"Oh, can you," she says, all wide-eyed and breathy delight. She's tempted to kiss him so that his knees buckle, that they spill across the floor in a ridiculous, giggling heap. But no, bed sounds nicer. More comfortable. More things to grab, brace herself against.

Except, Benedict's right there. Carrying her. All warm and strong and lovely.

Kate kisses him, hard and passionate. It's not far to their bedroom from here, just a few more feet to the door, but instead of being patient, she's regarding it as a challenge.

How far will his own patience and balance extend?