“So, are you ever going to tell me about you and Hugo?”
Jenny rolled over onto her stomach and looked up at him enquiringly. Adrian, snapped out of a languorously pleasant post-coital daze, raised himself to lean on one elbow, and lifted an eyebrow.
“Good god, woman, if you’re going to bring another man into the bedroom, let it be a real, tangible, hot bit of stuff that’ll bugger us both senseless. Hypothetical Hugo does nothing for me, I’m afraid…”
“Don’t evade the question.”
Adrian sighed. “I have very little idea what the question is, my dear. You’re going to have to elaborate somewhat.”
“Oh, you know. The tension between you two could power a tower block. Hugo can’t look at you without betraying either intense hatred or puppy-dog bruised devotion, and his presence renders you entirely incapable of sustaining your usual irritating sang-froid. What is it, a tortured tale of love denied? Repression and circumstance got in the way of a happy ending?”
It was a full minute before Adrian answered, deceptively lightly, “Something like that, yes.”