Barefoot in the Dark by Lynne Barrett-Lee Page B

That the sensation of arousal could be so profoundly physical. That this thing, this phenomenon, was actually happening to her . He liked her too. That much was evident. She closed the card and slipped it back into the envelope. He liked her. And as Madeleine was ever fond of commenting, a little light frisson never failed to help the cause.
    She ran her tongue along the paper edge. But that was last night. However good it felt to have been courted by him, however delicious it was to feel sexy again, with morning had come the return of common sense. And with that, a reminder, as evidenced by her telephone frenzy, of the terrible nature of infatuations. He was dangerous territory. Not as cheesy, perhaps, as she’d originally decided. No. Not cheesy at all, in fact. Charming, just like Maddie had said. Too charming? Probably. Certainly a man used to female attention, and, no doubt, given his ex-marital status, used to capitalising on it without a second thought. Someone, as he’d been at pains to point out, who had a lot of lost time to make up.
    ‘Someone’s birthday?’ asked Simon, who had appeared at her desk, in the stealthy way he had that always made her feel slightly fretful. He was pointing at the lilac envelope. He was unsettlingly observant.
    She sealed it, feeling scrutinised. ‘What? Oh… no, no. Just a card for the DJ man.’
    ‘Ah, the fun run.’
    ‘The fun run.’
    He thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘We really ought to get in training.’
    ‘Hmm?’
    ‘Training. You know. For the race. I mean we’ll want to run ourselves, won’t we? I was thinking, actually. We ought to form a little running group. You know. Get some sort of regimen organised. It’s only a few months off.’
    ‘It’s only five K.’
    He nodded violently at her. ‘Absolutely. Chicken feed.’ He opened his mouth and emitted a sound that might well have been an attempt at a cluck. ‘But, you know. I was just thinking about working on our times and all that. Might be fun. Tell you what. How about I send a memo round? See if we can get a gang of us together. Be quite apposite to lead the pack, so to speak.’
    Apposite (if he must) but unlikely. Hope had only that morning received confirmation from the North East Cardiff Harriers that yes, they’d love to be part of the publicity, and yes, they’d be there for the run. She was about to remind Simon that they had at least three county champions among their number, when he shifted his sheaf of papers from one arm to the other and said, ‘How about later this week? Are you free Thursday evening, say? Weather permitting, of course.’
    Hope considered. He seemed awfully keen. ‘Um… yes, maybe. I normally don’t run on Thursdays. But the children will be at their dad’s, so I suppose I could.’
    There would be no harm in running with Simon. It would be company. As long as she kept him at arm’s length.
    ‘That would be brilliant,’ he said, with worrisome sincerity. ‘Brilliant. I’ll get on to it now. Oh, by the way –’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Did Kayleigh give you the message about the press release?’
    Hope scanned her desk. ‘What press release?’
    ‘They need a press release so they can write something to go with the photo. They called back half an hour ago. Kayleigh told them you’d do one for them.’
    ‘What photo?’
    ‘The photo for the paper.’
    ‘You’ve lost me, Simon.’
    ‘Oh, of course. You wouldn’t know. They’re all coming at three.’
    ‘Who are coming at three?’
    ‘The people from the Echo . To do a piece on the fun run. And take a photo.’
    ‘Of who?’
    ‘Of all of us. With Jack Valentine.’
    The sensation was electric. ‘Jack’s coming here ?’
    Simon nodded.
    ‘What, today ?’
    ‘Apparently so.’ He was, she noticed, looking rather irritated by this. ‘He said he’s going to pop along after his show.’
    ‘He is?’ She tried hard not to appear too excited. But Simon’s expression made her realise