Friday, 28th April 2006 – The Savoy, London
"Hello, Ruth," he murmurs softly, making her jump.
"Harry! What are you doing here?" she exclaims as she wills her heart to stop racing.
He smirks a little, raising one eyebrow. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Ruth."
Infuriating man.
"Mind if I join you?"
"No. That'd be..." She tails off feeling flustered again.
"Nice?" he offers, his eyes twinkling.
She blushes and drops her gaze.
Pull yourself together, Ruth!
"Can I get you a drink?"
"No, thanks. I'm good," she replies, lifting her glass of wine and taking a fortifying sip.
He nods and turns towards the bartender, raising his arm to catch his attention and causing her to catch a whiff of his cologne – spicy and masculine and achingly familiar. She momentarily closes her eyes in appreciation. She loves his scent, especially at the end of a long day, when the cologne has faded and his uniquely Harry smell becomes more apparent.
"Ruth?" The sound of his voice makes her start. "Everything alright?"
"What? Oh, yes. Fine."
"Good." He smiles. "Cheers."
"Cheers," she replies, lifting her own glass to mirror his gesture and taking a sip of her drink.
"Ah," he sighs happily, smacking his lips. "That's much better."
She doesn't reply. She can't. Her attention's completely captivated by his lips as she wonders what it would be like to kiss them. They look so soft and full, and they'd taste of whisky. Not that she particularly likes whisky, but somehow she's sure the taste of it on his lips would be-
"Ruth? Are you sure you're alright?"
"What? Yes, yes, I'm fine. Sorry. Just a bit tired, you know?"
"It's been a long day," he agrees.
They sit in silence for some moments, and as the seconds tick by, she finds her body relaxing, his proximity comforting now that she's had a chance to get used to it. It always takes her a moment to get over the extraordinary physical pull he has on her body, but once she does, she always feels safe beside him.
"Are you meeting someone?" he asks eventually.
"Yes," she nods. "You?"
"Same," he replies, glancing at his watch.
"Are you early or is she late?"
"She?" He lifts an eyebrow.
"Sorry." She blushes. "I just assumed..."
He takes a sip of his drink, then confirms, "Actually, she is running late."
She throws him a dirty look that makes him chuckle.
"We could keep each other company until they get here," he offers.
"I'd have said yes, but now..." She leaves the sentence unfinished.
"Forgive me," he murmurs, giving her such a contrite look, complete with puppy dog eyes, that her breath catches in her throat. Lucky, lucky woman, whoever she is.
She nods and takes a sip of her wine, not trusting her voice.
He smiles then says, "So... read any good books lately?"
"A few. You?"
"Not really. I don't often pick up something new unless someone recommends it or I find myself at an airport. I tend to stick to non-fiction anyway. Often, I'll pick up an old favourite and read a few passages for inspiration."
"Such as?"
"The Art of War, the 33 Strategies of War, the Book of Five Rings, to name a few." His eyes are twinkling at her again.
"Figures." She smiles.
"What about you?" he asks gently. "What are some of your favourites?"
"Non-fiction? Prodigious few. Fiction on the other hand..."
"Too extensive a list?"
She smiles in acknowledgement.
"What was the one you were reading on the bus?" he asks suddenly.
"Jane Austen. Persuasion."
"Ah." He nods then gives her a sideways look as he asks, "Is that the one with the priest?"
"No," she smiles. "It's the one with the sea captain."
He frowns. "There's one with a sea captain?"
That makes her laugh.
"Indeed."
"I must have missed that one. What's it about?"
"Missed opportunities and second chances," she replies, not quite daring to meet his eyes as the memory of his hand sliding against hers on the bus just a few short weeks ago fills her mind. She's only agreed to this date to get her mind off it... and him.
When she musters the courage to look up, she finds him watching her, a thoughtful look on his face as he swallows, his glass of whisky cradled in his left hand and suspended between them.
"Your table is ready, Sir. Would you like to follow me?"
The waiter's interruption is most unwelcome.
"Why not?" Harry says decisively. "Would you like to join me, Ruth? It appears that our dates have stood us up."
She glances at her watch. He's one hour late and she can't help feeling suddenly supremely grateful.
"I'd love to," she smiles.
"So what else do you do for fun?" he asks once they've ordered their food and he's sampled the wine, nodding to the waiter to fill their glasses.
"Fun? What's that?" she frowns. "Oh, I remember now. That's what people with a cushy nine to five job get to have at the weekend."
He chuckles. "Well, you're out tonight, aren't you?"
"Yes. That's something, I suppose," she agrees.
"You don't do this often then?"
"No. You?"
"Not as often as I used to."
She takes a sip of the wine to give her courage. "Why not?" she asks.
"Too much effort, I suppose." He sighs. "I must be getting old."
"You're not old, Harry."
He smiles. "Thank you."
She blushes and looks away.
How does he do that with his voice, make it seductively low and intimate?
"What about you? What do you do at the weekend?" she asks, keen to appear unaffected by him.
"Well, there's Scarlet. She keeps me company and she likes her walks, which is probably just as well – no doubt I need the exercise."
"That's one of the reasons why I take the bus," she replies. "I joined a gym so I could use the pool, but things have been so busy at work lately that I haven't had a chance to use it more than once this month."
She thinks his eyes look darker, more intense, and she blushes, wondering what she's said to make him look at her like that.
"Where is this place?" he asks with interest.
"Oh, just near home. It's nothing special. Just convenient or else I'd never make it there."
"You could try somewhere closer to work. Stop on your way into work or your lunch break?"
"You may be onto something there," she nods thoughtfully. "I might get a chance to actually swim regularly if I did that."
"Do you like it?"
"Swimming?"
"Yes."
"I do," she smiles. "It relaxes me. I've never been very good at sports and I could never see the point of ball games, but swimming is different. What about you? I suppose you used to play rugby or something."
He grins. "I did. Rugby and cricket and I used to run cross-country too."
"Do you miss it?"
"Sometimes. Mainly I miss the agility I used to have, the stamina. And the pain-free movement."
"Pain-free?"
"My knee," he explains. "I buggered it up quite thoroughly, I'm afraid. It's the reason they gave me a desk job."
"I'm sorry."
He purses his lips. "It was bound to happen eventually. No one can keep going forever."
Their food arrives, so they dig in, staying silent for long moments as they take the edge off their hunger.
"Good?" he asks, nodding at her plate.
"Very." She smiles. "Do you want a taste?"
He's doing it again, that ghost of a smile that's flirting with his lips and always makes her blush, almost as if he's thinking something very naughty.
"I'm fine, thanks," he replies. "Would you like a taste of mine?"
Only from your lips.
She blushes harder. "No thanks."
"What are you thinking, Ms Evershed?" He looks intrigued. "Whatever makes you blush so?"
"I don't know," she sighs. "You have this uncanny ability to make me blush, Mr. Pearce, for absolutely no reason. It's really rather disconcerting."
He laughs, such a rich, warm sound.
"You have a lovely laugh," she murmurs before she can stop herself. "You should laugh more often."
He arches one eyebrow at her, making her look away, turning back to her food with renewed interest, blushing.
Damn him!
"Are you not worried about your... friend?" he asks presently.
"Worried?"
"Why he didn't turn up? He might be in trouble."
He's studying her with those mesmerising eyes of his.
"Oh! I never thought of that. I didn't get any messages."
She picks up her bag and takes out her personal mobile, opening it to check for messages again and quickly typing an SMS, 'Hi. You're late. Everything all right?'
She presses send and slips it back into her bag, before returning it to the floor beside her chair.
No sooner has she lifted her eyes to his again, when his mobile chimes.
"Sorry," he apologises and fishes it out of his pocket. He fiddles with the device, presumably opening the message, and she sees him smile, such a warm look infusing his face that she has to look away. It's clear the message is from someone he cares about deeply and it makes her heart sink. Perhaps his date has finally made contact.
"You won't believe this," he says, forcing her to look up. He's still smiling, an odd twinkle in his eyes as he turns the mobile he's holding towards her so she can read the message. It says, 'Hi. You're late. Everything all right?'"
Her mouth drops open and he begins to laugh.
"Oh, sweet, mother of God!" she whispers, burying her face in her hands.
Harry? Harry?! My blind date is Harry?! God help me!
"So how do you know Mary Kingston?"
"Choir," she sighs, lifting her head and taking a generous mouthful of wine. "You?"
"I only met her the other day." He's still smiling. "She's married to an old time friend I often bump into at the dogs. Last weekend, his wife came along too and insisted she knew the perfect woman for me."
She blushes. Again!
Damn him!
"And you believed her?"
"Well, I had my doubts," he confesses, his lips still turned up at the edges. His gaze softens as he adds, "Even after she'd described you."
"How... how did she describe me?"
"A brunette about her height with an understated kind of beauty, gorgeous blue eyes, razor sharp mind and a fantastic singer."
"That's... rather nice."
"Hmmm," he hums. "I thought so."
She's blushing again.
"When she was describing this unknown, to me, woman, I was imagining you."
She swallows.
Bloody hell!
"You..." But she can't manage to finish the sentence as she looks up and gets utterly lost in his eyes.
"I was hoping it was you. I didn't put two and two together until just now, but deep down, Ruth, I was hoping it would be you."
He reaches across the table for her hand, taking it gently in his, his gorgeous eyes softening further, making her heart melt.
"Harry," she breathes, too lost for words.
"Is that wrong, Ruth? I don't want to put you in a difficult position. I know I'm your boss and that... complicates things, but... there is something between us, isn't there? I'm not imagining that, am I?"
"No." She shakes her head. "I can't believe this is happening."
"Why not?"
"I never thought you'd want... well... me!"
"I do. I'm half in love with you already, Ruth."
In love with me?!
"Harry," she whispers again, feeling herself fall in love with him a little more with every word that leaves his gorgeous, pouty lips.
"I know it won't be easy," he adds earnestly, "because of work and... my position. People will talk and I know you don't like to be the centre of attention." Her eyes widen as the full implications of this flood her mind. "But I'd like to take you out again. I'd like us to try to make this work."
She's no idea what to say.
"Think about it. I know you need time to consider." He smiles reassuringly and pulls his hand away, turning back to his food.
"So how did Mary Kingston describe me?" he asks, setting aside his knife and fork and leaning back in his seat.
"Well," she replies, taking the last mouthful of food to give herself time to think. Am I really having this conversation with Harry? It feels like a dream and she's suddenly worried that she'll wake up at home, alone, any moment now. She's sure she never wants this dream to end. "She said you were smart, well-read, funny, kind... um..." She hesitates, then ploughs straight on. "Sexy and somewhat older than me. Mature is how she put it, but she seemed to think I'd like that..."
Oh bugger! She's been so intent on trying to gloss over the fact that she called him sexy that in typical Ruth fashion she's gone and dug herself into an even bigger hole without thinking.
"And do you?" Of course he doesn't miss a trick, her Harry. And he's enjoying this. She can tell.
"I do," she says defiantly.
"Good," is his reply, his eyes warm and gentle, the smirk on his lips transforming into a soft, sweet smile. "Is that why you said yes?" he asks softly, lifting the bottle to top up their glasses, his eyes dropping away from her face.
"I don't know," she confesses, not daring to look at his face. "I don't normally do this sort of thing, but..."
"But?" he prompts.
"I needed to... get out, do something different, break the routine," she tries to explain. "I could feel myself..." She hesitates, reluctant to give too much away, but then he's already been brave enough to confess his feelings for her and it gives her the courage to add, "falling for you and I felt that I needed..."
"A distraction," he finishes for her.
"Yes."
She takes a sip of her wine and lifts her eyes to find him watching her, his gaze tender and mesmerising, drawing her in.
"And are you happy or disappointed that the distraction turned out to be me?" he asks softly.
"Happy," she replies, equally softly, "and a little afraid."
He smiles. "I'm not that scary, Ruth, am I?"
"No," she agrees, "but as you said, you're my boss and... a very powerful and important person. I feel... small, inexperienced, unimportant by comparison."
"You're not," he says, leaning towards her and covering her hand with his once more. "You're one of the most important, most brilliant, most wonderful people in the world, Ruth, and I feel privileged to count myself amongst the few who truly understand that."
She blushes and drops her gaze. "Don't say things like that, Harry. It makes me doubt your sanity and every other word you've uttered tonight."
He smiles. "Have it your way then," he replies. "I'm much more important, brilliant, and – what was it? – Ah yes, experienced. I'm a legend really." That makes her look up with a frown. He laughs and squeezes her hand, leaning towards her again and confessing, "But I still happen to think you're wonderful and I still want to do this again."
"Goodnight, Ruth," he murmurs softly. "I've had a lovely time tonight."
"Me too, Harry. Thank you."
He smiles then leans down to kiss her cheek.
Impulsively, she turns her head at the last moment, capturing his lips with hers. He seems surprised, but he quickly relaxes into the kiss, pressing his lips softly against hers. He pulls back to look at her, perhaps searching for permission in her gaze before coming back for more.
"Ruth," he murmurs softly, seductively, the sound making her slip her arms over his shoulders and pull him back for more.
They're so wonderful – his lips. So soft, so inviting. Her tongue ventures out to taste him and he opens his mouth to allow her inside, his arms tightening around her. She moans, kissing him with all the longing and pent up emotion of the past few months, unable to hold back now that she's started. She wants him. So much. She's never met another man who makes her burn like this for him.
"Ruth," he murmurs, pulling slowly out of the kiss.
"Come upstairs," she says quickly before she loses her nerve.
He exhales heavily, resting his forehead against hers for a moment before lifting his head to look at her. "I want to but... Next time," he promises. "Let me know what you decide, Ruth. I'll be waiting."
She sighs, knowing he's right. It's hardly fair to sleep with him before she's decided if she'll give them a chance or not. She releases him, allowing her arms to drop back down to her sides. "I will, Harry."
"Good." He smiles and softly strokes her cheek before kissing her lips tenderly again. "Goodnight," he says and takes a step back, waiting until she's opened her door and slipped inside before turning away.
She watches him make his way down the steps before closing the door and leaning her back against it, her fingers rising to her lips, her face flushed, eyes dancing as she relives their kisses.
Nothing in her life before has felt as right as kissing Harry Pearce. Not going to Oxford, as exciting as that had been, not starting at GCHQ or living on her own for the first time, not even working for MI-5, as thrilled as she'd been at the time. All those experiences had been remarkable and exhilarating and amazing, but this... This is something else entirely. It's overwhelming and electrifying and breathtaking and exquisite and... right!
So right.
And though she's scared, terrified that it'll all end in tears in the end, she knows deep down that she wants this. She wants Harry and a life with him more than she has ever wanted anything else before. To be with Harry, work with him, side by side like Adam and Fiona, to have it all... that is something precious and worth fighting for, being brave and taking the risk, giving them a chance.
She turns and yanks open the door again, ready to run out to the pavement, hoping against hope that she can catch him before he disappears round the corner. But she doesn't need to do any of that. He's standing right before her.
"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I tried to walk away, but I couldn't."
She doesn't say anything, reaching her arms over his shoulders and kissing him, stepping back into the house and drawing him with her, his arms wrapping around her body, pressing her against his strong, broad frame, the passion and hunger of his kisses making her head spin. And much later that night, when she opens her eyes to find him lying naked in her bed beside her, hazel eyes tender and warm, she can't help but think that she's made the right decision in taking the risk and giving them a chance.
"Dinner tonight?" he asks softly, his right hand reaching to brush the hair out of her face.
"I thought we had dinner already."
"That was yesterday," he murmurs.
She smiles. "Dinner tonight sounds wonderful."
She watches his lips lift in a soft smile, his eyes sparkling with joy. "Happy birthday, Ruth," he whispers, leaning in to kiss her.
"Mmmm," she hums, turning in his arms to face him and moaning in pleasure when he rolls her underneath him. "Best bloody birthday I've ever had," she says, gazing deeply into his eyes.
He smiles. "And we're only just getting started."