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With a wriggle that was more sexual restlessness than resentment, she threw a pillow as he laughed and left the room.
* * *
No way was Ettie spending the day sitting about doing nothing. Not when her brain was fizzing with ideas for Cavendish House. She fossicked through Leon’s study, marvelling at his sleek, luxurious stationery supplies. The guy had a thing for fancy fine-liner pens. Smirking, she twisted her hair into a bun and secured it in place with one and grabbed a handful of others. In the kitchen she collected some crackers, cheese and juice. She spread sheets of thick paper over the dining table to brainstorm on. It took her a while to work out the fancy ‘smart house’ sound system, but she got music playing eventually. Sunlight streamed through the window. She stared at the room for a moment, stunned anew. It was a gorgeous place to work. Then, energised and excited, she got down to it.
‘Wow—could you make your lists any longer?’
‘Oh!’ Startled, Ettie glanced up to see Leon standing on the other side of the table. Her heart pounded faster at the sight of him than from the initial fright. It was impossible not to react to his presence. ‘I didn’t hear you come in,’ she muttered, trying to regulate her breathlessness. ‘What time is it?’
‘After six,’ he said, amusement quirking his lips.
‘No.’ She looked out of the window and saw the changing sky. ‘Where’d the day go?’
‘Into all those lists,’ he answered drily. ‘Is there any paper left?’
‘Uh, some.’ She glanced down. She’d smothered the table in papers, which in turn were smothered in her scribblings. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think you haven’t rested at all today. Have you eaten?’
His concern warmed her as much as it irritated her.
‘Actually I’ve been snacking all day and this is restful. I’ve been perched on this stool the whole time.’ She saw him read through her most recent, refined list. ‘You like what I’ve planned?’
‘Yeah.’ He quickly scanned her bullet points. ‘You should set up a meeting with the residents’ group. They’ll be excited.’
‘I’ve already emailed invitations from my phone.’
‘Of course you have,’ he murmured. ‘That’s why you got the job.’
‘I can’t change everything all at once,’ she said earnestly. ‘I know I’ll need to go slow so they have time to adjust...’ She trailed off as his gaze narrowed on her.
She flushed at being the focus of his intensity all over again. Every time, even though he outwardly appeared expressionless, he wasn’t remote. It felt as if he was so attuned to her needs, her desires, before she was even aware of them herself. Dizzying, dazzling...confusing.
‘Sometimes an acute, complete change is a good thing,’ he said, his gaze laser-sharp on her.
‘Rapid change can also be scary,’ she responded pointedly. ‘The staff might feel overwhelmed or defensive if they feel it’s a criticism of the way things were...’
He considered it for a moment and his rare smile suddenly flashed. ‘Go with your instincts; they’re good.’
Excitement for her work flooded back. ‘I can’t wait to get started.’
‘On your not-rapid changes.’ He laughed and reached out, plucking the pen from her hair. ‘Mine.’
She ran her hand through her messy tangle of waves with a grimace. ‘Possessive about your pens, aren’t you?’
‘You think I was talking about the pen?’ That wicked smile flashed on his face again as he fished in his pocket for his phone. ‘You okay with Italian for dinner?’
She needed a moment to catch her breath. He was just teasing, keeping it playful. Light and easy. So she’d do the same. ‘Are you talking pizza or fancy?’
‘How about fancy pizza?’
‘Perfect.’ She hopped off the stool and stretched out the cricks in her back from leaning over the table all day while he tapped a message on his phone. ‘It’s Friday tomorrow, then the weekend. Do you actually take weekends off or do you work through as if every day’s Monday?’
‘You know already.’ His answering grin was rueful. ‘But we could go to a recital on Saturday night if you like?’ He flipped his phone around to show her the promotional information for a concert on at a nearby concert hall.
She read the headliner and stilled. It was an oboe soloist. That was her instrument. She looked up and saw his expectant expression. ‘How did you know?’
‘Saw the instrument case in your flat,’ he replied. ‘The music book had your name on the front. Why didn’t you mention it? You’ve told me all about Ophelia, but you’re reticent about your own dreams, Ettie.’
‘You’re calling me reticent?’ Her jaw dropped at his temerity. ‘I’ve told you about my ex-fiancé, my mother—’
‘But not about your music. Why?’
Because it had been her secret, childish dream and she’d had to bury it. How had he picked up that it had been important—was he some kind of mind-reader? But that was impossible because she never thought of it now—it hurt to remember. What he’d exposed was a skeleton shipwreck of a dream that couldn’t be resurrected.
‘Do you wish you played now?’ he asked, still intently watching her.
Her heart ached. Did he have to discover all her secrets? ‘It’s too late.’
‘We could convert one of the lounges into a music room. You could play again.’
‘No.’ She chuckled softly to hide her sadness and embarrassment. Truthfully she’d been a fool to think she could’ve made a go of it once. ‘I was never that good. I stopped when I took on a part-time job when Mum got ill. I haven’t played in years. I never play now.’
‘But you were good.’ He looked sombre. ‘That music was extremely complex.’
‘You read music?’
‘Sure.’ He nodded.
Of course. He probably spoke more than two languages as well, only she didn’t yet know it. It wasn’t fair that he knew everything about her and she knew so little about him. He hadn’t even left clues in his own home—nothing here told her anything more about him.
‘So what instrument do you play?’ she asked, determined to get an answer.
‘Piano. It was compulsory to learn an instrument at school.’
‘Boarding school?’ She glanced at him sideways, almost afraid that if she faced him he’d fall silent again.
‘Yes.’
‘For your teen years?’ Her curiosity burned. She wondered about everything. What were his parents really like? He had no photos of them at all here. Were they really not close? Did they really only see each other every six months or so? Had he always been this isolated?
‘I went there when I was eight,’ he said brusquely. ‘It was good.’
She waited hopefully but he didn’t add anything more.
‘It’s good for Ophelia too,’ she said after a while. ‘She gets an education and opportunities she just wouldn’t otherwise.’ But Ettie missed her sister hugely. If she’d won a scholarship from a day school in town, that would have been so much better. She nibbled her lower lip, thinking about her own child’s future education. ‘I don’t want our baby going to boarding school though,’ she realised with quiet conviction. It was too bad if Leon had some schooling tradition going back generations. ‘I won’t send him or her away. I don’t care how good the school might be, there’ll be schools just as good here.’
Increasing ferocity fired colour into Et
tie’s expression, reminding Leon of her passion and protectiveness over the dog the day they’d met. His skin seemed to tighten. He understood why she had mixed feelings about boarding school—she obviously missed her sister. But she didn’t know that for him boarding school had been a blessed escape. It had been so much safer and happier than his own home.
‘Okay,’ he said, needing to draw a line beneath the subject. ‘School here.’
He didn’t want to think about the years ahead. Right now was tough enough. She’d guessed correctly: he usually worked every day as if it were Monday. But now she was here and yeah, rapid change could be unsettling. His home was altered. Not because she’d brought in a lot of stuff, but because she’d recast the entire atmosphere—with her scent, her laughter, her smile...
Leon hadn’t lived with anyone since school. He had no idea how to live with someone. No idea what he was going to do with her all weekend. He could hardly keep her tied to his bed the whole time, as appealing as that thought was. The oboe recital had been a random grasp and mainly he’d been keen to see her reaction because he was insatiably curious about her now. She fascinated him.
He gazed at the colour washing her cheeks and the sparkle shimmering in her eyes. She still glowed with the vivacity and enthusiasm that she’d worked hard all day with. Even when he’d told her not to, he’d known she would. And now that vivacity was enhanced by the filter of pure passion as she fought for something so far in the future it didn’t even matter yet. She was so spirited, and so protective of their child’s future.
That curling tension tightened—constricting his throat, his chest. He couldn’t resist the need to get nearer to her. He wanted her heat, her willingness, her total surrender to his touch. There was something deeper too, something so powerful that he couldn’t examine it too closely.
Just want.
He reassured himself. But it was strong.
The weekend plans were irrelevant. Suddenly he had no spare thought for the past, or the future. His immediate need was too intense.
He pulled her against him. He didn’t know how else to release the heavy pressure crushing his chest, threatening to cleave him open. He didn’t want to be torn apart and have any of this emotion exposed. Not memories. Not pain. He wanted nothing but pleasure with her. Now.
