She looks me in the eyes and whispers, “I do. Very much.”
I stroke her cheek. “He really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
Her brow furrows. “You mean Cory? Or my father?”
“Both, I guess.”
She’s fragile, and they’ve both left a mark. It’s no wonder she’s terrified of opening up to someone again.
She closes her eyes. I think she’s enjoying my touch. Keeping my fingers light, I brush down her back and up again, over her shoulder to the nape of her neck, and around to her throat. She shivers. Smiling, I return to her back, but I slide my other hand to cup her face and hold her there as I kiss her.
I make sure to take it slow. I have all week to seduce her, if I have to, and I’m not going to rush it. I give her small butterfly kisses, enjoying making out in the warm afternoon, with the smell of lavender from the nearby bushes, and the sound of the fantails as they jump from post to post on the deck.
“Mm,” she murmurs, tilting her head a little, her lips parting, and I take that as encouragement that she wants more, and brush my tongue across her bottom lip. She sighs and opens her mouth, and our tongues slide against each other, slow and sensual.
When she eventually lifts her head, I have to fight not to pick her up and carry her into the bedroom. But I meant what I said. Lunch, a walk, and then… we’ll see.
“Let’s eat,” I tell her, helping her off. “I’m starving.”
So we have our rolls and chat about the house and the farm, and she asks lots of questions about Dad’s pasture intelligence system. When we’ve finished eating, we carry theplates inside, and then we set off for a walk, taking the path that leads around the outside of the lawn, past the closest paddocks.
I point out the small solar-powered sensor posts and show how we track the herds on our phones. I tell her about the pasture growth data that gets sent to them while, in the distance, we watch Jacob and the dogs moving the recently shorn sheep between the paddocks.
We pass the fence that Caesar, Aurelia, and I were sitting on in the photo, and then crest the hill and stop beneath the huge oak tree I climbed as a kid. The wind tugs a strand of hair free from Wren’s ponytail, and I tuck it behind her ear. Our fingers brush as I lower my hand, and that tiny touch sends a shiver down my spine.
To my surprise, she slips her hand into mine as we walk back. I don’t say anything, but my heart lifts with hope.
We walk slowly, and she tells me about her uncle’s farm, and how she enjoyed watching the cows being milked and seeing the lambs being born. I’ve never brought a girl here, but we’ve occasionally had visitors from the city, and Wren is vastly different from the women who turn up in high heels, who can’t get over the farmyard smells, and who shudder at any talk of birthing animals.
I’m holding her left hand, and I brush my thumb over her wedding ring. Her lips curve up.
“My wife,” I say.
“My husband,” she whispers. She meets my eyes. “Thank you for being patient with me.”
“That’s okay.”
“No, I mean it, Mars. You’ve been incredibly generous. Brought me into your family. Offered me a safe, secure life. And I know you needed things too—a wife to look respectable, and an heir—but I know you could have chosen any other woman.”
I shake my head. “It was always you, Wren.”
She swallows hard. “It’s a lovely thing to say, but I find it hard to believe. I’m nothing special.”
“You don’t believe in soul mates?”
Her brows draw together. “Are you saying… you think… I’m yours?” She says it as if I’m crazy.
I’m not ashamed to admit it. “Yeah.”
Her mouth opens, but no words come out. She stops walking. We’re not far from the house now. I think both of us are aware that the moment’s coming when we have to take the next step. I’m ready, but I’m not sure if she is yet.
She looks away, at the house, and I wait for her to say something. But she doesn’t. She starts walking again, and I fall into step beside her.
She doesn’t speak again until we get to the house. The sundial on the lawn indicates it’s past three p.m. It’s incredibly warm. Bees buzz around the flower borders, and a fantail alights on the birdbath to have a drink.
We go into the house, and she gets a water bottle out of the fridge and has a few mouthfuls before passing it to me. Then she says, “I might have a quick shower, if that’s okay.”
“Of course.”
