The Key Read Free Page A

the bar, I pressed my side into him, just enough to let him know I meant business but that the movement could be brushed off as an accident if it seemed he didn’t like it. He didn’t step away or appear to mind, and stared down at me with an expression of amusement. I hoped he wasn’t taking the piss out of me inside his head. Would I think me odd if I wasn’t me? Well, I wasn’t, not really, and decided that no, I quite liked the new person I had become.
    “What would you like to drink, Chantal?” he asked, lifting his eyebrows in such an endearing way that I had the urge to reach up and smooth my fingertip across one of them.
    That was far too intimate a gesture, but should I act on instinct anyway? Damn it, yes. I lifted my hand and stroked his eyebrow, gaining another amused look. Was he humouring me, or did he find me so different from the norm that it was making him happy?
    “Such soft eyebrows,” I said quietly, totally French and slutty. “I love a man with eyebrows that are nice and tidy. None of those wayward hairs or those ones that meet in the middle as though they cannot bear to be apart.”
    “A monobrow,” he supplied.
    “Yes, a monobrow. Shockingly disturbing to me, those one-liners across the forehead. Yes, I am pleased you do not have one.”
    I was making a prat of myself, I was sure of it, but I couldn’t seem to get my brain to let me know what I was going to say before I said it. I told myself to smile seductively, lick my bottom lip the same as a character in a romance novel would, and hoped for the best.
    “I’m pleased I don’t have one too,” he said. “So, drink?”
    “Oh, yes, how very rude of me not to have answered about that.” I lowered my hand and clasped both together in front of me. “Wine would be good, no?”
    He nodded. “Wine it is, then.”
    An elderly barman ambled over, polishing a pint glass with a rather grubby-looking tea towel, which made me glad I wasn’t one of those ladettes who liked to swill lager.
    “What’ll it be, then?” he asked, placing the glass down with the towel squashed inside it.
    “Wine, please,” David said, then to me, “Red or white?”
    “Red, thank you,” I said, which had come out as redzankoo.
    The barman looked at me oddly, and I had to take a minute to think whether I’d been here before as my English self. I hadn’t, I was sure of it, but it might be prudent to keep my mouth shut until he left us alone again. He busied himself uncorking a bottle, and with absolutely nothing to say, I watched him, all the while imagining that David would drink quickly, leave early and never ask to see me again.
    I had to make sure that didn’t happen. He’d obviously been attracted to my forwardness on the phone, so I ought to continue in that vein in order to ensnare him and secure another date.
    Wine and glasses put before us on the bar, the drinks paid for by David, the barman left us to it. I breathed a sigh of relief and waited for David to pour us both a hefty measure. He appeared in no hurry—he obviously let it breathe for longer than I did. I didn’t feel it would be appropriate for me to pour it myself, even though I could just do with grabbing the bottle and supping from it directly. I needed the Dutch courage. Instead, I took off my raincoat then draped it over my arm. Balancing my elbow on the bar so my jacket fronts just happened to part, revealing the PVC corset with the laces accidentally on purpose not done up tight enough, I didn’t glance down to see if the desired amount of boob was visible. I smiled at David, acting oblivious.
    “Oh, well now…” He cleared his throat and leant forward so his mouth was beside my ear. “Your, umm, your breast… Your nipple… It’s trapped between two strands of those laces. Looks rather painful.”
    I’d wondered what that pinching feeling was. With him still close, I reached up and cupped one side of his face. “Why don’t you fix that, then?”
    He coughed and eased