patio just a few hundred metres away. Yeah, it felt weird.
I looked up at the house. They’d not been here long but, judging from the overflowing hanging basket which had purple and white fist-sized petunias tumbling over the edge, and the assorted pots of impatiens around the doorstep, they were well settled. The cheery, welcoming façade confirmed what I already knew from Aunty Lynn: Sam’s parents were a wholesale improvement on their wretched predecessors, the misery twins. They’d acquired this name, on account of them being miserable and unfriendly to the point of rudeness, which Aunty Lynn could not bear.
When I rang the bell there was a brief silence – call it the calm before the storm – and then came the sound of someone thundering pell-mell down the stairs to the accompaniment of a dog barking from the back of the house.
‘Shh, Tiggy,’ I heard Sam yell before he wrenched the door open, a towel wrapped around his neck, wet blond curls dripping down a bare chest with almost done-up shorts, his chest heaving slightly.
‘Hey, Jess. Sorry. In the shower.’ He rubbed at his hair with the towel, a huge welcoming grin on his face. All last night’s doubts fried in a single laser blast of lust and sexual appreciation that left me tongue-tied and stupid.
‘Hey,’ I said, fixing my eyes on his face, as my nerve endings fired up like rockets about to blast into space. Dear God. I could die a happy woman. I was in danger of spontaneously combusting at any second and, dammit, Sam knew. ‘Cocky, much?’ I asked as his blue eyes gleamed with amusement, slightly cross with my weak-willed, sex-crazed self.
He laughed, reaching for me and pulling me over the threshold. ‘The feeling’s mutual, if it’s any consolation. You’re a gorgeous sight this morning.’
OK, I melted a bit more at the frank admiration and locked my knees. All my good intentions of keeping my distance and being measured and sensible went up in flames. I so wanted to jump his bones. I’ve no idea who moved first but that minty just-cleaned-teeth kiss turned my legs to noodles and my recently purchased contribution of salad and wine slipped out of my grasp and fell with a thud to the floor. Sam backed up and it was only when we knocked a picture off the wall that we stilled with chagrined expressions.
How the hell had I got myself into this position, with my legs wrapped around his hips and his hands cradling my bum?
Breathless and slightly embarrassed, I rested my forehead against his and slid down his body onto my feet. His hands slid up to cup my shoulder blades.
‘Mmm. Hello, Jess. That’s a great way to start the day.’ He dropped a final kiss on the corner of my mouth.
‘What would your mother say?’ I picked up the picture and handed it to him.
He laughed and we spent the next few minutes trying to make sure the Jack Vettriano print was straight.
‘There, she’ll never know,’ said Sam cheerfully. ‘Come on through. Come and meet Tiggy.’
I ducked to pick up my abandoned tote bag. ‘Here you go. I brought wine and salad.’
He took my hand and led me through the hallway, skirting a wooden staircase and opening the door into a large, stylish kitchen with French doors.
A golden retriever bounced around me, his tail wagging like a windscreen wiper on warp speed.
‘This is Tiggy – completely harmless, daft as a brush and the stupidest dog on the planet.’
With a quick sniff at my crotch, Tiggy licked my hand and circled me several times, coating my legs in deposits of fine hair, before retreating towards the basket in the corner of the kitchen and flopping down with the doggy equivalent of an oof. If there was ever a clichéd dog that looked like its owner, this was it. Like Sam, Tiggy was blonde, bouncy and enthusiastic. I sniggered and Sam rolled his eyes.
‘At least I didn’t sniff your crotch,’ he said, and I burst out laughing, realising he’d known exactly what I was thinking.
‘You are going to feed me, aren’t you?’ I said, narrowing my eyes with suspicion, looking around at the pristine kitchen and putting my hands on my hips.
Sam laughed as he opened the fridge to stow the bag of mixed leaves, pack of cherry tomatoes and cucumber and the nice bottle of New Zealand white that the man in Marks had assured me was excellent.
‘Yes, don’t worry.’ He waved his hand with a