‘I didn’t believe in fate, until now.’
He placed a hand on her thigh and she gulped half her wine. ‘I wanted to get in contact so many times after we ran into each other on your farm, but I didn’t want to pressure you, especially after you made it clear that’s where you belonged.’
Ferne had never belonged on Mac’s farm and it had taken her thirty years to realise it.
‘I regret not leaving with you,’ she blurted, then tipped the remainder of the wine down her throat. Not because she needed false courage, but because the burn of alcohol would loosen her vocal cords to the point of no turning back. ‘I should’ve.’
‘You don’t get to our age without having regrets.’ He squeezed her thigh and removed his hand, leaving her craving his touch.
‘I’m six years older than you, so that gives me a head start on the regrets.’
‘It’s not a competition.’ His smile never failed to make her heart pound. ‘My biggest regret was letting you go first time around.’
‘As I recall, I didn’t leave you much choice. I was the one who ended our relationship.’
‘But I could’ve fought harder for us.’
He could have, but it wouldn’t have made a difference. Back then, Ferne craved stability, a solid future far removed from her childhood. Taj had been a wild spirit intent on exploring the country and beyond, reluctant to put down roots in any place for too long. His transient lifestyle bugged her as much as his ability to flit from one job to the next. While she’d loved him fiercely, she couldn’t imagine living her life like that, so she’d made a choice. Followed logic rather than her heart.
And look where logic had got her: tied to a man who provided the stability at the cost of her happiness.
Not wanting to rehash the past and put a dampener on the evening, she said, ‘How long have you been in Melbourne for?’
‘Three years.’
‘That must be some kind of record for you.’
‘I like the city. It’s eclectic.’
‘Considering this is my first week here and I’ve been stuck inside mostly.’ She pointed to her walking boot. ‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘We’ve got plenty of time to explore once you’re more mobile.’
‘You’re planning on seeing me again, huh?’
He scooted closer to murmur in her ear, ‘Now that I’ve found you again, you won’t get rid of me easily.’
The faintest scent of juniper tickled her nose, an underlying note of the body wash he’d always favoured, and she inhaled, turning her head so their lips were a breath apart.
He didn’t move, giving her time to decide if this was what she wanted. This kind, gentle man had always been considerate of her feelings. Even on the farm, when she’d kissed him, torn between her yearning for him and her guilt at potentially ruining her life, he’d sensed her mortification at breaking her marriage vows, and had ended the kiss, giving her time to think about what she truly wanted. He hadn’t badgered her to leave with him, had merely given her the option, and she’d chosen to walk away from him for the second time.
She wouldn’t make the same mistake a third.
Closing the short gap between them, she pressed her lips to his, their latent chemistry needing little to ignite. As his tongue swept into her mouth, he framed her face with his hands, making her feel cherished like he always had.
Ferne had a fleeting thought that everything might not function the way it used to given her age and the length of time since she’d last had sex, but Taj eased her worries with his hands and his mouth and his body, bringing her back to life.
CHAPTER
28
Since when had Cruz become a pushover? One minute he’d been mulling ideas for his restaurant and organising relevant permits, the next El had bailed him up and said she’d be moving in.
Though he couldn’t fault her for caring about Bindi, especially as they barely knew each other. He couldn’t believe the fiercely independent woman he knew in high school could be homeless. What had happened to her? Maybe Kyle would know. He wanted to ask but didn’t want to tip off his farm manager about why he was probing into Bindi’s past, so he’d have to ask her himself. Not that he intended on betraying El’s confidence, but he could couch his questions in terms of an interview, the same as he’d ask anyone applying for a job.
Yeah, that would work, and as Bindi’s SUV pulled up near the homestead, Cruz hoped he wouldn’t make a hash of this.
In Melbourne, he’d instigated a policy at the restaurant that any leftover fresh produce would be donated to a food bank, because he hated seeing the waste when so many homeless could be fed. He’d even caught a sous chef squirrelling away apples once but had let it go, because he knew those in need would benefit from the fresh fruit more than the customers who could afford his pricey cuisine. Had Bindi ever been hungry? He hoped not, but had a foolproof plan to use her as his taste tester when she accepted the job. She couldn’t argue with that, and it would make her feel useful rather than needy.
