A Special Kind of Woman by Caroline Anderson Page A

from the dish and levelled her spoon at him, ‘was not your average pub crawl.’
    Owen chuckled. ‘I thought you’d never been on one?’ he said.
    ‘That doesn’t mean I don’t know what they’re like,’ she pointed out, ‘and that wasn’t it.’ She sat back, still licking her lips, and sighed hugely. ‘That was…’ She trailed to a halt, lost for words, and he gave a low chuckle.
    ‘That good, eh?’
    ‘Absolutely. Remind me never to cook for you—it’s just underlined how useless I really am.’
    He chuckled again and poured the last dribble of muscat into her glass. ‘Come on, drink up, we’ve got to have the next course.’
    Cait stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. ‘Next course?’ she squeaked, and he nodded.
    ‘Yup—Irish coffee and after-dinner mints by the fire at my house. The taxi’ll be outside in a moment. Are you ready?’
    She nodded, a little dazed. ‘Yes, I’m ready. I don’tknow if I can stand, but I’m ready.’ She smiled at him, wondering if she looked and sounded as merry as she felt, and remembered his promise not to get her legless.
    Well, it wasn’t exactly a promise, which was just as well since he probably had no idea what a cheap drunk she was. One sip and she was away usually, and tonight she’d had three glasses.
    Oops.
    Oh, well, in for a penny…
    She drained her glass and stood up, managing not to fall over while he helped her into her coat, and then the taxi whisked them back out into the velvet darkness of the countryside and she leant on his arm in the back and sighed contentedly.
    ‘OK?’
    ‘Mmm.’ She felt too lazy to speak, and didn’t argue when he eased his arm out from behind her and wrapped it round her shoulders, shifting so that her head came to rest on his chest and her arm just naturally snuggled round his waist. ‘Mmm,’ she said again, and closed her eyes. It felt so good…
    She was asleep by the time they got back to his house, and he woke her gently. ‘Cait? We’re back.’
    She sat up sleepily, and he got out of the taxi and paid the driver, then went round and helped her out.
    ‘Come on, sleepyhead,’ he said gently, and she looked up at him as the clouds parted, her face silvered with moonlight, and smiled mistily.
    ‘Sorry—I’m not used to drinking so much,’ she told him, as if he hadn’t already realised that. ‘It just knocks me out.’
    ‘You can’t go to sleep yet, we’ve still got to have the coffee and liqueur phase of the meal,’ he reminded her.
    ‘Just coffee,’ she told him, sounding just a fractiontipsy, and he felt a twinge of guilt. Hopefully she wouldn’t feel too hungover the next day.
    ‘Come on,’ he coaxed, and led her into the house and settled her in the corner of the settee nearest the fire.
    The dogs greeted them with enthusiastic wagging, and he let them out for a run and gave them a biscuit while he made the coffee.
    He passed on the Irish whiskey. Cait certainly didn’t need it and he wasn’t sure he did, either. The last thing he wanted was to drink so much that he woke up tomorrow not knowing what he’d done, if anything, and he needed all his wits about him with her looking so soft and warm and sleepy.
    Owen sat down on the other side of the fireplace, well away from temptation, and pushed the coffee towards Cait across the low table.
    ‘Hey, sleepyhead,’ he said, and she cracked an eye open.
    ‘You talking to me?’ she asked, and he nodded.
    ‘I am. Your coffee’s there.’
    ‘Laced?’
    He shook his head. ‘No. Not laced. I thought we’d probably both had enough.’
    She sat forwards and kicked off her shoes, picked up her coffee and snuggled back into the corner with her feet tucked under her bottom and her nose buried in the mug.
    ‘Mmm,’ she said appreciatively, and he smiled and leant back, stretching out his legs in front of him and indulging his senses.
    A warm fire, a comfortable chair, good coffee—and a beautiful woman to look at. What more could a man