Wishful Thinking by Lynette Sofras Page A

make the party last night?”
     
    The woman gave him a beaming smile. “Leave it to me, sir. I’ll make you a beautiful goody-basket. There’s plenty of champagne left over too.”
     
    ****
     
    “The downstairs door was open – you’re not very security-conscious at this place, are you?” Christian said reprovingly as Jess opened the door and stared at him in surprise. With him was a large man, holding several rugs or blankets. “This is George, by the way.”
     
    Jess still didn’t speak, just stared from one to the other.
     
    “Now we have two options and, as you see, I’m fully prepared for both. Either we can wrap Ben up in these nice, warm blankets and George will carry him down to the car so you can both spend the day at my house, or…” He held up his finger as Jess opened her mouth to protest and produced a large basket. “We can picnic on left-over party grub. It’s your call.”
     
    She gestured for them to come inside, which they did. They filled her tiny hallway to capacity and she had to step backwards into her bedroom so they could pass her and go into the sitting room. She followed them, but remained in the doorway, feeling slightly embarrassed by the smallness of her flat and its lack of comfortable seating for visitors.
     
    “Ben’s temperature has come down slightly, but I’m still not sure about moving him just yet,” she explained.
     
    “We do have two incredibly efficient nurses on tap. They’re eating me out of house and home so I really feel I should give them some employment. But I don’t want to pressure you. George will be just as happy to take the afternoon off.”
     
    She wanted to throw her arms around him and cry on his shoulder then, in gratitude for his thoughtfulness. No one had ever been there for her to share her worries when Ben was ill and she suddenly felt the enormous weight of her responsibility as a lone parent crashing around her and acknowledged, for the first time, how fragile she felt.
     
    Together they decided that, since Ben was sleeping at the moment, George would make himself scarce for a few hours and await Christian’s call. The party fare was then laid out on the small dining table and Jess surveyed it in wonder. “Is this what your guests had last night? At the parties I go to you’re lucky to get bread and cheese, and you can certainly forget champagne! And to think I was going to open a can of soup for lunch!”
     
    Christian pulled her into his arms. “I could say all sorts of clichéd things about dining on champagne and caviar every day if you wanted to, but I’d rather kiss you instead.”
     
    There was no doubt in Jess’s mind about which she preferred too, as she succumbed to his caresses. His kiss was deep and passionate, his tongue seeking and capturing hers as his hands soothed and kneaded her back and shoulders drawing her ever closer into him as if he wanted their bodies to merge into one. She felt the warmth of his flesh and the hardness of his muscles as she pressed against him, whimpering with desire, allowing herself to be lost in his embrace and the delicious pleasure of the moment. When he pulled away she moaned softly, needing more of him. He nuzzled her ear briefly.
     
    “I hate to spoil the moment, but we have an audience,” he whispered.
     
    “Hello Chris. I need a drink, mummy,” Ben said from the doorway.
     
    Later that afternoon they put Christian’s original plan into practice. Ben felt and looked sufficiently better to allow Jess to overcome her fears about moving him. Besides, she was bursting with curiosity to see Christian’s house – or one of his houses – she understood he also had a smaller one in central London as well as a villa in some exotic resort abroad.
     
    As she was putting some things together for Ben, Christian came up behind her and caught her around the waist, pulling her towards him. He kissed her hair and then nibbled her ear before finding that sensitive flesh just below