Chapter 1

The heat was relentless.

The sun rose in a cloudless sky and, by mid-morning, the temperature was soaring. After a long week in his poorly air-conditioned office, Jake could think of no better way to spend such a glorious Saturday day than strolling around the capital.

He dressed for the sun in light-blue denim shorts and a white T-shirt and caught the train to London. He wanted to call on the Queen. Or rather, he’d stand at the gates to Buckingham Palace and watch the Japanese tourists take photographs. He planned to have lunch on the banks of the Serpentine in Hyde Park, maybe stroll around Tate Modern or the Natural History Museum. He might take a walk around Kew Gardens in the afternoon and then take in a West End show in the evening. London held so many possibilities.

He found a seat at the end of the carriage, next to the window and facing away from the direction of travel, and read the copy of The Daily Echo he’d picked up at the station. Glenn Fielding’s latest expose was splashed over the front page. The victim was pop star Billy Thomas, who’d been caught in a compromising position with a woman old enough to be his mother.

The small commuter train had high-backed seats grouped in fours—two pairs facing each other—either side of the aisle. The tiny table that jutted out from under the window was just large enough to rest a couple of cups on. He looked around at the other passengers. There was an Asian couple with a baby, two teenagers playing on Gameboys, a rowdy group of football supporters who expected their team to be crowned champions that afternoon, several families, and three teenage girls.

The girls sat across the aisle from Jake. He gave them a cursory glance. They were probably fourteen, maybe fifteen, but desperate to appear older. All three of them had taken the sunny weather as an excuse to show as much flesh as they could. They all had their pierced belly-buttons exposed. Two of them wore short skirts and the third had on denim pedal-pushers. Jake might have fancied them had he been ten years younger. Or even five years younger. Instead, he sighed and resigned himself to an unpleasant journey avoiding their conversations about which of their boyfriends had the biggest dick and the best way to give head without choking.

The three seats around Jake remained unoccupied, which made him briefly wonder if he’d showered well enough that morning. He shook the thoughts away as the train pulled away with a jerk and flung one of the girls forward onto her friends. They started giggling uncontrollably.

“Oh, no—I’m going backwards. Quick, Katie, swap.”

“No.”

“Please. I hate going backwards.”

“That’s not what you said to Colin the other night,” said the third girl. They giggled again.

The girl who was travelling backwards leaned across and playfully slapped her friend’s arm. “Bitch.”

Katie relented and swapped seats. Jake tried not to look as she moved and her skirt rose. Her black thong winked at him from the crack of her arse. He lifted his paper to block the view.

Oh, my God, he thought. We haven’t even cleared the platform yet.

The door that connected the carriages burst open without warning and a woman rushed through. A sudden movement of the train slammed the door shut behind her and threw her into the nearest seat—the aisle seat opposite Jake. He didn’t register who’d sat down, but he was thankful that she’d chosen the aisle seat. It meant he could still stretch out his legs. He flicked through the TV magazine that came with his paper. Ten minutes later, he’d finished reading the plotlines for the major soap-operas, which saved him watching them, and knew all about the prospects of a British winner at the Eurovision song contest. He put the magazine on the table under the window, picked up the newspaper and started reading from the sports section at the back. An article about which international goalkeeper Westmouth United should buy when the football season was over held his interest.

Two of the three girls were still giggling. The third had plugged herself into her iPod and was swearing along to bad rap tune.

“Excuse me?” It was the lady in the seat opposite. He looked up from the story. “Is that yours?” She pointed at the discarded magazine.

“Yeah,” he said. “It came with the paper.”

“Do you mind?”

“No, go ahead.”

“Thanks.”

As she reached over and pick up the magazine, her frilly blouse gaped open and treated him to a flash of the contents. But it was only when she leaned back in her seat and opened the magazine that he got the full effect. When she was upright, the blouse—white, with big red flowers—was more than respectable. It covered all it needed to but was low-cut enough to hint at the delights within. She wore a black leather skirt. Not a mini, like the teenagers across the aisle, but short enough to show off her tanned thighs to best effect. There was something vaguely familiar about her. Jake felt as if he’d seen her before and failed miserably to not stare, following her legs down to her black, knee-high boots.

Luckily for Jake, she was thoroughly absorbed in the magazine and didn’t notice that he couldn’t drag his eyes from her. He shook himself out of his trance and looked back at the article he’d been reading. He lowered the newspaper enough to look at her over the top. He’d seen her before, he knew he had, but he couldn’t say where. Westmouth was a big place. Maybe he’d seen her in one of the city centre pubs. On the other hand, maybe he’d mistaken her for someone else. He read a few lines of the article and then glanced up at her again. That was the pattern for the next few minutes. A few more lines, then a longer glance. She didn’t seem to notice him at all. The journey had suddenly become much more bearable.

For twenty minutes Jake kept up his furtive glances. He had to remind himself to turn the pages of his newspaper and keep up the pretence of reading. He had lost interest in what the journalists had to say long ago.

She closed the magazine and leaned over to put it back on the table. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Jake could see down her blouse again. She was wearing a lacy white bra. She must have noticed him gazing down her top, but didn’t show it, even when he looked away and blushed.

She leaned back and rested her head against the seat. Jake looked over the top of his paper again. Even her neck was sexy—tanned and slender. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She leaned forward, pulled off her scrunchy and ruffled her raven locks. With her hands above her head, her glorious breasts thrust out in Jake’s direction and strained against her blouse. When she was satisfied that she had loosened her hair enough, she pulled it tight and put it back into a ponytail. She caught him watching and smiled. And what a smile it was. Perfect lips—not too thin, not too full. She spread them wide to expose her gleaming teeth.