I’m a bag of nerves when I arrive on site the next day. I’ve psyched myself up for this meeting all night, telling myself that I can do it. I can do it. I’m meeting Richard. Not Jack. I just hope I get to deal with him for the most part on this project.

Colin meets me as I’m walking up the sweeping driveway, a broad smile on his face. ‘Here’s the lady of the year,’ he says, collecting his briefcase from the steps leading up to the building. ‘I have a meeting to get to, so I’ll leave you with Richard.’ He points past me, and I look back to see a tall, fair-haired guy in a high visibility jacket guiding a skip lorry off the road. My heart jumps a few beats when I recognise him.

‘Richard,’ I parrot back to Colin.

‘He’s Jack’s right-hand man.’

He’s also the guy who was with Jack in the bar the night I met him. ‘Okay,’ I breathe, trying to settle down my building heart rate. ‘No Jack?’ Please say no!

‘Not that I know of. Richard’s up to speed on things, so you should be able to get on. Oh, watch your back.’ Colin takes my arm and leads me to the side, out of the way of the reversing lorry.

Richard slaps the side of the vehicle when it grinds to a stop, then makes his way over to us. I know he’s recognised me when he cocks his head. ‘Hey. I know you.’

I manage a smile, my mind whizzing. Has Jack told him the sordid details, or am I just a girl he was chatting with in a bar? I don’t know, so I wipe my face of all guilt, or I try, and turn on my professional switch – the one that’s getting harder and harder to find. ‘Hi, I’m Annie.’ I offer my hand and he takes it, giving me a solid, manly shake.

‘Nice to meet you. Officially, anyway,’ he adds. His friendliness tells me that he has no idea about Jack and me, which would make sense, since Jack’s married.

Colin smiles and makes off down the driveway. ‘I’ll leave you guys to it. Call me if you need me.’

‘Have a great day,’ I call, going to my bag to get my car keys. ‘I just need to grab my hat and vest.’

Richard wanders over to a nearby car and pops the boot. ‘Here, you can use these.’ He pulls out a high visibility jacket and a matching hard hat. ‘Probably a bit on the large size, but they’ll do you for now.’

‘Thanks.’ I accept and put them on. ‘So you have the drawings?’

‘Yes, I’ve just been going over them.’ He motions to the entrance of the derelict building that will soon be transformed into a beautiful art gallery. ‘I have a few questions. Shall we?’

‘Sure.’ I start to make my way up the steps to the front door with Richard, stopping at the top when I hear wheels skidding up the gravel of the driveway. Both Richard and I turn to investigate, but I bet it’s only my heart that punches its way out of my chest when we see where the noise is coming from: a silver Audi S7 with Jack at the wheel. Oh, fuck. I swallow and immediately start breathing through my rising anxiety. Be calm, I tell myself. I’m here for a reason, and it isn’t Jack.

He seems to sit at the wheel forever, staring forward at me on the steps.

‘Finally,’ Richard mutters. ‘Is he going to sit there all day and watch us?’ Richard’s rhetorical question goes right over my head, my files beginning to jump in my hands. Yet when I know I should be moving onward, going inside and getting on with things, I find my legs simply will not cooperate.

Jack eventually lets himself out of the car. He looks anxious. A bit dishevelled. And beyond the stoniness of his expression is something else. Stress. My conclusion is only reinforced when he shoves a frustrated hand through his hair and slams his car door shut violently.

‘For fuck’s sake, not again,’ Richard mutters, marching over to him.

I rip my eyes from Jack’s and look at Richard, seeing his tight, pissed-off jaw. Not again? What does he mean? Jack takes a few steps towards his right-hand man, yanking on his suit jacket as he does, his head dropped. There’s too much distance between us for me to hear Richard’s hushed whispers, but it’s plain to see that something is wrong with Jack. Is it me?

I back up, beating down my curiosity, and make my way into the building. Work. Just get on with your work.

I find the old table where Richard has the drawings laid out and stare down at them, if only for something to do.

‘Sorry I’m late.’ Jack’s voice hits my back and makes every hair on my neck stand.

‘You didn’t say you were coming.’ I keep my eyes cemented on the drawings, dropping my bags to the floor next to the table. His tan brogues appear in my downcast vision, the same shoes he had on that fateful night. I close my eyes and work hard to calm myself down.

‘I didn’t?’ he replies. He knows damn well he didn’t.

‘Does Richard know?’ I need to find out what I’m dealing with.

‘No.’

I breathe out my relief, hearing the sound of boots on the concrete behind me. ‘Okay, let’s—’ Richard cuts off when his phone starts ringing. ‘Yes? Shit, yeah, I’ll be right out.’ He curses under his breath. ‘The scaffolders are here and the skip lorry is in the way. You guys crack on. I need to go and teach people how to drive.’

My eyes spring open, finding a pair of familiar hands spread on the table before me. Big, capable hands. Hands that handled me with confidence, authority and care. I look up, straight ahead at the brick wall in front of me, rummaging through my mind for anything work-related to say. There’s nothing. No words, only mental visions of that night. This is supposed to be getting easier, not harder!

‘How are you?’ Jack asks quietly.

‘Great, thanks,’ I chirp, way too over the top. I scold myself for sounding so completely fake. ‘You?’ Why would I ask that?

‘Struggling on.’ His arm brushes mine, and I jump from his touching distance, pointing at the drawing nearest to me.

‘I’d like you to go over these numbers with me.’ I’m not even pointing at numbers. I’m pointing at a damn window spec.

Jack reaches forward with a finger and places it next to mine near the window, and I hear him inhale deeply. There’s a long, uncomfortable silence, until Jack finally breaks it. ‘These drawings really amaze me, Annie. Richard and I were marvelling over them yesterday.’

‘Thank you.’ I brush off his compliment and straighten, turning to him and looking past his shoulder. ‘Shall we walk the site? I have a few questions too.’

‘Why can’t you look at me?’

My eyes drop, and I scream at him in my head to keep to his word. He promised. He promised to keep this strictly business! ‘It’s this way,’ I say, passing him and making my way to the rear of the building. ‘There’s a tree that I’m worried will jeopardise the glass roof.’

‘Right.’ Jack sighs and his footsteps kick in, following me. When I exit the existing old UPVC patio doors, I point to the colossal horse chestnut tree that canopies one-quarter of the outside space.

Jack wanders around the trunk, looking up. ‘Have we checked if this thing has a preservation order on it?’

‘It hasn’t,’ I confirm. ‘But, obviously, we should avoid chopping it down if we can. Though to get the full impact of the roof, we need to lose some of these branches.’

‘I agree.’ Jack smoothes a hand down the bark of the tree, and my gaze follows it, my damn body responding like it’s feeling his touch all over again. I look up and catch his eye but quickly look away, knowing he’s reading my mind. ‘I’ll call the tree surgeon in,’ he says quietly.

‘Thank you.’

‘No problem. We should also be mindful of the roots when we dig down for the footings of the extension. She’s one beast of a tree.’ Jack looks upward, stretching his neck.

I wince and look away, but dart my eyes straight back to his throat in a double-take, squinting. What’s that mark on his neck?

‘How are we doing?’ Richard appears, getting Jack’s attention so he lowers his head and I lose sight of the blemish. Or was it a shadow?

‘We need to keep an eye on these roots, mate,’ Jack says, stubbing the toe of his shoe on the trunk. ‘And we need to call in the surgeons to get rid of a few branches.’

‘Got it,’ Richard confirms. ‘Can I borrow Annie for a moment? I have a few questions about the steel supports.’

Yes! Please borrow me! Get me away!

‘Sure,’ Jack says softly, but I’m walking back into the building before I get his go-ahead. And I can feel his fiery stare on me the whole damn way, raising my temperature higher and higher.

‘Is it me, or is it really warm today?’ I ask Richard’s back, pulling at the sides of my high visibility jacket.

‘It’s you.’ He laughs and points to a wall splitting two rooms. ‘This here is a supporting wall.’

‘Right,’ I confirm. ‘And the wall on the next floor is too, so we need a pretty hefty steel in there. The calculations are on the drawing. I suspect we’ll need to get it specially made.’

‘I’ll speak to the fabricators.’ Richard reaches into his pocket and pulls out his card. ‘You’ll be needing this.’

‘Perfect.’

‘And this.’ Another card appears, held between the fingers of Jack’s big hand.

‘Thank you.’ I take it without looking at him and slip them both into my trouser pocket.

‘It’s gonna look amazing,’ Richard remarks. Any other time, I would feel a sense of pride, but right now I’m riddled with too much apprehension to feel anything else.

‘Colin’s filled you in on the roof situation?’ I ask.

Richard laughs. ‘Yes. You’re one brave woman. If that roof arrives with a chip or crack, this whole project will be knocked off schedule.’

‘I have a question.’ Jack steps forward, and I can’t stop my eyes from meeting his. The grey I remember is clouded and dull, not sparkling and glittery. He’s definitely suffering here, and I get no pleasure from it. I’m suffering too.

‘What?’ I ask tentatively, my head spinning with all of the questions that are probably on his mind, none of them work-related.

He lifts a heavy arm and points at my torso. ‘Can I have my jacket back?’

Richard starts laughing, and I tense from top to toe, looking down my front. ‘It’s yours?’ Quickly shrugging the jacket off, I hand it to Jack with an awkward smile.

He takes it slowly, and then his arm starts to lift towards me again. I find myself discreetly pulling back, my stare following his outreached hand as it moves towards my head. What is he doing?

‘And this,’ he says quietly, taking the hard hat from my head.

I let my tense muscles relax as he pulls back. ‘Thanks for letting me borrow them.’

‘I didn’t.’ He swings his jacket on, stilling when he’s shoved one arm through the sleeve, his face lowering to the collar a little. He almost scowls, and I know it’s because he just got a waft of my girlie perfume lingering on the threads. ‘Richard did,’ he finishes, looking at Richard like he hates him.

I have a feeling that jacket will be going on a super-hot wash to get rid of my lingering scent the moment Jack gets home. Maybe even in the bin. Arranging the collar, he flexes his neck, and I see it again. Marks, but this time I’m a lot closer, and I can see there are four perfect lines. Scratches?

‘What have you done?’ I ask before I can stop myself, my hand lifting to his throat to touch gently below one of the raw red marks.

Jack freezes, his wide eyes burning into my concerned ones. It’s silent for a few tense seconds; not even Richard says a word. ‘It’s nothing.’ Jack moves away from my touch and back over to the drawings. ‘Do we have the bifold door spec on here too?’ he asks.

I look at Richard, my arm dropping to my side. His narrowed eyes turn on me, and he shakes his head, his lips in an angry straight line. ‘Bottom right corner,’ he answers for me.

‘They’ve changed. The drawing I have states five metres wide.’

‘Colin wanted more light,’ I say quietly, my head spinning. What has happened?

‘Get them requoted,’ Jack orders shortly, and Richard nods. ‘I have somewhere I need to be.’

Without so much as a second glance, Jack storms out, leaving me and Richard standing in awkward silence. I know it’s not my place to ask, and I know I really shouldn’t, but . . .

‘Don’t ask,’ Richard grunts, marching off after Jack. I remain where I am for a few moments, stunned and quiet, and once I’ve finally found the will to move, I do so on heavy feet, collecting my bag and files and making my way out to the front.

Jack’s car is still in the driveway, him sitting in the driver’s seat, the door open with Richard leaning in. Although quiet, I can see strong words being exchanged, and Richard puts his hand on Jack’s shoulder. It’s a reassuring gesture, one that gets my curiosity raging more, no matter how hard I try to beat it back.

I stand there, quietly observing while they talk, Jack’s head getting lower by the second. Until his eyes shoot up and catch me watching him. His stoic expression and his hard stare make it impossible for me to move. I hold his eyes, as he holds mine, electricity sizzling between our distant bodies like they’re touching. I see it all again, every second from that night, in clear, vivid detail. I start to breathe slowly, seeing Jack’s chest rising and falling too.

It’s only when Richard moves back that we both snap out of our trances, and Jack grabs the door, yanking it shut. He practically wheel-spins off the gravel, leaving me with a racing mind and Richard shaking his head in despair as he marches back towards the building.

‘Everything okay?’ I ask as he passes me, unable to hold back my misplaced concern.

‘Personal problems,’ Richard grunts, disappearing through the door.

 

As I roll into suburban hell on Wednesday evening, I spot my dad on the front lawn trimming his shrubs. The garage door is open and his old Jaguar is in the drive, sparkling like new despite being twenty years old. As I pull up at the bottom of the driveway, he looks up and frowns. ‘Don’t plonk it there!’ he calls, waving his shears over his head. ‘Makes the cul-de-sac look untidy!’

I roll my eyes and throw my arms into the air. ‘Then where shall I park?’

He huffs and puffs and stomps over to his Jaguar. ‘Behind Jerry.’

‘Jerry the fucking Jag,’ I mutter, ramming my car into first and speeding up the driveway. Dad’s face is a picture of horror as I screech to a stop inches away from the bumper of his prized possession. I jump out, just as Mum comes dashing out of the front door, an apron wrapped neatly around her waist, protecting her flouncy skirt. She has a mixing bowl and wooden spoon in her grasp. ‘Hi, Mum.’

‘Annie, darling!’ she sings, delighted to see me.

I shut the car door and pass my father, who’s still staring down at the bumper of his Jag, like he’s worried my filthy Golf might stick its tongue out and smear the sparkling paintwork. ‘How are you?’ I ask, kissing her cheek gently as I pass her on the doorstep.

‘Wonderful.’ She follows me into the kitchen and the smell I thought I’d be glad to see the back of when I lived here invades my nose. I stop and inhale it all. ‘Roast chicken,’ I breathe.

‘You know your father loves his roast dinners, darling.’ She places her bowl on the countertop and brushes her hands down her apron. ‘It’s an all-day affair preparing the bird and mixing the batter for his Yorkshire pudding.’ She rolls her eyes like it’s an inconvenience. I don’t know why. She thrives on faffing around him.

‘I’m starving,’ I say, flicking the kettle on. This is what I need. One of my mum’s home-cooked dinners. Comfort food.

‘Good,’ she says. I’ve made her day. Now she has two people to faff over. ‘And I did a crumble.’

My mouth waters. Mum’s crumble is the nuts. ‘I can’t wait.’

She looks at me, slight suspicion in her eyes. ‘You look stressed.’

I lift my files for her to see. ‘Work,’ I lie. I don’t get stressed out with work. I love work. I get stressed out by handsome married men who neglect to mention that they’re married. ‘Mind if I load up my laptop at the dining table?’

She smiles, losing her suspicious look in a second. She’s so easy to fool, wrapped up in her perfect little world, baking and faffing over Dad. She’d pass out if she knew what her daughter has been up to. Adultery. The ultimate sin.

‘I’ll clear it for you.’ She’s off into the dining room quickly. ‘Though you’ll have to stay at one end so I can set the table for dinner.’

‘Thanks, Mum. Want any help?’ I ask, pulling down some mugs from the cupboard and finding the teapot before I let my mind spiral into the realms of my sins again.

‘You make the tea, darling. And remember your father likes half a teaspoon of sugar.’

‘God help me if I put in just one granule too much,’ I say to myself, measuring out a perfect half-teaspoon and tossing it into the cup.

‘Pardon?’

‘Nothing,’ I sing, wondering how I lived with them this past year. Then I wonder for the first time if Mum truly enjoys her life waiting on my father hand and foot. That’s her sole purpose, especially since he sold his firm and retired. Faffing. She had no aspirations, no career ambitions, except being a stay-at-home mum and housewife. Now that I’m all grown up, she passes the days faffing. Faffing around the house, faffing in the garden, faffing over my father and faffing over me when I’m home. I look like my mother, the dark hair, the pale green eyes, but the similarities end there. She faffs. She’s wholesome. I, however, am not. I fuck married men.

‘You should be ashamed of yourself!’ Dad barks as he wanders into the kitchen armed with his garden shears.

I jerk at his voice. Did he hear my thoughts? Oh God, he knows. He knows what I’ve done! Beads of sweat – guilty sweat – start to form on my forehead. They’ll disown me.

‘Your car is an absolute disgrace,’ he goes on. My hands hit the side of the worktop, holding me up. Shit, I’m being paranoid.

‘You can wash it if you like,’ I breathe, gathering myself and finishing off the tea, handing him his mug. He eyes the tea with caution, and I know it’s because my mother hasn’t made it. ‘Half a sugar,’ I confirm before he asks.

He places his shears on the side, making Mum shriek in horror. ‘Stanley, dear good Lord!’ She darts over and swipes them up. ‘Now I’ll have to clean the worktop again.’

Dad rolls his eyes and turns on his heel. ‘Well, it’s been at least an hour since you last disinfected it, June. I’ll be in the garage.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Mum chimes, not showing a shred of annoyance at my dad’s grumpiness. I don’t know how she does it. Since he’s retired, he’s a real grouch.

‘I’ll be in the dining room,’ I say, leaving Mum scrubbing the worktop. I park myself at the dark wooden circa-1990s table and load my laptop, falling into thought as it fires up. A bad move, but those marks on Jack’s neck are a constant in my mind, now accompanying Jack’s face and his wife’s.

‘You work too much,’ my mother says, wandering over to the sideboard and dusting off a minuscule speck of dust from the shiny surface.

‘That’s how people become successful, Mum.’

‘And what about the other things in life?’

‘Like?’

‘Like a husband and children. When are you going to make me a grandmother?’

Grandchildren? I laugh to myself. More people for her to faff over. ‘Give me a chance, Mother.’

‘Well, you’re knocking on thirty.’ She nods at the drawings splayed out on the table before me, while I look at her incredulously. ‘Does that really make you happy, Annie?’

I swallow and return to my laptop. ‘Yes. Very happy.’

I hear her sigh, leaving me to get on with my work quietly. ‘Maybe when the right man comes along you’ll think of something other than work.’

I close my eyes, wilting in the chair. I’m already thinking of something other than work. Except he isn’t the right man.

 

After a pleasant dinner with my parents, I pack up my things and kiss them both goodbye, promising I’ll pop over this weekend. I’m scrolling through my e-mails as I make my way to my car, checking for any that are going to keep me up late. One jumps out at me from the French company that is manufacturing my super-duper glass roof, and I frown as I open it, hoping the production is still on track as they promised.

‘Oh shit,’ I breathe, scanning through the e-mail. ‘No, no, no!’

I pull my car door open and throw my bags onto the passenger seat, then fall into the driver’s.

‘How can you miscalculate the weight?’ I ask my phone, diving into my work bag for my calculator and drawings.

I urgently punch at the keys, hoping beyond all hope that they’ve made a mistake in saying they’ve made a mistake. If the roof is two hundred kilos heavier than they’ve stipulated, it’s going to throw all the engineers’ calculations askew.

‘Fuck!’ I slam my head against the headrest when the figure on my calculator matches the revised calculations in the e-mail. ‘You bloody idiots.’

I start my car and reverse down the drive quickly, kissing goodbye to my planned early night.

 

When I pull up at the project site, it’s dusk and the driveway is now jam-packed with skips, scaffolding and materials, the two entrances blocked off with security railings. I park down the road and grab my things, my mind searching for a remedy to the spanner in my works. I can think of none, and the thought that I may have to kiss my glass roof goodbye makes me want to cry.

Of course, I ignore the warning signs all over the metal railings telling me not to enter the site, and pull back one of the panels, squeezing through the gap. I let myself in, hurrying straight to the rear of the building where the extension will be built from the back external wall. Flicking a light on, I get my drawings out and find the calculations I need while pulling up the e-mail with the new, actual weight of my roof. It takes approximately ten seconds for me to conclude that my roof doesn’t stand a chance of being held up by the proposed steel frame without another load-bearing wall to support it. And there is no other damn load-bearing wall nearby that I can tap into. My heart sinks, and I reach up to my forehead to rub away the instant headache.

Thud!

I jump and swing around, my hand moving from my head to my chest. What was that? My eyes scan the space, wary. ‘Hello?’

Thud!

And my heart kicks up ten gears.

Thud!

I reach for my mobile, moving warily towards the sound coming from outside.

Thud!

The noise continues, consistent and even, and I pull to a stop, wondering what in heaven’s name I’m doing moving towards it. I should call the police, but just as I start to back up, ready to leave, I hear a light curse. The voice gets me moving back towards the sound, and I round the corner to find the door to the garden open. I lose my breath when I see what the source of the noise is, and I reach for the frame of the door for support.

Thud!

Jack slams the shovel into the ground and wedges his booted foot on top, working it down before heaving the spade up and tossing the dirt aside. My body goes lax and my phone slips from my hand, hitting the floor at my feet. He swings around quickly and I’m nearly knocked to my arse by the sight of him in dirty old jeans, his chest bare and sweating and his muscled torso glimmering in the dusky light. His hair is damp, his face smeared with mud. Oh Lord have mercy.

‘Annie?’ Jack moves forward, squinting, as if he’s not sure he’s seeing right.

I gulp and look away from the enthralling sight of his naked torso and perfectly dirtied face. ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t realise anyone was here.’

‘I’m just . . .’ His words fade, and I look up at him. ‘Digging a trial pit.’

‘Don’t you have employees to do that?’ I ask, thinking I’m sure none of them would look as good as Jack does digging a hole.

He glances down at the pile of dirt he’s built up, wedging his shovel in the ground next to him. ‘I like getting my hands dirty every now and then,’ he tells me quietly.

‘At eight o’clock in the evening?’

He looks up at me as I bend to collect my phone. ‘What are you doing here?’

The scratches on his throat catch my eye again, though they’re fainter than they were yesterday morning. ‘A problem with the roof.’

His gorgeous face furrows in confusion. ‘What problem?’

‘Oh, it’s nothing.’ I dismiss his question and back up, knowing I need to leave. It’s tricky enough being in his company as it is, my willpower and conscience constantly being tested to the limit, but here now, when he’s half naked, sweaty, and his muscles are pulsating, it’s beyond perilous. ‘I just needed to check some measurements.’

‘At eight o’clock in the evening?’ he asks, a small smile on his face. It’s only a hint of the full beam I’ve seen and loved, but it’s still wonderful, nevertheless. Inviting. Reassuring. It makes it all too easy to confide in him.

‘It’s not really nothing.’ I relent on a sigh, silently questioning my need to tell him. I should be leaving. Walking out. Removing myself from this situation. ‘The manufacturers have made a monumental cock-up.’ I shrug. ‘I’m trying to figure out a way around it, and I’m not coming up with much.’

Jack moves forward, and as a consequence I instinctively move back. He stops, regarding me closely. ‘Want to show me?’

‘Yes.’ My answer comes without hesitation, stunning me, and he smiles, this time brighter, getting a little bit closer to the blinding signature Jack Joseph smile. I find myself returning it, unable to stop myself. ‘Please,’ I add.

He drops his shovel and approaches me, and my damn eyes are glued to his the entire way, my stomach doing cartwheels, until he stops a few paces before me. ‘After you,’ he murmurs.

I quickly turn and head back inside, feeling him close behind me. My whole being lights up, and I close my eyes and silently pray for strength. Why did I accept his offer? I glance over my shoulder as we enter the huge back room, meeting his stare again. ‘You should put a T-shirt on,’ I say out of the blue, my thoughts falling out of my mouth.

‘I should?’ He looks down at his chest. ‘Is it distracting you?’ His teasing smile as he looks up through his lashes sets off a carnival of beats in my blood.

I shake my head and return my focus forward, adamant that I won’t feed his playfulness. ‘Very cute.’

‘You’re quite cute yourself.’

His words, a repeat from that night, have my steps faltering too much for him not to notice. Ignore it, I warn myself silently, pulling it together and concentrating on keeping myself that way, arriving at the table where my drawings are laid out and pointing with a shaking finger at the one detailing the roof. ‘They’ve miscalculated the weight of the roof.’

His hand appears and wraps around my wrist, and my whole bloody body bursts into flames. I flick my eyes up to his, tensing every muscle in my body, fighting back the heat. ‘Why are you shaking?’ he asks, squeezing my wrist.

‘Because you make me nervous.’ I come right out and say it, and regret it just as fast. ‘I mean . . .’ My words die on my lips. There’s no going back from that. ‘Please, Jack,’ I beg him. ‘Can we just stick to business?’

He slowly peels his hold away and rests his hands on the table. ‘Right. Business,’ he confirms, looking over the drawing. ‘How much have they miscalculated by?’

I silently thank him for being professional, even though he’s chosen to ignore my request to cover his gorgeous chest. The smell of him is potent this close, his body nearly touching mine. ‘Two hundred kilos.’

He whistles, confirming the shit I’m in. ‘I’m no structural engineer, but even I know that puts us right up shit street.’

I sag next to him. ‘I know.’

‘This is seriously going to hinder the progress of the project.’

‘I know.’ I sag some more.

‘And we have a four-month deadline before Colin’s launch. It’s already tight.’

My hands hit the table and my head drops. ‘Are you going to say anything that will make me feel better? I was hoping for a miracle.’

He laughs, light and lovely. ‘I’m a contractor, not a miracle worker, Annie.’

I pout to myself, feeling more and more despondent by the second. I could cry. My blow-your-mind project is just an average project without that roof.

‘You look gorgeous when you pout,’ Jack says softly.

My lips quickly unpout themselves and purse instead. ‘You look gorgeous all the time.’ I look around me, startled. Who said that?

Jack laughs, and the sound seems to dilute my problem. For a second, everything fades and all that matters is listening to his laugh. ‘Keep it business, please,’ he teases.

‘You started it.’ I shake my head at myself in dismay, thinking I need to fix my brain-to-mouth filter pronto. I feel him gazing at my profile, and I peek out of the corner of my eye at him, assessing him, taking him in. ‘Why are you really here this late at night?’ I ask, stalling on fixing that filter. I don’t believe for a moment that he likes getting his hands dirty once in a while. There’s something more to it, and though I damn myself for it, I can’t help wondering more and more about Jack and his wife.

‘I needed to get out of the house.’ His answer is very dismissive, and for once he doesn’t look me in the eye, choosing to look down at the drawings instead.

His evasiveness just ramps up my curiosity. ‘To get some fresh air?’ I ask.

‘Something like that.’

I stare at his profile, my hand taking on a mind of its own and reaching up to his neck, where the scratches seem to glow at me. Jack catches my hand before it lands on his skin, prompting my gaze to jump to his. His grey eyes have regained a little bit of sparkle as he holds my stare and my hand, gently working his fingers around mine.

I find my eyes taking in our tangle of fingers, the sight morphing into the tangle of our sweaty bodies rolling around in a hotel bed, our mouths kissing wildly, our moans drenching the air. I lose myself in those thoughts, my mind tunnelling, my body feeling it all over again.

‘You’re in the hotel again, aren’t you?’ Jack whispers, hunkering down to meet my gaze. ‘Reliving that night like I am every single fucking minute of my life.’

I can’t talk. Can’t move. The rush of feelings has paralysed me, leaving me at the mercy of the man who’s consumed my mind, body and soul since he found me in that bar.

‘I can see it all in your eyes, Annie.’ He moves forward, and the heat from his breath hitting my face spreads through my body like wildfire. He enraptures me, knocks all sense out of me. His wife. What am I doing?

I swiftly pull my hand away, turning back towards the table and holding the edge for support. I stare down at the drawings, my head whirling. ‘You promised me.’

‘Jesus, Annie, how the hell are you doing this? You make it look easy.’

‘Because it is,’ I spit at the table. ‘Because there is nothing there for me, so stop trying to find anything. You’re wasting your time.’ I wince at my own scathing words, but I have to remain strong. Easy? He thinks this is easy? The notion makes me mad.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispers, hurt tingeing his apology.

His sincerity plays havoc with my willpower. It’s already painfully difficult to face him on a professional level. It’s painful, but it’s doable. I already feel consumed by guilt, ashamed of myself. This is impossible. The undercurrent of our connection is still there no matter how hard I fight to disregard it. But it doesn’t mean I can act on it.

‘I should be going.’ I push myself away, all in a fluster, my work predicament forgotten and the urgency to remove myself from the situation now dominating my mind. I grab my bags but forgo the drawings, knowing it’ll take me too long to fold them all up. I need to get out of here now before I let my attraction and want get the better of me. Before I cave under the pressure of his struggle, because it would be all too easy to fall into his arms again. So easy. Yet the aftermath and backlash would be unbearable.

I hurry away, keen to get myself home and talk some sense and strength into myself.

‘Annie, wait!’ Jack calls after me.

I ignore his plea and keep going, knowing I’ll be doomed if I let him stop me.

‘Annie!’

I hit the fresh air and take the steps fast, but come to an abrupt halt when Jack overtakes me and blocks my path. ‘Jack, please don’t.’ My breath is laboured, not only because of my rushed escape from him.

‘I won’t, I promise.’ He steps back, giving me space, his hands held up in surrender. ‘I’m sorry.’

I fix him in place with a sure, curt expression. ‘Then. Let. Me. Leave,’ I say slowly, watching as he breathes in deeply. After what seems like ages, he finally moves to the side to let me pass.

I hurry away, fighting against the magnetic pull trying to drag me back to him.

The pull that’s getting tougher to resist by the second.