With Bronte trailing after us, we headed towards the front door. I reached out my hand to turn the door handle, and Mitch did too. But then he brushed my hand with his fingers. He looked at me and then cupped my hand in his. He gave it a comforting, gentle squeeze. ‘Everything’s going to be okay.’
I struggled to bury a breathy gasp; the sensation of his fingers caressing mine was sending sparks of fire through my body.
Our eyes met.
I admired the generous angle of his mouth. Our hands were still touching.
Then Bronte let out another bark, yanking me back from my churning thoughts.
I tugged my hand away first.
What was I thinking? This was a mistake. I was good at creating all this heart-stopping romance on a page – or at least, I used to be – but making it real, having it in my life, keeping it – it wasn’t to be. What Joe had done, was proof enough.
I wasn’t going to make a fool of myself over a pair of Mediterranean blue eyes.
And yet … this man… He wasn’t Joe.
I swallowed.
Mitch was still looking at me. A myriad of emotions were crossing his face. ‘Rosie…’ He took a step closer. His gorgeous mouth was inches from mine. My heart was screaming for him, while my head was telling me to pull back.
The zinging, charged silence was broken by an abrupt knock on the door. Bronte barked again.
Part of me was relieved at the interruption. The other part was not. ‘I bet it’s Reece,’ I flustered, reaching for the handle. ‘I’ll tell him everything that Kirsty has told me.’
I tugged open the door.
But it wasn’t Reece standing there on the step.
It was a woman.
She had shiny, dark brown hair bouncing past her shoulders, and bold, red lipstick.
A Breton striped blue and white jumper was peeping out from under her fitted woollen coat. She was very striking.
I was about to ask her if I could help or if she was looking for someone, but Mitch’s stunned voice carried over my shoulder. ‘Romilly?’
My head jerked round to look at Mitch. I knew who this woman was; I wouldn’t forget that name.
Mitch’s estranged wife.