Strictly My Husband: It's funny, it's romantic and it's got dancing - what's not to love! Read Online Free PDF Page A

a cursory fingerin Carly’s direction.
    ‘Well, that does seem a bit ridiculous, doesn’t it, when I’m already passing with a car that not only has a passenger seat but also a boot?’
    ‘I think he’s right,’ agreed Carly. ‘But thank you for offering, so kind . . . Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’
    ‘Amy,’ spat Amy.
    ‘Amy. Well, I’m really looking forward to working with you.’
    Amy didn’t reply; she just turned to Tom. ‘I think Nathan would work really well with her, don’t you think? The perfect match in fact.’ She turned and stomped out of the theatre.
    ‘Well,’ said Tom, turning to face Carly. ‘Welcome to Wonderland. We hope your stay is a pleasant one.’
    ‘Oh, I’m sure it will be,’ replied Carly, going slightly Fondle Fondue on him again.
    He coughed. ‘I just need to grab my things; then let’s get you installed in the Red Cow, shall we?’
    ‘I’ll go and take my stage clothes off,’ she replied and turned to go. About halfway back to the stage she stopped and shouted to Tom: ‘You will let me buy you a drink, won’t you? I mean you must, after all you’ve done today?’
    Oh fuck, thought Tom. A woman in a skintight red dress with a thigh-high split was asking him to go for a drink with her.
    He nodded. ‘Just one then.’
    Couldn’t hurt, could it? As long as he had Velma with him.

Chapter Three
    Laura
    Laura slammed the washed saucepan on to the drainer. Tom had been upstairs ‘showing Carly her room’ for the past fifteen minutes. The spare room wasn’t even that big. Only nine by eight, in fact. She remembered feeling really posh because she owned a house with a spare room. She’d never lived in a house with a spare room before. She now realised there was a very good reason not to have a spare room: so your husband couldn’t bring home every beautiful blonde waif and stray that he liked, to stay in it.
    She stiffened as she heard the kitchen door open behind her. Tom came in and opened the overhead cupboard where the wine glasses lived. He was humming, for goodness’ sake. What on earth was there to hum about? She felt him approach her and bristled, then melted slightly when he landed a kiss on the back of her neck. She waited for him to speak. To request forgiveness for his outrageous behaviour or at the very least to ask for misguided reassurance that it was OK to bring a stranger into their home.
    But there was silence and then to her horror she heard him leave the kitchen to go into the dining room without saying anything. No apology, no nothing. She slammed another vigorously cleaned saucepan on to the drainer.
    She was just drying her hands on a towel and preparing her tirade when Tom popped his head back around the kitchen door.
    ‘You’d not put any glasses on the table,’ he told her.
    Her jaw dropped in reply.
    ‘I’ve done it and I’ll set an extra place for Carly, shall I?’ He disappeared and she could hear the clanging of the cutlery drawer complemented by Tom whistling. If he made any more happy noises she thought she might actually kill him.
    ‘I’ve lent Carly a towel,’ he shouted from the dining room. ‘That’s OK, isn’t it?’
    Now you ask for permission, she thought. For a
towel
! When exactly were you planning to ask permission for a blonde bombshell to invade ourhome? She reached round to untie her apron. Some things needed to be made clear before this all got any further out of hand.
    Bing-bong
.
    ‘That must be the others arriving,’ shouted Tom.
    No shit, Sherlock, thought Laura, pausing to find out whether his current mystery-solving powers would actually lead him to open the door to see if he was right. The clanking and jangling of cutlery continued as he evidently decided against greeting their guests personally. Laura chucked her apron on to the counter, strutted out into the hall and for the second time that evening threw open the door. Thankfully the sight that met her this time was no surprise. There was