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‘Do you really need to ask that question?’
Luke was right. They had always been in tune with each other’s thoughts. It was reassuring to know they still were—though not quite so reassuring to see the brooding look in his eyes, or to feel her body respond to it. Even she cou
ldn’t misinterpret the growing tension between them. And what if Luke wanted more than kisses?
‘So?’ she prompted brightly, shaking off her brush with apprehension. ‘Are you thirsty? Do you want to come back to the house and have a coffee or a beer?’
‘Lucia, stop babbling,’ Luke advised, ‘or you’ll have me thinking I make you nervous.’
‘As if,’ she scoffed.
‘Before I think about a drink,’ he said, turning serious, ‘I’ve drawn up some projected figures you should take a look at.’
‘Oh … how interesting.’ And now she felt flat, when surely she should be feeling relieved that Luke was only here to talk business rather than to make her confront more demons than she was ready for. ‘Business comes first,’ she agreed, starting up the packed sand path.
‘You never did tell me what you’re doing on the beach in a business suit, talking to yourself,’ Luke remarked casually, strolling alongside her.
‘That’s right, I didn’t,’ she said, playing his game as she hurried on.
She was at the top of the cliff before she realised Luke wasn’t following her. He was still down on the beach, watching the last blood-red rays of the sun sizzling and finally going out on a charcoal horizon.
The temperature had dropped suddenly, and a stiff wind was whipping his hair. He registered those things in some logical storage compartment in his mind while Lucia took up every other nook and cranny. How much time had they wasted?
Storming up the cliff path, he stopped dead at the top, seeing the guest house was in darkness. Where had she gone instead? He looked around wildly. There, to the left, he could see a light flickering in one of the windows of the caravan.
Jogging across the field, he stopped outside the door. There was a pause before anything happened, and then she finally wrenched the door open.
She smiled crookedly at him.
‘You’ve been crying. Did you miss me?’ His lips tugged at this suggestion.
‘You’re so full of it,’ she said, but at least she was smiling again. ‘As it happens, I’m jealous because Margaret’s gorging herself on freshly churned butter and clotted cream with the farmer across the way. Are you coming in? Or do I have to stand here all night?’
‘I can see the lack of clotted cream is as good a reason as any for your tears. I don’t have any Cornish cream,’ he said, brushing past her as he entered the van, ‘but I can offer you some good, honest brawn, if that’s any good?’
She gave him a look—eyes narrowed, chin up. ‘You’ll do, I suppose,’ she said, pressing back against the side of the van to let him pass. ‘You’re impossible,’ she murmured when he gave her a wry stare back.
And she was … beautiful. Her face was blotchy from crying, but that only made him want to hold her and make things right for her. ‘So, come on, what’s wrong?’ he said briskly once the door was shut behind him.
‘There’s nothing’s wrong,’ she said, with a little too much heat.
‘I don’t buy that, Lucia.’
She bit down on her bottom lip, and her eyes were stormy as she confronted him. ‘Okay, so I was missing my mother,’ she said angrily. ‘Are you satisfied now?’
Reaching out, he brushed some tendrils of wayward hair from her face. ‘Your mother would be very proud of you.’
‘Do you really think so?’
‘I know so. Margaret’s been wearing my ears out telling me how hard you work, how great your ideas are, what a flair you have for the hospitality industry and how she can’t think how she ever managed without you. Damn, this bed’s uncomfortable,’ he said, hunkering down on the edge of the narrow bunk. ‘How the hell do you sleep here?’
‘My room’s nearly ready at the guest house, and this guy I know sent me some excellent throws and pillows.’
‘Is this guy anyone I know?’
Scooping up a pillow, she chucked it at him. ‘Does that help jog your memory?’
‘There’s only one thing that can help me.’ Reaching out, he took hold of her.
