that made my heart skip a beat. In bed, with my cock buried deep, it made me want to devour her. But in the light of day, her indomitable spirit had me watching my words. Another first.
“Would you just?” She held my gaze.
I took her hand and stroked her palm gently. Her eyes softened. “Penelope, I wish you hadn’t run out the other morning.”
The waiter arrived with our drinks. She looked up and thanked him. She waited for him to depart and responded, “I had to.”
“Was it the photos?”
“Not exactly.” She took a sip. “When you weren’t in the bed with me, I felt alone and a little frightened.”
“Frightened? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“I know.” She bit her lip.
“You’re self-assured. I like that about you. You just don’t like be told what to do.”
“No, I don’t. And you do seem a little bossy.”
I grinned. “I have this pathological need for order.”
“OCD, you mean?”
“I’m not a fan of labels.” I adjusted my position. “But I suppose that might describe me a little.”
“I know people have their quirks,” said Penelope. “And I kind of like the fact that you’re a little bossy. Otherwise, you’d be too perfect, and that’s not much fun.”
“Does that mean you’ll let me take you to dinner?”
She looked down at her drink. “Why won’t you sleep with me?”
Here came the therapy session, whether I liked it or not. If it meant tasting her again, I had to remove the straitjacket or at least undo one of the ties. “I’m a somnambulist.”
Her head tilted. Frowning, she said, “You sleep walk?”
“Not in that”—I stretched my arms out — “kind of way.” I smiled at my attempt at making light of a difficult subject. “I thrash about in bed.”
“Nightmares, you mean?”
I nodded. “I can get physical. Hence the somnambulist label. I’ve had hypnotherapy. All kinds of therapies.”
“You’re frightened you’ll hurt me?” she asked.
“Pretty much.” My spine stiffened. I should have ended it there, but as I fell into her dark eyes, I couldn’t move.
Her brow contracted. “Have you slept with someone before?”
“It’s a long story.” I gulped back my drink.
“I’ve got time.” She stared me straight in the face, challenging me. Her dark eyes penetrated so deeply into me that it was no longer my cock that burned.
“If I tell you, will you let me touch you again?” I asked.
She nodded.
“Even if you don’t like what you hear?”
“I’m tough.”
“You are. Tougher than I could’ve imagined,” I said softly.
“What does that mean?”
Her defensive tone told me I’d have to remain quiet about having her followed, especially now that I knew about that filthy estate.
“Just that you’re a woman of strong convictions, and you don’t suffer fools.”
“Tell me what happened to you, Blake.” She set down her glass.
“Another?” I asked.
She nodded, and I beckoned the waiter over.
I squared my shoulders. “When I first moved to London about ten years ago, I met a woman. She was ten years older and married.” I paused to choose my words carefully. “Anyway, she was the first woman I’d slept with.”
“Really? At twenty? You were a virgin before that?”
I rubbed my neck. Far from it. “No. I’d been with other girls, just not slept with them as such.”
She looked up and thanked the waiter as he set down the drinks.
I waited a moment before continuing. “The next morning, she was bruised.” I gulped back some liquor and looked Penelope straight in the eye. “I hit her in my sleep.”
“Oh.” Her searching gaze made me want to run.
“If you want to walk out now, I’d understand, even though”—I stroked her hand—“I’d love you to stay.”
Reminded just how damaged I was, I drank solemnly, expecting her to walk out.
“Are you on medication?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I’ve tried sleeping tablets. But I’m prepared to seek help again.”
Her silence added to the tension in my neck. “Look, Penelope… I’m not mad or mentally deranged. It’s just nightmares that…” My mind yelled, “Leave now!” but my heart kept me pinned to that seat. Her eyes shone with sympathy. Apart from Milly, I hadn’t experienced that before.
“We’ve all got our peculiarities, I suppose.” She spoke as though trying to convince herself of something.
“Penelope, I’m going to start therapy again.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes falling into mine.
Though I was dying to know why she lived in that slum, I figured one of us being cross-examined was enough for the moment.
“What happened to her?” she asked.
“I gave her money. That enabled her to seek a divorce. She hated her husband, who, ironically—according to