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Chapter Text

The reception is great fun. Thankfully, she’s sat with Helen and the two of them chat animatedly throughout the wedding breakfast, getting increasingly giggly the further they get through the bottle of white wine on the table. 

She feels pleasantly lightheaded and cheerful when Felix and Della get up for their first dance to a fitting and beautiful song. When they turn to invite the rest of the party to join them towards the end of it, Helen drags her up and they dance together, taking it in turns to twirl one another and laughing until their stomachs hurt. She hasn’t felt this happy, this free for a long time and she laps up every second; taking in the smile that lights up her best friend’s face and the warm, tipsy feeling from the wine. 

“I think I might have some competition,” Helen grins as they sway to Tina Turner’s latest hit. “Don’t look now, but I definitely wouldn’t complain if I’d caught his eye!” 

“Who?” 

“Mr. Serious over there,” Helen jerks her head over to her left. 

They make a subtle attempt at turning around as they dance, and that’s when she spots him. The best man’s eyes briefly meet hers, seemingly deep in conversation with Felix across the room. She can’t tear her eyes away, her heart beginning to race as she quickly looks him up and down. 

She can’t see all that much through the crowd of dancing guests, but the light grey suit really does flatter him. He’s very tall too, she realises, about an inch or so more than Felix. 

Helen clears her throat opposite her, and she finds a knowing smirk plastered all over her friend’s face. “See what I mean?” 

She nods, her throat suddenly feeling rather dry. “I need another drink. You want anything?” 

“Whatever you’re having,” Helen shrugs, nonchalantly waving a hand at her. “I’ll stay right here.” 

She carefully weaves her way back through the other guests on the dancefloor, trying her best to avoid looking in the best man’s direction until she finally reaches the bar. There are a couple of people waiting in front of her, but she’s grateful to take a break from the dancing for a moment. She leans against the bar, taking in everything around her for a moment. The whole thing looks beautiful, especially considering that they’re in one of the most picturesque places in the world. 

“What can I get you, ma’am?” 

The bartender’s question pulls her out of her reverie, and she hesitates for a second as she tries to remember what she wanted to order. 

“Two dry white wines, please.” 

The queue seems to have dissipated around her, and she can only see someone else on her left. She turns to her right, searching the crowd for Helen, when she senses someone coming up beside her. 

“Vodka martini. Shaken, not stirred.” A deep voice calls. She spins around slowly, her interest piqued by whoever’s choice in drink this is. 

Oh.  

She’s not sure who exactly she was expecting it to be, but it certainly wasn’t the very same best man she’d just been checking out across the room a matter of minutes ago. He’s resting an arm on the bar, looking at her with such an intensity that her face starts to feel hot. A smirk tugs at the corners of his mouth and she goes to say something, but right on time, the glasses of wine are placed in front of her. 

She mumbles a mortified “thank you” to the barman, then hotfoots it back through the crowd again until she finds Helen back at their table. 

“Don’t kill me for this,” she says as she puts the glasses down and takes a seat. “But guess who appeared beside me at the bar?”

“Go on,” Helen grins, leaning forward. 

She throws a look over to where she was just standing, her best friend’s gaze following and landing on him as he picks up his own drink.

“No!” Helen gasps. “What happened?!”

“He didn’t even say anything, just looked me up and down like I was the only woman in the room, and.. I froze! The drinks came just in time so I had an excuse to save myself from any more embarrassment.” Her head is in her hands now, and Helen roars with laughter. 

“Right, get some of that down you -” Helen points to her glass of wine. “Then we’re going back up on that dancefloor to give him something to look at.”

It’s getting awfully stuffy in there, so she excuses herself and heads outside, searching for somewhere to stand and smoke. She’s rummaging through her bag for her lighter, unlit cigarette hanging out of her mouth, when a voice behind her makes her jump. 

“Need a light?”

She whirls around, her breath catching in her throat when she realises it’s him. He’s offering an open hand to her, a small, silver lighter lying in his palm. 

“Oh! Thank you. I can’t seem to find mine..” she frowns, trying desperately hard not to look up at his face as she carefully takes it from him. She can feel something engraved on the cold metal, and she flicks the lid, guiding the tiny flame towards her cigarette. When it finally lights, she takes a relieved drag, closing her eyes for a second as the nicotine hits her. 

He’s stood beside her now with a boyish, almost shy, grin on his face as he smokes his own cigarette. “Th-Thanks,” she mumbles, pressing the lighter back into his warm palm. She shoots him an appreciative smile, and instantly regrets it. 

He’s gorgeous. Green eyes, like hers, with a cheeky sparkle to them that fills her stomach with butterflies; short, very dark hair; and oh, those dimples. She struggles to tear her eyes away, when she realises that he’s said something. 

“Sorry?” 

“I said, a bit warm in there, don’t you think?” 

She flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette and takes another drag, wishing her cheeks didn’t feel so hot. 

“Very,” she smiles, almost wishing she weren’t alone out here with him. “Beautiful wedding though.” 

He laughs at her last comment, sending a shiver down her spine. “You’ve got Della to thank for that, knowing Felix.” 

“Definitely,” she nods. “We were in halls together at university and even then, she was by far the most organised person I knew. How do you know Felix?” 

“We’ve worked together a lot. Same company, just different branches, I suppose. It helps that he’s been a good friend for years too.” He shrugs, bringing his cigarette back to his lips. “I’ve also realised I’ve been terribly rude and not asked your name.”

She waves a hand dismissively, ignoring her heart beginning to pound in her chest. “It’s Kate. You?” 

“James,” he flashes that smile at her again and offers his free hand for her to shake. She obliges, taken aback at how soft his hand is. He gives hers a very gentle, almost imperceptible squeeze when she’s about to let go and she clears her throat, letting her arm fall back to her side. 

She savours the last hit of her cigarette, shakily blowing out the smoke through the corner of her mouth. The cool evening air felt blissful when she’d first got out here, but now it’s just bloody cold. She folds her arms around her shoulders while she looks for the nearest ashtray in a fruitless attempt to warm herself up a bit. Before she can move again, he breaks the almost uncomfortable silence. 

“Would you like this? Can’t have you freezing out here, can we?” 

She turns back to face him again to find that he’s taken his jacket off and is holding it up by the shoulders, looking up at her through his eyelashes. 

I’m fine are the first words that spring to mind, but she’s well aware that she’s being flirted with for the first time in who knows how long, so she hesitates for a moment. 

“Thank you.” 

It comes out a bit more quietly than she’d thought, and she dares herself to peer into those beautiful eyes of his for a moment before he swiftly moves so he’s standing behind her. He places his jacket over her practically bare shoulders (she curses the stupid bloody strappy dress she’s wearing) and smooths out the fabric, his hands lingering there. His gaze is burning into her, yet she can’t bring herself to turn around because… well. She doesn’t want to think about what could happen. 

“Okay?” He asks, his voice dangerously close to her ear. All she manages is a slight nod, still unable to face him again. She feels him take a couple of steps away from her, then he reappears beside her, ashtray in hand. “This what you were looking for?” 

“Thanks,” she mutters, dropping her cigarette butt inside. He deposits the ashtray on the brick wall beside her, then steps back again so that he’s directly in front of her, closer than she’d like. 

“Hold on, you’ve got something…” His eyebrows knot into a slight frown and he reaches out, brushing something from the blonde hair that hangs loosely by the side of her face. His touch trickles down her cheek and before she can do anything, he’s cupping her face in his hands. The same intense look returns to his eyes, almost as though he’s asking her for permission. The warmth of his touch almost overwhelms her and she takes in a sharp breath, inching slightly closer so that she can get a better look at him too. 

He tilts his head down a little and very carefully lifts her chin, so that there’s now a tiny gap between their mouths. Before she has a chance to hesitate or try to wrap her head around what’s happening, his lips are on hers. He’s kissing her so gently, so delicately that she almost forgets where she is. Her hands are in his hair, and the feeling of him smiling at this is her undoing. The look he gives her when he pulls back takes her breath away. 

Her head is spinning and all she knows is that she wants more of whatever that was. She’s suddenly all too aware of where her hands are, but she can’t resist slowly running her fingers through his dark hair. His eyes widen and then he’s kissing her again with so much hunger and passion that (God, she can’t believe it) her knees are weak. His touch slides underneath his jacket and brushes all over her back until she shivers. 

“You’re still cold,” he mutters against her mouth. “Let’s go back in and warm you up with a drink.”

Chapter Text

They slip back inside and head in the direction of the bar, his hand burning into the small of her back. She’s not sure if she’s tipsy off the wine or what was quite possibly the best kiss of her life, but it finally seems to have caught up with her a little. 

Felix and James exchange a look as he guides her through the dancing crowd, and she almost breathes a sigh of relief as they reach the bar. The heels are doing a fantastic job at proving why she despises wearing them, so she slumps into the nearest stool.

“Bloody shoes,” she mumbles miserably, itching to take the stupid things off.

“Never mind the drink,” he says into her ear, wrapping an arm tightly around her shoulders. “Come back with me and you can get rid of those.. And that dress.” 

The surprise must be etched all over her face because he takes a step back and offers a hand, his irresistible smirk compelling her to stand up and take him up on that offer. His hand slots perfectly into hers, his fingers wrapping around the back of her palm as he tugs her towards the door. 

The apartments they’ve been given to stay in are under a minute’s walk away, and the feeling of his hand in hers is enough to make her forget about the pain that stabs at her feet with every step she takes. When they finally reach his door, he pauses before unlocking it to kiss her hard, fingertips tracing circles on her practically bare shoulders. The smallest flicker of disappointment goes through her when he fumbles in his pocket for his keys, until the door swings open and he’s pulling her inside. 

Seconds later he’s got her pinned against the wall, the look on his face has her breathing heavily, desperate to touch him again. 

“Let’s sort out those shoes, shall we?” He sweeps her up into his arms with minimal effort and carries her into the bedroom, putting her down carefully so that she’s sat on the end of the bed. It looks almost exactly the same as the apartment she’s sharing with Helen, the double bed she’s sat on replacing their two singles. As she bends down to slip her shoes off, he makes a quiet sound of disapproval and gives her a gentle but forceful push so she’s lying on her back. 

He carefully pulls off her left shoe first, then massages at the exact part of her foot that’s killing her. Sensing her relief, he does the same thing once he’s taken off her right shoe. This time, his warm hands work up her legs, teasingly stopping at the tops of her thighs. Her breath hitches and he chuckles, leaning over her. 

“Patience, Kate,” he breathes into her ear. His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones, and to the neckline of her dress. She just about musters the strength to grab him and roll over so he’s underneath her, a dark expression painted on his features. 

“Remind me to thank Felix for this,” she grins as her hand smooths down his waistcoat, unbuttoning it. He lets out something halfway between a laugh and a groan, pulling her down for another bruising kiss. Her body is flush against his, his heart hammering when she nips his neck. 

She props herself up a bit and gets to work on the buttons of his white shirt, unable to stop an “oh my God” escaping her lips when she notices just how toned he is. 

“Yes?” That gorgeous flirty smirk returns to his face, and he raises an eyebrow at her. He moans when she takes her time to run her hand down his torso, stopping her when she gets to the buckle of his belt. 

“My turn,” he mutters darkly, reaching for the dark red spaghetti straps of her dress. His mouth brushes over her now bare shoulders, giving her arms a gentle squeeze. 

“Are you sure about this?” He pulls back for a second, searching her eyes for any doubt. She takes a deep breath, and nods. 

“Very.”

He’s fast asleep when she wakes up, his face buried in her shoulder and his dark hair adorably tousled. It must be late, as everything is completely silent and still, and for a brief moment, she doesn’t know what to do. It’s been an incredible night, but something tells her that she needs to get back to her own bed to save them both the awkwardness in the morning if they woke up together. 

Slowly slipping her shoulder out from underneath him, she creeps out of the covers and gets dressed as quietly as she can. He shifts in his sleep while she’s putting those godforsaken heels back on, her heart squeezing in her chest at how beautiful he is. A small tremor of guilt hits her at the thought of leaving him like this, although somehow she can’t help but think he’s the one who does this to other women. 

A small pad of notepaper and an expensive pen lies next to the phone and on impulse, she grabs them both. Once she’s done writing on the top sheet, she carefully tears it off and leaves it next to his watch on the bedside table before tiptoeing out of the door. 

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: dangerous

The last few months have been tough, to say the least. Losing Della was a massive shock to everyone, and she desperately misses the regular letters written in her beautiful cursive every couple of weeks. She’s taken to writing to Felix instead, checking up on how he’s doing, but she wishes she could be out there with him in person. 

Work has been challenging, too. The atmosphere at the Treasury’s been tense, and the Whitehall rumour mill is going into overdrive about when, not if, the Chancellor’s going to resign and who’s going to replace him. Bets are being placed on all sorts of people, but she reckons the Foreign Secretary’s easily up high on the PM’s list. He seemed like a decent enough bloke as Chief Secretary, always taking the time to be kind to lowly civil servants like her in meetings and around the office. 

Running has been her therapy recently, her feet pounding the pavement at every opportunity she has. This morning is no exception. It’s a beautiful day for mid-October, the trees looking like they're on fire with their bright red, orange, and yellow leaves desperately clinging to the branches as she jogs through the park. Autumn in London is perfect, and she’s always so grateful to be living here when this time of year rolls around (even if Westminster is suffocating her). 

She rounds the corner, back onto the pavement again for the final stretch before heading back to her flat. As she looks down at her Walkman - 

Smack!

Her left shoulder throbs, and when she looks up slightly, all she can see is a light grey t-shirt. 

“Ow, fuck. I’m so s-” the moment she lifts her head properly and realises who she’s literally managed to run into, the apology dies on her lips. That incredibly familiar pair of green eyes stare right back at her, and the image of him on top of her in his apartment after the wedding flashes through her mind. It feels odd to see him dressed so casually, but he’s clearly out doing the same thing as her. 

His gaze flits up and down her body, until it finally lands back on her face. She cringes internally, mortified that of course he has to bump into her when she’s all sweaty, wearing her favourite old t-shirt and the small black shorts that she’s been running in since university. 

“You left me.” He folds his arms, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Sorry, what?!” 

“After Felix and Della’s wedding.” 

Oh shit. 

“I - I didn’t think I’d see you again..” She trails off, wincing at how awful it sounds as soon as she says it. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” 

His eyes widen, and she realises that he’s probably never been told this before. Something in the way he holds himself (and not to mention how bloody attractive he is) screams at her that he’s obviously not a one-woman man. Especially given that he’s got her number and hasn’t used it. 

“..Right.” His eyes are boring into her now, demanding an explanation that at this second, her brain can’t come up with. 

Sighing, she rubs a hand over her face. “Look, can I buy you a coffee? I promise I’ll explain everything.” 

Narrowing his eyes, he’s silent as he ponders her suggestion. 

“What about dinner? I’ll pick you up at 7.” 

Alarm bells are screaming inside her head and she hesitates too, weighing up what the hell she should do. She’s come across plenty of his sort before, the kind who know precisely how to hook women in and keep them eating out of the palms of their hands until they get fed up and move on to the next one, but there’s still a nagging doubt that there’s something different about him. Something that she can’t quite put her finger on. However, she’s fully aware that everything about the last time they met (particularly the wine) had allowed him to find that weak spot of hers and slip right in. 

That alone is why she nods softly, giving him her address and herself several hours to rehearse the sugar-coated explanation as to why she’s so wary of a repeat occurrence.

The intercom buzzes at 7 on the dot. She’s halfway through putting her earrings in, and she dashes over to hit the button so he can come up. It only takes about 30 seconds before the doorbell rings, but she pauses for a second, drawing in a deep breath before opening the door. 

He looks devastatingly handsome in a light grey three piece suit and she’s relieved to have dressed up more for this herself. She allows herself to take in every inch of him, fighting back the temptation to kiss him senseless and suggest they spend the evening here instead. 

“Come in,” she eventually manages to choke out. “I just need to grab my shoes and I’ll be right with you.” 

He gives her a small nod and steps inside, doubling her nerves. Shooting a sheepish smile at him over her shoulder, she walks as quickly as she can to her bedroom. Once inside, she grabs the other earring and slides it in, then picks up her shoes before moving back through into the living room. He’s examining the photo of her graduation, her laughing at Hugh’s terrible joke with her parents standing on either side, arms around her. 

She crouches down to slip on her favourite heels, smiling at the memory. 

“Sorry, all sorted now,” she grins. 

“Oxford?” He asks, pointing at the picture. 

“Mm. Read PPE at Brasenose. You?” 

“Cambridge,” he smirks, heading towards the door. 

“Of course .” Shaking her head playfully, she grabs her keys from the side and once again opens the front door. “After you.”

They step out of the lift a couple of minutes later, James’ hand on the small of her back as they walk through the hallway and out of the doors to her block. With his free hand, he reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his keys. 

Lost in thought, she lets him guide her a couple of yards down the road. It’s when she realises which car she’s about to get into that she comes to a sudden halt, eyes wide in utter disbelief at the sight of the Aston Martin. 

“You have got to be kidding me!” she exclaims, gaping at him. He gives her a wry smile and raises an eyebrow, saying nothing. “Where the hell did that come from?” 

“A garage,” he replies dryly, still smiling at her. “You ought to try going to one.” 

She rolls her eyes, then checks the road is clear before walking round to the passenger’s side. He turns the key in the lock and opens the door for her, stepping aside to let her climb in. By the time she’s settled on the smooth leather seat and fastened her seatbelt, he’s beside her. 

“Is this not horrendously expensive just to drive around London?” She asks as he puts the key in the ignition. 

“Company car,” he shrugs, grinning lazily at her. He turns the key and revs the engine, then pulls out slowly onto the main road. 

“What do you do again?” 

“Civil service, like you.” 

“Foreign office?!” It’s the only way she can think of that would justify this, knowing full well what some of the higher-ups there are like. 

“Sort of. Couldn’t take a beautiful woman out in a Volvo or something, could I?” She laughs at that, ducking her head to hide her warm cheeks from his compliment. 

They lapse into a comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, until they take a right at a set of traffic lights. 

“Almost there,” he says, his left hand sliding off the gearstick and resting on her right knee. The warmth of his touch sets her pulse racing, but it’s when he starts slowly tracing circles on her skin with his fingertip that she inhales sharply, tightening her grip on her handbag. 

Seconds later, they’re pulling up outside an Italian restaurant. He opens the driver’s side door and slips out, closing it behind him. He walks round to the other side of the car and opens the door for her, holding out a hand for her to take. Her palm slots easily into his as she gets out, carefully closing the door behind her with her free hand. 

As they head towards the restaurant’s glass doors, a wave of butterflies surge through her stomach. When was the last time she went out with someone like this? Louisa cooked for her not long before the wedding, but she’s sure it had been a couple of weekends before that when they’d gone anywhere for dinner. 

“Are you alright?” His voice makes her blink, pulling her out of her thoughts. 

Taking a deep breath, she smiles lightly at him. “Fine. Just can’t remember the last time I did something like this.” 

“So I take it nobody has shown you the best Italian food in London?” He smirks, gently taking his hand out of hers to pull the door open. 

Once they’re inside, the maitre d’ greets him like an old friend, the pair of them exchanging a knowing look when he introduces her. 

“Come, Mr Bond! We’ve saved your usual table.” The maitre d’ begins to move to their left, beckoning them to follow. 

They’re led through the maze of tables, James’ hand resting comfortably on the small of her back yet again. Heads turn to watch them as they go past, and she can’t help but feel her nerves sneaking in again.

Finally, they reach a small, square table set for two along the back wall. A scarlet cloth is draped over the table, two comfortable chairs with matching red cushions either side of it are pulled out for them. When they’re settled, menus are placed in front of them and he shoots her an easy smile. 

Unsurprisingly, he’s completely right about it being the best Italian in London. Scratch that, she thinks, this is the best Italian I’ve been to anywhere. The food is incredible, not to mention that they really do know how to make a good gin and tonic. Not that she’d admit any of this to him, of course.

They talk shop for a while. It’s nice to be able to let off a bit of steam about how tense everyone is to someone who’s not in her department, who actually seems somewhat interested in what’s going on. He tries to probe a little into the personal, but several drinks in she still can’t let her guard down, so she gives him the bare minimum.

Yes, her dad’s Welsh. Where else could a surname like Llewelyn come from? 

She went to Oxford on a scholarship (but neglects to mention how it still stings that she was treated differently by the others on her course for it). 

He’s almost as cagey as her when she turns the questioning back onto him, hoping that it turns down the heat of his gaze until she realises that all she’s done is successfully intrigue him more. 

After an amazing desert and trying and failing to put something towards the bill (he insists on paying the whole thing), she allows him to guide her through the restaurant and back out towards his car. She’s about to offer sharing a taxi, as the last thing she wants to do is get him stopped for drink driving, when - 

“Come home with me.” 

Somehow, this takes her by surprise. Was she really expecting him to get her dropped off at her flat, with nothing more than a thank you? She freezes, knowing exactly what his intentions are, and if she’s being completely honest with herself, it’s a bloody terrible idea. He’s been testing her all evening, touching but not kissing her the whole time to see whether she’s going to cave in. It irks her, the slight twinkle of amusement in his eyes as he looks at her now with what could be the sexiest smile she’s ever seen plastered all over his face. 

Taking a step closer, she leans in and stops short of her lips brushing his. 

“One coffee,” she whispers into his ear. “And that’s your lot.” 

His hands are all over her the second they stagger through the front door. Her back, her waist, her hips.. and she gives in. Gives in to everything that was screaming at her not to do this again mere hours ago. He pushes her against the wall and pins her there with his body, ducking his head to give her the most passionate kiss imaginable. Once she’s weak at the knees, his mouth moves to her neck and he greedily grabs her hips. 

“You’re going to learn how bad it was of you to leave me alone in bed last time, okay?” He mumbles, pushing himself right up against her.  

“ James …” she gasps, lacing her fingers through his hair. He reaches up and takes her hands, moving them so he’s got them pinned above her head. 

“Keep those there,” he says, and the edge of authority in his voice sends a shiver down her spine. He lets go of her wrists to brush a stray lock of hair out of her eyes, an almost tender expression flashing across his features. Tilting her chin up, he closes the gap between them once more and kisses her hard. An unintelligible sound comes out of her mouth as he rolls his hips against hers and he kisses her harder, smiling against her lips. 

“You’re coming with me,” he commands, taking both her hands and gently pulling them back down to her sides. Letting go of her left hand, he begins to tug her in what must be the direction of his bedroom. She stumbles along behind him, drunk on the feeling of being wanted like this again. 

They cross the living room, and he pushes a door open at the far end to reveal a clean, spacious room. His hands are on her shoulders now, then he gently spins her round so her back is to him. 

“Well, this has got to go,” he mumbles. The next thing she knows, he’s unzipping her black satin dress at an agonisingly slow pace, while he sweeps her long blonde hair over her shoulder and kisses the back of her neck and across her shoulders. 

The dress hits the floor with a soft thud and she turns to look at him, suddenly feeling rather exposed. He takes in every inch of her, then returns his gaze to her face. 

“Beautiful,” he whispers lasciviously as he pulls her in for a kiss that makes her heart pound. 

When he pulls away, she takes the opportunity to push his jacket over his shoulders and he shakes it off both arms to join her dress on the soft carpet. His waistcoat hugs his lean body and she’s desperate to get him out of that too. 

“You’re still overdressed,” she smirks. Shaking his head, he takes hold of her wrists as she goes to unbutton his waistcoat. 

“No. You’re not having it easy.” Tugging her further away from the door, he points at the king-sized bed in the middle of the room. “Lie down.” 

Nobody has ever ordered her around like this before, but she’s definitely not complaining about it. She does as she’s told, sinking into the clean, white duvet. Peering up at him, she watches him take off his black tie and he leans down, gently lifting her arms up above her head again. Momentarily confused, she suddenly realises what he’s up to when he wraps the tie around her wrists into a knot. 

Oh.

“This okay?” 

Once she’s tested that she can’t get out of this herself, yet the knot’s not too tight, she nods. His warm, soft lips brush all over her chest, then trail teasingly down her ribs and stomach, until… 

He moves back and she groans, her eyes flitting shut for a second at the sight of the satisfied grin on his face. 

“God, James,” she gasps. “You’re so…”  

“Hm?” 

He’s straddling her now, hands on the top two buttons of that bloody waistcoat. She blinks slowly, trying incredibly hard not to focus on how good it feels having him on top of her like this again. 

“You want me to get rid of this?” He asks, as if reading her mind. 

“Please.” 

It takes a moment to realise where she is. She’s on completely the wrong side of the bed, for a start, and it’s far too warm. Suddenly, everything that happened last night comes crashing back through her head and she can’t help a hiss of oh, fuck slipping out through her gritted teeth. She begins to wonder how the hell she let this happen with him again, her own questions easily answered the second she looks at his (thankfully) sleeping face. He’s absolute perfection personified, from his stunning light green eyes to his lean, taut body and God, it’s definitely enough to turn anyone’s head. 

A lock of his soft, dark hair lies just above his right eyebrow, curling up in the shape of a comma. Her hand reaches out from the covers to brush it back, but she shakes herself out of it. An itch for her own flat, her own bed, creeps up inside her chest and she sighs, knowing full well what she has to do. Before she considers how she’s going to get up without waking him, she casts her eyes around the bedroom floor in the hope that she’ll find her clothes. All three pieces of that gorgeous grey suit are strewn across the carpet, and she swallows hard at the thought of how much fun it was getting him out of it. 

She would definitely have more nights like this if he offered it, but she just can’t let herself stay overnight with him. Waking up and having breakfast with him screams intimacy and that’s the very last thing she needs right now, particularly as she’s still sore over how things ended with Louisa back in July. 

Anyway, at least if she goes home now, it’s normal to see women heading back at this time of night still dressed up from their night out. Doing that in the morning when she has nothing else to wear, however… 

Come on, Kate, she urges herself. If not now, when?

Slowly, she edges herself out of bed and tiptoes over to pick her clothes up from across the room. This is mortifying enough, but at least it’s not the crippling shame of walking home dressed like this on a Sunday morning. Not that she wouldn’t take the extra sleep, but what she really wants is the security of being able to wake up tomorrow on her own terms. 

She’s managed to get her shoes on and is halfway through zipping up her dress when a warm hand covers hers, making her instantly regret turning her back while she gets dressed. 

“Come back to bed,” he mutters softly into her ear. Before she can reply, his mouth moves to the weak spot on her neck and she bites back a moan. Temptation is staring her right in the face and in a moment of panic, she manages to move towards the door, grabbing his jacket in a desperate attempt to cover herself up. Sliding her arms in and throwing her handbag over her shoulder, she hurries through his flat and out of the door in a matter of seconds, leaving a thoroughly confused James Bond in her wake.

Notes:

Shoutout to this grey suit from the Living Daylights, which I couldn't resist making gifs of as he looks hot as hell in it and therefore had to feature it in this chapter too. 

For historical context, the Foreign Sec/ex-Chief Sec to the Treasury at the time this is set is John Major, the oft-forgotten part of the Thatcher-Blair sandwich, who was Prime Minister from 1990-97. 

Chapter Text

chapter 4: coffee (fucking)

At around 10, the phone rings and rouses her from her much needed sleep. Tempted for a minute to leave it to go to answerphone, the incessant noise eventually makes her haul herself out of bed and pick it up. 

“Yes?” she grumbles, hoping whoever is on the other end knows full well that she hates being woken up like this on a Sunday morning. 

“Good morning Katherine,” He’s infuriatingly playful, and she can hear the smile in his voice. “Nice to know you got home safely.” 

She sighs, tightening her grip on the phone at the sound of her full first name. All she wants is to get back into the warmth of her bed and enjoy a lie-in. 

“You could’ve saved yourself the trouble and stayed here,” he continues. “How much sleep you would’ve got though, I’m not sure.” The suggestion in his voice throws her a little, and she hasn’t a clue how to answer him. 

“I’ll take my own bed, thanks.” 

“Is that an invitation?” 

Shaking her head, she makes an incredulous sound back at him. “Christ, are you always this flirty in the morning?” 

“Have breakfast with me and you’ll find out.” He sounds confident that she’ll say yes and an uncomfortable feeling begins to settle in the pit of her stomach. 

Obviously, this is exactly how he keeps things going with whichever women he’s seeing and frankly, she doesn’t want it. What happened between them at Felix and Della’s wedding was exactly the kind of catharsis that she had needed after the final turbulent week with Louisa right before she flew out to Florida. It was easily the most fun she’s had with anyone, and the fact that there wasn’t a single string attached was what had made it even better. There wasn’t any disappointment when he hadn’t used her phone number because she hadn’t expected him to anyway, which was why (literally) bumping into him yesterday had been such a surprise. 

What she hadn’t signed up for though was intimacy. The idea of going out on dates and spending more and more time with someone still scratches at the last threads of raw pain that are left over from July. 

“I wasn’t that bad, was I?!” He almost seems offended and that shakes her out of her silence. 

“God, no! Not bad . Not bad at all.” She stops short of telling him that he was fantastic, because that ego of his most definitely doesn’t need a boost. 

“So what’s stopping you?” He’s genuinely curious, and she sighs again deeply. “Just meet me somewhere. You name the place and you can explain it to me there.” 

Just over an hour later, she’s pushing open the door to her favourite cafe around the corner from her flat, in her favourite jeans and oversized jumper. The scent of freshly baked bread and pastry hits her as she steps inside, making her stomach grumble impatiently. She’s been coming here most weekends since she moved in 3 years ago, either to grab a quick coffee on her way out; to meet up with Helen for a catch up; or, until a couple of months ago, with Louisa in tow. 

Scanning the room for a free table, she finds that it’s busier than usual. The sun’s beaming down outside, and people seem to have decided to pop in before heading off to make the most of the beautiful weather. The air’s full of the content chatter of friends, children’s giggles and their parents’ yawns, all spread out across the comfortable chairs and sofas. She pulls a silly face at the wriggling toddler strapped into a high chair at the table beside where she’s stood, his infectious laugh warming her up inside. 

“Kate!” Sara calls, hurrying over to her from behind the barista’s counter with open arms. She melts into the embrace, the warmth of her friend helping to relax her a little. Sara gives her a squeeze before leading her over to the till. 

“What’s it to be today? Your usual to go?” 

“Not this morning. Is there a table for two free? I’m expecting company for a change.” She gives Sara a tentative smile, absentmindedly playing with the sleeve of her faded navy jumper. 

“You’re not expecting…?” Worry touches her friend’s features and she shakes her head sadly. 

“No. Not seen her for months,” she sighs. “ Male company this time.” 

“Oh!” The small barista grins, and Kate can instantly tell she’s in for one hell of a questioning next time she comes in. “Well, we’ve got that one in the right hand corner there? Shouldn’t be too difficult for him to spot you when he gets here either. What’s he look like? I can point him in your direction if need be.” 

“Thank you so much,” she replies, considering how she can describe him. “He’s… Tall, Hair’s the same colour as yours -” 

“And handsome?” 

She groans, putting her face in her hands. “You’ll know when you see him. Can I grab my usual while I wait?” 

“Sure, hun. I’ll bring it over.” Sara throws her a wink and she begins to make her way over to the table, carefully slipping past chairs until she’s finally able to sit down herself. She drums her fingertips lightly on the square, wooden table as she examines the people sitting around her, wondering why the hell she agreed to this in the first place. 

“Liquid courage,” Sara grins as she places her coffee down on the table a couple of minutes later. “Not that you need it, look at you! If he’s not seeing what I am, he’s mad.” 

She’s just about to take her first sip of coffee when the door opens. Her mug hits the table with a clatter and she stays frozen in her chair for a second, part of her hoping that he won’t be able to find her. Her heart’s in her mouth at the sight of him standing there, the collar of his oversized leather jacket turned up over a dark, round-necked jumper. He looks insanely good for this time on a Sunday morning and she’s almost angry at him for it, as all she wants to do is make this as quick and easy as possible. 

Sara clocks him and right when she’s about to head over and point James in her direction, he spots her. She stands up when he nears the table and she’s hit again by how tall he is. 

“Hey,” she breathes, almost amazed at how calm she sounds. 

“Morning,” he replies, pulling out the chair opposite her. He leans in almost too easily and plants a lingering kiss on her right cheek. Moving her head back swiftly, she sits back down and picks up her coffee, avoiding his eyes. As she takes a sip, irritation begins to bubble away in her stomach. She hates that he has this effect on her, especially that he knows it and seems to be expecting her to behave like any of his other conquests, however many of those there’s been. 

He takes off his jacket and hangs it over the back of the chair, then sits down. As soon as he’s about to open his mouth, Sara is standing beside their table, breakfast menu in hand. She hands it to James, shooting a wry smile in Kate’s direction as she does so. He glances at it for a moment, then looks up decisively as she’s about to walk away. 

“Scrambled eggs and bacon on toast, and a black coffee please?” He asks. Sara nods, pulling her notepad and pen out from her apron and scribbles it down. 

“Eggs florentine, Kate?” She grins playfully, patting Kate on the shoulder as she moves away. “Creature of habit, this one.” 

Kate feels her cheeks begin to warm and she takes another sip of her latte, doing everything in her power not to look at James. 

“Regular here, are you?” 

She shrugs, gently putting her mug back down on the table. “Can’t help getting coffee to go if I’m early for work. Last time I ate anything in here was..” Trailing off, she bites her lip. Her whole body tenses and she can feel his eyes on her. A series of images flit through her mind; snapshots of Lou’s easy smile, her tanned hands clutching her own across the table, the lock of chestnut hair that was forever being brushed out of her eyes. 

She takes a deep breath, trying to push away the sharp, searing pain that’s threatening to make her get up and run out of there. 

“Sorry,” she whispers, staring down at her coffee. She doesn’t want to look up at the sympathetic expression that’s guaranteed to be all over his face. 

“So why eggs florentine, then?” He asks softly, after a pause. 

“I’m not exactly the best at eating breakfast on a weekday,” she confesses, still avoiding his eyes. “We went to visit some of Dad’s family in Wales when Hugh and I were teenagers. I tried it in a cafe like this on our last morning and loved it, so mum always would make it from scratch when I came back from Oxford for the holidays. Still does every time I visit them.” 

“Your parents live very far from here?” 

“Buckinghamshire. Only just over an hour’s train ride,” she smiles. “Not the worst place in the world to grow up, I suppose. Are you close to your parents?” 

He pauses for a second, as though he’s wondering what or how much to tell her. “They died when I was eleven. Climbing accident. My aunt took me on, but I was away in Scotland for school most of the time.” 

“God, I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.” Living without either of her parents seems unbearable even now, so she can’t imagine what it must’ve been like for him going through that at such a young age. 

“It was 28 years ago,” he shrugs. “I got through it.” 

Sara returns to their table, carefully putting James’ coffee down in front of him. 

“One black coffee. Food should be with you in five.” 

James raises an eyebrow and Sara laughs. “We like to treat our regulars well. Particularly this one -” she throws a wink in Kate’s direction, turning to head back to the counter. “- but I expect you’ve got that one covered too.” 

Kate would like nothing more than the ground to swallow her up as Sara walks away, but James just picks up his coffee and looks at her sharply. 

“What happened to you?” The question is asked so quietly that she wonders whether she actually heard it at all. 

“Sorry?”

“She said you need to be taken care of. Why? What stopped you staying last night? Or should I be asking who?”

There is a choice to be made here, she realises. Between telling him everything or nothing. Anger flashes through her, mainly at herself, for getting into this situation with him in the first place. She can’t put her finger on what exactly it is, but there’s something telling her that his questioning is genuine, which makes what she’s about to tell him all the more painful somehow. 

She takes a deep breath, just about managing to meet his eyes, then tells him everything. How she thought Lou was the love of her life. (“I do date men too, before you say anything,” she adds.) That they’d met through mutual friends from Oxford, and the three years they were together were the happiest she’s ever been. Until all of a sudden, she’d had it all pulled away from her. 

By the time she’s finished, she realises this is the first time she’s made it through explaining things without shedding a tear. A small weight feels like it’s been lifted off her shoulders and she hopes that this is some sort of sign that she’s finally starting to heal. 

He’s got a strange, unreadable expression on his face. He sits there for a moment in silence, searching her features for any sign of the deep, bruising pain that has ever so slowly begun to fade over the last couple of months. 

“Have you seen her since…?” He’s very careful with his words, and she barks out a harsh laugh.

“No.”

Evidently, this isn’t the answer he was hoping for. The swear word comes out in a hiss under his breath and he shakes his head. 

“That doesn’t mean that I need to be taken care of. I’m 29 years old, not five.” 

He opens his mouth, to protest perhaps, but is interrupted by their breakfast’s arrival. The sight of her eggs brings a wide, relieved smile to her face, making a mental note to herself to ring her parents when she gets home. It’s been around a month since she last went back to see them and with the week she’s had, the sound of their voices would make everything feel an awful lot better. 

James’ eggs and bacon are piled high on top of his toast and he grabs his knife and fork. She follows suit, cutting carefully into her breakfast. It tastes incredible, as usual, and they eat in a comfortable silence. Once finished, she carefully puts her cutlery down and polishes off her coffee, not minding that it’s borderline cold now. 

A couple of minutes later, Sara comes back and scoops up their plates. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Wonderful, thank you.” James answers first as he picks up his mug. 

“Can I get you anything else?” When they both shake their heads, Sara shoots them a smile and starts towards the kitchen. “Shout if you change your mind.” 

The intense look returns to James’ face again as he studies Kate across the table. She can’t help but wonder what’s going on in his head, particularly after his reaction earlier on. 

“Let’s make a deal.” The second those words leave his mouth, she’s interested. He pauses for a couple of seconds, examining her expression again before he goes on. “The two nights we’ve had together have been fun. Why stop now?”

Crossing her arms, she leans back in her chair and looks at him expectantly, not saying a word. 

“To be completely honest, I want more of you . In my flat, my bed. Or yours, if that’s what you want. But you’ve got to trust me.” 

She narrows her eyes, considering his suggestion. The mere thought of last night sends a shiver of satisfaction down her spine, and she’d be crazy to turn down the chance to keep sleeping with him. Looking at him across the table, from his ruffled hair to the way that his white shirt and warm, dark jumper hug his body perfectly, there’s no way that she’d say no if he told her to take him straight back to hers. 

That element of trust is the only caveat that keeps her quiet. How the hell is he expecting her to do that given that he knows what Louisa did to shatter her ability to trust anyone? 

“No strings attached?” She asks tentatively, peering anxiously at him. 

“None.” He answers her instantly, and the slow smile spreading across his face almost knocks the breath out of her. 

“What’s the catch?”

He throws his hands up defensively, still smiling at her. “I just want to get to know you, Kate. If you’ll allow me to take you somewhere that isn’t the Treasury, here, or your flat.”

This is dangerous. His joke about her seeing the same sets of four walls on rotation gripes at her a little but she doesn’t see the harm in proving him wrong about that. 

“Okay. That doesn’t mean we spend the night together though.”

That does seem to take the wind out of his sails a bit, and she can’t help but feel slightly relieved by it. 

“Deal.” He nods. “I’ll get the bill and we’ll walk back to your flat.”

They reach her flat after a short walk through the park, admiring the autumn sunshine in its' full glory.

“Hang on, I’ve still got your jacket.” She turns to unlock her front door, searching her pocket for her keys. 

“Next time there’ll be more than that on your bedroom floor,” he smirks. 

“What makes you think there’ll be a next time?” She bites back, whirling around to face him. 

Before she knows it, his mouth is mere millimetres from hers. Desperately trying to keep her expression neutral, she stares right into his eyes, daring him to do something. 

“This time,” he whispers salaciously into her ear, “you’re not going to be leaving your bed all afternoon.” 

“Says who?” she replies, struggling to keep her voice even as he gently nips her earlobe and brushes his lips across her jaw. 

“Me.” 

True to his word, she doesn’t get up until well after 5. Every inch of her is completely sated, having spent a blissful few hours entangled with him. He looks up at her with wide, almost pleading eyes as she gets out of bed and without thinking, slips on his white shirt. 

She pads through into the kitchen and flicks the switch on the coffee machine. While it works its magic, she reaches up into the cupboard to pick out two mugs. Before she can get them out, his warm, tanned arms snake around her waist and tug her backwards until her back is pressed against his bare chest. 

“I don’t like how good this looks on you,” he murmurs, purposely undoing one of the buttons in the middle of the shirt. “Would you rather I took it off here or in bed?” 

She slowly turns around, her eyes wandering all over his torso. “We’ve only just got out of bed,” she replies in mock-protest as she leans in closer to him. 

“Here it is, then,” he grins mischievously and carefully lifts her up, putting her on top of the counter. She shifts so that her legs are dangling down, then reaches out and pulls him in for a long, languid kiss. Pulling away when he pops open another button, she finds him staring at her lustfully. His hair is a mess, thoroughly ruffled from her pillows, and she slides herself forwards on the counter to slip both of her hands into his dark locks. She begins to slowly run her fingers through it, marvelling at how soft it feels, when he groans quietly. He opens his eyes and picks her up again, smiling when she wraps her legs around his waist. 

“Changed your mind already?” She smirks. 

“I just remembered how much more I can do to you in bed.” His voice is starting to sound strained, and he breaks into a jog as he carries her out of the kitchen. They cross the hallway and he almost kicks her bedroom door down. She pretends to gasp, laughing at the look he gives her. 

“I hope you’ll fix that, Bond ,” she teases as he lowers her down onto her unmade bed. 

“I did what was necessary.” He’s looming over her with pure hunger in her eyes as he examines every inch of her.

“Because of a shirt?!”

“It’s my shirt-“ he tears open the buttons at breakneck speed, planting a kiss on each piece of her bare skin that he reveals underneath. “- and frankly, your outstanding body is far too good to be covered up by it.”

Notes:

They say write what you know, therefore bi Kate is bi. Make of that what you will. 

Songs for this so far are as follows:

title, chapter 1 (bonus: James' POV), chapter 2, chapter 3, chapter 4 (other song that I almost named this after bc it fits well and I'm obsessed with it atm and James' POV here too). 

Chapter Text

chapter five: heaven must be missing an angel

The first time it happens, Helen is staying over. It’s the first Friday of November and they’re huddled together on the sofa having been out to a fireworks display earlier that evening, clutching almost empty glasses of their favourite white wine while they wait for the Chinese takeaway to arrive. This is one of their favourite yearly traditions, having done it each year without fail since they both moved to London. 

The intercom buzzes and they both scramble up onto their feet. Helen hits the button and begins to fumble in her handbag for her purse. 

“Can you get the door?” Kate asks. “I’ll grab some plates and cutlery and top our glasses up.” 

When the quiet knock on the door comes, she’s halfway through setting the table. The latch clicks behind her as Helen pulls the door open, purse in hand. What she doesn’t see is the surprise on her best friend’s face on sight of what they thought was the delivery driver. 

“Hello, Mr Best Man,” Helen grins, quirking an eyebrow at him as she leans against the doorframe. “Fancy seeing you here.” 

“It’s Mr Bond. James Bond.” He sighs, peering around her. Suddenly, something clicks in her brain. So this is James! “Is Kate in?” 

The clatter of cutlery hitting the table answers his question. In an instant, Kate appears behind Helen.

“Yes, she is.” She looks from Helen to James and back again, her face beginning to redden at her best friend’s expression. “Everything okay?”

“I was just going to ask if you were free tonight, but it seems that you’re…” His gaze flits to Helen for a moment. “…Otherwise engaged.” 

Helen’s smile could rival the Cheshire Cat’s in width now and Kate cringes. “Sorry. Sometime during the week, perhaps?” 

“During the week it is,” he nods. “Have this, just in case. My home number’s on the back.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulls out a white business card from a black leather wallet and hands it over to her. 

The MoD’s logo is printed on the top of the card, with his name underneath. She flips it over to find a London number neatly written on the back in black pen. 

“Thanks.” 

“Have fun.” He shoots her a flirty wink and turns to leave. “See you in a few days.” 

As soon as she’s closed the door, Helen is pulling her back onto the sofa. 

“You did not tell me that you’re shagging Felix Leiter’s best man!” Helen shrieks, nudging her in the ribs. 

“H, please —“

“He’s bloody gorgeous! I’m so jealous.” 

Before she can be subjected to any sort of interrogation from her best friend, the buzzer goes off again. Sensing Kate’s relief, Helen gets up and wags a finger at her. 

“Don’t you dare think that we’re done here,” she says. “You’ve got some explaining to do over dinner.” 

Three days later, she’s just walked through her front door when the intercom buzzes. Too tired to bother asking who it is, she slams the button and prays that whoever’s now making their way up won’t be hanging around for too long. She throws her handbag into its usual spot in the bedroom, briefly considering how quickly she could change into something more comfortable, when the doorbell rings. 

She moves slowly towards the door, stifling a yawn as she goes. The last couple of weeks have been manic, with the change in chancellor and the resulting mountain of paperwork and policy adjustments that she’s had to make a start on. If she’s completely honest with herself, she could forego the change of clothes and happily curl up in bed exactly as she is. 

Shaking the thoughts of sleep out of her mind, she opens the front door to find James standing on the other side of it. 

“Oh! Hi!” She smiles. “Wait… You didn’t call, did you?” 

“No, should I have?” 

“No, no, it’s just I’ve not checked my answerphone yet, that’s all.” She steps aside to let him in, just about succeeding in fighting back another yawn. Once he’s inside and she’s shut the door behind them, she turns to him with a tired smile. 

“Sorry, let’s start again.” She moves closer to him, her gaze flitting to his mouth. “Hi.”

“Hello.” 

Once he’s placed something down on the floor beside him, he draws her in for a deep, slow kiss. The feeling of his hand gently cradling the back of her head makes her sigh and she can feel the tension of the last couple of weeks beginning to melt away. He keeps his hand there when he pulls back, suddenly noticing the tiredness that’s etched all over her face. 

“I heard you’ve been busy lately,” he says softly. “So rather than go out, I thought I’d bring dinner to you.” Reaching back down again, he grabs the bag and lifts it up to show her. “Go and get something comfortable on, grab a glass of wine and it’ll be cooked in no time. I would suggest a shower first, but we’ll save that for later.” 

The wink that he gives her sends a wave of butterflies coursing through her stomach, and she opens her mouth to protest. “But -”

“No buts. Believe it or not, I am capable of cooking without help, and without giving you food poisoning if that’s what you were worried about. Now, go and get changed. Preferably into something that’ll be easy to take off later.” 

She shakes her head disbelievingly and slopes off back towards her bedroom, secretly relieved that she finally is able to get out of the dark blue suit she’s been wearing all day. Slipping the jacket off, she opens her wardrobe and searches for the hanger it was on that morning. Once she’s found it and her favourite t-shirt and shorts, she changes quickly and hangs her work clothes up neatly. 

She goes back out into the front room to find him searching through her record collection, the smell of onions and mushrooms sweating in the pan hitting her nose as she walks up behind him. 

“Impressive collection you’ve got here,” he turns to face her, raising his eyebrows. 

“I got the love for music from my dad,” she shrugs. “Put on whatever you like.” 

He plucks out a record, slips it out of the sleeve and carefully puts it onto her turntable. Once he’s got it playing, he leads her back over into the kitchen. A bottle of her favourite white wine sits on top of her white work surface, two empty glasses waiting to be filled beside it. He stirs the pan, his attention shifting back to the task at hand and she’s captivated for a moment, watching him move over and prepare the steaks that’re lying on the wooden chopping board to his right. 

“Are you sure you don’t want -”

“Nope,” he cuts in, not looking up as he continues with his prep. “Like I said, pour some wine and at least try to relax , Katherine.” 

The way her name rolls off his tongue like that makes her heart squeeze a little. She sucks in a deep breath and picks up the bottle, unscrewing the lid. 

“Yes, sir,” she mutters as she begins to pour the wine into the glasses. 

“That’s commander to you, actually.”  

She almost spills the wine all over the worktops, catching herself at the last second. 

“Is it really?” She puts the lid back on the bottle and picks up his glass, then moves around to pass it to him. 

“Yeah, Royal Navy.” He turns to face her for a moment, smiling at her. An image of him in a pristine Navy uniform forms inside her mind and she takes a long sip from her glass. 

“I bet you’re a sight to behold in that uniform, too.” 

“Next time, I’ll show you.” He’s right up in her space now, clearly confident that nothing will burn while his back’s turned. He leans in and plants a long kiss on her lips that has her grabbing fistfuls of his shirt, desperately pulling him closer. He moves back after a few seconds, laughing at the pout she gives him. 

“Plenty of time for that later,” he says, turning back to the stove. “Speaking of commanders, how’s life with that new chancellor?” 

“Who, Major? He’s great. We had him as Chief Secretary until he got poached by the FO a few months back, so it’s nice to have some familiarity again.” She walks back over to where she was standing before, leaning down to rest her elbows on the countertop. “Not to mention that I won ten quid for it. We had a bet going over who would replace Lawson and nobody believed me when I threw his name out there.” 

“And there I was, thinking that Her Majesty’s Civil Service wouldn’t dare place bets on their masters.”

She swats at him across the counter and he laughs again, shaking his head at her. 

“So you’re at the MoD, then? I thought you said the Foreign Office before…” 

“I’m a contractor. Defence mainly, but I do an awful lot for the Foreign Office too.” Shrugging, he slides the steaks into a separate pan. “These shouldn’t be too long, though if you insist on helping, could you put some salad on our plates?” 

They sit on the sofa for a while after he’s washed up (he insists on her not lifting a finger), talking about work and the state that the Treasury’s got itself into with a new Chancellor having to deliver the Autumn Statement that’s coming up in less than two weeks’ time. The record that he’d put on whilst cooking stopped a while back so he gets up and changes it, this time to an album that she’s not listened to in a long time. 

“Oh, I love this one,” she sighs, tilting her head back to rest it on his shoulder. Her eyes slowly close and she focusses on listening to the song. Seconds later, he drops a featherlight kiss to her temple. 

“Come on,” he whispers. He carefully lifts her head and stands up, holding a hand out to her. Frowning in confusion, she stifles a yawn and slowly follows suit, slotting her hand into his. As he leads her back into the kitchen she can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s doing, and it only makes sense when he stops and pulls her in close. 

He drops her hand and wraps his arms around her waist. When she reflexively loops hers around his neck, she’s suddenly aware of the height difference between them. Without the heels that she had been in when he took her out a couple of weeks ago and when they met at the wedding reception, he’s around four or five inches taller than her. It’s both incredibly attractive and comforting, particularly when every inch of him from his chest to the tops of his thighs are pressed against her. 

She feels him start to sway to the music and she starts to move too, easily keeping in time with him. Burying her face in his chest, she takes a deep breath, the stresses of the last few weeks starting to loosen as they dance in silence. 

Those all too familiar alarm bells start to ring in her head, warning her that this is definitely not something that people in an arrangement like theirs would do, but she nudges it to one side for the moment. He’s been very attentive and thoughtful since he walked in the door, seeming to be in tune with everything she needs and she really appreciates it. 

He could make himself into an amazing boyfriend for someone , she thinks. Horrified at herself for even allowing the thought to cross her mind, she flinches. 

“You okay?” He asks. 

She looks up at him and nods. 

“Fine,” she lies. “Just a bit cold, that’s all.” 

Something darkens in his eyes and he stops dancing, his hands shifting to her hips. 

“How does a nice warm shower sound?” 

Once they’ve both recovered the strength to shower properly, he puts a hand over hers when she reaches around him for the shampoo. 

“Allow me,” he says, pulling her back and grabbing the bottle. “You’ve had a tough time lately, let me help you relax a bit.”

“You’ve already done more than enough, honestly –” 

He puts a finger over her lips, an unreadable expression on his face. “Please, just this once.” 

Too tired to argue, she sighs. “Okay. Thank you.” 

“Good. Now come here, darling.” 

The pet name sends a jolt through her as she steps closer to him and she almost slips, catching herself. 

“ What did you just call me?”

“I said come here. And you have, so tilt your head down a bit for me.” He squeezes a decent amount of the shampoo into the palm of his left hand and deposits the bottle back on the side of the bath. 

She closes her eyes and does as she’s told, her thoughts racing. He definitely just referred to her as “darling”, but why did he not repeat it the second time? It’s not something she’d’ve been uncomfortable with if he had done it when he was having his way with her ten minutes ago… Why say it now? 

The shampoo is spreading across the top of her head and he smooths it down through to the tips of her hair. Then he spins her around so her back is to him and starts to massage it into her scalp. It doesn’t take long for her to completely relax into his touch as his fingers work through her hair, her thoughts melting away as he goes. 

“Shift forwards a couple of steps and put your head into the water,” he murmurs, moving with her as she does so. He proceeds to rinse the shampoo out for her too, taking his time with it before he fetches the conditioner and applies it to the ends of her hair. 

When he’s done with rinsing out the conditioner, he starts to slowly rub her favourite coconut-scented shower gel into her lower back.

“This okay?” 

“Mmm…” She hums, missing the dopey grin that’s plastered all over his face. His hands move to wash her hips, then his touch dips downwards. 

“ James …” Her eyes open and she looks at him over her shoulder.

“What?” His face is the picture of innocence, but it’s him biting at his bottom lip that gives the game away. 

“Wasn’t the whole point of this to, I don’t know, clean up perhaps?”

His hands float back up to her hips again and he spins her around. 

“Fuck that,” he says, pulling her in for a deep, passionate kiss. “Cleaning up can wait a bit longer.” 

A few hours later, she’s dozing peacefully with her head on his warm, muscular chest when she feels his hand smooth over her hair and a gentle kiss brushes the top of her head. 

“I have to go,” he whispers. “Got to catch an early flight in the morning.” 

She opens an eye and frowns at him. “Where are you off to?” 

“Classified information, I’m afraid.” He gently taps the tip of her nose with his index finger, giving her a slow, sleepy smile. 

Rolling her eyes, she playfully hits his chest with the back of her hand. “Okay Commander Classified, surely you can stay –” 

He takes a deep breath and holds it. Something in him is hoping this is her way of saying that she’s starting to trust him. Until…

“ – For five more minutes? It’s so lovely and warm lying here like this.”

As he exhales slowly, he’s secretly very relieved that she can’t see the disappointment on his face. 

“Five more minutes,” he confirms.

She sighs, then pulls the covers up and nestles herself even closer to him. Normally she wouldn’t even consider doing this, but she’s so bloody shattered that it doesn’t even register in her head. If she were awake, she would be rather suspicious of how easy it was to get him to agree to this. 

She would also be suspicious of how five minutes turn into ten, then fifteen, then twenty. 

Eventually, he begins to extract himself from their embrace and leans over to give her a peck on the lips, cupping her face in his hands. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I really ought to go and get packing now.” 

Lifting her head off the pillow, she peers up at him groggily. He looks worryingly reluctant to leave, as though he wants her to ask him to stay the night. A spurt of panic sets in and she sits up, trying to think of something to say. 

An strange look flickers across his face at her silence and the unease settles in her stomach. First a pet name slips out of his mouth earlier, now this? She’d like to hope there’s not a chance in hell that a serial womaniser like him would allow himself to fall for anyone , let alone her, but there’s something in the back of her mind nagging her that he might just prove her wrong at some point. That thought alone is terrifying . 

A strip of moonlight beams in through the gap in her curtains as she watches him climb out of her bed and begin to search for his clothes. Her gaze roams over his broad back and she licks her lips, pushing away the urge to reach out and tug him back under the duvet.

He stays quiet as he gets dressed, and she starts to wonder whether she’s pissed him off. She did stipulate that she wasn’t ready for overnight stays, so she tries to convince herself that the reasoning behind his behaviour is that he doesn’t want to go wherever it is that he’s off to in the morning. 

“How long are you going to be away for?” She asks eventually. 

“In all honesty, I’m not sure,” he shrugs, pausing buttoning up his shirt to look at her. “Anywhere between two weeks and a month, usually.” 

“Right,” she nods. “You’ll ring when you get back though, won’t you?”

He sits back on the empty side of the bed and leans over, tenderly brushing her hair away from her face. “Of course. As soon as I’m back, you’ll be the first to know.” 

Chapter Text

The dress is emerald green, and she can feel the heat begin to rise in her cheeks when she flips it over in her arms to find that it’s also backless. It’s easily going to be the most risque thing she’s ever worn, particularly given that her uniform consists of suits and, outside of work, jeans. When he rang her out of the blue just a few hours ago, asking if she’d be his date to some party he was expected to attend, this was the last thing that she thought the dress code would involve. 

She then takes a look at the label, and feels sick. 

“Dior?! Fuck me, James, this is worth several months of wages put together!” 

“Believe me, I will, once I’ve taken you out in it.” 

She scoffs, rolling her eyes as she shakes her head at him. “How long have we got before we need to leave?”

“Ten minutes.”

Taking a deep breath, her gaze returns to the dress in her hands. She knows she should be carrying it off into her bedroom to put it on, but something keeps her rooted to the spot. 

“It won’t bite you, you know.” All of a sudden, James is right in front of her. He laughs at the look she gives him and reaches out, his fingertips brushing her cheek. “Is this your way of telling me that you don’t trust my fashion sense?” 

“No, I.. I just don’t make a habit of wearing a dress unless I have to. I’d rather not be put on show.” 

“And what if I want to show you off?” 

She laughs then, shrinking away from him. “And why exactly would you want to do that?” 

An unreadable expression flits across his face, and is quickly replaced with a frown. “I’m not arguing with you over this. Go, get changed."

Forcing her feet to move, she drags herself (and the dress) into her bedroom. Thankfully she’d thought to get her hair and makeup done, so it’s just a matter of whipping this… fabric on. She looks down and glares at the dress for a few seconds, feeling the butterflies turning it up to eleven in her stomach. 

“I can hear you hesitating!” James shouts from the living room. “Come on!”

She changes painfully slowly, taking her time to fold the jogging bottoms and t-shirt that she had on. Once she’s sprayed some of her favourite perfume she feels marginally more confident. She pulls out her most comfortable pair of silver heels, relieved that they’ll mostly be hidden under the dress, and the matching bag. 

Finally, she puts the dress on. 

The smooth silk embraces every curve of her body like a second skin. The complete lack of anything to cover her back makes her all too aware of how cold it’s going to be wearing it outside and she prays that wherever this party is, it had better be indoors. 

Refusing to even consider looking in the mirror, she slips her feet into the heels and picks up her clutch bag. Her stomach is doing somersaults now, and her hands start to shake. The last time she remembers having to dress up like this was at Oxford, for her college’s ball when she’d finished her finals. 

She takes a deep breath, hoping it’ll steady her. Then, she tentatively steps out of her bedroom and into the front room, where he’s waiting for her. His eyes immediately lock onto her body as she moves closer, drifting slowly across her top half, down to the cinched waist and all the way to her feet. As soon as she’s within touching distance, his hands mirror everywhere he’s just been looking, exploring the silky green fabric and her body. The way he’s touching her is borderline greedy as he trails across her bare back and comes to rest on her hips. 

His face is incredibly close now and she notices that his pupils are blown. His gaze drops to her lips, where it lingers for a moment before he practically throws her against the nearest wall. His warm hand runs up her right thigh and slides underneath the slit in the dress. Her gasp makes an almost predatory look appear on his face and she wraps her leg around his hip, pulling him in closer still. He takes this as an opportunity to trail slow, sensual kisses up her neck until he reaches her weak spot. The moment that she can feel his teeth nipping at her skin, she laces her fingers through his hair and gives it a gentle tug, urging him to keep going. 

He smiles against her neck and she could combust there and then. He clearly gets the message because he really goes for it. Her heart thrums as she tilts her head back, desperately hoping that he’ll tell her to forget about the party so he can stay here all night with her instead. 

At this point, she’s completely beyond caring about the marks that make an appearance without fail following every night spent with him. Helen could barely contain her glee upon laying eyes on her the morning after Felix and Della’s wedding, teasing her for applying more makeup to her neck and chest than her face. (“I bet you’re glad I caught him staring last night!” She laughed.) 

As his left hand grips her waist, his kisses become more urgent. With his free hand he brushes his fingertips across her shoulders and pushes down the straps of her dress until they tickle at the tops of her arms. 

“Please can I take this off you?” His hand is hesitating at the zip and even though he’s said the magic words that she wants to hear, she knows they really need to get going if they’re going to make it to this party in time. 

“Believe me, I would love it if you did, but shouldn’t we be heading to the party?” 

He lets out a frustrated groan in response, sliding his hands downwards. She reaches out and moves them away, then gently pushes him back to create a little bit of distance between them because she knows that if she didn’t, they would miss the party completely. 

“You haven’t been told by a woman to wait before, have you?” She teases, picking up her bag and starting towards the door. The withering look he gives her tells her all she needs to know and she laughs. “Well, there’s a first time for everything.” 

She keeps a couple of paces in front of him once she’s locked up and they’re making their way to the lift. He’s almost bouncing on his heels when she turns to look at him over her shoulder and she makes a point of leaning in just enough to come very close to touching him as she hits the down button. Of the few times that they’ve seen each other since Felix and Della’s wedding, she’s never seen him look this desperate until now. He’s doing an excellent job at hiding it on his face, but there are so many clues from the way he’s holding himself that, try as he might, he can’t completely conceal it from her. 

Eventually the lift doors open and she’s in there like a shot, leaning against the back wall with her arms folded. He’s quick to follow, watching her with somewhat laboured breathing as she inches herself away from him. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off her until they reach the ground floor. As they’re making their way out into the cool December air, he can’t resist resting a hand on her back. Not giving in, she reaches back and yet again moves it away. She’s too slow to let go properly, and his fingers are laced through hers instead. A funny sensation twists at her stomach, as it has done every time he’s taken her hand like this, so she makes a futile attempt at disentangling her fingers from his only for him to tighten his grip. 

Mercifully, the car is soon within reach. Rather than the Aston Martin that she’s used to, a sleek jet black BMW waits patiently by the kerb for them. 

“Been to the garage again lately?” She asks as he unlocks it. 

“No. I, uh… Had a bit of an accident when I went abroad last time I saw you. This one’s just a temporary replacement until the Aston’s been fixed.” 

“Ooh, I bet your mechanic’s not very happy.” 

He looks very sheepish then, ducking his head whilst he opens the passenger’s side door for her. “To say he’s not happy is a bit of an understatement. Let’s just say I got a rather severe telling off when I brought it back to him.” 

“Christ, am I going to be safe with you driving me to this party?” She jokes, sliding into her seat. 

She goes to buckle her seatbelt, but is stopped in her tracks by him climbing in and  squeezing himself into the space between her and the dashboard. He assesses the amount of space around him, then, all of a sudden, she’s flung backwards so she’s practically supine. 

“If I had my way,” he says, grabbing her waist and looming over her with her favourite grin all over his face – “we wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while.” 

Swatting at his chest, she tries to sit up. “Does the word wait mean nothing to you?” 

“Correct.” He gently pushes her shoulders so that she’s lying down again and keeps his hands there. “But you really ought to know by now that I’m not a patient man.” 

A couple of hours and numerous introductions later, she excuses herself and heads off in search of the bathroom. She casts her eye around the room, when a familiar figure makes her freeze on the spot. Directly in front of them stands Louisa, talking to a tall, tuxedoed blonde man. Her midnight blue dress is almost as beautiful as she is, and Kate can’t stop looking at her. The blood is pounding in her ears, and there’s a pain in her chest that she can only imagine must be comparable to being stabbed. The only coherent thought in her head is that she needs to get out of here, get as far away from her as she possibly can. 

She’s about to do just that, when James suddenly appears opposite her. Her eyes are fixed on his black bowtie as she tries to swallow the lump in her throat. 

“That’s her?” His voice is low and quiet, but his anger rings loud and clear. 

When she gives him a small nod, he trails a hand down her practically bare back until it comes to rest on her tailbone. With the other, he tilts her chin up, and it’s then that she sees the determination blazing in his eyes. 

“What are you doing?” She frowns. 

“Showing her what she’s missing,” he whispers, capturing her lips in a firm, possessive kiss. Such a public display of affection feels alien to her and she’s all too aware of everyone else around them. However, playing along with whatever his plan is seems to be her only option, so she kisses him back, resting a hand on his chest. The beat of the music that’s playing around them thuds through her body and she can’t help but feel like they’re being watched. James seems to be relishing this, because he’s kissing her as though they’re completely alone: his touch roams over her back as he slips his tongue into her mouth. 

She can’t help thinking that she should be much more grateful about what he’s doing, but the knowledge that the last person who was this… proud to be with her in public like this is guaranteed to have noticed her presence makes her throat feel like it’s closing up. Memories flash through her head and suddenly, the white heat of panic starts to burn in her chest. The urge to flee or at least to get some fresh air intensifies, so she tries her best to slow James down. To her relief, he comes up for air after a few seconds and she escapes his grip, turns on her heel and weaves her way through the crowd until she’s finally pushing the balcony door open. 

It’s verging on freezing outside, but she’ll take a few minutes out here to cool down and clear her head over trapping herself in that room with the woman who broke her. Maybe if this had happened in a few months’-time, she would’ve been brave enough to stick with it, to possibly even speak to her, but she’s not ready for that yet and at the moment, she’s not sure if she ever will be. 

Leaning forward, she grips the railings until her knuckles turn white in an attempt to push back the tears that prick at her eyes. Her chest still feels tight, so she does her best to empty her mind and concentrates on taking deep, steady breaths. It takes a while, but eventually her heartbeat calms down and her shoulders are considerably more relaxed. She opens her eyes, stands up straight, and examines her surroundings. 

It’s not a small balcony by any stretch – 10 to 15 of the guests could easily join her out here and have plenty of space to move around if they wanted to – but it’s the view that really takes her breath away. The party is in the heart of the city but standing up here, several stories high, she could spend all night marvelling at the twinkling lights of London’s most iconic skyscrapers dotted across the horizon. Cars’ engines roar as they navigate the streets below, reminding her of the journey here: James’ hand inching further and further up her thigh; the faint smudge of her lipstick on the brilliant white collar of his shirt; his unkempt hair practically falling into his eyes… 

That final image reminds her that he’s still inside, probably exactly where she left him, and a glimmer of guilt flashes through her for just leaving without any explanation. He’s yet to come out here after her, hopefully because he knew that she wanted to be alone. That’s exactly how she wants to remain for a little while longer, as she’s nowhere near ready to rejoin the party yet. Besides, for all they know in there she could’ve come outside for a quick cigarette and some fresh air, which is how she plans to use the next five minutes or so at the very least. 

Taking a shaky breath, she plucks her nearly empty box of cigarettes out of her bag and lights one. The first hit of nicotine soothes her and she exhales carefully, taking in the view and how good it feels to be the only one out here enjoying it. The chill in the air doesn’t bother her for a change, in fact it’s much more bearable than the party’s oppressive heat. The thought of having to go back in there and risk facing the one person she came out here to avoid threatens her, so she distracts herself by thinking about Christmas: what she’s going to buy, making a mental note to herself to book tickets back home before they get too expensive, and whether Hugh will be willing to bring his new girlfriend over to meet everyone. 

Before she knows it, she’s coming dangerously close to smoking the butt of her cigarette. She wanders over to the ashtray on the table behind her and stubbs it out, then returns to the far corner of the balcony. Who needs to go inside when you can be out here with this view? She smiles, losing herself in thought again until she’s startled by someone laying a hand on her left shoulder. 

She turns around, ready to push whoever it is away from her, when she notices that it’s James. His forehead is glazed with sweat and there’s a flush on his cheeks that somehow manages to make him look impossibly gorgeous. The top button of his shirt is undone; his black bow tie is loosened too, which sends a rush of desire through her. 

“Are you okay?” He tilts her chin up, cupping her face as he searches for any sign that she’s upset. 

“I – I think so.” She’s at a bit of a loss for words. Had he followed her out here as soon as she’d fled the party, the answer would’ve been totally different. However, she still doesn’t know whether she can stomach being in the same room as Louisa just yet. 

“I can’t imagine how hard it must’ve been in there. I’m sorry, if I’d known she’d be here…” He trails off, shaking his head. “She approached me, not long after you left. Said that she wanted to talk to you. I told her that I was your boyfriend, that I knew everything that she’d done and if you wanted to speak to her it would be on your terms, not hers. That seemed to get her to disappear quickly enough.” 

“You – You what?!” She splutters, unable to believe what he’s just said. 

“I told her that you’ll be the one to speak to her, not the other way round.” 

His thumbs brush away tears that have escaped against her will and shame pricks at her for letting her emotions get in the way again. Stupid , she curses herself angrily. I thought we were past this.

He seems to know what she’s thinking. “Don’t get angry with yourself for feeling like this. It’s completely normal.” 

Breaking eye contact, she fixes her eyes on his collar and bites her lip, unsure whether a sob or a retort would come out if she didn’t restrain herself. It doesn’t last long, as he tugs her bottom lip away from her teeth, forcing her to look at him again, then kisses her fiercely. 

She clings to the lapels of his jacket as though she’s hanging on for dear life. There are so many things that she could say to Louisa, the majority of them not appropriate for the ears of a roomful of people, but she can’t bring herself to go in there and say them right now. However, she realises that she could easily have bumped into her anywhere, so having James here with her when it happened has made it considerably less painful. 

When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against hers. “Okay?” 

“Getting there,” she replies, giving him a weak smile. “Can we get out of here?” It’s a difficult question to ask, but she really would rather get as far away from this party as possible. 

“Of course we can.” He gives her a light peck on the lips, then moves so that he’s next to her and takes her hand. “I know a way to get out the back without anyone noticing.” 

Five minutes later, they’ve made their way back round to the front doors and are standing together on the pavement outside the party. Both are grateful for the peace and quiet, though there’s a definite cold bite to the air now. Kate shivers, cursing the amount of skin this dress has forced her to put on show. Before she has a chance to start walking, James’ jacket is wrapped around her shoulders and she’s taken back to the night they met. He’s watching her closely and by the look on his face, he’s thinking of exactly the same thing. 

The jacket smells just like his aftershave and she slides her arms in, pulling it in tighter around her body. He’s standing in front of her in an instant and, just like the first time they met, he pulls her in for a soft, slow kiss. 

“Warmer now?” He smiles. 

“Much.” 

“Good. There’s a great chip shop not far away if you’re up for getting something to eat?” 

Her stomach rumbles in agreement and they both laugh. He grabs her hand again and starts to lead her down the road. The area surrounding the party had looked very familiar in the car on the way over, although it’s only now that they’re walking through the streets that they’re in Millbank. Lights twinkle at them from buildings tall and small as they walk in a comfortable silence, and she finally feels her earlier shock and anger really starting to loosen its grip on her. 

A quick glance downwards confirms that James is still clutching her hand, sending a strange feeling through her again. This doesn’t come anywhere near what they agreed two months ago, which, stacked up with how he’s been behaving towards her recently, should have her not allowing him to do this at all in the first place. Tonight, however, her world feels off-kilter enough after what happened earlier for her to realise that she’s starting to trust him. That in itself is a scary thought, but she’s had far too much to process in the last hour or so and decides to put the worrying aside until the morning. 

He doesn’t seem to mind her silence, seemingly understanding that anyone in her situation not getting lost in thought like this would be concerning. As if reading her mind, he gives her hand a tight squeeze, one that says “it’s okay, I’ve got you.” 

“Here we are,” he says as they stop in front of a very ordinary looking fish and chip shop. “Didn’t someone tell you not to judge a book by its cover?” He adds after the look she gives him. 

“All right,” she throws her hands in the air, grinning at him. “This had best be good, because you’ll be owing me dinner if it isn’t.” 

There aren’t very many people waiting inside, which is hardly surprising given the time. Most of the usual Friday night revellers would have gone somewhere on the doorstep of the clubs and bars that they’ll be pouring out of around now, so it’s just a handful of tired locals occupying the plastic seats by the counter and at the tables to the right. The middle aged couple in front of them pay for their order and stand in the corner, so James leads her over. He keeps an almost possessive hand on the small of her back the second he clocks the way that the attractive 30-something man is looking at her and her cheeks begin to feel warm. 

“One cod and chips, please,” he calls, then turns to face her. 

“And just a cheesy chips and curry sauce for me, please.” 

“Salt and vinegar?” The girl behind the counter asks them and they both nod. 

James flashes his card before Kate has a chance to get out her purse and once he’s paid, they slide into the seats that someone has just vacated. James slips into the one on the left, hell-bent on blocking the view of the guy who was checking her out a moment ago. His arm wraps around Kate’s shoulders as soon as she’s sat down, pulling her in so close that she’s almost on his lap. She shoots him a what was that for? look, shifting away a little. 

They spend the next ten minutes or so discussing the party, him making a point of avoiding mentioning Louisa, until their order is called out. James grabs the bag of food, heading towards the door. 

“We’re not eating in here?” She asks.

He shakes his head, taking her hand yet again as he leads her across the road. “Nope. There’s somewhere nice we can sit that’s not too far from here.”

As they make their way to his mystery destination, she tries to gather any clues in her head as to where exactly they’re going. The final piece in the puzzle comes to her when they emerge from a tree-lined street and she can see the Thames. Soon after, a very quiet Vauxhall Bridge comes into view and she finally gets it. 

The view from the bench they sit on is incredible. Skyscrapers loom large and the river flows calmly in the darkness around them. Not a single soul joins them on the bridge, not even a solitary late night runner. Something in her is secretly relieved at this, given that they’re about to sit here eating something that definitely doesn’t match the fancy outfits that they’ve both been in all night. 

James reaches into the bag and passes the polystyrene box and pot of sauce over to her with a knowing smile on his face. He sits back and watches as she lifts the box’s lid and almost drops her food, bowled over by how good it smells. She pours a liberal amount of the curry sauce all over the chips, then accepts the wooden fork James offers her. He doesn’t say anything as she picks up her first forkful and puts it into her mouth, her eyes widening in surprise as the flavour hits her. 

She hates to admit it, but God, James really was right when he said the food was amazing. These have got to be the best chips she’s ever eaten, trumping her favourite from her student days in Oxford. 

“About that dinner…” She starts once she’s finished her mouthful. 

“You owe me next time,” he winks at her as he picks up a forkful of fish. 

“Yeah, I really do! This is delicious .” She takes another bite, closing her eyes and tipping her head back in appreciation. He laughs at her, scooting closer so that their thighs are touching. 

“Sorry this isn’t the romantic date that you deserve,” he says quietly. 

“Are you kidding?! I’ve got chips and a great view – I couldn’t be happier right now.” That heavy, uncomfortable feeling threatens to sink into her stomach with the chips at his use of the word ‘date’, but yet again, it takes everything she’s got to ignore it. “In all seriousness though, thank you. For everything. Being in that room with her was the hardest thing I’ve had to experience in a while, and doing all of this with you is the best possible distraction.” 

Something changes in his face then, as though something has offended him slightly, but it’s gone in a flash.

“Oh, you wait until we get you home –” his voice is thick with flirtation “– then the real distraction starts.” 

James’ mouth is on hers the second that the door swings shut behind them. She melts into the kiss, pulling at his bowtie until it’s lying either side of his chest. He slides a hand underneath the jacket that she’s still wearing and runs a finger down her bare back, making her shudder, pulling her in so that her hips are right up against his. 

“Take one more step and that dress is coming straight off,” he whispers into her ear. 

“Oh no, Mr Bond –” her hand runs slowly down his chest and stomach, then tugs the buckle of his belt. “You’re not taking anything off me just yet.” 

With that, she slips out of his embrace and begins to move towards the kitchen. Three strides is all it takes for him to catch up with her and pull her back against him. 

He peels his jacket off her shoulders and tosses it onto the floor. 

“Oh no, Katherine . This dress has been waiting to come off all…” 

He traces the curves of her waist down to her hips. 

“… Night…” 

Finding the zip, he slowly pulls it down. 

“… Long.” 

He pushes the thin straps off her shoulders and, unable to resist giving into him, she lifts her arms a little and frees them from her dress completely. 

“I don’t tend to bring women back here,” he says into her ear as the green fabric falls to her feet.  

“You’re telling me that now you’ve got me here for the second time? I feel honoured.” 

“You will be,” he grins as he sweeps her up into his arms, “once we’ve made use of every single room in this flat.”

Chapter Text

When she opens her eyes the next morning, the other side of the bed is empty. 

She almost breathes a sigh of relief, until, upon further inspection, she spots the colour of the sheets. And they are most definitely not the navy and white striped ones she put onto her bed yesterday. 

“Oh, shit," she says to herself, sitting bolt upright. Not too far from where she’s lying, her clothes sit in a neatly folded pile and the moment she lays her eyes upon that damned dress, everything that happened the night before comes crashing back. 

“Fuck.” 

Her voice is louder this time, and all of a sudden she’s very aware of the noise coming from what must be the kitchen. Pots and pans clattering, water gushing from the tap to fill them up…

“Take one of the t-shirts from the set of drawers in front of you,” James calls. She wishes the ground would swallow her up right there, and it takes everything in her not to turn over and scream into the pillow. The knowledge that the most important rule of their arrangement has been broken puts her head into such a spin that she gets out of bed, slips on one of the longer black t-shirts of his (and forces herself to put on yesterday’s underwear, much to her dismay), then makes her way towards the sound of the mess he’s creating in a sort of dreamlike state. 

He’s dressed head to toe in black: from his slacks to the jumper he’s wearing. Turning around the instant that she enters the kitchen, the warm smile on his face makes her stomach churn. She finds herself rooted to the spot in the doorway, her throat feeling like sandpaper. She’s not sure what exactly she was expecting, but some irrational, wishful thinking part of her had secretly been hoping that he wouldn’t be here; that he had left her asleep in bed and gone out to run errands. 

The reality, however, is much worse. 

He actually appears to be cooking breakfast for the pair of them, a steaming mug of what must be coffee sitting on the top beside him. Her stomach swoops again and the realisation that she has very limited options here has her gripping the doorframe. Despite having worn it for a matter of minutes, knowing that she has nothing else to put on apart from last night’s dress makes the soft t-shirt feel more uncomfortable by the second.

She would give anything to get out of here, particularly given that her flat is only about a ten minute walk away, but she’s stuck here, anger beginning to bubble under her skin as she watches him walk towards her. 

“What’s the matter?” 

Jerking her head away from his touch, she takes a step backwards. “I can’t… I can’t do this. We had one rule, one bloody rule and you took advantage of it by bringing me back here again because you knew that I was exhausted and vulnerable. You really did pull a blinder there, James, comforting me after what happened and buying me dinner, all so that you could have me wrapped around you all night and tire me out enough to trick me into waking up here!” 

“Kate, you fell asleep in my arms!” He protests. As she fixes him with a long, harsh stare she can’t help but get the sense that there’s something that he’s omitted. 

“Then why the hell did you leave me to lie in this morning? You could’ve got me up when you woke up and you know it.” 

He throws his hands up in defeat, shaking his head at her. “I’m not arguing with you over this. I’m sorry we broke your rule –” 

She starts to interrupt at the accusation of collective responsibility, but he waves an index finger at her. 

“ – But are you seriously telling me that you would’ve been able to get yourself home that late after what happened last night?” 

Knowing exactly what he’s alluding to, her hands curl into fists and she digs her nails into her palms. “Yes,” she hisses through gritted teeth. “I’d’ve been a hell of a lot happier waking up in my own bed this morning – waking up on my own."

He just blinks, giving her a blank stare that disguises the unfamiliar stab of hurt at her final comment. 

“Well, we’ll have to bear that in mind for next time. Would you like me to pass you the alarm clock to set a suitable time for you to leave once we’re done?” 

Aha. 

Your sarcasm betrays you, Bond, she thinks. 

“Why is it such a problem for you if I don’t stay? I was very clear on why I needed that to be part of the arrangement and I thought you understood that,” she challenges. 

Exasperated, he rubs a hand over his face. A sound comes from the pot that he was tending to when she came in, and he casts a quick glance towards it over his shoulder. 

“Look, would you rather I just told you what you wanted to hear? Because I can’t do that. You stayed – it was an accident on both of our parts – but unless we can invent a time machine in the next five minutes, we can’t go back and stop it from happening. So we can either be very careful, try to make sure it doesn’t happen again and move on from it; or I can get you some clothes, you can run back to your flat and you don’t have to see me again if that’s what you’d prefer. It’s your decision.” 

A slightly pinched look appears on his face as he’s explaining the latter option, but she’s still inclined to believe that he doesn’t regret a single moment. Before she can try to make up her mind properly, he’s turning around and moving back into the kitchen again. 

“Whatever you decide, at least sit down and think about it over breakfast.” 

Heaving a sigh, she folds her arms and stays put in the doorway. She can’t help getting stuck on that last word as she watches him stir what looks like a pot of sauce of some sort. Both seeing him go through the motions of cooking for her and the notion that he thought to do so in the first place reminds her of the last time Lou did this for her. Her initial anger subsides into the background whilst the reality of last night sucker punches her. 

Her vision swims in front of her and for a moment, she can see her back turned rather than James’, lovingly tending to the food, and it’s all too much. Chewing on her bottom lip, she swallows the sob that sticks at the back of her throat and drags the back of her hand beneath her eyes to find it damp with tears that she’s desperate to push back. 

He can’t see her like this, although a small part of her wants him to in the hope that it’ll really drive home why she needed to prevent them both from getting into this situation. It takes her a moment, as it did last night, but eventually she just about manages to pull herself together. Wiping her face once more to check that there’s no evidence of how she feels, she can only hope that her eyes haven’t had the chance to turn red and puffy. She takes a somewhat shaky breath and steps into the kitchen, looking around it properly as he starts to plate up the food. 

Everything is very tidy, but she remembers that he told her he has a housekeeper (who, apparently, still cooks him breakfast most mornings when he’s at home) and that he spends most of his time either travelling or having to wine and dine fellow contractors and whichever women he’s got on the go that week. The wooden table that sits by the window is set for two, with cutlery already laid out. He’s left a cup of coffee that’s presumably for her in front of one of the places, having probably made it when he heard her get up. 

The toast pops up as he finishes plating up whatever’s in the pan. He places that onto a separate, larger plate and whisks past her, putting it down in the middle of the table beside the butter and jam. She would normally offer to help, but at the moment she’s too paralysed by the mixture of anger and leftover pain from yesterday to even think about sitting down, let alone move. 

Seconds later, he’s moving past her yet again, this time with plates of hot food, and she’s struck by what’s on hers. 

His plate is piled high with bacon and scrambled eggs, but sitting on hers are two muffins, each with a poached egg and spinach, covered in hollandaise sauce.

Her favourite. 

Sheer panic begins to rise in her throat, her heart hammering as she remembers that Lou was the last person (aside from her mother) to do this for her. Even though it was months ago, she’s now regretting telling him what she thought was such a small, insignificant piece of information about herself when they met for coffee back in October. Up until now, she was banking on him not remembering things like this because it adds to the mountain of evidence that he’s interested in her, in a way that could make things a lot more complicated. 

With that in mind, she vows to keep anything like this to herself from now on. She has no idea how much she’s accidentally let slip – thinking back to things like the wine he brought with him last time they saw each other (once again, her favourite) – and she’s furious with both of them. Herself for being a creature of habit, but mainly with him for picking up on it. 

“Care to join me?” 

He’s sat down at the table now, looking hopefully up at her. The tiniest pang of guilt goes through her at the expression on his face, but it’s gone before she can worry too much about it. She has to make a conscious effort to loosen her body up a little – unclench her jaw, force her hands out of the fists by her sides – and, hating that she has no choice in the matter, sits down opposite him. Very slowly.

Thankfully, he can sense that she’s not particularly keen on talking to him and he focusses solely on buttering and spreading some jam onto the slice of toast that he’s just put on his plate. Kate stares at the eggs in front of her, only picking up her knife and fork when she can feel James’s eyes on her. Pushing the food around for a while, she eventually takes tiny, childlike mouthfuls (mainly because she doesn’t want to be rude) and washes it down with swigs of coffee. If she’d bothered to actually taste her breakfast, it could arguably be the best eggs florentine she’s ever eaten, but instead she’s concentrating on getting through it. 

She isn’t sure what triggers it, but all of a sudden she remembers that she’s got plans this morning. 

“What time is it?” 

James has finished eating, and he puts down his mug to check his watch. 

“Half past eight.” 

“Shit,” she hisses again. “I’m supposed to be meeting my brother for coffee in three quarters of an hour.” It had been arranged weeks ago, as it always is whenever she tries to catch up with Hugh. He’s an economist, having studied at LSE whilst she was at Oxford, and she’s lost count of the amount of times where they’ve made plans for him to go and cancel on her to go into the office instead. Their parents are immensely proud of the pair of them, although having to declare that her twin brother works for one of the companies who sometimes consult for the Treasury when she first moved there was a source of surprise and amusement for her colleagues. 

“Why don’t you go and have a shower whilst I get some clothes for you?” She can’t help but feel frustrated at the suggestion, given that she’d much rather do that in the privacy of her own flat, but that would involve having to put herself through a walk of shame back home in last night’s dress. 

She gives a small, defeated sigh, neatly putting her cutlery down across her almost empty plate. “Fine.” 

“There’s a set of clean towels in the bathroom you can use. I’ve just got to make a quick phone call, then I’ll go and sort out something for you to wear.” He gestures for her to hand over her plate, stacks it on top of his empty one, then takes them over to the sink. “I shouldn’t be too long, but there should be a hairdryer in the wardrobe that I can get for you before I head out.” 

All she can manage is a slight nod and she gets up too, not daring to look back at him as she slopes off towards the bathroom. 

She has a vague recollection of how this works, but all she can think about as she twists the taps is the feeling of her back against the wall of her own shower, James passionately kissing her and his damp skin pressed against hers…

Shaking off the mental image before it can go too far, she has to remind herself that happened last time they saw each other. She has no doubt that the temptation to do the same thing this morning has occurred to him, but she’s got no idea what she would do if he acted upon it. This isn’t something she has to think about though, because she can hear his voice as she steps into the shower. Humming to herself, she tips her head under the water and closes her eyes, trying to push the last 12 hours or so out of her mind. 

After a few minutes, she hears James’ conversation come to an end and the door closing behind him, leaving her with just the sound of the water gushing over her as she rinses the shampoo out of her hair. 

A little while later, he pokes his head round the bedroom door to find her unplugging the hairdryer. Wrapped in nothing but a towel, this would usually be the moment where he asks if he can help her out with getting rid of it, but he just puts two shopping bags down in front of her. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, reaching down to look inside them. She pulls out a pair of blue, wide-legged jeans and a light grey oversized jumper that’s not too dissimilar to one she’s had her eye on for a while. In the other bag, he’s got her brand new underwear and a pair of Nike trainers. Everything is her exact size. He’s never asked her about it, so she can safely assume that he’s either very good at guesswork, or he took a quick look at the labels of her own clothes at some point. A can of deodorant sits at the bottom of the smaller bag too, but he’s missed out on any perfume. 

“How much do I owe you for this?” She asks. 

“It’s fine.” He waves a hand dismissively, giving her a smile that makes her stomach flip. “Where are you meeting your brother anyway?”

“The place we went to a few weeks back.” As much as she hates to admit it, taking him there rather than Lou seemed to break the spell she had on sitting in there with someone else, up until last night anyway. 

“I’ll drop you off. I need to run into the office anyway, and it’s on my way there.” He’s talking to her very softly, as though it’ll somehow dissolve some of the tension that’s hung in between them (mostly on her part) since she got up. Her immediate instinct is to say no, that she’ll be perfectly capable of getting herself there on her own, because it feels like he’s clinging onto her company. Like he wants to remain with her for as long as possible, just in case she decides she never wants to see him again. 

She can’t look at him. Turning her attention to the clothes on her lap, she begins to pull out the tags. It’s oddly satisfying, and tugging until each of the strings of plastic snaps is also a decent enough reason to pretend she didn’t hear him. 

“I’ll take you,” he repeats. “If we leave here in ten minutes, you’ll be there on time.”

Not only does he drop her off, he insists on chaperoning her inside, much to her chagrin. As they weave through the tables, she can’t help but wonder whether he’s doing this purely out of curiosity.

She spots her brother’s blonde head, absorbed in his copy of FT that covers his face, and comes to an immediate standstill in front of the table. It takes her clearing her throat for the paper to be thrown aside and Hugh stands up, barely getting away from his chair before he flings his arms around her for his usual chokehold of a hug. 

“Hugh, please —” she wheezes, attempting to free his arms from her neck. 

“It’s great to see you, Kath,” he says when he finally pulls away. His eyes land on James and he suddenly seems to register that she’s (unwillingly) brought someone with her. “And who’s this?” 

James opens his mouth, but she gets there first. 

“This is my friend James.” He takes his hand away from the small of her back and she feels him flinch at her description of him. “James, this is my brother.” 

“Pleasure to meet you.” Hugh extends his hand and gives James’ a firm shake, the two men exchanging a smile. 

“Sorry for this to be so brief, but I’m afraid I’ve got to get going.” James digs his hands into his pockets giving Hugh a friendly nod.

She can’t help but feel relieved. It’s been a battle to get herself not to think about his blatant flouting of her most important rule without all the anger and panic setting back in. 

He leans in as though he wants to kiss her on the cheek, and thinks better of himself. Instead, she gets a whispered “I’ll see you soon,” into her ear. There isn’t anything she can say to him that wouldn’t give away how furious she is still, so she gives him a curt nod. 

She can’t bring herself to turn around as James walks away, making a point of avoiding Hugh’s raised eyebrows and focusses on reading the headline of the article in front of him until she’s sure that the cafe door is firmly closed. 

Once she’s sure the coast is clear, she pulls out the chair opposite Hugh’s and collapses into it, rubbing her temples. Her head is throbbing – not from the alcohol last night, but this morning has made her mind spin. Hugh takes one look at her and appears by her side. 

“How about I fetch you a coffee while you have a minute to yourself there?” He ruffles her hair, but his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes as he wanders off to the counter to order without hearing her answer. 

She stares dumbly after him for a moment, then turns away and puts her head in her hands. Her mind drifts back to James’ borderline flippant remark earlier, asking her to choose between not seeing him again and continuing with whatever their arrangement is, now that the whole point of it has been blown apart. The former is becoming increasingly appealing the more she thinks about it: it prevents any unruly feelings creeping in, although it might be too late to prevent that from happening on James’ part. The only drawback to it would be missing out on the physical side of things with him – she can’t deny how in tune they are with one another, plus she can’t remember the last time she had this much fun sleeping with someone. 

Still no closer to making any sort of decision, she lifts her head and gives a long, heavy sigh. It’s not something she’s going to take lightly, but she knows that distracting herself today and getting a good night’s sleep in her own bed later will provide the clarity she needs. 

Hugh returns a few minutes later to find her with her nose buried in his newspaper, feeling marginally more relaxed than when he’d gone to get the coffees. He carefully places the tray down in the middle of the table and Kate peeks over the top of the paper at him, a tired smile creeping onto her face. 

“Still can’t resist stealing my stuff, can you?” He jokes, plucking the FT out of her hands. 

“I think you’ll find it was always the other way round!” She protests. 

“Hey, at least you don’t have to worry about me stealing your man.”

She almost chokes on her mouthful of latte, her eyes widening. “Come off it! You could tell she wasn’t interested from a mile off!” 

Hugh’s mock-serious facade crumbles and he dissolves into laughter, lightly hitting the palm of his hand on the table as he doubles over in his seat. 

“Besides,” Kate adds. “James isn’t my man anyway.” 

Her brother’s laughter stops as quickly as it had started. He sits bolt upright again and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. 

“No, no, no… It’s not like that! We’re friends.”

“Kath, I’m not sure he’d agree with that.” 

“Okay, fine. You know that I went to Del’s wedding back in July? I met him there. We… We might’ve spent the night together and have done so a few times over the last couple of months, but that’s it.” She peers at Hugh over the rim of her coffee cup, trying to gauge his reaction. 

He doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, but she knows that look on his face – the one where he’s trying very hard to think of a way to soften the blow of what he’s about to tell her. 

Just like it did the moment she woke up this morning, her stomach drops. 

“I think he considers you to be more than that. He might not have realised it yet, but in time, he will, and it’s up to you how to deal with it.” He’s completely serious: not a single trace of the fun, playful brother from a few moments ago is left. “But what is it you’re not telling me about him?”

Ah, fuck.  She pinches the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes for a moment. 

“We have an agreement: no overnight stays. It still hurts because of –” She bites her lip then, composure wobbling. “ – because of her . There was a party we went to last night, and she was there. I couldn’t… We left, he helped to take my mind off things, but you can guess what rule he broke.” 

“I hate to be the devil's advocate here, but are you sure it was intentional?” 

“Yes!” She can’t help raising her voice. “Why else would he leave me there and wait until I woke up?” 

“Like I said, he cares about you. Even if you are friends as you told me, would you leave someone who’s had an emotionally exhausting experience right in front of you to make their own way home once you were ever so slightly sure they were feeling better?” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she frowns. “If he cared a jot about me, he would’ve let me go home before I fell asleep.” 

“Instead of looking after you, letting you shower at his place and bringing you here himself?” Hugh takes another sip of his Americano. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but that’s not what he would do if he wasn’t interested in you.” 

Only then does she realise what he’s getting at. Frozen in horror, she gapes at him. 

“He wouldn’t flinch like that when you introduce him to me as your friend either.” 

“You’re not saying he—”

“From where I’m standing, it certainly seems that way.” 

She puts her head in her hands again and squeezes her eyes shut. Hugh has an alarming tendency to be right with this sort of thing, so what the hell is she supposed to do about it? 

Chapter Text

“I will find out wherever you are

Drinking in another club or driving in your car

Walking through empty streets

Stupid fool, that was yours for keeps.”

The bar is still packed to the rafters, but she doesn’t expect any less for this time on a Friday night. Music thumps through the speakers dotted around the room as she takes another sip of her drink, already feeling lightheaded from the wine she’d had at the pub, plus however many she’s had here (is it two or three? She can’t remember). 

Over the course of the hour or so that they’ve been here, the crowd of colleagues that she came in with has gradually petered out, leaving just herself and three of the men in the Treasury: Joe, Lewis, and Richard. All roughly the same age, the four of them have become quite close since she transferred from the FCO, having been on countless nights out together. It’s been a while since they were able to do something like this, but it feels like yesterday that they were last in here. 

This particular bar is their favourite haunt, having accidentally stumbled upon it last year. It was the first place the boys took her upon learning that she and Lou had split up, practically dragging her out of work as soon as it hit 6 o’clock. Other than Helen, they’re the only people outside of her immediate family who have seen her at her very lowest.

They all know about James, too. Aside from the standard ribbing she got as soon as she mentioned it, all three men instantly told her how much good it would do her, despite how hesitant she was. 

Ride on Time starts to play and she leaps up, grabbing Joe’s hand in an attempt to haul him up with her. 

“Come on!” She yells, laughing as he rolls his eyes at her and drags himself out of his chair. 

She’s still clinging to his hand as they jog over to the small dancefloor behind their table, and she fails to spot the familiar gaze of the tall, dark haired man she’s come to know over the last few months. It follows her as they weave through their fellow tipsy twentysomethings and start to dance. 

Joe seems reluctant to let her hand slip out of his when she lifts her arms and tilts her head back, losing herself in the music. She can’t help but notice the shift in how they’ve both been behaving towards each other lately, the strange magnetism that she’s felt when they’re in the same room that she just can’t shake. He’s the complete opposite of the dark-haired men and women she’s gone for before, but it’s not like she’s looking for anything long-term at the moment if something does happen. 

Turning to look at him, she finds he’s unusually close. With her heels on, she manages to match his six feet in height as she finds herself caught in his bright blue eyes. There’s a new, different kind of intensity there as he looks at her and she draws in a deep breath. They’re dancing in perfect synchronicity now, and it takes everything she’s got not to gasp when his large, warm hands come to rest on her waist. 

There’s still a small gap between them that she’s actually quite grateful for, as she doesn’t know what she’d do with herself if she winds up pressed against him. 

(The man sitting, seething, at the bar knows exactly what he wants to do.)

Her heart is pounding as she loops her arms around his neck, not daring to let herself move in any closer. He doesn’t say a word, just keeps dancing and doesn't take his eyes off her. Apart from Helen, this is the first time in a long while that she’s done this with someone else. Her nerves continue to rattle as she maintains eye contact with him, determined not to look away. 

The cool, crisp scent of his aftershave hits her as he draws her closer, closing that dreaded gap between them. He leans in, their lips are about to meet, when… 

“Oi!” Rich’s voice makes them snap apart, twisting round to face him. “Time for shots!” With one last wide grin, he drifts off in the direction of their table. 

“I’m going to kill him,” Joe mutters, shaking his blonde head. 

“Yeah, well, let’s save that for when we’re all sober, shall we?” She laughs, placing a hand on his chest. “Go back there and try to be civil while I get the drinks in.” 

“Fine,” he huffs, planting a gentle kiss on her cheek. “But you’d best be back quickly, or I’m afraid I’ll take matters into my own hands.” 

Laughing, she gives him a small shove. “Off with you. I promise I’ll be quick.” 

The bar isn’t too busy, and after spending a couple of minutes queueing, she finally gets to the front. 

“Four shots of that green sambuca, please,” she shouts over the music to the barman. He places four shot glasses on the wooden counter and she shoots the boys a devilish smile over her shoulder. She plucks her purse out of her handbag, searching for the last £10 note she knows is lurking in there somewhere. The hairs on the back of her neck stand on end, and she can’t help but feel as though she’s being watched. 

Don’t be so bloody stupid, she tells herself as she finally plucks the tenner out. It’s the drink talking. 

(“You okay, mate?” The barman asks him as he slides over the martini. “You’ll be burning holes into her if you keep that up.” 

He says nothing, just throws a fiver onto the bar and takes a long sip from his drink.) 

“Thank you!” She beams as she hands her money over. She spins around once more, gesturing to the boys to collect their shots. All three appear by her side instantly, Richard giving her a solid pat on the back. 

“Thank God for you, Llewelyn,” he says, picking up his glass. “Right, on three: one, two -” 

Before he can finish, the others practically inhale their sambuca. 

“I suppose I asked for that,” Richard grumbles, tilting his head back and downing his drink too. 

“Christ, Kate, what the fuck was that?” Lewis splutters, his disgusted expression matching the others’. 

“The finest sambuca in this establishment!” Her face is the picture of innocence, until the three resulting glares she receives reduces her to peals of laughter. 

As they start towards their table, Rich taps her gently on the shoulder. 

“You’ve got another admirer,” he mutters, quietly enough so as not to catch Joe’s attention. “Dark-haired guy by the bar hasn’t taken his eyes off you since you dragged our Joseph up to the dancefloor.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m dead serious. The second you two got close, he looked like he was ready to throttle someone.” 

She slides back in beside him, shrugging. “If he wanted to make a move himself, he would’ve.” 

“Speaking of men.. Is your boy toy in the country, or is he off gallivanting round the world with one of his girlfriends?” 

“The fuck if I know.” She waves a hand nonchalantly. “What I do know, however, is that he is not my boy toy. He’s about ten years older than me.”

“Ah, so you’re his girl toy then!” 

“I suppose, if you need to put it so crudely.” Kate sighs. Already fed up with Rich’s interrogation, she also realises that she has a hankering for a cigarette. It’s been a good few hours since her last, so now is as good a time as any. “I’m heading outside for a minute. Anyone fancy coming with me?” 

“Come on, you. Let’s get some air.” Joe is on his feet again, offering a hand. Kate takes it, swallowing hard as he gives hers a squeeze. 

She allows him to guide her through to the doors of the bar, his hand remaining firmly gripping hers. Her mind flits back to James and the conversation she just had with Richard. Where is he? How long will it be until he bursts back into her life again? Much as she hates to admit it to herself, she does miss him. The decision not to contact him was entirely her own, but something tells her he won’t be able to stand it for much longer. 

Her train of thought is interrupted by Joe pushing the door open, the cool January air embracing them. A flash of guilt races through her for thinking about James when Joe has been right by her side, but she can’t help it. Worry begins to knot in her stomach. It’s been six weeks since she last saw him – what if he’s been shipped off on business again for a while and has just thought that he wanted to give her some space for a while?

“You okay?” Joe squeezes her hand again, making her heart flutter.

“Mm, just a bit tired.” It’s an outright lie, but she hides her reddening face by looking down at her bag as she rummages through it for her packet of cigarettes.

Just over an hour later, she’s fighting back a yawn. She has no idea what time it is, other than that it’s quite late - late enough that if she wants to make the tube back home, she needs to get going soon. Joe beats her to it, unable to stop himself from yawning loudly. 

“Oh I’m sorry, are we boring you?” Lewis teases, “or is this your way of telling us that we need to drag you to the Tube?” 

“It’s not just me!” Joe protests. “Kate’s about to fall asleep on us too!” 

This earns him a nudge in the ribs from her and the others laugh, hauling themselves out of their seats. 

“Come on then, sleepyheads,” Richard wraps an arm around Kate’s and Joe’s shoulders, dragging them both towards the door with Lewis in tow. 

The four of them slope out of the bar and down the road to the nearest Tube station. It’s not long before they pile onto the train, talking animatedly through loud yawns. 

(What none of them, not even Richard, pick up on is the dark haired, scowling man tailing them onto the train.) 

It’s only a 3 stop journey to Sloane Square, but that doesn’t stop her head lolling onto Joe’s shoulder as her eyes drift shut, her fingers interlaced with his. 

(He’s in the next carriage, trying to push down the anger that is boiling up inside him at the sight of them. To anyone else, they very easily look like a young couple on their way home from a night out and he hates the thought of it.)

She’s jolted awake a few minutes later by Joe gently touching her cheek. 

“Hey,” he whispers urgently into her ear. “This is us now.” 

Slowly, she raises her head and they get up together, making their way towards the doors with the others, just in time for them to slide open. 

(Losing himself in the crowd behind them, he’s keeping just enough of a distance that he can keep tabs on the direction that they go in. 

He drops back slightly further when they get through the barriers and out of the station, watching the four of them drift off down the road together.) 

Richard is the first to leave, taking a right turn after pulling each of them in for a wobbly hug. 

“Get home safe, okay?” He tells her. “And ring me when you get in.” 

“Alright, dad,” she laughs, waving a hand at him. “I’ll do that on the promise that you’ll get at least two glasses of water down you before you even think about going to bed.” 

With a sheepish salute in her direction, he’s off. The remaining three keep going, talking quietly about weekend plans (or in Kate’s case, her lack thereof) until it’s Lewis’ turn to get home. He leaves them with a warm smile, clapping Joe on the shoulder and pulling Kate in for a kiss on the cheek. 

The alcohol must be beginning to wear off at least a little bit now, as the January air begins to bite at her. She shivers, making Joe stop where he is for a moment to peel his long, dark grey coat off. 

“Can’t have you freezing out here, can we?” 

Something about those words is incredibly familiar, but it’s not until his coat is wrapped around her that it dawns on her. That was one of the first things James ever said to her, back in July. 

He’s not here now anyway, she reminds herself. Stop it. 

Instead she decides to focus on the stark, clear blue of Joe’s eyes while she thanks him for keeping her warm. A blonde curl has fallen into his eyes and she resists the urge to brush it back, slipping her hand into his once more as they set off again. 

(He just about sees the coat being pulled around her shoulders before he sets off on the shortcut that’ll get him to her flat much more quickly. The fury sits in his stomach, where it’ll remain stewing until he can see that she’s rid of that floppy-haired bloke.)

It doesn’t take long for them to reach the end of her road, her block of flats now in sight. 

“This is me.” She smiles softly at him, peeling his warm coat from her body and carefully handing it back to him. 

He’s very close again, but there aren’t any alarm bells ringing in her head. Something about his presence reassures her, makes her feel safe. 

“Thank you for walking me home. And for the coat.” 

“You’re back safe, that’s the most important thing.”

Those piercing eyes of his have dropped to her mouth. She inhales slowly, then gives them both exactly what they’ve wanted since being interrupted on the dancefloor earlier. 

He seems surprised, but relaxes into the kiss at once. It’s shy, gentle. His hands cradle the back of her head and it hits her that this is the purest thing she’s experienced in a long time. 

(Hidden away behind the tree by the entrance to her block of flats, his heart sinks. Somehow, he tries to convince himself that this would pain him just as much if he kissed her , but deep down, he knows that is completely pointless.) 

“You’d better get inside before you freeze,” Joe whispers as he pulls away. 

She laughs, then reaches up and tenderly pushes his hair away from his eyes. “You’re not coming in with me?” 

“How about I take you out for dinner next week and I’ll consider it then?” 

“Deal,” she grins. “Let me know when you’re home?” 

Pulling her in for one more light, soft kiss, he smiles against her lips. She almost feels disappointed when he goes to turn away from her, wishing he’d accepted her offer of following her into her warm flat. 

“Of course. See you on Monday?” 

With a small wave, he’s off to his own home a few streets away. She stands there, watching him move further into the distance until he’s disappeared around the corner and out of sight. 

As she makes her way down the path that leads towards the main door to her block of flats, she’s suddenly aware of how much she’s had to drink. She’s walking more slowly than usual, the usual lightheaded feeling in full force as she finally approaches the door. It’s always unlocked, so she doesn’t have to worry about trying to remember the code to get in, but fumbling through her bag to find her keys proves to be trickier than she’d thought. 

When she does eventually fish her keys out, they’re in her hand for about a second before tumbling to the floor with a clink. She huffs in frustration, bending down to grab them again when a large hand beats her to it. When she’s stood up straight, she looks to her left and her eyes land upon a familiar face, dangling her keys in front of her. She takes them off him slowly, in a state of somewhat shock. 

“James? What the hell are you doing here?”

“Who is he?” He asks very softly.

“Who is who?” 

“The blonde at the bar.” He’s alarmingly calm, standing there with an expectant look fixed to his face. 

Richard’s words come crashing back through her head. 

You’ve got an admirer… 

Hasn’t taken his eyes off you… 

Looked like he was ready to throttle someone… 

Was he really there the whole time? Watching her every move and waiting for his moment to confront her like a jilted boyfriend? 

“A colleague. So are the other two, unless you didn’t notice them?” Being honest with him is easy. However, she doesn’t understand what he has a problem with. Particularly given that both of them agreed that this was meant to be no strings attached fun. 

“A colleague you dance with like you’re ready to take him home with you?” 

Now she really is insulted. Seeing red, her hand reaches out and she delivers a hard slap to his left cheek. Her palm stings, but she hopes it hurts him more. 

“How dare you,” she hisses through gritted teeth as he rubs his face. “Don’t be such a hypocrite, especially since you’re the one who came up with this arrangement in the first place. You happily do what - or I suppose who - you want, I don’t care. So what if I had decided to bring him home with me? You seek me out whenever you’re in London and have an itch that you need to scratch, and as far as I was concerned, you were off somewhere else. What did I do wrong?”

He is silent. 

His hand has frozen on his cheek at her final question, but his expression gives nothing away. 

“Is it that you’re jealous of Joe?” She demands. 

A choked, startled noise comes out of his mouth. 

She waits. 

(Yes. The meaning of that tiny, three letter word stings just like the sensation that comes from the force of her slap. 

I am jealous that he spends five days a week with you. 

I am jealous that your arms were around his neck on that dancefloor, not mine.  

He would like to tell her these things. But instead – ) 

“Joe? That’s his name?” His voice sounds strange. Strained. Hurt. 

“I – Yes, of course that’s his name!” She exclaims, shaking her head indignantly. She doesn’t like the look that’s in his eyes, as if somehow he’s been wounded. “I’ll say it again until you answer me. Are you jealous of him?” 

He swallows. Hard.

“No.” 

It’s incredibly obvious that he’s lying to her. But why? 

Her head is already beginning to hurt, but he seems intent on making it worse. 

“He’s not your ty–”

“Oh, my God.” His patent jealousy is sharply sobering — she’s not seen him for around a month, and this is the way he decides to treat her? “Why the hell does that matter, James? I couldn’t give a shit what type of woman you have wrapped around you when you’re not with me, and you have no right to make a judgement on who I sleep with because that decision is for me and me alone.”

Something shifts in his expression at her penultimate comment, making her frown. Hugh’s voice rings loud and clear in her mind – he cares about you – but she shakes her head, dismissing it. She’s had far too much to drink, too much to be able to think about this properly. 

James is struggling to find a response, leaving her wondering what his argument is going to be. 

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He practically grimaces as he says it, the words sounding unnatural coming out of his mouth. It’s not the way it’s said that surprises her, but the complete lack of any sort of fight in him. “For that and what happened before. Staying over that night was too difficult for you, I understand that, but I can promise you it wasn’t intentional on my part. You were exhausted – for several reasons – but so was I. When I got up, I thought the least I could do was try to be a friend to you the following morning.” 

Thank God. She breathes an internal sigh of relief, reassured that she has some sort of proof that can put her mind at rest for a while. 

“Just give me one more chance. You don’t have to answer that now, let me at least get you dinner sometime next week and you can tell me what you think then.” 

“I think I owe you dinner, don’t I?” The briefest flicker of a smile appears on her face. “How does my place on Tuesday sound?” 

Chapter Text

The weekend passes in an unexpected blur. After her usual Saturday morning run, a spontaneous lunch with Helen turns into dinner and enough drinks to have her best friend sleeping over. Sunday is somewhat quieter, given the size of the hangovers that they’re both nursing, and they spend what’s left of the morning draped over her sofa christening her Dirty Dancing VHS. Helen heads back to her own flat after lunch, so Kate spends the afternoon cleaning. 

The next two days are spent in meetings and putting finishing touches on policy documents for the Chancellor and Chief Secretary. She manages to get everything in for dinner with James on Monday night, but she still hurries home on Tuesday in order to get it all prepared on time. Once satisfied that she can get it in the oven once he’s arrived, she jumps into the shower. Her favourite pencil skirt and a red satin vest wait on her bed, which she puts on as soon as her hair is dry. After a quick spray of perfume, she checks her watch to find that he should be knocking on her door in ten minutes. He’s easily one of the most punctual people she knows – every time they’ve seen each other, he’s arrived at the exact minute he tells her to expect him. 

As usual, he’s bang on time. He has the code to get through the main door to her block of flats and up in the lift, so the quiet rap of the door makes her get up off the sofa to let him in. Her stomach swoops as he takes his coat off to reveal one of those three piece suits that never fail to have her weak at the knees. The striped waistcoat that hugs his body beautifully sends her thoughts scattering all over the place, and the corners of his mouth turn up as he slips past her to go through into the kitchen. She stumbles along behind him, only just managing to pull herself together to accept the bottle of white wine he offers her. 

It’s her favourite (again), but rather than showing any signs of frustration that he knows her too well, she’s decided to beat him at his own game.

“Martini?” She asks, reaching into the cupboard to pluck out two glasses. He blinks, surprised, giving her a brilliant flash of smug satisfaction. 

“Shaken, not –”

“Not stirred. Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got it.” Shooting him a grin, she puts some ice into her silver shaker; then measures out the Gordon’s, vodka, and Lillet Blanc. Once she’s poured them all on top of the ice, she screws the top on and gives the mixture a thorough shake, not breaking eye contact with him as she does so. She puts all of her concentration into straining it properly into each glass, before grabbing the olives from the fridge and putting them in. 

They pick up a glass each, but she waits for him to take a sip from his. 

His reaction doesn’t disappoint: he raises his eyebrows, then closes his eyes for a second. 

“Mmm.” 

She takes a sip of her own martini, swallowing the pulse of desire that shoots through her at the impressed sound he’s just made. 

Putting the drink down to switch the oven on, she can feel his gaze burning into her back. He’s still looking at her when she straightens up again and moves towards the fridge, reaching inside it to grab the potatoes that she’d boiled and cut up into cubes earlier, and the pot of chicken that’s been sitting in a tomato sauce she’s managed to make from scratch for the first time.

When she’s put the food on the counter – ready to be put in when the oven’s heated up – she spins around to find James right there beside her, his now half-empty martini in his hand. It makes her flinch in surprise and he smiles, running his free hand through his hair. He’s so close that she can smell his aftershave and she bites her lip, unable to help her eyes drifting down to his mouth. 

“Can I help with anything?” His voice is low, soft. She could swear that he takes an extra step closer because she can feel his breath gently fanning her face –

And she stops. Moves backwards slightly. 

Normally this is where she’d give in, grab him and let him kiss her until she finds herself saying that dinner can wait – but a wave of almost overwhelming nerves hits her. She hadn’t contacted him since he saw her with Joe and she hasn’t forgotten the look on his face when she asked if he was jealous, nor how he lied to her when he said no. The whole point of him being here right now is so that they can come to a truce of sorts: he’d told her to think things over and decide whether she wants to carry on with whatever this is between them, but she’s still not completely sold on an answer just yet. 

“No, I’m all sorted.” She ducks her head, feeling her face begin to heat up. “Dinner should take about half an hour to cook, so go and make yourself comfortable.” 

James says nothing, just raises an eyebrow and moves over to her record player. She watches him flick through her collection, taking a swig of her martini. When he settles on something, he carefully takes her copy of Faith off the turntable and slides it back into the sleeve, replacing the record with whatever he’s chosen. The smile on his face is just about visible from where she’s stood, her heart skipping a beat at the thought of the dimple that appears in his chin when she’s the subject of a grin like that. His dark hair is in need of a cut – the comma-shaped lock of it that he’s constantly pushing out of his face is the longest she’s seen it in a while – but somehow he still looks utterly gorgeous . 

An image of him cooking her breakfast in his kitchen, hair unkempt and clad in that black oversized jumper briefly flits into her head. For the first time, she can’t help but wonder what it would be like to see him like that again, so completely relaxed and carefree, but she’s quick to shut that down. It’s far too dangerous, letting him in like that – who knows what kind of ideas he’d get if she allowed that to happen? 

It’s not practical either. His flying around the world for all these meetings and conferences for the MoD and FCO makes their arrangement work so well because it gives her the space she needs, whilst still reaping the rewards when he’s back in the city. If he were here all the time – the intensity of it would be too much. She needs fun, light relief from all the pressures that working in the Treasury brings, and that’s what he does for her. 

For the most part, at least. 

The reason why he’s here tonight – the explosive jealousy that she’s been subjected to far too often lately – has been lingering in the back of her mind, gnawing away at her since he saw her (rightly) enjoying herself with Joe on Friday night. What it has done, infuriatingly, is prove that Hugh was completely right when she explained the predicament she’s in a few weeks ago. James has clearly developed some kind of… attachment to her. Describing it as ‘feelings’ makes it sound worse, so she’s going to have to put that out of her mind at all costs. Whether or not he’s admitted that to himself isn’t the problem — it’s the fact that she knows it cannot be allowed to be mutual. 

A real relationship with him is completely impossible, which is exactly why she agreed to this in the first place. Closing herself off to anything other than their arrangement is the best thing for both of them because the second that she lets him in, it’s guaranteed to end in tears. That doesn’t solve the conundrum of how to deal with this undercurrent of jealousy, though. 

On the surface, it looks like a pretty clear cut choice between stopping this before they can get to a point of no return, or keeping up what easily has to be the best physical connection she’s ever had with someone. She wishes it were that simple. Utterly torn between the two because leading him on is the very last thing she wants to do, she knows that there isn’t a single person she’s been with since she first slept with James in July who understands what she wants before she even knows it herself. A flash of an old Carly Simon song slips through her head – nobody does it better – and she sighs, knowing that choosing to go against her gut would be perilous. 

Nat King Cole’s voice gently pulls her out of her thoughts, and she gives James – who’s now stood on the other side of the countertop – a hint of a smile. She wonders how long he’s been standing there, but would rather not ask. 

“So you’re a jazz man, then?” She says over her shoulder, turning around and opening the oven door to put the dinner on each shelf. 

“Always. One of the few things my father had a chance to influence me on when I was growing up.” 

There really is a smile on her face now, the music reminding her of the evenings she spent with her dad when she was younger. 

“Same here. That record you’re playing is one of my dad’s.” Spinning around again to face him, she lifts her half-empty martini glass. “Another?” 

“Please.” Depositing his own glass on the worktop, he gives her a winning grin. 

Instinctively her eyes drift to the dimples in his cheeks and she promptly downs the rest of her drink. She hates how he can make her feel like this without even trying, as though there’s no other woman he’d rather be spending the evening with, because surely he must be doing that to everyone he’s involved with. 

Mustn’t he?

Almost automatically, she pulls out the ingredients for the martinis and puts ice in the shaker, then goes through the motions of making the drinks. 

“Penny for those thoughts?” James asks as she’s straining the cocktails into their glasses. 

“Hm?” She blinks, her train of thought fading. “Oh, it’s nothing. Just got a lot on at work at the minute.” 

It’s an outright lie – her default answer – and he knows it. So much so that he’s scrutinising her face when she slides his drink over to him. 

Whilst the dinner cooks, she puts all of her thought and efforts into her conversation with him. It doesn’t seem to be working, though – he appears to be puzzling over her introspection as there’s a permanent frown touching his face until the oven timer goes off. 

He continues to stew over things until she’s putting their now full plates on the table. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts. 

“What?” She looks up sharply, sliding onto her chair. 

“For letting any… jealousy take over. I crossed a line accosting you like that on Friday night, but I’ll try my best to not let it happen again.” 

She freezes, stunned. After all that denial on Friday, he’s chosen to tell her now that he’s jealous of Joe?! There ought to be something she can say in response, but there’s nothing that can communicate how shaken she is. 

“How’s work, anyway?” He adds, and if she were able to think straight at that moment, she would’ve noticed that the question tumbles out of his mouth just a little bit too quickly. Instead she blinks, surprised by the sudden turn in conversation, and almost wishes that she didn’t have to remind herself of everything going on in the Treasury this week. 

“Honestly? I had so many fucking meetings today and yesterday that I wouldn’t’ve been surprised if I’d left the office and forgotten what day of the week it was.” 

Her head is still hurtling at a hundred miles an hour as she watches him spear a piece of chicken with his fork, not for want of trying to not let that sudden apology of his play on her mind too much. 

“Then again, we barely got past bloody Christmas before someone had to mention the Budget.” She shrugs, pulling a face. “It’s being televised for the first time though, so that just adds to the pressure.” 

“Well, if any of the coverage since it started is anything to go by, it’ll be fine,” he says gently. A sudden flash of something – remembrance; or recognition, perhaps – flits across his face, and he reaches into the inside pocket of his jacket. 

“Speaking of work –” he continues, pulling out a small glass jar. It’s filled with what looks like a deep red powder, and he hands it over to her. Putting her knife and fork down on her plate, she takes the jar from him – ignoring the strangely unfamiliar jolt that goes through her when her fingers brush his palm – and unscrews the lid. The almost sweet heat of the spice makes her smile. To her, it’s bottled sunshine: helping her parents coat ribs in a spicy glaze for the barbecue every summer as a teenager, exploring the market stalls on her first holiday with Lou…

“Paprika?” 

“Hot and smoky. I saw it at a stall in Bulgaria last week and knew I had to bring some back for you.” 

She fights back the urge to comment on the fact that he brought this back for her. He’s never brought her gifts back from his trips abroad until now and it makes her feel all disjointed. 

“Are you trying to tell me my cooking isn’t to your tastes, James?” She teases. 

“I wouldn’t dare,” he shoots back. “Actually, this is the best chicken I’ve had in a long time.” 

For the rest of the meal, both the conversation and their drinks flow easily. The brownies that Kate finished making before getting changed go down very well with James – at least, judging by the satisfied noise that escapes him once he’s finished his last mouthful. She’s almost finished her third vodka martini of the evening (spending a couple of hours with him does tend to make her forget that she’s got a job to go to in the morning) when it happens, and she has to polish off her drink in order to pull her mind out of the gutter yet again. 

“Play your cards right, Bond, and I might just let you take some of the leftovers home with you,” she grins, throwing him a wink as she reaches over to grab his empty glass. 

“Are you sure that’s all I’ll be taking home with me?” He fires back, and she playfully hits his chest with the back of her free hand. 

“Be careful, or I might be tempted to let you leave here empty handed.” 

With that, she stands up and carries their glasses over to the kitchen behind them. She can feel his eyes on her as she turns her back to him and reaches down into the cupboard to grab her shaker and the spirits she needs to mix another drink each. 

Sure enough, James is right there behind her as she straightens up and puts the gin and her shaker on the countertop. 

“Leave those there for a minute,” he mutters into her ear, planting a hand on her waist. “Go and put another record on, I’ll do the washing up. And before you ask – no, you can’t help me out with it, especially when you’ve spent who knows how long making dinner.”

Turning around slowly, one look in his eyes immediately tells her he’s not in any kind of mood to take no for an answer. She gives him an appreciative smile and thanks him, then heads over to the record player at the side of the room. It doesn’t take her long to find her favourite Ella Fitzgerald LP and once she’s gently lowered the needle down onto the record, she moves back over to James, watching him doing the washing up in silence. 

They don’t utter a word to each other whilst the pile of dirty dishes gets smaller. Somehow, they don’t need to – the sound of the music is too beautiful to shatter the moment with pointless words about whatever springs to mind. 

James’ shirtsleeves were carefully rolled up to his elbows whilst she perused her record collection a moment ago, practically granting her permission to examine his forearms as he grabs each dirty dish, scrubs it in the soapy water and reaches over to put it on the draining board the other side of the sink. 

Perhaps it’s the martinis going to her head a little bit, but she could swear that she can count on one hand the amount of times he’s looked this relaxed around her. More and more often lately it’s seemed as though he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, though tonight he seems a lot lighter and happier than when he first walked through the door. 

He casts the occasional glance over his shoulder at her once he’s moved on to the drying up, and she can’t help but feel slightly embarrassed at the state of some of her cupboards when he begins to put everything away for her. She’ll get round to sorting them out eventually – hopefully on her next free weekend – and take anything she doesn’t need to the charity shop up the road. 

They end up talking again on the sofa for an hour or so after the washing up’s done. James shifts to get more comfortable, his leg pressing against hers forcing them to exchange a charged look and cut the conversation short. 

Kate swallows.

Clears her throat quietly.

And drops her gaze to James’ mouth. 

Right on cue, the record stops playing. The moment stretches, then passes. 

She gets up, ready to flip the vinyl over onto the other side, but after a quick look at his watch James is on his feet too. 

“I’d better go,” he tells her. “I’m sure you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” 

His jacket waits over the back of his chair at her dinner table and she uselessly stumbles along behind him, watching him again as he slips it on. Their eyes catch, and it’s then that she realises that she doesn’t want him to go anywhere just yet.

“Thank you for dinner,” he says quietly. Taking a step closer, he leans in and gives her a gentle kiss. His hand rests against the small of her back and he pulls away slowly, searching her face for any signs of resistance.

He’s testing the water, she realises. Making sure he hasn’t lost her trust completely. 

Seconds later, his mouth is on hers again. He’s a bit firmer this time – trying to see what kind of reaction he’ll get. Something deep down inside her sighs and she caves, threading her fingers through the dark hair at the nape of his neck whilst she tentatively kisses him back. He pulls back one more time, peering down at her seriously. 

“Please don’t hesitate to tell me if I’m pushing it too far. I don’t want to overstep any boundaries.” 

An unrecognisable emotion begins to rise in her chest and she shakes her head, smiling. This time, she pulls him in for a kiss, tasting the final remnants of the martini on his tongue as he carefully slips it between her parted lips. Any shred of resolve that she had left goes completely out the window now and she passionately kisses him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Mmm,” he says again, sliding his hand down her back. She shudders involuntarily, only just managing to hold back a groan, when he suddenly pulls away. 

“Let me thank you properly.” 

Her vest is the first thing to go, then his jacket, tie, and waistcoat (she’s particularly pleased to see the latter drop to the floor). As they slowly but surely stumble towards her bedroom, there isn’t a moment where their bodies aren’t connected in some way – from her hands pulling his hair, to his lips on any piece of her bare skin he can reach. She’s practically putty in his hands, and the noises he’s making as he’s touching and kissing her are doing absolutely nothing to help her regain any kind of composure. It’s the most frantic and desperate they’ve been in a while, and at one point she wonders whether they’re actually going to make it to her bed in the first place, but eventually they push the door open – well, more like crash into it – and then she’s past caring where it happens. 

Another two staggered steps forwards and she’s tugging his belt through the buckle, so naturally he decides that this is the moment to unleash a whole world of insanely hot kisses on the most sensitive spot on her neck. It’s enough to make her completely forget what she’s doing for a moment and elicits a “Fucking hell, James” from her. Once she’s just about managed to control herself again, he’s smiling against her skin, and it makes undressing him even more difficult. 

Her efforts are finally rewarded when, about 20 seconds later, that bloody belt of his joins the trail of clothes on the carpet. She’s able to get her revenge by softly dragging her nails down his almost bare chest whilst he’s pulling at the zip of her skirt – he seems to temporarily lose the strength in his hands because it gets stuck, and he groans in frustration. Changing tack, he moves one hand up to her shoulders, and she’s more than happy to let him push her down to the floor with him. She covers his hand with hers to help until she’s slipping out of the skirt, a pleased moan escaping her at the feeling of him lying on top of her. 

He shifts to straddle her, moving back for a moment to look down at her with a passion burning in his eyes that she’s never seen before. His hands are on the buttons of his shirt – not the top ones though, as she seems to have undone enough of them on their way in here that the smooth, bare skin of his chest taunts her. His eyes follow her stare, watching her heavy breathing for a second, before he teases her in the worst way possible. 

With every button that he pops open at a cruelly slow pace, he reveals a bit more skin. She must’ve made a frustrated sound without realising, as there’s a sudden pressure on her shoulder – one that tells her that under no circumstances must she try to touch him – and the heat pools in her stomach at the stupidly sexy grin that’s plastered over his face. 

Gritting her teeth, she forces herself to stay still. He’s pulling his shirt off now and God , his body is fucking heavenly – 

His skin is like silk against hers, and her head lolls back onto the carpet. It feels like a dream – she’s so close to pinching herself to make sure she’s not going to blink and he’ll be gone when his mouth comes crashing down to lock her lips into yet another hot, passionate kiss. Her hand slides down his broad back, and it’s only then that she remembers he’s still got his trousers on. 

“Something you want, Katherine?” he asks as she tugs at the striped waistband. 

“You,” she replies, pulling away to whisper in his ear. “ Desperately .” 

“Well, since you asked so nicely…” 

His trousers are being tossed to one side in a matter of seconds, and he’s leaning over her again, his lips on her neck. Any ounce of self-control that she has left is shot to pieces when he begins to gently suck on the sensitive spot between her ear and her jaw, his hand roughly palming its way down her body. He stops for a moment, smiling, when she squeezes her eyes shut, his name reflexively rolling off her tongue. 

“Have you got any…?” he asks. 

All manages a small nod, her eyes still closed. “The – the bottom drawer behind me,” she replies breathlessly. 

Her bedside table is only a couple of inches away from the top of her head, and James slides the drawer open carefully. His weight is braced on one muscular arm, his body presses down lightly on top of hers as he rummages around for the box, and she can’t help an almost impatient groan slipping out of her mouth. 

He actually laughs at her then, the bastard, and stops messing about with the box in his hand. 

“Oh, you have missed me, haven’t you?” 

“Yes,” she hisses. “Just bloody well hurry up, or else you won’t get to find out how much.” 

This seems to spur him on, as he sets to helping her remove the last of their clothes. She has barely a moment to catch her breath whilst he finally opens that bloody box, tears the packaging open, and then… 

Pure bliss . 

The world melts away as he slides into her, her senses overwhelmed with how perfect it feels to have him again. He leans in to kiss her, giving her a moment to adjust to him, but it’s too much. 

“James, if you don’t move in the next couple of seconds, I’ll –” 

He cuts her off with another long, deep kiss. When he starts to move, he seems to make a point of doing so as slowly as possible, as he knows just how much it’ll rile her up. 

Sure enough, the desperation begins to build in her after the third or fourth time that his hips roll almost painfully slowly against hers. Clenching her jaw, she scrunches her eyes shut as another wave of frustration hits her. He always starts like this – probably because he’s worried he’ll hurt her – and although sometimes it’s exactly what she needs, right now she really wants a bit more from him. 

Her hands scrabble around his back – one drags her nails down his soft skin, whilst the other searches for and then grips the nape of his neck. She feels him shudder and the long, guttural groan that she gets out of him only makes things worse. 

He suddenly seems to catch up when she wraps her legs around his waist, and then he’s putting everything he has into fucking her until she’s completely certain that she’ll be aching all over in the morning – on the floor, in her bed, and against the wall of her shower as the hot water rains down over them both. She completely lets go, losing herself in the feeling of his body against hers. He’s somehow more domineering with her than usual – not that she minds that in the slightest – and it’s so mind-blowingly good that she can only wish she could have this with him on tap after any long day at the Treasury. 

She’s so shattered by the time they get out of the shower that he has to help her dry off. Once they’re both partially dressed again, he attempts to lead her back to bed. It’s clear after only one step that she won’t manage – he hears her swear under her breath as her legs give way, and she has to grab onto his shoulder to regain her balance. He turns around then, easily picking her up without a word. Her legs shake as she wraps them around his waist, swatting at his chest the moment she spots the triumphant grin on his face. 

“Get back here right now, Bond,” she scolds as he puts her down on the bed and goes to pick up the rest of his clothes. “It might’ve been fun, but nobody renders me incapable of walking without getting a taste of his own medicine.” 

The whole evening has been excellent. Her time with James right here, in her bedroom – well, and the shower too – arguably matches and probably actually betters all of the other nights they’ve spent together. It’s evident in the absolute tiredness that appears to have settled in her bones, because if she had her way, she’d stay right here at the edge of the bed for the foreseeable future regardless of whether or not James was by her side. 

She shifts ever so slightly to get more comfortable, but something warm wraps around her middle and moves her before she can protest. 

“You’re going to fall off if you’re not careful.” James’ voice in her ear sends tingles shooting through her but when she leans back to rest her head against the pillow, it meets something much more solid. Turning her head to the side, her cheek presses against warmth and it takes her a few seconds to realise that she’s leaning on James’ bare chest. 

Trying not to move back too fast, she reluctantly accepts that there’s no chance of wriggling out of this one. This is by no means an ordinary move for James either, but that’s definitely because she’s never given him a chance to do it. After the first few times they’d slept together – not including the first night after Felix and Della’s wedding – they had cleaned up in the shower together, with James being quick to get dressed straight afterwards and leave her in peace. He didn’t need to tell her that it was out of respect for what they’d agreed: that was obvious enough already, but she couldn’t help but notice the slightly pained look in his eyes as he watched her crawl into her pyjamas. 

Things changed the night that she accidentally slept over at his flat. 

She can still hear his words from the morning after ringing in her head – “you fell asleep in my arms!” – and there’s a strange feeling running through her as she realises that he was right. 

It’s all coming back to her again: the same pleasant warmth of his body; his arms wrapped tightly around her waist; thinking to herself that she’d already let a few other things slide for the sake of some much-needed comfort, so why not just allow them both to have this moment as well? Worst of all, she’d actually enjoyed it, too – she couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept with a man this beautiful and hadn’t swapped his bed for the comfort and safety of her own company afterwards. 

Guilt washes over her as images of the look in his eyes as they ate by the river and his arms wrapped tightly around her as they lay there in his bed just a couple of hours later flash through her head. 

He was being kind, and that’s what hurts her the most. He was being kind to her, like any friend would be – and she had tried to push him away with as much force as the slap she’d delivered to his face last week. 

“James?” 

“Mm?” His voice rumbles gently in her ear whilst his fingers trace circles on her hip. 

“I’m sorry – for how I treated you that morning. I was bloody rude, and…” she pauses, closing her eyes again for a moment as she thinks about how to phrase what she wants to say next. 

“I – Fuck, I know this sounds like an excuse, but I think the combination of seeing her the night before and then waking up knowing that the last person who had spent the night with me happened to be her as well… It – it didn’t bode well, to say the least. I lashed out at you, when what I should’ve been doing was thanking you. First for distracting me from it all, then for looking after me. I’ve not had anyone do that for me for a long time: not outside of Helen and my family, anyway.” 

James is quiet as he takes in everything she’s just said, but she tips her head back and looks at him anyway. 

There’s a crease between his eyebrows, and he’s gazing down at her with flecks of sadness in his green eyes. In any other circumstance, this would have her back up in an instant – she can’t stand being the object of anyone’s sympathy, especially if it’s coming from someone she’s sleeping with – but not an ounce of anger rises in her chest. 

Instead, she relaxes into the silent kiss that James presses to her forehead. 

Ignores the alarm bells that always ring in her head when he lets his lips linger on her skin like this…

Then, a beat later –

“I’d do it again for you, anytime.”

“What, have passionate sex with me all night long, then cook me the best eggs florentine I’ve had for months the morning after?” 

He huffs a laugh into her hair, and she can’t help but smile. 

“So that’s what you meant by friends with benefits, is it?” he fires back, and it’s her turn to laugh. 

She’s not sure how long they lie there like that for, but she has to push back the twinge of disappointment that takes her by surprise when James begins to stir. 

“I think I’d better let you get some proper rest,” he mutters, tucking her hair behind her ear. 

Kate cracks her eyes open and yawns, just about awake enough to bite back the noise of protest that she wants to make. James’ arms are carefully withdrawn from her waist and she rolls over onto her back right as he slips out from under the covers. 

He stands there for a moment whilst his eyes search the room for some of his clothes, the light from the landing casting a soft glow over his naked body. She can’t resist taking her time in appreciating it, drinking everything in from his broad shoulders down to his long legs. He catches her eye when she looks up, throwing her a wink that makes her cheeks flush before he puts his boxers back on. 

Turning his back to her whilst he gets his trousers on, she suddenly spots the array of fresh scratches scattered all over his skin and she freezes, biting her bottom lip. If that’s what she’s done to him, what kind of state is she going to be in when she gets up to go to work in the morning? 

Thankfully, James takes a couple of steps forwards and grabs his shirt from the floor, missing the look of mild panic that crosses her face. She watches him slide his arms into the long white sleeves, pulling her attention back to his hands as they begin to fiddle with the buttons. It takes everything she’s got to force her thoughts away from his fingertips trickling further and further down her body, and she takes a deep breath. 

Focus, Kate , she tells herself. 

“What are you up to this weekend?” He asks, finishing doing up the buttons on his shirt. 

She pauses for a moment, thinking. Her date with Joe isn’t until Thursday, but other than that, there isn’t actually anything in her diary for the first time in weeks. What she’d initially been hoping for was some time to herself – to get stuck in the book she’s been wanting to pick up for ages, go for a run, give her parents a ring… 

But the look on James’s face makes her thighs tremble all over again, and it seems her weekend of peace and quiet might just be shunted over to next week. 

“Nothing, I suppose. Why? What were you thinking?” 

Satisfied that his shirt is now tucked in properly, he slips his socks back on. 

“There’s this party I need to be at on Saturday night. For work reasons this time, but I haven’t got a date, so…” 

Sensing Kate’s hesitancy, he gives her his best reassuring smile. 

“I promise there’ll be not a single ex in sight. Scout’s honour.” Palms raised, he gives her that stupid wink that makes her insides turn to mush, and she sighs. “Besides, I need some help. I can’t give you the gory details, but I will fill you in on some of it on the night.” 

So he’ll still be in the city, then. After last time, she’s more concerned with how much of a problem this could present if things go well with Joe on Thursday. If that’s the case, there’s very much a risk that she could end up with two date options on Saturday – and having to choose between them might just finish her off with the way that her week’s going. Having to let either of them down would be horrible, and she’s not sure whether she’d be up to doing it. Despite that, though, something in the back of her mind can’t resist the opportunity to have James for another evening, regardless of what might happen.

“All right. I can’t promise that Helen won’t pull rank and steal me off you, since she’s barely seen me lately.”

It’s only a tiny white lie – her best friend will absolutely be open to coercing her out of a night with James all in the name of a takeaway and a film – but it’s enough to make her feel guilty the moment that the words leave her mouth. 

James accepts this without questioning her, making her feel worse as she lets him finish getting dressed and kisses him goodbye. He lingers in her bedroom doorway with a promise to give her a ring with more details in a few days, leaving her to lie there wide awake long after he shuts her front door behind him. 

Chapter Text

About an hour after she's left her flat with Joe, Kate’s landline begins to ring. 

The dial tone keeps going in his ear for a good twenty seconds and he sighs, checking his watch. 

“Hi, you’ve reached Kate. Unfortunately I’m not able to take your call at the moment, so please leave your name and number and I’ll get back to you when I can.” 

He tries to reassure himself that she’s probably just in the shower, or having a cigarette out on that little balcony of hers – of course she won’t be able to hear the phone ringing – but there’s a horrible sinking feeling in his stomach as he leaves a short message. She hadn’t mentioned anything about going out this week when he saw her on Tuesday, yet he can’t help thinking about how she hesitated when he asked if she’s free this weekend. 

It was only a small pause: she could’ve been running through her diary in her head for all he knows, but it was just a touch too long for that. There’s also the possibility that his use of the word ‘date’ wasn’t exactly the wisest decision, though something’s telling him it’s not that, either. 

What if she’s gone out tonight, and was hoping to keep the weekend free in case it went well? 

The very thought of her being out with someone else makes him feel physically sick, and it’s only a downwards slope from here. He can picture it now: Kate tipping her head back in laughter at someone else’s joke; the two of them sharing a taxi to her flat after dinner; and worst of all, someone else’s hand sliding up her thigh once they’ve laid her down on her bed…

He has to cut himself off there. There isn’t a doubt in his mind that she doesn’t give a shit about who he sleeps with, and there’s a part of him that dies every time he reminds himself that she most likely never will care. At best, all he’ll get out of her is something like “was she hot?” – accompanied by a smirk, because of course she knows what his answer will be. He can’t stand it when she does that – cannot fucking stand that she doesn’t really do jealousy, not when it comes to him anyway. 

She’s never seen him with another woman – not that he’d be able to do it anyway, not with her around – she doesn’t have to for him to know what her reaction would be like. He’d get absolutely nothing out of her. Her face wouldn’t even change: in fact, no… She’d just give him her best encouraging smile, and it would instantly be enough to turn him off the woman he’s with, no matter how stunning she was. 

James, however… It’s steadily becoming more apparent that no matter how hard he tries not to, he does do jealousy. He never really understood why Pam responded the way she did to him kissing Lupe – it had seemed ridiculous at the time, her running off like that in tears – but he gets it now. He still doesn’t like the reaction he had to Kate kissing her male friend at the weekend, though it’s not entirely clear to him whether this is because he made it so obvious, or that she’s making him feel this way in the first place. 

If she didn’t already know how much he wants her all to himself, she certainly does now. 

In fact, this just convinces him that she’s out on a date tonight – because why would she tell him when he can’t stand watching her kissing someone else, let alone spending all evening in their company instead of his? 

“Evening, Katherine… I was just checking to make sure we’re still on for Saturday night – it’s a bit further out than usual, so I’ll need to pick you up a bit earlier. Give me a ring when you get this and I can fill you in properly.” 

Really, he could give her everything in this message, but all he wants is to hear her voice. Well, that and a cruel part of him wants to see how long it’ll take her to ring him back: anytime in the next hour or so and she’s at home; later than that and he’ll know then that she’s out. As he hangs up, he can’t help but hope that it’s the former – there’s no way that she could be in bed this early, and he’s not really up for dwelling on how he’s finally fallen victim to the very same set of circumstances as the women he’s strung along after numerous work assignments. 

The trouble is, he’s completely powerless in this scenario. If she is out on a date tonight (and it’s incredibly likely that this is the case) – what the hell is he going to do about it? 

Nothing, is the most likely answer. He’ll carry on seeing her for as long as she wants him to, and all he can do is brace himself for the fall that will come when she’s had enough.