Free The Commute (Regular Sex Issue 1) by Kitty French Page A

the
rules of your kingdom, Queen Stacy,’ he murmurs, leaning forward slightly.
‘I’ve never been here before.’
    I don’t think
he’s taken his eyes off me since he stepped aboard the train, and it’s had the
strange effect of turning this thundering workhorse carriage into an intimate
dining car for two from yesteryear. I don’t glance out of the window, but if I
did, I fancied I’d see the glittering Mediterranean as we rattled through the French
Riviera, or maybe the majestic Swiss mountains soaring upwards rather than the
frosted, grey urban sprawl of the West Midlands at breakfast time.
    ‘The rules of my
kingdom?’ I say slowly, playing for time. ‘Well… it’s warm, for starters.
Really, err, balmy.’
    Balmy? Go me.
I’d slipped straight into travel agent spiel; my boss would be proud of me for
once. His endless shitty holiday telesales training hadn’t gone to waste, after
all. I’ll tell him when I get in to work this morning. On second thoughts,
maybe I won’t. How can I credibly relate this story back in the office? Morning
folks! This guy on the train hypnotised me into taking my clothes off this
morning, but you’ll be happy to know I sold him a package deal to the newly
discovered kingdom of Stacy, where the sun’s balmy and the men are sex gods?
    Across from me,
Jude nods, his expression deadly serious.
    ‘Balmy.’ I think
I see approval in his eyes. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
    He shrugs off
the jacket of his business suit and loosens the knot of his tie with one hand.
He’s dressed for business, yet his eyes tell me his thoughts are anything but
professional as he pops the top button of his shirt and runs his finger around
the inside of his collar to loosen it. Somehow it’s the horniest movement I’ve
ever seen.
    He lowers his
eyes to the oversized buttons of my coat and studies them until my fingers move
of their own accord and slide the buttons free. My coat falls open, and his expectant
eyes lift to mine and silently tell me that it has to come off. I slip it back
over my shoulders and lay it folded on the seat beside me.
    ’Still too
warm,’ he whispers, his fingers working his shirt cuffs open so he can fold his
sleeves back. I have a thing for turned back sleeves; they say capable, and
they say strong, and they say I’m going to blow your fucking mind in bed.
    My eyes drop to
his forearms as he works. I notice the discreet, expensive watch on his wrist,
the smattering of golden hair over his lightly tanned skin, and the long, lithe
biceps outlined beneath the material of his dark shirt. They’re the kind of
arms that cradle babies on black and white posters, or play guitars to packed
stadiums in rock bands, or row their victorious team to an Olympic gold medal.
    I swallow hard
and squeeze my thighs together because I’m fighting the urge to crawl over the
table into his lap to be held by those arms right now. 
    ‘Tropical,’ I
say, because I’m clammy, despite the fact that there’s frost on the outside of
the windows and I’m down to my flimsy chiffon blouse.
    ‘Is there a
beach in your kingdom, Stacy?’
    I lean forward
and prop my elbows on the table, my chin resting in my hands. He’s looking
right into my eyes now, and I’m close enough to see the ridiculously long
fringe of dark eyelashes around those pretty eyes. I pick up the spiced scent
of him, shower fresh and sexy, and I wonder if he can smell the miracle shampoo
I paid well over the odds for on payday. I sweep my hair slowly over one shoulder
to make it more likely. Jude’s eyes follow the movement, unhurried.
    ‘I think you’d
tie your hair up on the beach.’ His eyes flick to the slender black hair tie I
put around my wrist in the bathroom this morning because I always get pissed
off with my hair come lunchtime and snatch it back.
    Jesus, he’s
observant. I feel as if he knows all there is to know about me and then some. I
realise he’s waiting for me to tie my hair up at the same moment I