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“Dig in,” I say, pouring the tea into two cups.
He takes a scone and pulls it apart. “Jam or cream first?”
“Ah, that’s the question.” I tip a little milk into each cup. “In Cornwall they prefer the jam first, and in Devon they put the cream. But apparently Queen Elizabeth used to spread the jam then the cream, so that’s what I’ve always done.”
“Fair enough.” He spoons the jewel-like jam onto each half of the scone, heaps the clotted cream on top, and takes a bite.
“What do you think?” I say, amused at his white mustache.
“Mmph.”
I slide a cup and saucer over to him. “I’m guessing that means you like it?”
He wipes his top lip. “It’s wonderful.”
“Oh, I’m glad.” I help myself to a scone and begin the process of adding the jam and cream. “I ate so many of these when I first came here that I put on five kilos.” I bite into the scone, filling my mouth with fruity, creamy sweetness, then run my tongue across my top lip to remove the cream. His eyes follow it, then meet mine for a moment before he drops his gaze back to his tea.
My pulse picks up a little. I know he’s attracted to me. What a shame he’s not going to stay in England. We could have had a lot of fun.
I have a sip of tea. “So you’re single now?”
“Yeah. Work is intense, and I don’t want the complication of a relationship.”
“Fair enough.” I study him over the rim of my cup. “So Maisey’s not in the picture anymore?”
He lifts his eyebrows.
“I heard she liked to talk at inopportune moments,” I add mischievously.
“Huxley and his big mouth. I told him that in confidence.”
“Oliver can’t keep a secret to save his life, you should know that by now. So she liked to give you her shopping list while you were having sex?”
He gives a short laugh. “It was rather… distracting. A man needs to be able to concentrate on the job at hand.”
I grin, but I’m unable to stop a shiver running down my back at the thought of Titus and sex in the same sentence.
He has another bite of his scone and gives me an amused glance with his light-green eyes. “Stop thinking about sex,” he scolds.
“You started it.”
“You give me goosebumps when you look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“You know what I mean. The come-hither look.”
“Jeez, where are you from, 1895?”
His lips curve up, his gaze still on mine. “You know we can’t,” he says softly.
“Yeah, I know I said that. I’m having trouble remembering why.”
“Because you’re Huxley’s little sister.”
“We could just not tell him.”
He laughs and finishes off his scone. “So, about Jason.”
