Caught in the Act Read Online Free PDF Page B

‘You know, you’re gorgeous,’ he purred. Carol softened. This man adored her; he cared for her, stood up for her, stood up to her and wanted to be with her. Raf wanted to marry her, for God’s sake—how crazy was that? Over a glass or two of wine out on the terrace he would look up at the stars and wax lyrical about the house they would buy together, the house they would love and grow old in together. He cooked, he bought her flowers and presents that she liked and wanted. He made her laugh; when she was sad or feeling down he brought her carrot cake with proper cream cheese icing from the baker’s on Bridge Street, or lemon drizzle cake with crystallised sugar on the top. Carol looked up into Raf’s big brown smiling eyes and tried very hard not to cry.
    Carol loved Raf and she knew he loved herand yet…and yet, that thing, that, that little zing wasn’t there, that thing that made something happen in your gut every time you saw someone. It was the bastard factor that was lacking, that little edge of unpredictability that adds a bit of a challenge, a bit of bite. Raf was too nice, and it worried Carol. What if she got bored; what if, despite all evidence to the contrary, Raf wasn’t the one after all? What if loving him turned out to be a terrible mistake? What if…? The possibilities haunted her. Raf was so safe, so kind, so right for her—so why was it exactly that she was thinking about the might-have-beens with a man she hadn’t seen for twenty years?
    Raf drew Carol closer still and kissed the tip of her nose. He smelled of sunshine and a hint of aftershave all wrapped around by a warm musky man smell. She felt safe curled in his arms; it was one of the things that had made her hang on and try to quell the fear. Maybe, just maybe that she had got it right this time and she wasn’t making a terrible mistake.
    â€˜Now you be careful,’ teased Raf. ‘We’re expecting you to phone home every night. Don’t go talking to any strange men and if they offer you sweeties or to show you their puppies—’
    â€˜I’ll tell them to bugger off, pull out my plastic dagger and then get Diana to flash them the wart.’
    â€˜Good, now have you got a clean hanky?’ he continued in the same jokey paternal tone.
    Behind them Jake thundered down the stairs, taking the last few steps two at a time and then swung round the newel post so he was standing right in front of her. ‘And there’ll be no staying up late, no drinking, no drugs and no monkey business,’ he said, wagging a finger at her.
    Carol stared at him. ‘What?’ she spluttered.
    â€˜You know exactly what I’m talking about. Just make sure you behave yourself, young lady,’ he said, all mock-parent and raging acne.
    To her horror Carol felt her colour rising furiously as she hugged Jake goodbye. Of course she would behave herself. Wouldn’t she?
    â€˜Ollie?’ Carol called, struggling to regain her composure. She glanced down at her watch to hide her discomfort; it was high time she was gone.
    Ollie was in the kitchen, excavating something from the Mesozoic layer in the bottom of the fridge.
    â€˜I’m off now, love,’ she said cheerily.
    â€˜So’s this yoghurt,’ he huffed miserably. ‘I might have got food poisoning or something.’
    Carol took the offending article out of his deeply disgusted paw and dropped it into the pedal bin. ‘For God’s sake, Ollie, you’re a new lad, you’re not supposed to read the sell-by dates,’ Carol growled. ‘You’re meant to eat it and then burp appreciatively, green hairy mould and all.’
    Ollie’s expression of unrelenting disdain did not waver. Carol held up her hands in surrender. ‘OK, OK, my mistake. You can go and buy more tomorrow. Organic, low fat, no fat—whatever.’
    He sniffed.
    Carol pulled him closer and brushed her lips across