Repressed.

No Names

By the time Eloise realised she had agreed to leave with him, they were already standing outside.

The night air hit her face.

That helped.

A little.

She stopped beneath the awning and looked at him.

He looked back.

Neither spoke.

Behind them, the door opened and another group spilled onto the pavement, laughing loudly. Eloise stepped aside.

The stranger moved with her.

Still looking at her.

This was ridiculous.

She had known him for perhaps an hour.

Less than that.

She did not know his name.

He did not know hers.

And yet here she was, standing outside a jazz lounge in a black dress she had never intended to wear, wondering whether she was genuinely considering going home with a man she had met beside a whisky glass.

Elsa was going to lose her mind.

That thought almost made Eloise laugh.

Almost.

“You're thinking very hard,” he said.

“I do that.”

“I noticed.”

She folded her arms.

“Is that a complaint?”

“No.”

His eyes dropped briefly to her mouth.

Definitely not a complaint.

Eloise's pulse gave another irritating jump.

A black cab slowed near the kerb.

The stranger lifted one hand.

It stopped.

Eloise looked at the car.

Then at him.

This was the moment.

She could still go back inside.

She could find Elsa, collect her handbag and dignity, and tell herself she had done enough for one evening.

She had gone out.

She had worn the dress.

She had spoken to a handsome stranger.

She had survived.

Very respectable.

Very sensible.

Very—

“Eloise?”

She stared at him.

His eyebrow lifted.

Oh.

Right.

At some point she had apparently told him her name.

That seemed unfair.

“You remembered.”

“You told me ten minutes ago.”

“I've had a drink.”

“So have I.”

“That doesn't explain why your memory works.”

His mouth moved.

That almost-smile again.

“Are you coming?”

There was no pressure in it.

That made the decision worse.

If he had pushed, she could have refused on principle.

Instead, he stood beside the open cab door and waited.

Eloise looked back at the entrance.

Then she thought about the past year.

About refusing dinners.

Ignoring invitations.

Buying dresses and leaving them inside the wardrobe.

Waiting to become some future version of herself who knew how to live properly.

Apparently that version of Eloise had become tired of waiting.

She looked at him.

“Yes.”

Something changed in his face.

Not triumph.

Not surprise.

Something quieter.

“Good.”

Eloise got into the cab.

He followed.

The door closed.

And suddenly the whole thing felt very real.

For approximately twelve seconds.

Then he kissed her.

Eloise had no idea who moved first.

She would later decide that this was probably for the best.

One moment they were sitting beside each other.

The next, his hand was at her waist and her fingers were caught in the front of his shirt.

His mouth was warm.

Slow at first.

Then not slow at all.

Eloise forgot the driver existed.

This was probably rude.

She would apologise to him in her mind tomorrow.

The cab stopped at a light.

The stranger drew back just far enough to look at her.

Eloise breathed.

Once.

Twice.

His thumb moved lightly along her waist.

“You all right?”

“Yes.”

The answer came much too quickly.

His eyes warmed.

“Very convincing.”

“Don't start.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“You were going to.”

“I was going to ask if you wanted me to stop.”

Eloise stared at him.

“No.”

That answer came even faster.

His mouth curved.

“Well.”

“Don't look so pleased with yourself.”

“I'll try.”

“You won't.”

“No.”

Then he kissed her again.

That was the end of conversation for a while.

Every time the cab slowed, they seemed to forget whatever small amount of restraint they had recovered.

A hand against her waist.

Her fingers in his hair.

His mouth near her ear.

A kiss stolen when the driver turned a corner.

Another at a red light.

Eloise had kissed men before.

Of course she had.

She had been in relationships.

She had not lived inside a convent.

But this felt different.

Perhaps because there was nothing around it.

No history.

No expectation.

No years of trying to be wanted correctly.

No wondering whether she was saying the right thing or wearing the right thing or asking for too much.

He touched her because he wanted to.

She kissed him because she wanted to.

It should not have felt revolutionary.

It did.

At some point, his hand settled on her knee.

Eloise looked down.

Then at him.

His expression changed.

A question.

She could have moved his hand.

She didn't.

Instead, she placed her own over it.

His fingers closed gently beneath hers.

Something warm moved through her.

Not only desire.

Something stranger.

Permission.

She looked out of the window before he could see too much on her face.

London moved past them in pieces of light.

Rows of buildings.

Street lamps.

Late-night restaurants.

Then quieter roads.

Larger houses.

White terraces.

Eloise frowned.

A moment later, the cab stopped.

She looked through the window.

Then looked again.

Oh.

The stranger paid the driver.

Eloise remained seated.

He opened the door.

“Problem?”

She stepped out slowly.

The street was quiet.

White stucco houses stood in elegant rows beneath warm lamps.

Clean steps.

Black railings.

Tall windows.

Eloise turned to him.

“This is Belgravia.”

“Yes.”

“You live here.”

“Yes.”

She looked at the house behind him.

Then at his suit.

Then at the house again.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

“You've suddenly become suspicious.”

“I was already suspicious.”

“Of what?”

“I don't know yet.”

He laughed softly.

Eloise looked up at the townhouse.

She had expected a flat.

A nice one, certainly.

Perhaps something modern overlooking the river.

She had not expected this.

Her stranger, apparently, came with Georgian architecture.

Of course he did.

“Should I be concerned?” she asked.

“About the house?”

“About what the house suggests.”

“And what does it suggest?”

“That you're either extremely successful or part of an international criminal organisation.”

He stared at her.

Eloise shrugged.

“I like to consider the options.”

His laugh came unexpectedly.

Properly this time.

She liked it.

Far too much.

“Come inside.”

He opened the door.

Eloise hesitated only briefly before following.

The first thing she noticed was the quiet.

The second was the light.

Warm rather than bright.

Soft against pale walls.

A large mirror hung above a narrow console table. Art filled the walls without crowding them. The furniture was modern but not

cold, mixed with older pieces that looked as though someone had chosen them rather than ordered an entire room at once.

There was a sculpture near the stairs.

An abstract painting opposite it.

Fresh flowers on a side table.

Eloise turned slowly.

“You decorated this?”

“Some of it.”

“Some?”

“I had help.”

“Good.”

He closed the door.

Eloise looked over her shoulder.

“That sounded rude.”

“It was meant kindly.”

“Of course.”

She smiled.

Then immediately kicked off her heels.

He looked down.

Eloise sighed with relief.

“I have suffered enough.”

“Those were your choice.”

“Yes. I made a mistake.”

“You've made several tonight.”

She looked at him.

“Careful.”

His mouth twitched.

Eloise bent to pick up the shoes.

Then stopped.

The earrings.

She touched one.

Her ears had begun to ache.

She removed them carefully and placed them on the console table beside her bag.

The relief was immediate.

“There.”

“Better?”

“Much.”

She straightened.

And became suddenly aware of herself.

No heels.

No dramatic earrings.

Hair slightly untidy from the cab.

Lipstick probably no longer where she had originally put it.

The thought came quickly.

Ugly in its familiarity.

What if that was the point?

What if the dress had done the work?

The makeup.

The hair.

The shoes.

What if he had been attracted to something carefully arranged, and now, piece by piece, she was removing it?

Eloise looked towards the mirror.

She should not have.

Her reflection looked back.

Still her.

Of course.

But insecurity did not particularly care for logic.

She touched her hair.

Perhaps she should—

Arms came around her waist.

Eloise jumped.

“Oh!”

“Sorry.”

His voice was beside her ear.

“You move quietly.”

“I walked across the room.”

“I was distracted.”

“I noticed.”

His mouth touched the back of her neck.

Every thought disappeared.

Just—

Gone.

Eloise closed her eyes.

Another kiss.

Softer.

Higher.

Near her jaw.

Her shoulders loosened.

She leaned back against him before she could think better of it.

His hands stayed at her waist.

Not demanding.

Not moving anywhere she had not invited them.

That somehow made everything sharper.

Eloise turned.

He looked down at her.

His eyes seemed darker in the low light.

For several seconds neither spoke.

Then he brushed one loose strand of hair away from her face.

Eloise swallowed.

“What?”

“You disappeared for a moment.”

“I was standing right here.”

“You know what I mean.”

Unfortunately, she did.

Eloise looked away.

“It was nothing.”

His fingers touched her chin.

Not forcing.

Just enough to bring her attention back.

“Was it?”

She hesitated.

This was absurd.

She barely knew him.

Perhaps that made honesty easier.

“I was wondering whether you would still find me attractive without all of…” She gestured vaguely towards herself. “The production.”

He stared at her.

Then glanced towards the abandoned shoes.

The earrings.

Her bag.

Back to her face.

“Eloise.”

“Yes?”

“You've removed two earrings and a pair of shoes.”

She blinked.

“That is technically true.”

“You haven't revealed some terrible secret.”

“You don't know that.”

His thumb brushed her cheek.

“Do you want to know what I was thinking?”

Eloise was not certain.

Still—

“Yes.”

“That I finally have you somewhere I don't have to share your attention with an entire room.”

Her breath caught.

Oh.

Well.

That was—

“That was annoyingly effective.”

“I wasn't trying to be.”

“I don't believe you.”

He smiled.

Eloise stepped closer.

Very slightly.

His hands tightened at her waist.

There it was again.

That change in the air.

Quiet.

Immediate.

She looked at his mouth.

Then back at his eyes.

“I don't want complicated,” she said.

His expression stilled.

“Neither do I.”

“I don't want breakfast.”

One eyebrow rose.

“Very specific.”

“I mean tomorrow.”

“I know.”

Eloise took a breath.

“I don't want promises.”

“All right.”

“And I don't want to know who you really are.”

That surprised him.

Finally.

She almost enjoyed it.

“No names?”

“You already know mine.”

“True.”

“That was poor planning.”

“On your part.”

“Don't be smug.”

“I'll do my best.”

Eloise looked at him.

“Tonight.”

“Tonight,” he agreed.

She kissed him before she could change her mind.

And this time there was nothing careful about it.