By the time he'd opened the second bottle of Italian red (he'd bought a case when they were on special at his local off license), they were sitting companionably in his sitting room, Harry in his favourite armchair, and Ruth on the sofa, leaning against the cushions piled at one end, her legs tucked under her. Some time during dinner, she'd removed her cardigan, and the dress she wore hugged her body so that he was having difficulty keeping his eyes from following her curves, and committing them to memory.

Harry had also caught Ruth looking at him with what could only be called appreciation, as her own eyes wandered over the skin of his throat, exposed when he'd removed his tie and opened a couple of shirt buttons.

They'd both removed their shoes early in the evening. He being in socks, and she in tights added an intimate tone to their being alone together in his house. Their conversation had drifted to their thoughts about William Towers, the new Home Secretary.

"He's still a politician, Ruth, and by definition, not to be trusted."

"I quite like him. He appears to be the kind of person willing to own up to his short-comings."

"Only time will tell," he said quietly, watching her over the rim of his wine glass.

"As it usually does."

Harry noticed that she was holding his gaze, something rare for Ruth when they were way from work, or talking about work. When their conversation became personal, Ruth tended to become flustered, and she'd look away from him. Perhaps Jane had been right again. Perhaps Ruth was confronted by his direct gaze. Reluctantly, he took his gaze from her, and watched the gas fire, its hissing providing a background to their conversation.

"Do you have any music we can listen to, Harry? We need some background music."

"Would you like to choose, Ruth? I'd only put on Mozart, or Mahler, and that's hardly mood music."

"Especially Mahler."

"Yes, especially Mahler."

Ruth broke his gaze, and walked to his stack of CD's beside a mini sound system. She flicked through the stack until he heard her say, `this is the one,' and then he heard Annie Lennox through the speakers either side of him.

"Perhaps if you turn it down a notch," he said gently.

The music softened considerably until it became background music, and Ruth returned to her spot against the cushions on the sofa. He leaned his head against the back of his armchair, and closed his eyes. The music was perfect for seduction, but he didn't wish to move too soon, if at all. Why was everything with Ruth always so fraught? And then Ruth spoke.

"Are you going to sit over there all night, Harry? There's a whole sofa next to me, begging for you to join me."

Harry opened his eyes, and looked at her. She was looking at him in a way he'd rarely seen from her. Her eyes were direct, and they held an air of confrontation – almost an `I dare you!'

"Is that an invitation, Ruth?"

"To sit nearer to me? Yes it is."

Harry stood up, and taking his glass with him, he sat on the sofa next to Ruth, but not touching. She grasped the half-full bottle of wine from the low table by the sofa, and topped up their glasses. It was only their second bottle, so they were both mellow, but nowhere near inebriated. Harry felt brave, but not foolish.

"I love Annie Lennox," Ruth said, stretching one foot so that it touched Harry's thigh.

"Catherine gave it to me when she was about seventeen. She found my taste in music …... `crap' was the word she'd used."

Without thinking about it, Harry put down his glass, and gently touched the top of Ruth's foot with his fingers. He wanted to touch her all over, but her foot would have to do for now.

"Harry, would you rather touch my skin?"

His fingers stopped moving over her foot, and he took his hand away. He suddenly felt like a teenager, caught spying on the girl next door while she'd been undressing – not that he'd ever done that, but he imagined that being caught out would be a shaming experience. His face burned hot under her scrutiny.

Very quickly, as though in fast forward, Ruth stood up, and removed her tights. She had her back to him as she did so, and it had happened before he'd had an awareness of what she was doing. She then again sat down beside him, and pushed her bare foot against his thigh. Harry again put his hand on her foot, and feathered his fingers from her toes, and along the top of her foot, and then back again. He could not stop. He simply had to touch her bare foot with his fingers. Were she to have pulled her foot away, he'd surely have cried real tears, but she seemed to be enjoying his touch. When he lifted his eyes to her, he found she was laying back against the cushions, her eyes closed, a look of bliss on her face. This was what he had dreamed about, what he had thought about as he lay in bed at night, unable to sleep for wanting her.

That look – her expression – made him even braver.

He allowed his fingers to circle her ankle, and from her Achilles tendon, he very slowly allowed his hand to glide up her calf – just a few inches, no more. Ruth had already lifted her knee so that he could easily reach underneath her ankle and her leg, and when he glanced quickly at her to ensure her eyes were still closed – they were – he allowed himself to look under her skirt. She lifted her knee even further, and he almost passed out at the sight of black lace pants. He wanted to move his hand up her leg to where her thighs met. He longed to touch her there.

He felt his breathing heavy with desire – for her, to touch her, to see all of her, to be inside her – and when he again looked at her face, her eyes were focused on the tightness at the front of his trousers, and the outline of his erection as it strained inside his underwear. He could see that her eyes were on his hardness, his sign that he was aroused by her, and ready for her.

"Ruth," he managed to say, before he pushed his hand up her calf to the back of her knee.

From her knee, he opened out his hand so that his fingers glanced against her inner thigh, and his thumb her outer thigh. His palm gently glanced along the back of her thigh. He moved his hand very, very slowly, and then he turned so that his other hand rested on the top of her foot, caressing her skin with his thumb.

"Ruth," he said again, his voice deep with his desire, and he allowed his body to lean closer to her, while his one hand reached the top of her thigh, and the other began a similar journey along the other leg.

When his fingers touched lace, he closed his eyes for a moment, and steadied his breathing. That was when he felt her fingers on his cheek, and her thumb pressed against his lips, so that he gently kissed it. He did not wish to come across to Ruth as being desperate. But I am desperate. I long for her. I want her. Preferably tonight. He slid his hand further, so that his fingers slipped under the elastic at the edge of her knickers. He wanted to push his fingers inside her, to arouse her, excite her, bring her to climax, as he was so skilled at doing, but he slid past her heat, and grasped her buttock with his fingers.

"Oh, Harry," she said at last. "I want you to touch me there."

There was an urgency in her voice which had him looking up into her eyes.

"Not yet," he said, massaging her buttock gently with his fingers. His other hand had found her other inner thigh, but using all his self-control, he stopped half way up her thigh. He noticed that her skirt was now bunched up around the top of her thighs, clearly exposing the black material of her knickers. He hadn't moved it, so it seemed that Ruth had.

He hadn't expected what she did next. Ruth lay her head back on the cushions, removing her hand from his face, and stretched her leg until her bare foot was on top of his thighs. He felt her toes rub his erection – from its tip all the way down his shaft. He leaned back and groaned, at the same time, removing his hands from her skin. He rested his back against Ruth's knee, as the toes of her other foot caressed him, and he hardened even more under her touch.

Despite his state of arousal, Harry was able to think about what would be best to do next. They were both too aroused to stumble upstairs to his bedroom. Besides, the fire was on, and it cast a warm glow over the room, and apart from the small lamp in the corner, it was their only illumination. By the light from the fire, Ruth's pale skin was tanned and glowing. They could try making love on the sofa, or they could lay on the floor. Neither was ideal, but he had no wish to ruin the atmosphere.

"Ruth," he said, as her toes again grasped him through his trousers. "I have to ask you something."

"Whatever the question, the answer is a resounding yes."

"I still have to ask you." He breathed in deeply before he continued. "Is this what you want? Are you happy if we ….. if we make love?"

"I'll be very unhappy if we don't."

Very gently, he lifted her foot from his groin, and brought it to his lips. He ran his tongue along her instep until she groaned and pulled her foot away.

"Harry, against my better judgement, I want you, and I want you now."

It took only a small movement of his upper body for Harry to lie between Ruth's legs. As he leaned closer to her, she put her hands around his neck, drawing his face closer to her. Harry suddenly realised that they'd been touching one another intimately, but they hadn't kissed. Ruth's hands pulled him closer until their lips met – gently and carefully. Her lips were soft and warm and full, and he loved the feel of them on his own. It was Ruth who first opened her mouth, and touched his lip with her tongue. In response, he opened his mouth, and their tongues met, entangled, glided against the other. Harry heard a low moan, and realised it was coming from his own throat.

While they kissed, their bodies readjusted to him lying on top of her. He felt Ruth wriggling beneath him, and lifted himself slightly to allow her to get comfortable. When he settled back on top of her, he became aware that she had positioned herself so that his erection nestled against her vaginal opening. When the sheer heat emanating from that part of her body seeped through to that part of him, he sighed heavily, and lifted himself away from her. He watched her as she opened her eyes and looked at him.

"Ruth," he said, "I don't want this to be too quick. If we lie together … like that …... it'll be over before we've even removed our clothes."

He looked into her eyes, and she stared back at him. Her eyes were soft with arousal, and she smiled at him slowly. "I just want it to happen some time today," she said quietly.

"Me too."

Harry turned his body so that his back was against the sofa, and Ruth was lying beside him. They still lay face to face, but he no longer felt the pressure of her intimate heat on him. He moved his body slightly so that his erection pushed against her thigh. That was safe, and still rather nice.

He wrapped her in his arms, and kissed her again. This time, Ruth put her arms around his neck, and one of her legs found its way around his hip, so that again her soft centre, her heat was hard against his erection. He focused on their lips, their tongues, the fact that only just over two days ago he had believed this would never happen between them …... that Ruth didn't want it to happen. The kiss ended so that they could each take a breath.

"I'm dropping hints, Harry," she said, her lips soft against his cheek, her warm breath fanning him, creating a surge deep in his groin. "It's time we moved on."

He quickly pulled his head back to look at her. She was so beautiful – her pupils dilated, her hair all over the place, her lips parted – that he could barely breath.

"What do you mean?"

"This," she said, as she pulled away from him slightly, and began unfastening his shirt buttons with a swiftness that told him she was as eager as he was.

But he still heard Jane's words in his head: I suggest that you don't take your pants off too soon. Clever Jane. She was right about that. He still had his pants on, but then he felt Ruth's fingers wrestling with the top button of his pants.

"Do you need some help with that?" he said, pulling away from her.

Ruth was too quick for him. By the time his hands reached the waistband of his trousers, she'd opened the button, and the zip, and her hand was warmly cupping him through his underwear.

"You're throbbing," she said, as she held him.

"Careful with that," he said quietly, hoping she wouldn't hold him like that for too long, but also hoping that she'd never take her hand away ….. ever.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched him like that – with reverence and love. There had been women while Ruth had been in exile, but they had been quick shags, nothing more. There had been no love, no tenderness, just sex followed by release, and a promise to ring, a promise which was never honoured.

They continued fumbling with clothing. The sofa was quite comfortable as sofas go, but it was a confined space, and their elbows kept hitting pillows or the back of the sofa, or one another's flesh. When they were at last both naked, they simply sat there gazing at the other. Ruth was the first one to move, as she grazed her fingers across Harry's chest, and down his stomach to his erection. She then ran her fingers down the flesh of each thigh, and back again. Then she drew his face to hers, and she kissed him softly and slowly, seeking his tongue with her own.

He pushed her on to her back as they kissed, and with one hand parted her legs so that he could lie between them. This was it. He wanted to taste her breasts. He wanted to taste her all over, but especially there. More than any of that, he wanted to sink himself into her, to lose himself inside her body. How many times in the last four years had he thought about this moment?

He felt Ruth wriggle her bottom under him, and then sensed that she was simply making his job easier by positioning herself closer to him. Her heat was so close …... so close. He clenched his buttocks and pushed ever so slightly forward, while she lifted herself to meet him. Then he was inside her, where she was moist and hot and welcoming, and he felt tears filling his eyes, so he closed them, and began to move slowly …... deeper, and then back, and then …...

She helped him create a steady rhythm. He was grateful for that, because he was barely coping. Here he was, making love to the woman with whom he'd been led to believe he'd never ever make love, and it was wonderful, magnificent, life-changing …... and he had to shut down his mind, otherwise he was sure he'd cry or vomit …... maybe both.

He rested most of his weight on one elbow, while with his other hand he explored her breast, caressing the delicate skin with his fingertips, and grazing over the nipple with his thumb. He buried his face in her neck, and kissed her there, over and over, until he heard her laugh lightly. He became aware of her fingers on his back and shoulders, caressing him, touching him, softly, gently, and with love. Those same fingers moved down his sides to his buttocks, where she squeezed his flesh, pulling him into her deeper. He was operating on instinct, and his instinct led him to speeding up.

"Is this okay?" he managed to say, as he plunged into her deeper and faster.

Ruth's reply was to dig her fingernails into his buttocks as her body began clenching and pulsing around his flesh. God, she was coming, and she was bloody magnificent! He kept pushing into her, deeper and faster. It was when he heard her saying, `let go, Harry,' next to his ear that he did as she suggested, and allowed his own climax to overwhelm him, as he thrust into her one last time, spilling himself inside her. He flopped down over her, but allowed his head and shoulders to rest beside her. They were still joined at the hip, but it wouldn't be long before his spent penis would slip out of her.

Once he was again able to think linearly, Harry took the blanket which lay over the back of the sofa, and covered them with it. He turned his body, so that they lay together, facing one another. He briefly kissed Ruth's lips, but she seemed to be asleep, so he nestled down beside her and closed his eyes. His body was exhausted, but he couldn't remember ever feeling this good, this fulfilled.

A half hour later, Harry felt Ruth stir in his arms. He opened his eyes to see her looking at him, making no effort to hide the love. His instinct was to tell her he loved her, but despite what they had just done, he held back those words.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why didn't I tell you what?" he replied.

"That you were so good in bed."

Harry felt his face flush slightly with embarrassment. "We're not in bed," he corrected.

"Well, you could have told me that you're magnificent on the sofa."

"And you would have what – come home with me all those years ago?"

"I guess not."

Harry reached across to kiss her, and this time the kiss was still soft and warm, but their passion had been spent. Ruth slipped her arms around his neck, and he felt her fingers softly comb through his hair, now longer than usual. Just that small gesture, the brushing of her fingers through his hair made him feel cherished in a way he'd not felt in decades.

"I love you," he said, as he lifted his head from hers.

"That's not just the afterglow talking is it?" This time her eyes were serious.

"No, it's not, although the afterglow has made me braver than usual. I've loved you for years, Ruth."

"I know you have. I now know that you wouldn't have asked me to marry you had you not loved me like this. And I …. I love you too, Harry."

They kissed briefly, a kiss to acknowledge a shared truth.

"So that then begs the question …... why was it you said no to me, and why was it – only two nights ago – you said that, and I quote, `we couldn't be more together than we are now'?

"I said that?"

"Yes, Ruth, you did."

"Those words are quite cruel, given how we actually feel about one another."

"They were."

"And you were hurt …."

"If I'm being honest, Ruth, I was, and …... I had no idea what to say to get you to change your mind ... so I said nothing."

He waited for what seemed like a very long time while Ruth rolled on to her back, away from him, and stared at the ceiling. "I don't know how to say this without it sounding rather strange, but …..."

"Try me. I won't judge you."

"I thought – wrongly, as it turns out – that you just wanted me for companionship. It was clear you were lonely, and I thought you just wanted a woman in your life, and that the sex part was no longer important to you."

"Why did you think that …... especially when it's clear that the sex part, as you call it, is still very important to me?"

"Since I came back from Cyprus, you've not shown any interest in me …... as a woman …... so I just thought, why get married? We're very close at work, and isn't that what you want? Harry, I didn't want to live with you as a companion. Being that close to you would have driven me crazy."

This time it was Harry who took his time replying to her.

"It seems," he said at last, "that we've been at cross purposes."

"Harry, I'm sorry if I hurt you. I hadn't meant to hurt you. I was trying to protect myself, because of how I feel about you."

"And tonight?"

"Tonight I thought I'd try seducing you, to see if there was still a spark there."

Seeing the smile on Harry's face as he stared at her, Ruth turned to him, and said, "What?"

"I brought you back here – to my place – thinking I just might manage to seduce you."

They laughed a little, and hugged, before Harry pulled out of her arms.

"It's late. Time for a quick shower and bed." Suddenly his face was serious, and he was no longer as confident as he'd been only a moment earlier. "You will stay the night, won't you, Ruth?"

Her answer was her arms around his neck, and her mouth on his.

"What about Beth?"

"Beth? She doesn't yet know my habits. For all she knows, I stay out every night."

After they stood together under the shower, chiefly to wash away the sweat and the remnants of their loving, they curled up together under the duvet on Harry's bed. Ruth had grabbed a fresh shirt of Harry's from his wardrobe, and she wore it to bed, while Harry took a fresh pair of trunks from a drawer, and that was all he wore to bed.

They lay close together, their legs entwined, and their hands touching the other – his hand on her waist, and her palm against his chest. They kissed a few times, their lips soft, their voices lazy with sleep.

"This is nice," she said, her mouth still close to his.

"Should have done this years ago," he said, and then they relaxed as sleep overtook them.