The ride back home is a little awkward to say the least. Every time I think of his lips on mine I almost crash the car.

‘So how long have you lived back at your parents?’ he asks, clearly in an attempt to break the tense atmosphere.

‘About three years now.’ I sound like such a loser.

‘What made you move back? London rent prices?’

If only he knew the truth. That would really scare the crap out of him.

I nod instead. ‘Something like that.’ I pull into my street and parallel park like a pro.

‘Wow, woman, you can park.’ he says, in shocked admiration.

‘Excuse me?’ I ask in amusement. Did he think I wouldn’t be able to just because I’m a woman?

‘I’m used to women who can’t drive, but you just swung in that spot like it was no big deal.’

I smile at the compliment. ‘I’ve lived here my whole life. I’m just used to it. Come on.’

He follows me towards the small terrace house we live in. It’s not much, but its home. Florence’s mum still lives next door with her partner Joan.

‘Mum!’ I call as soon as I open the door, the heat welcoming me back. I can already feel myself thawing.

‘In here, love,’ she shouts back from the kitchen.

I follow the voice. ‘Don’t freak out, but I brought someone back.’

She turns around from the oven, her face wrinkled in horror. You see my mum likes to be prepared for guests. Have her hair done and lipstick on. Right now, she’s in her pyjamas with her hair in a pineapple on top of her head.

‘Tell me you’re joking,’ she shrieks.

Hartley walks slowly into the kitchen. ‘I’m afraid she isn’t,’ he says, with an awkward wave.

‘Oh, what on earth's happened to your head?’ she asks, rushing over for a closer inspection. Mum likes to think she’s a proper nurse occasionally, not just a dental one. Since she took that first aid course she acts like she has a PhD.

‘Our float crashed,’ he explains with an eye roll. ‘Bit of a drama, but I’m fine.’

She turns back to me, her eyes creased in confusion.

‘He was on a school float,’ I explain. ‘For a parade. He’s a teacher.’

‘Oh,’ she says, a wide smile on her face as she takes in the rest of Hartley’s handsome features. Obviously assessing him as husband material for me. She has no idea he’s someone else’s.

Then I remember I haven’t even introduced him properly.

‘Sorry, Mum, this is Hartley.’

‘Lovely to meet you, Hartley,’ she says with a broad smile, before engulfing him in a hug. My family are huggers. Normal people are sometimes taken aback by all of the affection.

‘Lovely to meet you too,’ he says with a friendly smile. ‘Your daughter was kind enough to offer to look after me overnight, make sure I don’t pass out from concussion. But I’d totally understand if you’d prefer I go home.’

‘I won’t hear of it!’ she insists, slapping him away. ‘I’ve just put an apple pie in the oven so it's perfect timing. Have you had any dinner?’

He shrugs. ‘I had a sandwich earlier, so I’m fine, thanks.’

She scoffs, as if the idea of a sandwich is ridiculous for such a big strapping man like him.

‘Well then you must be starving! Let me make you both some beans on toast.’

He continues to charm the pants off my mum all evening. I can see her getting excited and giving me the occasional look which I can read means ‘he’s a keeper!’ The poor thing thinks I’ve brought a man home for her to check out. She has no idea. But hey, while she’s thinking that at least I can try to forget how inappropriate all of this is.

We watch TV with just a lamp on in the corner. I can feel myself dropping off, the drama of today mixed with my full belly exhausting me. Without overthinking it I grab a cushion, place it in his lap and lie my head down onto it. He doesn’t seem to react, so I let the warmth of his body wrap around me like a blanket.

* * *

When I open my eyes, I find I’m still in the same place I fell asleep, snuggled on Hartley’s lap. I can feel the warmth of his arm over my back. The lights are all out apart from the glow of the TV, some random all-night bingo programme on.

I sit up to see Hartley’s head thrown back; he's snoring his head off. It makes me giggle. I cover my mouth with my hand so as not to wake him, but it’s too late. He stirs, one eye opening first, then the other.

He doesn’t say anything, just stares at me. He’s such a sexy fucker, those eyes shining down at me in the barely lit room. The darkness makes me feel bold. Call it my dream-like state or the fact that I’m already so close to him, but I find myself lifting my bottom and swinging my leg over to straddle him. He watches me, his eyes predatory, his mouth popping open slightly. His breath is coming out in heavy pants.

I want him so much I ache all the way from my lips that want to connect with his again, to my knickers which are soaking wet with need. But I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. He’s taken. Why have I always got such terrible taste in men?

He cups my face in both his hands and pulls me to him slowly, watching me intently the whole time. As if waiting for me to back out, to say no. Which I should really do. But I don’t, the magnetic force between us too strong and my resolve too weak.

Instead I lean in and let my lips connect with his. I kiss him slowly and deeply, pouring all my unsaid emotions into it. I let him know in our kiss how long I’ve wanted to do this, how much I’ve held myself back, even the guilt I’m already feeling.

I attempt to memorise the feel of his lips on mine, savour the taste of his tongue and the sensations he’s causing as one hand tangles into my hair. God, don’t touch my hair. Game over. This bitch has been conquered.

We lose ourselves in the kiss, tangling our bodies against each other, the warmth of his body melting my last shred of resistance.

He stops suddenly, pulling back to grin at me, his eyes fuelled with lust. His hands find my hips, moving me to one side, as if I weigh the same as a feather. Wait, is he moving me to stop? My stomach flips at the rejection, my heart straining against my chest, as if it wants to jump out and personally urge me to carry on kissing him.

He stands but surprises me when he takes my hand. I stand up and let him lead me upstairs. Oh my God. We’re really going to do this.

This is wrong. So wrong.

I ignore that niggling voice in my head and decide to do something completely selfish for once. Just to listen to my body and let it decide. I can deal with the consequences tomorrow.

I’m careful to creep slowly on the floorboards. The last thing I want is to wake up Mum, or myself, from this dream where I get to live in the moment and only care about myself.

When we get to the top of the stairs the bathroom door opens and out walks Dad. Shit, I had no idea he’d even got back from work. I freeze, my mouth hanging open, completely caught red-handed.

‘Nadine,’ he gasps, looking down at our interlinked fingers.

‘Dad.’

‘Mr Valentine,’ Dad says to Hartley. Wait, he knows him?

‘Hi,’ Hartley says, immediately dropping my hand like it’s on fire.

‘How do you two know each other?’ I ask, desperate to know. It’s still dimly lit up here, only the moonlight shining through the hallway window, but it’s enough to see that the colour from Hartley’s face has drained away.

‘Mr Blumenkrantz brought him round to meet us the other day.’

Dad knows Clara’s dad?

‘How do you know Mr Blumenkrantz?’

He rolls his eyes, his jaw tight with barely concealed outrage. ‘Nadine, he owns the company. I’m sure I’ve mentioned that before.’

I shake my head. I really need to start listening to him when he rambles on.

Dad looks pointedly at Hartley, assessing him up and down. ‘How’s your fiancée, Mr Valentine?’

Well, fuck. I was at least hoping he wouldn’t know that tiny bit of information. Give me something to cling onto.

Hartley discreetly moves further away from me. ‘Yeah, she’s good, thanks.’ He turns to me, swallowing hard, the fear of God in his eyes. ‘Thanks for offering to keep an eye on me, but I’m pretty sure I’d have shown signs of concussion by now. I should go.’

He turns and bolts down the stairs and out of the door.

Dad looks back at me, eyes raised as if waiting for an explanation. He doesn’t need to say anything. I feel awful enough. He turns and walks into his bedroom leaving me feeling like the other slutty woman that I am.

Why is it the one man who seems to have the key to unlock my heart already belongs to another?