‘Anyway... I just wanted to trust you with my darkest secret seeing as you entrusted me with your book. Fair’s fair and all that...’ He backed towards the door, hating the fact he had put tears in her lovely eyes too with his depressing, uninvited tale of woe. ‘It’s wonderful by the way...the book.’ He forced a smile, hoping it would lighten the sombre mood and leave her with a more familiar memory of him before he left. ‘I am only two chapters in, but I am already hooked. I cannot wait to dive into the rest of it...but...but obviously, if you’d rather I didn’t because I did rather bully you into handing it over, I can give it back.’
Clearly stunned at the bizarreness of it all, Hope blinked up at him from the crumpled pile of covers on the bed and then she shook her head.
‘Oh, Luke...’
Then all at once, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around him and hugging him for all she was worth.
Apparently, it was just what he needed and he clung back, gratefully absorbing her strength as he buried his face in her hair.
He had no earthly clue how long they stood there. All he knew without any doubt was that he didn’t want to let go and she seemed in no hurry to make him. He could feel her nakedness beneath the diaphanous layer of her nightgown, the womanly curve of her hips where his palms rested on them, the soft imprint of her full breasts pressed against his chest, and though his body revelled in those things, the embrace wasn’t carnal. It was tender and honest. Cathartic. She seemed to sense he was undone and gave him all the time and the affection he needed to repair himself.
Somewhere in the distance, a clock struck five, the chimes dragging him to the present and forcing him to step away. ‘The Thundersley carriage will be here at six.’ And soon her house and the outside would wake, and he would be discovered or seen and ruin more than her night’s sleep if he didn’t make haste. ‘I should go.’
‘You should.’ She smiled in the doorway as he backed on to the balcony. ‘Unless you really do want my father to shoot you.’ She had apparently forgotten she was only in her nightgown, and despite the yards of delicate fabric which had gone into making it, the weak light of the predawn was enough to render parts of it translucent. The silhouette of her lush shape was his parting gift, reminding him of what it felt like to desire without warning. It hit him like a punch in the gut and stole his breath.
All curves.
Unrestrained full breasts round and heavy, the peaks of her nipples clearly defined in the drape of the material, the dusky shape of them trying to tempt his eyes from her lovely face. Fiery hair a tousled silken curtain his fingers suddenly itched to touch. The sultry narrowing of her waist. The seductive voluptuousness of her bottom. Things he should have been aware of when he had held her in his arms, but hadn’t, but that he was supremely aware of now.
He smiled back and meant it, feeling strangely lighter and younger than he had for months. ‘Thank you...for listening and for not bludgeoning me to pulp.’
‘You are very welcome.’ A little self-consciously, but too late to reverse the effect her womanly body was having on his, she folded her arms and leaned on the doorframe. ‘Safe travels, Lord Trouble.’
‘I should be back in two weeks.’ Or less if he could manage it now that two weeks was too long. ‘Keep an eye on the house for me.’ And now he was procrastinating, lingering and indecisive.
‘I will.’
She watched him throw both legs over the railings, but a second before he bridged the short but perilous distance between their two balconies, she called him back and as he turned, gripping the rail for all he was worth, she pressed her mouth to his, her kiss poignant, heartfelt but much too short before she jumped back and blushed scarlet.
Stunned, he touched his lips. ‘What did that mean?’ Because he desperately needed to know.
‘Nothing...’ Still blushing she strapped on her dismissive mask. Only it appeared more defensive than dismissive. ‘At least, beyond a friendly farewell.’
‘It didn’t feel like nothing.’ Because it certainly felt like something. Something huge and daunting and, frankly, wonderful. ‘Or friendly.’
‘You are tired and upset and overawed and clearly reading more into it than it warrants.’ And she was flustered. ‘Don’t you dare confuse a friendly gesture with anything else.’ Gloriously flustered.
‘Why not? Would it be so terrible? I mean, we voluntarily spend all our spare time together, get on like a house on fire, trust one another implicitly and there is a palpable...somethingbetween us which surely even you cannot deny. To all intents and purposes, we are practically courting already...’
His heart was racing at the admission, though bizarrely not with panic. If he had to hazard a guess at what was going on inside him, it was excitement, which was astonishing when he had just put himself through an emotional mangle and didn’t think he had the capacity to experience any more emotion, let alone such an uplifting one. He had assumed that his life would always be much too complicated to consider tossing any thoughts of a permanent romance into the mix. That he didn’t need any more responsibilities and burdens as he had quite enough already. Yet it all suddenly felt reassuringly right as Hope was neither of these things. In fact, right now, she was the balm which eased them. The one thing he needed to fix all his current problems and ills in one fell swoop.
‘We most definitely are not courting!’ She had passed the point of flustered and replaced it with outraged panic. He decided to take that as a very good sign because she had lost the wherewithal to don her trusty mask of indifference which was her most constant companion.
‘Perhaps not in the traditional sense with bouquets and love poetry and flowery declarations, but when do we ever do anything in the proper way, Hope?’ The more the idea took root, the more it appealed.
Him and her.
Her and him.
It just worked.
‘Will you stop spouting nonsense and go away before someone sees you!’ True to form, she was now trying to brush away her discomfort by deflection. ‘Can’t you see the sun is coming up?’ She uncrossed her arms and flicked an impatient hand in the direction of his balcony with such force that her unbound breasts moved beneath her nightgown until she hastily folded her arms over them again, horrified. ‘Go! Before you fall to your death, you stupid man!’
‘You care at least. Surely that’s a start?’ Now that he had voiced what he hadn’t realised was in his heart, he wasn’t going to let her ignore it. Instead, he would find a way to make it happen exactly as he always did when he encountered an obstacle. He knew already, no other outcome would satisfy him.
She rolled her eyes and glared imperious, the very picture of unimpressed which was ruined entirely by the twitching fingers at the end of her still firmly crossed arms. ‘If I presently care for anything, I can assure you, it is only for the safety of my mother’s rose bed on the terrace. I’ve always been particularly partial to the yellow ones because they smell so lovely and I would be distraught if your ungainly Cornish corpse flattened them.’ And with that, she strode inside with her nose in the air and loudly bolted her door.
Chapter Twelve
