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Malakai’s expression doesn’t change. ‘Kiki. Come on . . .’ His eyes flicker momentarily down my form and I repress the flare in my core before he meets my gaze again, lazily. ‘You know you’re gorgeous.’

There’s no sentiment in this. He says it like it’s a bland observation, like he’s bored, annoyed at having to say something so banal. I think this makes it worse. My body responds to this statement as if he’s offered to strip me of my clothes with his teeth. My breath turns in on itself; my core constricts. I can feel all my reason melting and so I hang on to the hook of his initial query to haul myself back up.

‘Um, to answer your question, I’m still not into Valentine’s Day like that. I guess I was trying to prove something to myself maybe? By going all in. By embracing it fully. Like extra credit.’

Something acetic flits over his features, but he bites at it, nods, his voice blandly enquiring, ‘And you didn’t want to do the extra credit with me.’

‘I didn’t need to do it with you.’

‘Because our relationship wasn’t enough—’

‘Because we were more than enough.’

He stills and I swallow, panicked, trying to subdue the Too Much that leapt out, but it’s too late– so I qualify it with a truth, ‘Or I thought we were.’

I turn back to the deep early morning sky, mainly to marvel that despite talking to Malakai about relationships it hasn’t clattered down with the constellations, but also to avoid looking at his face. The plume in my belly has dipped steeply, dangerously. The air between us vibrates with an energy I recognise. It’s not a neutral thing, an energy generated with anyone you could theoretically kiss; it’sours,calibrated to us, by us– it cannot be replicated. It’s dawning on me that this may be catastrophic.

I feel Malakai step closer behind me, and every hair on my body stands to attention at the static.

‘What were you trying to prove?’

The question draws my attention from the lights in the dark outside and back to the lights in the dark of his eyes to see the curiosity in them searing.

‘That I was over you.’ My gaze meanders to his mouth, because I can’t help it. It’s dusky and velvet and full; if I bite it, want will drip all over me like juice from a ripe mango. ‘Which I am.’ Truth licks at my lips the same time his tongue darts out to wet his. ‘Emotionally.’

I can feel myself turning against sense, rebellion bounding against my brain. There’s a primal, prowling flavour of boldness that only awakens around him, and while I’ve tried to tame it, it rattles against my ribcage. It’s zooming within it, making itself known. I see Malakai’s throat depress slightly and I am acutely aware of every molecule in the room, every atom of air between us.

He nods, fighting his own petty war, his eyes running between my eyes, my lips and now they fall to my gown where my nipples, rock under satin, preen under his focus, pushing up against the fabric, petulant, having had to suffer the absence of his attention for so long.

‘And physically?’

‘Physically . . .’

I know exactly what Malakai looks like when desire is colonising his senses. He blinks slow, like he’s doing now, his mechanisms of reason becoming sticky with lust, and it’s a loop, a contagion, because the intensity of his focus makes it hard for me to think, to breathe, to remember that this is a Bad Idea.

‘. . . it’s hard to be in the same room as you.’ I draw half a step nearer, despite my brain’s direct orders to grab my phone and leave. ‘My body’s. . . angry at you.’

Malakai’s lids are heavy now, his eyes hazy, stormy cirrus clouds. ‘Yeah? My body’s fuming. It’s hard. . .’ Malakai tilts his head and the scan over my body sends a hot shiver through my form. . . ‘to even look at you.’

His scent wafts over me, hits me like a drug, and I realise why I recognise the notes. ‘You smell good. Is that the same cologne I got you four years ago?’

‘I bought another bottle after it ran out. Shit ain’t cheap. You must have really been down bad.’

‘I was trying to run up my Amex points.’ The corner of Malakai’s mouth flicks up, and he looks at me in the way only he can– with knowledge. His eyes read my face, dancing between mine, my lips, my nose, and over and over again. I know this refrain well. It used to be my favourite part of my favourite song, and warmth in my gut moves, silky and molten. It’s a mirage, I know, a ghost feeling, but I’ll take it for now. This is just for now.

‘You look good, Kiki.’ Malakai lifts his hand to gently hold my chin with his thumb and forefinger, and my breath hitches. ‘Is that the same face you had when I met you eight years ago?’

‘More or less.’

‘More.’

He allows his thumb to budge just shy of a couple of centimetres, a fraction of a stroke, but I feel it in my joints, in my toes. Electricity thrums through from the base of my belly downwards. I swallow the new lump in my throat as he continues, ‘Which is unreasonable, but I’ve never known you to play fair.’

The heat in his proximity erases a patina from a dormant want in me, making it new again. I’m in grave danger, because, though my brain recognises that there is nothing here, my body doesn’t seem to be acknowledging time nor space, just this feeling I get when his body is millimetres from mine, a hot need, the instinct to slip into his skin. The light in the suite is dim, amber, with the lamp, and still, in the dull, his skin has a lustre that lures my lust, and my body’s trust stretches out, yawning, missing the sweet mellow of his energy. Man, he’s so beautiful to me still. I can’t deny that. I also can’t allow my heart to follow where my body clearly wants to go. It’s barely recovered from its last contact with Malakai Korede. I just have to be vigilant, strict, in not letting my desire delude my feelings.

The energy between us pulls tauter, denser and I know he feels it too, because the hollows beneath his cheekbones twitch with tension. His lids become heavy, weighed down with want, his gaze compressed sharp gems, cutting through my reason. The need seethes in my body and I retreat to breathe a little, steady myself, causing his hand to fall from my face so I can look to the gleaming electric stars of London for relief– one last attempt to slow the train of terrible decision-making. ‘I don’t know how you didn’t miss this view while you were in the States.’

Malakai doesn’t say anything. I turn round and there’s been a shift in his face, a shadow of doubt warring with his want. He swallows and steps back, scratches at his jaw, running his hand across his head, clearly stressed. ‘Kiki, I think you better go. I don’t want us to do anything you’re going to regret.’