Page 153 of The Unlikely Pair

I know exactly what that look means, and my face, my whole body, flushes in response.

I don’t know what he’s got planned, but if it means I get to talk to him, touch him, then I’m totally on board. Despite all my logic, all my vows, if Harry wants me, there is no way I can deny him.

I give him a barely-there eyebrow raise in response.

Harry stands, pushing his chair back neatly from his table, and begins to make his way towards an exit.

I wait for a heartbeat. Two. Three. Then I’m standing, placing my napkin down gently on the table.

“Excuse me, gentlemen, I’m just going to find the loo,” I say.

My heart pounds as I navigate through the throng of guests, politely nodding and smiling at acquaintances. I try to keep my steps measured and unhurried despite the anticipation thrumming through my veins.

Harry’s walking a few feet in front of me, his tailcoat accentuating the broad expanse of his shoulders and the trim lines of his waist. His strides are confident and purposeful as if he knows exactly where he’s going and what he wants. The elegance of his movements belies the tension I know simmers just beneath the surface. It thrills me to know the pent-up passion underneath his public propriety.

I follow at a discreet pace behind him.

Guildhall is a complex place of hallways and hidden alcoves. As I follow Harry deeper into the depths of the building, the sounds of the banquet fade away.

“Mr. Matheson?” It’s Harry’s new bodyguard, a burly man with a stern expression and a no-nonsense attitude. He eyes me suspiciously, clearly not thrilled about the prospect of his charge slipping away from the main event with a political rival.

“Mr. Webley and I need to engage in a brief, confidential conversation,” Harry says in his aloof tone. “I would be most grateful if you could prevent anyone from disturbing us.”

His bodyguard nods.

My heart thuds as I follow Harry into the library. It’s a beautiful hall in its own right, with columns and high vaulted ceilings.

Harry leads me to a column where an ornate screen will shield us in case anyone else stumbles in here.

“Toby,” he says.

I can’t help the smile on my face. “Harry.”

He moves forward, and I catch a whiff of his aftershave before he kisses me.

The kiss starts off sweet and gentle, more of a hello than anything. But then it deepens so quickly my head spins. Harry and I have always been like sparks and paracord, and it appears nothing will ever change that.

The kiss turns frantic, a clash of teeth and tongues. I pour every ounce of my longing and frustration into the kiss, all the words unspoken between us, the complete and utter agony I feel about the fact we can’t be together.

Harry finally wrenches his mouth from mine.

“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” he says, his breath hot against my skin, even as his hands continue to roam over my body as if he can’t bear to not touch me.

“I know,” I agree as I kiss down his neck, the gentle, soft butterfly kisses I know melt him into a pile of goo.

“Toby,” he moans.

“What? I’m agreeing with you for once. You should be relishing the novelty.”

“Your actions and your words seem in slight contradiction to each other,” he pants. “Which I guess is typical for a Labour politician.”

It’s time to stop him from being able to speak. And I know my favorite way to render Harry Matheson inarticulate.

I drop to my knees, then look up to check it’s all right. Harry cups my face with his hand, and I take that as permission to tug on his trousers.

Of course white-tie dress isn’t designed for quick hookups. Harry’s trousers are held up by braces, and I curse under my breath as I struggle to unfasten them, my fingers rendered clumsy by the desire and urgency running through my veins.Harry chuckles softly, his hand moving to cover mine, guiding me through the motions until the braces are finally loose and his trousers are pooled around his ankles.

“Go fast,” he says.