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She spun around to go back to the counter but stopped abruptly on seeing Patrick enter the shop. Her heart seemed to fall to the bottom of her stomach and bounce back up again to lodge in her throat. She stared, drinking in the sight of him, replenishing her mind and senses of his every feature. It had been too long, way too long since she last saw him.

Why hadn’t he called before now? He must have been home at least a week.

He wasn’t wearing his glasses, and crazily she thought they must be for when he was reading only. She was rather disappointed he wasn’t wearing them, as she thought he looked sexy with them on. Her gaze raked over him, noting his black trousers, his grey shirt, black tie. Sex. He was a living advertisement for sex—and of what a man in his prime should be. Hard, lean, attractive, assured. She wanted him so badly.

“How are you, Fleur?” His accent caressed her, made her insides melt. Did her legs actually wobble? It felt like it. She felt unstable from top to toe and all he did was speak to her.

She took a step towards him, but Rachel was tapping her arm, wanting her attention. Startled, Fleur frowned at her, slowly focusing on what she was saying. “Um, yes?”

Rachel, eyes wide in her face, leaned close to whisper, “I can handle the shop. Why don’t you take Patrick upstairs to the flat before you actually drool right here in front of everyone?”

Oh my God.

Fleur closed her eyes momentarily, horrified at having been caught out staring at Patrick like a sex-starved nymphomaniac. Nodding like someone struck dumb, Fleur turned a tentative smile on Patrick. His slow grin made her die all over again. “W… Would you like to come upstairs?”