A Taste of Honey by Iris Leach

His fingers drifted along her ribs and belly to rest lightly on the climax of her thighs. “Or here?”
    Charli let out an excited gasp. “Oh, yes,” she murmured. “Yes, yes, yes.”
    His kiss was passionate and long and they moved in a sensuous rhythm. There was no beginning, no end to them. They were one. Each delighting in pleasing the other.
    He entered her, and when he moved inside her their hands clasped together and she was transported to another world, a world that belonged to her and Will.
    Her climax came with soul-tearing excitement and she knew, she was at last, a woman in every sense of the word.
    He rolled from her and gave a small laugh. “Never thought I’d end up in your bed. This is the last place I expected to be.”
    And his words hurt her. Made her realize what they had done. It hadn’t been special for Will. Not like for her. She clenched her hands so tightly her fingernails bit into the soft skin of her palm.
    He’d wanted sex and she’d been handy. Swine. He was a user from way back. Creep.
    Sanity crept into her brain. What was she doing, for heaven’s sake? One minute she was screaming that she’d never sleep with him, and here she was curled up in his arms like some contented cat.
    Shame descended. How could she have made love with such a callous man; a man who couldn’t care less who was in his bed as long as it was a woman.
    So, in her shame she spoke harshly, foolishly. “Please leave my bedroom,” she said in a tone not unlike a ravished maiden in an historical novel.
    “What?”
    “I said, get out, you sex maniac.” Brown eyes stared into green. “Don’t think I’m always going to be that easy, mate.”
    “What the hell’s going on?”
    “You attacked me when my defenses were down.”
    “Attacked you? You almost bruised me out there in the kitchen.”
    “I don’t wish to discuss it.”
    “I bet you don’t.”
    “Kindly get dressed and leave my flat.”
    “With pleasure, lady,” he said, scrambling from the bed, dressing quickly.
    A feeling of dismay engulfed her as he stamped down the passage. She cringed at the slamming of the front door. She’d allowed things to go too far. Why hadn’t she controlled the situation?
    Because she’d wanted Will to make love to her.

Chapter Seven
    The man pursues the woman.
    It was over three weeks since she last saw Will. He’d tried telephoning her a few times but she’d refused to speak with him, hanging up as soon as she heard his voice. Once he’d come around to the flat. She’d hid in the kitchen until he gave up and went away. She knew he wanted to see her, at worst, apologize. She couldn’t take that. Hold out her hand and say, forget it ever happened, I have. Oh, so not true.
    There’d be nothing gained in seeing Will again. He was so not the man for her. No romance in his veins, a real bed-hopper. A man who’d forget your name by the time he’d left your house.
    And as for job hunting she’d come up zilch, and she had to admit she was beginning to worry. Oh, she had the money left to her by Malcolm Knight and her savings, but paying her rent each month ate into it, and there were always the dreaded bills that were like a tidal wave that nothing could stop. She’d tried to work out how long her money would last, but it seemed that as soon as she budgeted, somehow it didn’t work out and she had less in her bank account than she’d bargained for.
    She sat at the kitchen table, feeling despondent, low enough to cut a snail’s toenails. She was doodling on a pad, thinking of nothing in particular, when an electric shock shook her brain. She hadn’t had her period. Her eyes flew to the calendar. She always circled the date and she was always, always on time. She jumped from her chair and raced to the calendar.
    She fell back against the kitchen wall, dropped to the floor in a crouch, her trembling knees lacking the strength to hold her. She was almost a month overdue.
    Oh, shit, oh, God, oh, bloody hell, no