By the end of their second glass, she was calm and more than a little excited about the prospect of what the night held in store. They hadn't done anything more than snog like a couple of hormonal teenagers since that Sunday afternoon months earlier he'd been able to persuade her to spend a few hours in his flat. Maybe he would betray her again. It wasn't as if she could really trust him after all, but she'd missed his touch, craved the way he made her feel when they were together.