The first time he invited her back to his flat for a drink after a cocktail party to celebrate the New Year, she took advantage of his inebriated state. He flopped on to the sofa next to her, and she turned toward him, straddling his lap and pinning him down. Covering his mouth with hers, he felt he couldn't breathe. Although way out of his comfort zone, being pounced on by an eighteen-year-old siren with the sexual appetite of a tigress, resistance was futile. If he had any doubts about the morality of his seduction, Elizabeth had no intention of giving him any time to think about it. In the foggy waking moments of his hangover the following day, he dismissed what had happened between them for what it was, drunk sex. It would never happen again. He only had a few weeks left in London, and he would make sure he kept a low profile.
Fergus tipped his head back, laughing and carried on running. He was a handsome young man, his features a mix of masculine and feminine characteristics, which intrigued and attracted. He had a shock of golden-blond hair with a heavy quiff that flopped across his brow, through which he habitually ran his fingers to scrape it away from his avocado coloured eyes. Popular amongst his peers, his natural magnetism made it easy for him to make friends, and he was well known for his great sense of humour. Always immaculately dressed, he would turn heads wherever he went. He was often mistaken for a star of the silver screen, which amused him as he was unaware that he oozed charisma and charm.