split would involve lots of necessary talks. But before she could even fling her arms around Charlie for a welcome home hug, he’d darted up the stairs and locked himself in the bathroom.
‘I was just going to cook myself some bacon and egg,’ Willow had called up. ‘Would you like some too?’
‘Please,’ Charlie had replied.
Moments later, Willow had heard a bath being run. Strange. Usually Charlie had a morning shower. Perhaps he’d felt hot and sticky and wanted a warm soak after being cooped up in the car on the long drive back from Birmingham.
Stooping to pick up his abandoned holdall, Willow had been surprised when Charlie had erupted out of the bathroom, belted down the stairs and snatched the bag from her.
‘I’ll deal with that,’ he’d yelped.
‘I don’t mind unpacking for you,’ Willow had assured.
‘Thanks, but I’ll do it.’
And as he’d hurtled back up the stairs clutching the holdall to his chest, she’d caught another peculiar whiff of chocolate.
Dismissing it, she turned her attention to cooking the impromptu meal. The aroma of bacon filled the kitchen and, as the eggs gave a couple of spits and spats, she found her thoughts straying back to Noah.
Willow had got quite a shock when Emma had swivelled her mobile round so that Willow had come “virtually” face-to-face with her best friend’s twin. She could hear Noah’s voice now. Such a husky sexy Australian drawl. And those eyes! They’d definitely had the twinkle-factor and seemed to convey any number of possibilities for flirty mischief and fun. Or was she being fanciful?
If all my sister’s friends are as good looking as you, I have even more reason to visit England.
She grinned stupidly at the hissing bacon. In three months, she’d meet Noah properly. How exciting.
And why is the prospect of meeting your bestie’s twin so thrilling? asked the little voice in her head.
Well, because it’s wonderful for Emma, of course – Willow hastily replied – and I’m delighted for her. That’s all.
Hm, said the little voice.
Willow ignored it and instead turned her attention to the overhead cupboard. Baked beans. She was sure there was a tin in there somewhere. Ah, there it was.
Peeling back the lid, she concentrated on spooning the beans into a saucepan, doing her best to blot out the image of Noah’s handsome face. Somehow his image had branded itself on her brain.
Meanwhile, as Willow absent-mindedly stirred the beans, Charlie immersed himself in a very deep bubble bath.
Despite showering at Kev’s, he was convinced he still stank of chocolate. Heaven knows what was in that stuff, but it was pungent. He realised that in the space of eighteen hours he’d been to bed with two different women and lathered himself in soap four times. At this rate he’d wash all the natural oils out of his skin. Or his willy. Or both. God, he’d end up like a prune. Perhaps his willy would shrivel up like a raisin. At least if that happened, he’d never again be able to impregnate a woman.
He gulped and reached for Willow’s sponge. The reverse side was an exfoliator. He had a sudden desire to scrub himself. Hard. As if to wash away the events of last night.
And this morning, his brain added.
He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the memory. This morning, all he’d wanted was a cup of tea. But Kev, having used up the chocolate body paint the night before, had ransacked the kitchen larder.
‘Ta-da!’ she’d trilled, holding up a jar of hazelnut spread.
She’d then smeared the stuff over her breasts, draped her body across the kitchen table and demanded Charlie take her. He didn’t think he’d ever again be able to look at a jar of hazelnut spread without thinking of Kev’s nipples impersonating two gigantic chocolate buttons.
But Charlie hadn’t been able to relax. Not properly. He’d been terrified of Kev’s house companion turning up. It was all very well for Kev who, he suspected, no longer gave two hoots about Willow finding out. He also believed that getting caught gave the sex extra edge for Kev. She’d certainly made a racket upon climaxing. Charlie had shocked himself by faking it. He’d pulled out and, for the second time that weekend, hurriedly put on his boxers back to front all the while asking himself what the heck he was doing? Was he some sort of adrenalin junkie getting his rocks off in as short a time as possible with as many women up for it? Or was he a sex addict?