Temptation Close

By Scarlett Rush

Hunter is coming and the wives of Temptation Close have nowhere to hide. He is drop-dead gorgeous, an ex-soldier, ex-con and ex-husband – a man who claims he will never lie and yet tries to conceal his dark past. He spells danger but he is too good to resist. Is he an Angel of Retribution, a devil sent to wreck marriages, or simply the perfect man to make their fantasies come true? One thing is for certain: there is no love strong enough to override nature’s urge for him. Before Hunter and After Hunter: the time when you thought you had everything and the time when you realised you were wrong.

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Erotica
• Release date: Jul 15, 2014
• ISBN: 9781783338603

Book preview

Title Page

TEMPTATION CLOSE

Scarlett Rush

Publisher Information

Temptation Close

published in 2014 by House of Erotica

an imprint of Andrews UK Limited

www.houseoferoticabooks.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Scarlett Rush 2014

Cover Design by Nick Tiseo

The right of Scarlett Rush to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Prologue: The Coming

Kneeling on the floor of the master bedroom between the window and the bed itself, Hunter leant sideways towards the blinds and spied through the slats, down upon the residents of Temptation Close, all out in the street below. He didn’t know why this house had so strongly forced itself into his consciousness, since it was barely half the price he could afford, but now on his second viewing he could see it was even better than he had first imagined. In some ways it was nothing less than perfect. It sent a fizzle through his veins. It was a rush that swelled still further his already iron-hard erection.

A street party was going on below, for no apparent reason other than it was a beautiful early summer’s day. Out there was a scene of togetherness and shared enjoyment that was rare to find in any neighbourhood. This small, hidden close of eight houses was definitely something special. There were barbeques lined up on the driveway of Number One, wheeled out of various garages to cook the food en masse. Here stood the guys in shorts and half-sleeve shirts, prodding sausages and chicken thighs with long tongs, joking and drinking beer from bottles. They looked relaxed and happy. They had a confidence born of the knowledge that they had each bagged themselves a nice-looking lady, and then done their manly act and sired children. They lived in nice three or four bed detached houses and were reasonably secure in these times of global financial uncertainty. They were in good professions, generally earning more than the average guy. They were like-minded and liked each other. They were not just neighbours but genuine friends.

There might have been some ribbing and attempts at one-upmanship between them - they were the male of the species, after all. Plus there was a female that needed impressing, for here also was the gorgeous biker chick from Number Three, the house in the top corner diagonally opposite this one. She had made her entrance late, when everyone was already out in the street. She had loudly rippled into the close astride her fat-tanked Harley, causing the guys to dart about clearing trestle tables, ice boxes and children out of her way. Through them all she went, sat in that languid, wide-legged, slightly leant-back stance. With all that throbbing power between her thighs, with her open-faced helmet and black mirror shades, she looked as cool as the very coolest cucumber.

The guys stopped to watch as she parked on her drive and dismounted. She didn’t go in. She removed her helmet and shook out her long dark hair. She took off her shades and put them alongside the helmet now placed upon the petrol tank. She took off her jacket, revealing a colourful full-sleeve tattoo all down her right arm. She slung the jacket over the saddle, gave some nods and waves towards the wives, then made her way directly towards the guys. She flashed wide smiles at them all, went into their midst and swigged directly from the bottle of offered beer.

Her white T-shirt was tight over her ample though perky come-get-me bosom. Her black leather trousers and heavy boots must have been sweltering in the heat but she looked only chilled and ever fragrant. She was tall and wide-shouldered. She had large brown eyes and a small, narrow nose. She wore dark cherry-coloured lipstick and revealed perfect white teeth when she smiled. She was instantly the centre of the men’s attention.

Hunter had seen this girl before. On his first viewing a few days ago she had been out on her drive, polishing the chrome on her bike. On his exit she had openly watched him as he went back to his car, parked out on the street leading into the close. She had stood looking very sure of herself, with her legs apart, one hand on hip, the other flat to the petrol tank. It was obvious she was sizing up her potential new neighbour. Just before he went out of view behind Number One she took the hand off her hip, pressed it to her lips and then gave him a little finger-waggling wave. It was more of a come-on than a goodbye. That wasn’t it though. That wasn’t the reason he booked a second viewing of the house as soon as he got back home.

The place had already gotten to him the moment it almost popped out from the pile of spec sheets splayed across the desk. He had told the estate agent girl his specific requirements and budget but she clearly hadn’t been listening, since she gave him details of seemingly every property on their books. However, there it was: a very normal-looking new build that drew his attention. He had wanted something with more character and in a more secluded position within the village, yet each time he put the spec sheet down to look at others, he kept picking it back up again. It was like the house was forcing itself upon him. He asked to arrange a viewing and the estate agent girl got the keys and took him round immediately, knowing the owner to be away.

Hunter was new to the area and only vaguely grasped the layout of the village. It was large and sprawling, with ancient thatches alongside brand new cottages, and just finished developments shoe-horned into parcels of available land. Such was Temptation Close. It struck him that, from the air, the road area of the close would resemble the silhouette of a clay pipe. One got in and out via a single narrow road that went straight for some thirty yards and then curved to the right around a clutch of trees that shielded the houses from the rest of the village. This thin neck came in at the bottom of the close, which then opened out to become the pipe’s bowl - basically a rectangle, longer than it was wide. The houses sat all around the bowl: two at each side, two at the top, and two at the bottom. There was a theme to the styling but each was different and had variations on internal architecture. The larger four-beds were at the sides of the bowl, facing each other. The three-beds were at opposite ends of the close, top and bottom. The house Hunter was to view was lucky Number Seven, the three-bed in the bottom far corner.

It was light and smart inside, open and spacious. The plasterwork was crisp, the kitchen chic. The free-standing wood burner was a nice feature of the lounge, the double-sized shower in the master en suite made it even more attractive. Most importantly there was a so-called sun room at the back, with windows in the sloped roof and a whole wall of glass facing out onto the garden. It was not overlooked from the rear and would be a perfect space to use as his studio. Plus the garden it looked out on had already had the lawn taken up and replaced with artificial grass, and Hunter was more inclined to strim his own head off than waste any time fannying around with a mower.

There had been some activity in the close that first day, a couple of the kids riding up and down on their bikes. Today they were all out, from toddler to early teen, chasing each other around, kicking footballs back and forth, or munching on chicken drumsticks and leaving the majority of the marinade on their faces. Hunter liked neatness and quiet, and these kids were messy and noisy. However, it was a small price since children equalled yummy mummies - a breed of female he was most partial to - and here there was an oasis of them, a half dozen gathered opposite their men-folk, not a bad or even ordinary one amongst them, all sipping wine and animatedly chatting to one another whilst trying to keep their offspring in check.

It was a sight to release a surge of dark passion in Hunter’s belly. It made his heavy balls tighten and threaten to unload. All looked deliciously edible in their summer wear. All were different but equally appealing. His eyes flitted from one to the next and everything he saw gripped him. There was a range of ages from, he guessed, late twenties to maybe forty, making the eldest of them a good two years his junior. The majority of them would have been born a decade after him, but this would not matter. They would not be discouraged by his age. If his looks didn’t instantly sway them he had other gifts that would.

There was no way to decide which of their traits he found most alluring: whether the porcelain whiteness and long red hair of one turned him on more than the tanned Mediterranean skin and jet black locks of another; whether the tall willowy frame of the hippy one made his erection pulse more than the ample bottom and thighs of the youngest-looking one. One had short hair and lovely dimples, looking sweet in her purple-rimmed glasses and baby-pink top. Another, almost certainly the eldest, looked like classic cougar material, with dyed blonde hair and a good portion of her large chest on view. How could one possibly decide which was the most attractive? A good portion of red-blooded males would want them all, maybe all at once, if only in fantasy. At that point he decided it must happen.

‘I want to make an offer,’ he said to the estate agent girl. ‘Full asking price, do it today. OK?’

‘Yes!’ the estate agent girl gasped. ‘Oh, God - yes!’

Hunter looked down at the young, ripe, naked rump as it pushed back once more to squash against his groin. The deep split was delectable, the creamy cheeks delicious. He looked down at the black skirt rucked up around her waist, the jacket tight over her back and shoulders. He noted the good sized diamond on her solitaire engagement ring, remembering despite this how little hesitation she had shown in hitching up her skirt. Maybe he could have done this that first time she showed him around - she seemed to be under his spell from the first moments he had walked into her office. She had made her attraction to him patently obvious from the start. However, he had not been of such a mind that day as he was today. He had waited until now, until she had shown him the master bedroom for a second time. He had faced her, looked into her eyes and held her gaze for maybe five seconds, and then calmly said, ‘I’m going to need to fuck you now.’

She had gasped and her cheeks had flushed but she could never escape his pull. With his first step towards her the skirt was being dragged up her thighs and she was turning. She was going to bend over the bed but he steered her away and put her on all fours by the side of it. This wasn’t out of deference to the owner of the bed. It simply gave him a better vantage point at the window, so he could see out to the residents below. He held the girl by her hips and slowly drove himself all the way into her hot, inviting body. She pressed her face into her arms to stifle her cries and he could feel the shiver running all through her. She was a pretty girl but wore too much make-up and fake tan, as did so many young girls today. However, inside she felt wonderfully luscious.

She had been on her knees for maybe twenty minutes but the carpet was plush and if her joints were aching she showed no signs of wanting to get up. His thrusts were deep and steady, slipping all the way in and then pausing to move against her backside as he filled her. She pushed back hard and ground against him, often dictating the pace, which he did not mind at all. She brazenly reached back to rub herself when the teasing slap of his balls didn’t give the intense stimulation she needed. He felt the scratch of her fingernails on his skin as he concentrated on the view from the window. Her first climax came within minutes of his penetration but he refused to speed up, keeping his rhythm steady, letting her slide back and forth to ever so slowly milk his stiffness whilst he gazed at the pretties below. She gasped and whimpered throughout, panting words of delight and encouragement. As she neared her second orgasm she reached back once more to rub herself and cried out, ‘God, I love how you feel inside me - you’re just so fucking hard!’

Her words encouraged him to speed up, so that he sent her into her climax with rapid thrusts, slapping sharply against her. The sight of her bottom quivering as the thrill burst through her almost broke his resolve. In truth he could easily have kept up his pace and spilled his lust inside her at that point. Most men would have, but he just about managed to regain control. While she remained on her knees he was willing to continue teasing the pleasure from her body. He was in no rush if she wasn’t. In truth her bliss was at least as important, if not more so, as his own. Even now she was still bathing him in her warm excitement, although he sensed her fatigue was quickly mounting.

Below him in the street the young one with the ample behind was bending over in her tight cotton trousers to pick up a neglected toy. The Mediterranean-looking one was inadvertently revealing a tasty portion of tanned belly as she lifted up a toddler. The one with the dimples was showing herself to be even prettier when she laughed. He couldn’t wait. She was begging for still more and his own pent-up pleasure was beginning to ache. He slid from the girl and lifted her effortlessly, placing her on her back upon the bed so that this time she wouldn’t need to use her fingers. She had her eyes closed and her mouth fixed in a smile. She spread her legs apart and he slid in to fill her once more. He thrust and ground against her. This time as she started to wail and quake he didn’t let up, but increased his pace as her voice gave out and her nails dug hard into his behind.

Once delirium had loosened her grip on him and he was empty, Hunter slipped from her. He made himself decent as she ran her fingers along her slit to delight in the feel of the wet stickiness there.

‘Let me know when my offer has been accepted,’ he said. ‘I’ll see myself out.’

In the street all eyes were upon him. It was too early for introductions but he gave polite nods and smiles as he went back to his car. Behind him the mums raised their eyebrows to each other and gave little smirks, those silent jokey signals that they liked what they saw. Out of earshot of their husbands they swapped little quips about the benefits of having the stranger live there, but none of them knew even the half of it. Within a matter of weeks he would indeed be their neighbour. From out of nowhere he would be amongst them, dangerously attractive and instantly capable of turning their safe worlds upside down, every single one of them. He was coming, and only then would they realise that there was nowhere for any of them to hide.

Part One

The Temptation

Number Four

Nesta wasn’t intentionally spying, she just happened to be washing up at the kitchen window when the car, closely followed by the removal van, drove into the close. Number Four was at the top end opposite Number Seven, so it was in her direct line of sight. OK, so she might have known the keys could be collected at noon, and she might have timed her chore to coincide with this. She wasn’t trying to be nosey, she was just curious, as anyone would be. It afforded her only the briefest glimpses anyway - him with his back to the close, opening his new front door and disappearing inside, with removal men following on behind with boxes.

She knew almost nothing about him. The previous owners hadn’t met him and had left a fortnight earlier, hastened away by a job relocation before the sale had even reached completion. She had some scant personal details from the form he’d filled in for her. Temptation Close was designated a private road, though this wasn’t due to any pretentiousness from the residents. Usually when such developments are built the council then adopts the road, becoming responsible for its upkeep. In this case, times being hard, their council had not. This meant the residents had to put into a pot to cover any outlays, such as payment for lighting or potential road repairs. To ensure this was done fairly they all became equals in their own management company. Nesta oversaw this and so, via the estate agents, she had the new resident forward his details and sign up as a partner.

From this she knew his bank details and that the account was in the name of a Mr M. Hunter. That was it. Not even a first name, just an M. The property was in his name only, which begged the question about a potential partner. Surely someone with his looks wasn’t going to waste? Maybe he was recently divorced, which meant that he might in reality be a complete bastard. Or maybe he just got hitched to a dragon. These houses were not bachelor pads though, far from it. These were family homes in a large but quiet village. Why would a single man want to find himself marooned amongst all these happy families? Perhaps he was gay then. Yes, that was it. That explained the excellent grooming and the nice clothes. He would move in and become accepted, then have his gay lover move in too. Then together they would adopt a child or two. That was quite exciting. She’d never had a gay friend before!

Nesta thought she knew what he did for a living. That extra snippet had been garnered from the air-headed estate agent girl during the phone call about the management company. ‘He’s a decorator or something, I think,’ Nesta had been informed, without much conviction. She definitely knew he had a rather swish Beemer because she could see it now. It was a 5-Series, like her boss’s, this one sleek, black and immaculate. It made it probably the most expensive car in the street, suggesting that decorating was a lucrative business to be in.

She had expected a van of some kind, but then he didn’t look like any ordinary decorator. That day of the street party he had emerged dressed smartly, wearing suit trousers, expensive-looking shoes and a full-sleeved shirt in cream, possibly silk, unbuttoned at the collar. It was a hot day but he hadn’t resorted to more casual wear, suggesting he was habitually neat. The handwriting on the form he’d sent her backed this up. It was elegantly slanted and clear; rather nice, actually. Most surprisingly it looked to have been done with proper pen and ink, rather than some plastic biro brought out from behind the ear.

He had been clean-shaven that day too, unlike most of the men in the street, who gave their faces a rest at weekends. He had still seemed somewhat rugged in appearance, the type of look a Man of Action would have, rather than someone who put up your flowery wallpaper. He could certainly fit into the Tall, Dark and Handsome category. He was about the same size as her husband, which made him a little over six feet tall. He had wide shoulders and the cream shirt had hugged him, showing off a flat stomach and a potential for muscles rather than just skinniness, which wasn’t bad for a man in his mid-forties. Certainly better than her husband, who at ten years younger was sporting a bit of a belly.

As for the handsome bit, she wasn’t the only one to think this if the dreamy way the estate agent girl had talked about him on the phone was anything to go by. He looked refined as well as rugged, if that were possible. It was the careful grooming that did it. She hadn’t had a great view that day but he just looked immaculate. The hair was quite full and wavy but it was in that controlled way that only posh guys seem to manage: still soft and natural without going all over the place. It was the type of hair a well established film actor would have, or maybe a debonair Frenchman. There may have been a bit of grey amongst the darkness but the neat eyebrows were all black. The lines on the face were black too - a few to the side of the eyes as if he spent a large part of his life squinting into the sun, and two deeper lines running from the nostrils down the side of the mouth. These were the kind of dark looks that could make you go all gooey inside if you weren’t very careful.

Nesta felt a sudden rush within, a desire to know more about him that very instant. It wouldn’t be too long before at least parts of the truth emerged. This was a very sociable street, one where everyone mingled without it becoming an invasion of privacy. They baby-sat for each other, went round each other’s for drinks or dinner, went out for family walks together at weekends. Each Friday after work there were gatherings - the guys up the village pub one week, the girls out on the bus to the wine bar in town the next week, the spouses left home to mind children. These evenings were steadfastly followed and popular. People had been known to be dragged from their sickbeds to attend, whilst arranging any other social event on this day was frowned upon. That meant that quite regularly Nesta found herself staggering off the last bus at half-eleven having downed six or seven drinks, a round from each of the girls.

The only girl who never now went with them was Eva, the be-tattooed biker of buxomian proportions from next door at Number Three. This was no loss in Nesta’s book, although her neighbour could be disarmingly funny. There was, however, some history between them that now meant an ever present friction. Eva was irrefutably attractive and seemingly very self-assured despite the fact she still lived alone at age 27. There were no references to previous boyfriends and things were a little hazy on this front. All the husbands lusted after her and she knew it. She might have been considered very threatening to marital harmony, especially as she liked mixing with the guys far more than with the mums of the street. After a couple of Girl’s Night trips to the wine bar she switched allegiances, joining the boys on their trips to the pub instead.

‘I would rather drink beer than wine,’ she had said. ‘And no offence but I don’t have much to add to conversations about nappies and toys and school uniforms. I’d rather be talking about bands and motors and sport, and about girls, of course.’

That was the key thing with temptress Eva, the only thing that kept the other mums’ minds at rest. She certainly didn’t fit the image and, as far as Nesta’s memory served, had never actually outright admitted to being a lesbian, but she was always very happy to tell them about her same-sex trysts of the past, and that she was currently romantically involved with a girl. They had in fact all seen this girlfriend - a petite thing with bobbed pink hair who was driven into the close from time to time on the back of the Harley.

Nesta’s husband, and quite probably all the husbands, used to watch from the window, virtually with erection in hand, dreaming of what went on in Number Three after the two ladies disappeared inside. Miss Eva most certainly fuelled many a fantasy around these parts. If not for this apparent predilection for females she might have been seen as some kind of modern-day Siren, sent mischievously amongst them to seduce shamelessly and wreck homes. She certainly liked the company of the husbands, and was always getting them to do odd jobs for her for free. They were only too willing - certainly more willing than they were to do such things in their own homes. She had them all wrapped around her little finger.

Nesta wondered how long it would be before Eva tried to get her claws into Mr M. Hunter. He didn’t look the type to be taken in by her. He looked a match for her sultry wiles. God willing he wouldn’t fall for her. Maybe he would be gay enough to be immune to her beguilement. If not maybe he would be a big enough bastard to make her wish she had kept well clear. Perhaps it was best not to know too much about him after all, just stick to the good images in her head. With this her one day off in the week and the house otherwise empty, Nesta pondered taking those nice, untarnished images with her upstairs to the bedroom, expanding upon them for a little while. Then suddenly he was out front in his garden again and she knew it was a chance not to miss.

There was no ulterior motive. She wasn’t planning to instantly wheedle out of him just how gay he was on a scale of one to sixty-nine. She was just trying to be a good neighbour. There wasn’t a person alive who wouldn’t want to check out a newcomer at close range. So she speedily made two mugs of tea and took them down to him as he watched the removal guys negotiate the squeezing of a large leather sofa through the front door. As she neared him she saw that although he was in slim-cut jeans he still had very smart shoes on, a dark brown brogue this time. A thin wool crew-neck jumper completed the ensemble, since it was a little chillier now summer was fading for another year. He turned to view her as she made her final approach and bizarrely she felt the breath catch in her chest. Why she should be so nervous was anyone’s guess.

‘There’s no sugar in, I hope that’s OK. I’m Nesta from Number Four. You must be the Mr M. Hunter of Just Moved In fame?’

He smiled and thanked her for the tea, taking it in his left hand and offering a handshake with his right. His grip was firm but the skin was smooth and warm against her nerves-induced chilliness.

‘Never Mr and never M,’ he said. ‘It’s always just Hunter.’

‘As in Just William,’ she said, before she had a chance to stop herself. He made a raised-eyebrow face that could have meant yes indeed, good joke, but could equally have meant either whatever or go away. She hoped it wasn’t the latter. He didn’t seem perturbed by her approach. He had turned to face her, which was a good sign that he was amenable to a chat. He spoke politely, with no discernible accent, quite probably well educated but not posh as such - a fact she was glad about. The voice itself was deep and there was warmth to it too. The eyes though, she couldn’t tell from the eyes. It certainly wasn’t hostility there but it was a definite edge, to go with those black Man of Action lines on the face. Why only ever Hunter? It was so impersonal. What could the M stand for that was so unutterable? Marmaduke? Marsupial? Mysterious, for sure.

He was offering nothing back and she didn’t want it all to dry up before they had even started. She took another quick gulp of tea as she racked her mind for something else to say, and came perilously close to choking on it. She knew he must be able to see her nerves.

‘Shelley at Number One was thinking of having a little get-together on Sunday so you can meet all the neighbours. Will you be free?’

‘That is very kind of her. I will come if you can promise everyone will be wearing name badges. I am clinically incapable of remembering names for more than a second after I’ve been told them and I hate having to spend time at gatherings trying to cover up for my ignorance.’

He was smiling as he said it. Maybe there was some warmth in those captivating eyes.

‘Consider it done. I’m afraid most people here go by their first names. I hope you don’t mind. Country ways! I’m also afraid you won’t get many leads for your business here - new houses and all that.’

He looked a little stumped but came back quickly. ‘That’s a shame. Nudes are my speciality.’

Now it was her turn to be baffled. Was it some weird attempt at a come-on, or maybe some gay reference that she couldn’t fathom? ‘The girl at the estate agents said you were a decorator.’

He frowned but chuckled as he did so. ‘I said I was a painter. She must have misconstrued.’

Nesta felt a little burst of relief inside. Now they were back on after a slight conversational hiccup and his body language was relaxed. There was definitely some warmth in those eyes. Plus he was a painter, a man of creativity, which was always a good sign. He might even prove to be flamboyant once he grew to trust her. ‘Perhaps you should use the word artist to avoid confusion,’ she said.

‘Yes, but there are so many different kinds of artist: mime; trapeze; piss. Plus it infers some kind of expertise and I’m not sure I possess that.’

‘You clearly don’t do badly out of it.’

‘This is more of a hobby, something to make me semi-retired rather than simply retired. It’s what I did before that I didn’t do badly out of.’

‘And what, pray, was that?’

He didn’t answer. There was a thin smile but this slowly faded and he was left looking at her, rather intently, his eyes narrowing. He stayed like this for a good few seconds and Nesta could feel the pound of her heart increase and the adrenalin begin to unload in her belly.

‘I’m sorry to stare,’ he said suddenly, making her jump, ‘It’s just that I’m sure you remind me of someone.’

‘Oh God, it’s not Mick Hucknall is it?’ Her voice was shaky and she needed to pull herself together. She was sounding flustered, love-struck even, which was completely the opposite impression from the one she had intended to make. She had wanted to come over as calm and indifferent to his looks, so that when he revealed his homosexuality she could just shrug it off rather than look crestfallen. She pressed on, hoping to shake the nerves. ‘Actually, a couple of people have said I look like Brigitte Fonda - except with red hair, obviously.’

‘Brigitte Fondant?’ he said, feigning ignorance.

‘Fonda, not Fondant!’ she giggled. ‘As in the actress from, well, from all those films she’s been in.’

‘Well, better her than Henry Fonda.’ He was smiling now and so was she, suddenly elated that they were getting on so well.

‘I’m reliably informed she is rather pretty,’ she said, challengingly.

‘You certainly have beautiful skin.’

He said it in a heartbeat and held her gaze. Was it a come-on or the kind of a compliment a gay man would never think twice about bestowing? Why were her legs feeling so ridiculously weak?

‘I bet you say that to all the baked potatoes,’ she finally managed to say, although it was little more than a whisper.

‘Ah, another visitor bearing gifts,’ he said, looking over her shoulder.

Crap. Crappety-crap. It was Eva, heading towards them with some kind of Tupperware box in hand. It was too cool for just a T-shirt but that’s what she had on, ensuring her tattooed arm was fully visible. She also had her tightest jeans on, because she knew she had a lovely shapely backside and thighs. As she drew near it became apparent that the chill had caused the standard stiffening of the nipples and made little points out of them that showed through her tight top. Nesta’s stomach sank. She suddenly felt very frumpy in her woolly jumper, not like a Hollywood actress at all.

There were introductions. Eva barely acknowledged Nesta and certainly didn’t care about barging in on the conversation. For a lesbian she was doing a bloody good job of looking like a dirty man-eating bitch. She opened her plastic carton to display a triangle portion of sugar-coated pastry.

‘I made a blackberry and apple pie yesterday and wondered if you’d like to try some as a welcoming gift,’ she beamed, and by made she clearly meant bought. ‘I like to think I put the tempt into Temptation Close.’

‘You certainly put the tat into it,’ Nesta said quickly, signalling with her eyes towards Eva’s inked arm. It was a clever double-meaning and should have been a minor victory but Nesta only felt her spirit draining. She was out of her league here. Now it looked like some kind of flirting, fawning competition to bag the favours of the Handsome Man. Now Eva had come along with all tits and ass blazing Nesta just felt inferior and stupid. She had simply wanted to create a good impression, but then who doesn’t? She was completely and utterly satisfied with her home life and her man and had absolutely no intention of trying to make this newcomer fancy her. The more Eva next to her batted her eyelashes the more it seemed to disprove that fact.

‘Tempted?’ said the supposed lesbian, thrusting the pie and her bosom in his direction.

Nesta needed to get away without looking like a defeated suitor. ‘Before you get too excited about the name of this street,’ she said, ‘I ought to point out it is merely named after a variety of tomato. It is a running joke by the builder, who likes to name all the roads he does in the village in such a manner, perhaps to ease his conscience at unceremoniously destroying large areas of allotment to give room for his developments. The roads sound exotic but are simply varieties of fruit and veg. Gala Street is named after the apple; Carnival Close takes its name from a squash. You could just as easily be living now in Baby Plum or Vine-Ripened Close.’

‘Or Beefsteak,’ said Eva looking him up and down with a wolfish grin.