Naked and spreading her legs, she leant back on their black leather sofa and waited for him to notice her. To say hello and smile. To give her that look, the one that told her she was his world and he’d left work behind. He’d swept in minutes ago, long black hair streaming behind him, and dumped his briefcase on the walnut sideboard that housed alcohol and crystal glasses, napkins and their best silver cutlery. He’d seemed preoccupied, acting as though she wasn’t even there. That stung a little. Hadn’t she been eagerly anticipating his arrival? Hadn’t she been glancing at the clock, seeing only a minute or two had passed since she’d last checked? Hadn’t her heart been hammering, her pulse racing, her mind conjuring images of how their evening would go? Yes, she’d experienced a pang of hurt, of regret that, despite their talking to one another via computer for the best part of the day, his mood had changed rapidly since they’d last had contact. Something had happened in between.
