Free Instruction in Seduction by Judy Jarvie Page B

home of his own to go to. His boxer shorts were always in her tumble dryer. His oil smeared shoes were always on the rack. His Guitar Weekly and Hot Bikes, Hot Women magazines were always littering her coffee table. Had she inadvertently lost exclusive rights to the remote and gained an unofficial lodger?
    Maybe she was just cranky from missing out on the best sex of her life at the final furlong.
    “Nothing juicy,” called Lisa. “Just girly chats. You wouldn’t be interested.”
    Andy raised his brows, appearing like a genie in the doorway, arms crossing his chest. All he needed were silk pants, curly toed slippers and a turban. Followed closely by a magic carpet and a large surplus stock of Turkish delight.
    “We were discussing where all the hot water went this morning,” Ailsa lied. She suspected he’d been using the shower to wash his motorbike parts again. And right now ‘dirty parts’ weren’t welcome in her home or her life.
    “Nick here?” Andy asked leaning on the doorframe and flexing his biceps. “Any chance of a cuppa? Ailsa, since you’re making?”
    Ailsa narrowed her eyes. “You could try making it as payment for lodgings. This is my home. Lisa’s my tenant. And somehow we’ve managed to pick up a new pet called Andy Ferguson.”
    Just then the phone rang on the kitchen wall beside him. He picked up the receiver like he really lived there. “Chez Ailsa and Lisa, Andy speaking. The ladies of the house are busy overthrowing the Earth with their evil plans for universe domination.”
    They watched him handle the call after rolling their eyes. “Hi Nick. You watching the match? Poor passing in general but the goal in the nineteenth minute was a triumph. Yes Ailsa’s here. But she’s ratty. Kid gloves required, mate.”
    Ailsa glowered at the phone and then Lisa. Then made pleading eyes.
    Lisa sighed and took it. “She’s just left. Can I take a message? You’ll wait? Er, she’s having a bath. Some of Ailsa’s soaks are longer than a marathon in clogs.”
    Ailsa walked from the room and jostled Andy on her way out of the door.
    “When we have sufficient water,” Ailsa whispered hoarsely as she passed.
    “Okay. Okay.” Lisa was scribbling notes from Nick’s message on the pad by the fridge. “I’ll get her to call. See you. Take it easy. Bye then.”
    After replacing the handset Lisa tore off the page and read aloud, “Says whatever you think, it’s not his wife. And never has been but he has a son who is seven. He wants to talk; he was going to tell you about Jake. Here’s his mobile number. He says he won’t give up.”
    Ailsa thumped upstairs in her slippers. “Men do go on so.” The retort was aimed at Andy as much as Nick Palmer.
    Too scary. Don’t go there, a reprieve is better than a mistake , said her inner nun voice.
    “You should call him,” Andy opined from the kitchen where he was still standing like the lord of the manor. “You shouldn’t sleep on an argument, dearie.”
    “Just go and make tea yourself,” she shouted. “Before I resort to building you a kennel at the bottom of the garden.”
    ***
    As it turned out Jake, Nick’s son, broke an arm turning skateboard tricks.
    It hadn’t been a big scary hospitalisation but Amanda, as usual, over-reacted and opted for maximum dramatisation. Sadly the reception clerk at Chez Angelle had taken the message wrong or Amanda purposefully promoted herself to ex-wife.
    He and Amanda never married; she’d turned his offer down. It hadn’t left him devastated. They’d never been a forever pairing from the off.
    And the ‘Jake in Hospital affair’ had been a quick in, out, fix him up and cuddle him scenario. Nick talked to his son who told him he’d regarded the whole affair as a great adventure and the arm cast was upping his cool cred no end.
    Nick turned out of the hotel lobby and started to pound the Royal Mile, dodging the sightseeing tourists on steady hard Palmer jog pace. He felt the sweat build and coat