The Architect by C.A. Bell Read Free Book Online Page A

I can’t complain, it’s done me well.
    As we get closer to my place, I see him taking quick looks at me and clenching his jaw until he finally comes out with it and asks if I’m free for a coffee tomorrow.
    â€œI’m working tomorrow, but I can meet you on my lunch break if you like?”
    He starts to slow the car. “That sounds like a plan, where and what time?”
    â€œOne o’clock?” I request, hoping that he’s free. “And I can meet you at that café we passed on the high street if you like?”
    â€œThe Coffee House?”
    â€œYeah, that’s the one.”
    The corners of his lips lift. “It’s a date.”
    Pulling up at the bottom of my street, he asks if he can drop me to my house this time.
    Still feeling a bit uncomfortable about letting him know my exact address, I tell him I’ll walk it from here. He takes it on the chin and gives me a long gentle kiss goodbye before I get out. As he speeds off in his dark grey Audi, I notice the number plate for the first time. B3 KLY. I chuckle, Berkley, my God he’s one hot guy. Even his car screams ‘shag me’ with its personalised number plate and evil-looking headlights.
    Back indoors, I slip into my tracksuit bottoms and a baggy white T-shirt before pottering about and doing my usual housework. After straightening the house and having lunch, I settle down to read my book. I read the first paragraph, but I can’t concentrate. My mind is all over Heath and the feelings he caused inside me last night when he sucked my toes, and slapped my arse.
    I grab my phone and compose a text telling him how horny he makes me, but I don’t send it. I hover my thumb above the send button a dozen times throughout the day but I bottle it, and I don’t hear from him until gone 9pm when he sends a brief message.
    Goodnight bad girl. See you tomorrow. H x
    I’m a tad frustrated to see that it’s not the start of a conversation, but I text the same back, without the ‘bad girl’, and take myself off to bed.

Chapter Seven
    First thoughts as I come to from my recharge this morning are of Heath and his car pulling away yesterday. Realising that it’s Monday and it’s back to work, I peek at the clock on the bedside table and bring my arm out from the duvet just in time to cut the alarm off before it sounds.
    I do my usual weekday routine of shower, attire, coffee, breakfast and book, and then head off to work.
    Sitting behind the desk alone, firing up my computer, I wait for Liz to show her face. I hope she has a tale to tell, so I can share mine with her. She strolls in twenty minutes late and thumps down in the chair next to me after acknowledging me with a nod.
    Swivelling side to side on my chair as I think about Heath, trying to push Liz into asking why I’m so happy, it finally works.
    â€œYou’re looking pretty chirpy this morning,” Liz reports with a naughty smile.
    â€œWell,” I give her a mischievous curl of the lip, “I’m feeling pretty chirpy.”
    She rolls her office chair closer to mine. “Come on, Ruth, spill the beans.” She nudges me. “I haven’t seen you like this in ages.” She halts. “In fact, in the three years I’ve known you, I’ve never seen you like this.”
    Wanting to rush my words out at one hundred miles an hour, I steady my thoughts and tell her all about Heath. She listens attentively and for once is quiet as I very tastefully describe our initial meeting at the jazz bar, our subsequent rendezvous, and how hot he is in and out of the bedroom.
    â€œWow, where’s this bar?” she jokes. “When are you seeing him again?”
    â€œI’m meeting him for lunch today,” I boast.
    â€œLucky devil,” she utters as she pushes her chair back to its common place, and deals with a man the other side of our desk.
    After dealing with the patient she rolls back over, and