It’s Sunday. I open my eyes, stare at the dangling lampshade and blow at the strand of hair that invades my mouth. It drifts upward, pauses and feathers down to the same place. I let it rest, I’ve greater problems than a lock of hair.

The hair’s owner slides her arm across my bare chest, edges close and giggles in my ear. “Morning, pet.”

Pet? Urgh! Her voice is soft and sensual, but I’m tetchy and the word rankles.

“Morning!”

She palms my face around and fixes a delicate hello kiss on my lips. “You were snoring.”

“So,” I challenge.

“Don’t worry. No problem as long as it doesn’t become louder.”

She kisses me on the cheek since my head has resumed its prior position. My eyes restore their glazed upward glare.

She skips out of bed. “Must rush. Some of us have work to do.”

Great, she’s leaving. Another advantage of Sunday opening at Waterstones.

Nina is on her way to the en-suite and I confess, I allow my gaze to fix on the French curves of her bottom where they join her slender legs.

She starts the shower and returns en route to the landing. As she glides past the bed, I gourmandise my eyes. She’s naked. She’s incredibly tasty.

“Need towels,” she calls as the airing cupboard door creaks open. She drifts by with her face rumpling the towels. “These are gorgeous, Adam, warm and soft.”

Like you, I’m forced to admit, but don’t tell. Instead, I grunt.

Nina returns to the en-suite and, within seconds, I hear the steady blast of water bouncing from her body onto the shower door.

Inside, I groan. It’s the part I dread - the morning after. The previous evening, from the moment she invited herself into my house under a weak pretext, we knew what was supposed to happen. Neither of us spoke a word other than mundane ramblings, despite that she made her intention clear.

By contrast, I’d decided it wouldn’t happen and the whole time, until it did, I kidded myself I’d have the willpower. I’ll be polite, but show her the front door at bedtime, I’d thought. Instead, I whisked her through the door into my bedroom. How pathetic am I?

Now, I’d be ecstatic if she left after her shower cooing, “That was nice, Adam. Let’s do it again sometime.” Contrary to that, she wants commitment - a word some women have commandeered for themselves. She won’t settle for one night. Within moments of waking, she’d given me a sign, deliberate or not.

The other part of the problem is, in one way, I welcome what occurred. After my divorce, the women didn’t form an orderly line down my drive. In fact, one woman in or out of any queue would have been pleasant. The prospect of Nina is tempting and, as they say, ‘a bird in the hand... ‘