I feel strong. I feel empowered. I feel . . .

Utterly miserable.

Walking over to my dressing table, I stare at myself in the mirror. I urge myself not to cry, and - amazingly - my body obeys me for a fucking change.

Calm, Abby. Stay calm.

I pick up a brush and run it through my hair, which is somehow still glamorously wavy after hours of dancing, then start to remove my earrings.

Rap rap.

My ears prick up. Did I imagine that knock at my door? Is it merely wishful thinking? 

But then I hear it again. "Come in?" I say tentatively.

In the mirror, I watch Ric step into the room. This is the first time he's been in here. "I'm sorry," he says. "I know I've been a nightmare."

He pauses behind me, so close I can feel the heat of his body. Our reflected eyes meet, and hold as I remove the second earring and reach behind me to unclip my necklace.

"Let me," he whispers, and my hands drop to my sides as if he's controlling my mind. He sweeps my hair to one side to expose my neck, and then I feel his fingers on my skin.

I shiver.

"I did want to talk about us," he says softly. "The reason I didn't want to discuss it while we were still at the wedding was because I wanted us both to have a clear head, in case you were still thinking that our date was fake. I thought it was best to keep it separate."

"Couldn't you just have said that at the time?" I ask.

"You didn't really give me much of a chance," he shrugs. "And I didn't want to have the conversation in the taxi either." He drops the necklace on the table in front of me, then lightly rests his hands on my waist. "I do want this, Abby. It fucking terrifies me though."

"Why?" I have to ask. We haven't stopped watching each other in the mirror.

"Because for some reason, being around you, being with you, makes me happier than I've ever been." He lowers his eyes as he says this, biting his lower lip. "And I don't know how to deal with that because I didn't believe another person would really ever have the power to make me feel that way."

Yep. See that melted heap of goo on the floor? That's my heart right now.

"I like you. A lot," he adds, hot breath fanning my neck. "I want this, pretty much more than I've ever wanted anything in my life. And tonight just cemented that for me. I meant it when I said I couldn't resist you." His eyes meet mine again in the mirror, and I can see the vulnerability there, the longing. My breath catches in my throat at the sheer desire in his expression. "Will you give me another chance?"

Thank God for that!

I nod. "Can you do me a favour in return?" I ask.

"Anything," he breathes.

I smirk. "Can you unzip my dress?"

Ric's irises flash black with understanding in the dim room as he eases the zip teasingly slowly down my back. As soon as he lets go of it, the dress slips down past my waist and hips, pooling around my feet, and he groans quietly at the sight of my strapless green silky bra and pants

"I still match your tie," I point out. I'm not really sure why I say that. Nerves, maybe?

He rips the tie from his neck, not losing eye contact. "Not anymore, you don't." His hands move to the back of my bra, linger there. "May I?" He asks huskily.

"If you don't hurry up, I'll take it off myself." I'm only half-joking. He releases the catch, and my bra joins my dress on the floor.

"You are so fucking gorgeous," he whispers, his gaze taking my mirror image in, hungrily. He lowers his head, pressing a soft kiss to the side of my neck. "Do you have any clue how many times I've thought about being with you? How many sleepless nights I've had wishing you were next to me in bed?"

"Really?" Even with limited lighting, I can see the flush he spoke about before sweeping across my face, heating up every inch of my body. And he's hardly even touched me yet.

I barely register him spinning me around, but next thing his hands are cupping my face and his lips are crashing against mine. My breathing quickens as he pushes me up against my dressing table. "You have no idea how much I want this," he says, as he finally retreats.

"I think I have a vague inkling," I hiss back, deliberately brushing my hand along his erection. A hard laugh escapes him.

"Let's take this to the bed," he directs, tugging me across the room.

"Let's get more of your clothes off," I counter, my fingers fumbling at his shirt buttons as we move.

"Always so argumentive," he tuts in response, lowering me down on the bed and completing the strip himself. Probably a good thing as my fingers have apparently turned into cocktail sausages.

And speaking of cocktail sausages . . . Nah, I'm just kidding. He's way bigger than that, judging by the barely contained bulge in his boxers. I scrape my palm along it once more, and I'm gratified by the hissing noise he emits.

Then we're kissing again, and I can't even describe how heavenly it is. It's hot and heavy at some points, but at others, it becomes unbelievably gentle and tender before ramping up to radioactive levels once more.

"I don't even know where to begin with you," Ric tells me, nipping my throat with his teeth. "This is a sensory overload as it is." I know exactly what he means. My whole body is a bonfire, and I feel like the very next brush of skin against skin could ignite an explosion.

"How about I start us off?" Feeling unexpectedly bold, I roll on top of him and grab hold of his underwear, yanking the boxer shorts down his legs as I move down his body.

"Abby, you don't have to . . ." He begins, although his eyes are telling me something else.

"I want to," I insist. He groans as I take him in my mouth, his hands catching in my hair.

"Fuck," he mutters, eyelids fluttering shut, as I concentrate on my task. Fully applying myself as always. Trust me, if Abigail Watson is giving you a blow job, she'll aim to make it the best you've ever had. Judging by Ric's reaction, I reckon I'm doing pretty well.

After a few minutes though, he gently pulls on my hair to get my attention. "Abby, I need to be inside you," he pants. "I can't . . . Wait any longer."

How sweet.

"Okay." I reach over to the bedside table for my Optimistic Stash of Condoms, which have been languishing in the top drawer. Within moments, he's slid one on, and then I find myself flat on my back as he positions himself above me. I suddenly have one of those floating-outside-my-body moments.

"Is this real?"

Shit, did I say that out loud? But then I realise it was Ric who said it. Ric, who seems to be just as disbelieving as me that this isn't some sort of . . . sex mirage.

"I'm pretty sure it's not a dream," I laugh. "But if it is, I'd better not wake up for a while."

"What a line," he chuckles. "Maybe you should start a new career, writing romcoms." He lowers his lips onto mine once again as he eases gently inside me, and I gasp at the sensation as our hips start to move. I wrap both legs around him, pulling him in deeper. "You feel amazing," he murmurs against my mouth. "I can't believe this is actually happening."

Ric seems to be voicing all my thoughts, all those words that sit unspoken on my tongue. As if we're connected on multiple levels now. Each moment, every movement is forcing us closer, both emotionally and physically.

And I'm not sure I want this night to end . . .