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Close enough to feel the warmth of her face, a breath away from touching lips, a little knowledge changed everything for Geeta.

“I want to kiss women,” Nicola murmured.

And Geeta’s body buzzed alive, receptive to sudden possibility – no longer Geeta’s one-sided attraction, or sliding around that scale of sexiness, but Nicola opening the door to women too.

More than the little knowledge, however, was the enormous look of intent. That Nicola meant her, the option open specifically to Geeta. And that shot through her like fire.

Body light and not quite her own, the compulsion to take off Nicola’s glasses and run hands through her hair ached in her limbs. She wanted to lean down to those full lips, deep red and so very kissable. The dark eyes said come hither or I’ll grab you anyway. The strength of Nicola’s magnetism had Geeta’s head falling. And her fingers tingled, wanting to slip beneath Nicola’s shirt, and touch the pale skin she’d glimpsed at the bar. She’d admired the firm physique, and slight dip above the hip, but also the softness of the rising pillow of tummy. The white lack of tan was alluringly private, and it had captured her gaze and now called to her, unrelenting.

Her head spun, drowsy with longing. “What did you say?” she whispered.

Nicola's eyes fell to her mouth. “I said I want to kiss women.”

Was she hearing this right? Nicola Albright, sitting there with moist lips and dark eyes, was into women?

She’d been safely appreciating Nicola, as someone uninterested beyond men, and someone who disliked her much of the time. Who’d been distant, dismissive and coolly sexy. But now she turned on her, a breath away, to say she was curious too?

Geeta was not prepared. Undone by the husky voice, and the way Nicola’s eyes craved, with the sudden understanding that it was her Nicola wanted. Geeta's head dipped, lured in.

Stop.

She closed her eyes.

Just stop right there.

A complicated mix of feelings flooded in. Nothing so simple as the fury she’d channelled at Nicola’s homophobia. Nothing so easy as welcoming Nicola’s change of attitude. This was something she needed to sit with and untangle, to comprehend this complex woman who wasn’t quite any of the versions she’d thought so far.

Nicola had been shifting these past weeks, further and further away from what she'd assumed, while Geeta changed too.

One thing though...

Geeta tilted her head and simmered at Nicola. She slowly and deliberately accused, “You could have said.”

Nicola blinked. “I am saying.”

That spark between them had her burning differently now. Not the raging red flames, but a glow of many colours and Geeta wasn't sure if she wanted to stamp them out, or breathe on the embers to combust.

Geeta ground her teeth. “You could. Have said. Before .”

Before Geeta got up in Nicola’s face to goad her about attitudes. And before Nicola came right back with luscious lips and heady scent. It was like Geeta had prodded Nicola towards a trap, then the barrister spun around, and Geeta walked straight in instead.

Was Nicola playing with her? She glanced from one sparkling blue eye to the other. She’d seen Nicola toy with others, and fury flared at being Nicola’s latest plaything. At the same time, she was livid at her for being enragingly attractive too.

Geeta inhaled. And made herself calm. Before saying evenly, “I am going back to work.”

Then she stood as dignified as possible.

“Not staying to finish your coffee?” Nicola purred.

“No,” Geeta replied, slowly and deliberately. “I am not staying.”

“Perhaps another time?”

She wasn’t even going to dignify that with an answer. She put out her hand and flexed her fingers.

“Your book.” Nicola obliged, handing it over.

Geeta didn't thank her. She took it back, turned and walked.

“I hope it’s educational,” she heard Nicola calling behind.

“Oh, I’m sure it will be,” Geeta called back. “I’m learning a lot at the moment.”

And she left.

***

Apparently, no-one on Earth wound up Geeta like Nicola. She'd never been this infuriated by anyone.

As she mulled over the situation at work, being Geeta, she had to credit Nicola. That she'd been more tolerant than Geeta realised and changed her attitudes. That she’d always looked out for Charlotte more than anyone appreciated, even though, like Geeta with Olivia, it didn’t always work.

But did she have to feel this damned, powerful attraction to the one person who also wound her wild. And in so many ways. For being an insensitive arse one moment, then pure seductive confidence the next. For her terrible attitude to Charlotte that blended, unknown to her, into embracing openness. For being the best company she’d had in a long time. There was no doubt about that. They had fun together. For looking like that, and making her head spin, and heart pound, then turning around to say she wanted to fuck women and honestly...Geeta inhaled... implied she was one of them.

She blushed hard and long and deep. She tugged off her blazer before it triggered a whole flurry of hot flushes.

Then she imagined Nicola, as if she were there, looking at her stripping and saying, “do you fancy it right now?”

Gaaaaaaaah. The woman lived in her head.

And it was also possible – oh, she did not want to admit this – there’d always been a frisson between them. If honest, she’d thought Nicola attractive from the start. She closed her eyes in despair. It had given Geeta's attitude an edge and energy above others, always more patient with everyone else.

After several days of stewing, and avoiding Nicola, she’d like to say she’d come to terms with it. But she hadn’t. She glowered while shopping with Satinder at the weekend.

She snatched up ground coriander, cumin and turmeric from the Asian Supermarket shelves on Cowley Road, which stocked decent-sized bags of her store cupboard essentials. She picked up some galangal and lemon grass too, because she wanted to make herself and Satinder a Thai green curry for a change.

Her mother glared at the galangal.

“What?” Geeta said. “You like green curry.”

Satinder grumbled and shrugged. “Of course I do. But you used to do the full spread with murgh makhani every Saturday.”

When married to Sumit, you could have named the day of the week by what they ate. Pasta Tuesday, parathas for his packed lunch every day. The man needed his routine.

Satinder used to join them every Saturday. Or when she hadn’t got somewhere better to go with friends. And she knew Satinder missed it and him, but Geeta had been cooking Sumit’s favourite foods for decades, and she wanted a change. At least which flipping day they ate it.

“I’m mixing it up,” Geeta said. “What’s wrong with that?”

She glared at her mother, daring her to mention Sumit.

“You’re grumpy.” Satinder threw up her hands. “I’ve never seen you this bad.”

“ I’m grumpy?!”

Flipping heck.

“Is it Olivia?” Satinder asked.

“What?”

No, she hadn’t been thinking about Olivia. Although now she felt guilty about that, which wasn’t an extra concern she needed, thanks Maa.

“I know you miss them being little,” Satinder said.

Yes, she did. She used to be Olivia’s favourite person and got the biggest smiles. Then she seemed to annoy her as a tween and Sumit became the one tolerated for advice, and Olivia hid in his study for homework and quiet. And whether it coincided with Adam being born, or whether Olivia just hit that stage where she no longer listened to a parent’s voice and sought different role models, she didn’t know. Geeta always kept trying, with her open smiles and love for her daughter. But a look usually came back, saying she was a bit much. A part of her worried that splitting up with Sumit meant Olivia would never return now.

“She’s a cat.” Satinder nodded sagely as they wandered up Cowley Road, past independent cafes and colourful small shops.

“I’m not grumpy at Olivia,” Geeta said. “And what do you mean, she’s a cat?”

“She’s a cat,” her mother said again, not particularly helpfully. “When will you learn she’s a cat? Leave her be. She will come to you.”

“What does that mean?”

“She needs her independence, and to approach on her own terms.”

Geeta stared at her mother, who was more like Olivia than Geeta was. Right down to the tetchy independence.

“She’s like me,” Satinder continued. Which Geeta already knew, except the way her mother said it implied cats were clearly superior.

“And what does that make me?”

“A dog, obviously,” Satinder said, raising her eyebrows. “You. Adam. Both dogs. Offer any sign of attention and you come bounding up to play.”

“But...”

It was infuriatingly true. If anyone opened up to Geeta, she’d turn with a smile and chat for as long as they wanted. Always.

“A dog?” she’d said, though. “We’re dogs?” Because Satinder thought these an inferior sort of folk.

“It’s just how it is.” Satinder raised both hands as an end to the matter, and they wandered on.

“So is this how you all see me?” Geeta said, admittedly very grumpily at this point. “As a great big friendly labrador?”

Satinder shrugged. “Yes. One that’s menopausal and grumpy about having to live with cats.”

Well, it wasn’t how she saw herself. Or Nicola saw her in fact. She perked up on the affirmation. Nicola appreciated there was more to middle age than being a mum, while still being a life-changing and affirming part of both their lives.

Except she was still furious with Nicola, so it didn't console her right now.

“And I suppose people like Nicola are cats,” she muttered to herself.

Satinder overheard. “Oh, definitely a big cat,” she said. “No doubt about it.”

Flipping heck. Satinder didn’t have to approve of Nicola quite so blatantly, obvious with the cat analogy. It was bad enough with Olivia idolising the barrister.

And dammit, she was thinking of Nicola again. Big cat Nicola, prowling and playing with her. They paused by the bakery, Satinder whittering on about something.

Was she simply another person to torment for Nicola?

But there was an undeniable spark between them. She’d assumed it was antagonism, but it turned out to be a hell of a lot of chemistry. The air crackled when they bickered, then flared heated, with everything becoming gorgeous and sultry between them. And she was transported right back to the moment where she could have leant down and found out exactly what it was like to kiss a woman. Right there. In public. In the garden of the Jolly Farmers. That’s how powerful the pull had been.

The woman was undeniably attractive. And she damn well knew it too. In her summer dresses and legs for days, and soft bosom inadvertently nudging at Geeta’s back. Then the shirt open with more than a suggestion of pale cleavage as she strode into Bentley and swaggered around the pub.

“Why are we glaring at iced buns?” Satinder said next to her.

“Hmm?” Geeta said, staring at the bakery window.

“Why are you glaring at iced rolls as if they’re responsible for all the ill in the world?”

At the pairs of big, round, white rolls with a cherry in the middle.

Oh my god. She closed her eyes. She was obsessed. That bloody woman was in her head all day long.

She turned to her mother and pointed a finger.

“I’m not. Putting up. With big, iced rolls,” she said.

“Okaaaay,” Satinder drew out, and slowly raised an eyebrow.