Some Girls Do by Clodagh Murphy Read Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Clodagh Murphy
Tags: FIC044000
sandwich.
‘Perfect timing,’ she said, as he came in. ‘This is just ready. Did you find everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it was great. Thanks.’
‘Give me those.’ She reached out for the bundle of wet clothes and he handed them to her. ‘They’ll be ready for the morning.’ She crossed the kitchen and bent to open a cupboard door that concealed the tumble-dryer. She tossed the clothes in and switched it on.
‘Sit down,’ she said, as she straightened, gesturing to a large wooden table in the centre of the room, set for two.
Clearly she was the sort of girl who thought there should be some sort of date before sex, he thought, as he pulled out a chair. He sat and she put heated dishes in both their places.
‘I made carbonara,’ she said, as she placed a steaming bowl of pasta in the middle of the table. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you cooked at this hour.’
‘Pasta’s quick. Help yourself. Would you like some wine?’ she asked, going to the fridge.
‘Yes, please.’ The pasta made a satisfying squelching sound as Luca dug in the serving tongs and took a generous helping.
Claire poured white wine for them both, then sat down opposite him and served herself. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
‘Mm.’ Luca swallowed a mouthful. It was divine – salty, creamy, unctuous and incredibly soothing. ‘It’s amazing,’ he told her.
‘Good.’ She smiled.
‘So how come I’ve never seen you around before?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, I don’t know those people – just Yvonne. I work with her.’
‘Right, at the bookshop.’ He nodded. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s just a job. But the people are nice. And I love books, so I’d rather work in a bookshop than any other kind of shop.’
She took a gulp of her wine. She was so nervous. For some reason, he found that really sexy. He wanted to soothe and calm her, to put her at her ease, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it so far. He needed to get her into bed. He was good at making women relax there.
‘Do you work?’ she asked. ‘I mean apart from painting. Do you have a regular job?’
‘No, I’m just a starving artist – a living cliché. Hence no electricity.’
‘Right.’
‘But not so starving tonight.’ He grinned as he wound another forkful of pasta. ‘This really is fantastic. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She ducked her head shyly.
‘Where do you usually hang out?’ he asked her.
‘Nowhere really. I mean, I don’t go to bars and clubs much. It’s not my thing.’
‘So what do you do for fun?’
‘Well, I …’ She fell silent, thinking. ‘I read, watch TV, go to the movies, meet up with friends,’ she said finally. ‘The usual, I suppose. Nothing very exciting.’
‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She dropped her fork, took a sip of wine. ‘I live with my mother.’
‘Really? Your mother?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her tone was defensive, as if she was sensitive about it, expecting him to mock.
Luca glanced towards the door. He hadn’t seen any evidence of someone else in the house. She must be in bed. ‘Well, that explains the house,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It just seems a bit … old-fashioned, I suppose. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d swear there was a doily in the bathroom. At least I think it was a doily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.’
‘It’s just a doily – nothing to get your knickers in a twist about.’
‘Sorry, it wasn’t a criticism. I don’t mean to be unkind.’
‘It just comes naturally to you?’
He sighed. ‘It seems to. I just meant this house doesn’t feel like you.’
‘And how do you know what I feel like?’ She blushed as soon as she said it.
‘I don’t.’ Yet.
‘This is my home, okay? I’m sorry it doesn’t have the edgy cool of your place.’
‘Sorry. Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous. I love this house.’
‘You secretly long for doilies and
‘Perfect timing,’ she said, as he came in. ‘This is just ready. Did you find everything okay?’
‘Yeah, it was great. Thanks.’
‘Give me those.’ She reached out for the bundle of wet clothes and he handed them to her. ‘They’ll be ready for the morning.’ She crossed the kitchen and bent to open a cupboard door that concealed the tumble-dryer. She tossed the clothes in and switched it on.
‘Sit down,’ she said, as she straightened, gesturing to a large wooden table in the centre of the room, set for two.
Clearly she was the sort of girl who thought there should be some sort of date before sex, he thought, as he pulled out a chair. He sat and she put heated dishes in both their places.
‘I made carbonara,’ she said, as she placed a steaming bowl of pasta in the middle of the table. ‘I hope that’s okay.’
‘It’s fantastic. I can’t believe you cooked at this hour.’
‘Pasta’s quick. Help yourself. Would you like some wine?’ she asked, going to the fridge.
‘Yes, please.’ The pasta made a satisfying squelching sound as Luca dug in the serving tongs and took a generous helping.
Claire poured white wine for them both, then sat down opposite him and served herself. ‘I hope it’s all right.’
‘Mm.’ Luca swallowed a mouthful. It was divine – salty, creamy, unctuous and incredibly soothing. ‘It’s amazing,’ he told her.
‘Good.’ She smiled.
‘So how come I’ve never seen you around before?’ he asked her.
‘Oh, I don’t know those people – just Yvonne. I work with her.’
‘Right, at the bookshop.’ He nodded. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s just a job. But the people are nice. And I love books, so I’d rather work in a bookshop than any other kind of shop.’
She took a gulp of her wine. She was so nervous. For some reason, he found that really sexy. He wanted to soothe and calm her, to put her at her ease, but he wasn’t doing a very good job of it so far. He needed to get her into bed. He was good at making women relax there.
‘Do you work?’ she asked. ‘I mean apart from painting. Do you have a regular job?’
‘No, I’m just a starving artist – a living cliché. Hence no electricity.’
‘Right.’
‘But not so starving tonight.’ He grinned as he wound another forkful of pasta. ‘This really is fantastic. Thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ She ducked her head shyly.
‘Where do you usually hang out?’ he asked her.
‘Nowhere really. I mean, I don’t go to bars and clubs much. It’s not my thing.’
‘So what do you do for fun?’
‘Well, I …’ She fell silent, thinking. ‘I read, watch TV, go to the movies, meet up with friends,’ she said finally. ‘The usual, I suppose. Nothing very exciting.’
‘Do you live here alone?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She dropped her fork, took a sip of wine. ‘I live with my mother.’
‘Really? Your mother?’
‘Yes,’ she said. Her tone was defensive, as if she was sensitive about it, expecting him to mock.
Luca glanced towards the door. He hadn’t seen any evidence of someone else in the house. She must be in bed. ‘Well, that explains the house,’ he said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘It just seems a bit … old-fashioned, I suppose. I mean, correct me if I’m wrong, but I’d swear there was a doily in the bathroom. At least I think it was a doily. I don’t think I’ve ever seen one before.’
‘It’s just a doily – nothing to get your knickers in a twist about.’
‘Sorry, it wasn’t a criticism. I don’t mean to be unkind.’
‘It just comes naturally to you?’
He sighed. ‘It seems to. I just meant this house doesn’t feel like you.’
‘And how do you know what I feel like?’ She blushed as soon as she said it.
‘I don’t.’ Yet.
‘This is my home, okay? I’m sorry it doesn’t have the edgy cool of your place.’
‘Sorry. Don’t mind me, I’m just jealous. I love this house.’
‘You secretly long for doilies and