She couldn’t remember the dreams, but she did know they had carried an elusive, erotic flavour that was all to do with the last few minutes she had been with him. They had eaten in the bistro after all. It had seemed much simpler to do that rather than to engage in a war of words she had no chance of winning. Besides which, Marianne had been more than a little hungry after a hard day working in the supermarket, and the thought of the cheese on toast she’d had planned hadn’t exactly filled her with gourmet delight. Zeke had been pleasant and attentive during the meal, despite her straight face and monosyllabic conversation. However, once they had climbed the narrow steps into the cold street—the moon shedding a thin, hollow light over the dark pavement as clouds scudded hastily past in the winter night—and Zeke had realised she had no intention of returning with him to the apartment it had been a different story. He had been softly persuasive at first, confident he would get his own way and that she would relent.
