LITMIR.BIZ

      Much later, when he let himself in, the apartment was still and quiet. Maggie’s light floral fragrance hung on the air and Caleb breathed it in. He’d lasted in the bar for as long as he could, but he’d soon become bored with the youthful conversation, the young men trying to impress him, the women brushing past him suggestively.

      He dropped his things, shed his coat and walked to the bedroom, already imagining Maggie curled up, warm and soft and silky. He imagined slipping in behind her, moulding her pliant form to his and waking her, making her body come to life…He walked in the door and the bed…was empty. A crushing feeling resounded in his chest. Where was she?

      He retraced his steps and looked in every room. A panicky sensation was rising and he fought to keep it down. Maybe she’d just gone to see a movie again…and he suddenly wished he’d been here—they could have gone together. A snide voice whispered that maybe she was out in a bar, looking for company…

      About to pick up the phone, he spotted a light coming from the huge glass doors that led on to the terrace. They’d started using it more and more as the weather got better. Morning coffee, breakfast at the weekend. He’d found it far more relaxing than he would have thought. The idea of such domesticity before would have made him come out in a rash, but somehow with Maggie it didn’t feel like that. When he thought about it now, despite having other mistresses in the past, he’d never invited them to live with him. Maggie was the first woman he’d spent so much time with. Which was ironic.

      He opened the doors and they made no sound. The cool night breeze swirled around him; the sounds of traffic came up from the streets. Lights twinkled across the city. And there was Maggie. Curled up on a deckchair, in an old comfy track-suit, a shawl wrapped over her. A mug of something beside her. She’d fallen asleep.

      And in a flash Caleb knew exactly what had been bothering him from the start. Maggie had never once dressed like she had that night of the seduction in London. In fact, she displayed an effortless, timeless style and everything she wore complemented her unique colouring and figure exactly. So why had she come to him dressed so cheaply that night? Yet more questions rushed in and he couldn’t halt the onslaught. Why didn’t she ever want to go clubbing? Which he personally abhorred, but still, usually had to indulge in. Why didn’t she call ten times a day just to be reassured that he still desired her? Why, when he offered to take her to the newest, most exclusive restaurant, had she screwed up her nose? And why was she so content just to stay in…and read…or watch TV?

      It didn’t make sense. But, as these questions begged for his attention, he brutally used the desire rushing through his body to drown them out. He walked over and pressed a light kiss to Maggie’s lips. Her eyes opened—dark and greenly mysterious against the black night.

      ‘Caleb…’

      ‘Maggie…’

      ‘Where were you?’

      ‘I had to go out…’ And why did he feel like such a heel when he said that?

      She just put her arms around his neck and allowed him to lift her against his chest. He carried her into the bedroom, where she buried her hurt and allowed him to undress her. He was back so late. Where had he really been? He’d never say and she’d never ask because he didn’t have to tell her. He owed her nothing. She meant nothing to him.