As for the children, you can have Milo. But I’ll fight you for Franny and don’t think I won’t.’

      Dita gasped, genuinely shocked. ‘That’s a wicked thing to say.’

      ‘Yeah, well, so’s “ I want a divorce ” . You’re the would-be home-wrecker here, Dita, so quit trying to make me the bad guy. I made this move for all of us, not just me. You’ll love Cambridge.’

      ‘Oh no I won’t. Because I’m NOT GOING!’

      Theo sighed. This was getting them nowhere. ‘Look. The actual election’s not till April,’ he said, trying to make his tone more СКАЧАТЬ