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“Thank you,” she said. “That was delicious.”
He smiled and leaned back in the chair, his face half in the shadows, blue eyes gleaming cobalt in the flickering light. “Thank my mother. She was the one who insisted her sons know how to cook.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Sons?”
He nodded. “I have three brothers, all younger, and two sisters, both older.”
She couldn’t help feeling a twinge of envy. It must have been wonderful growing up with so many siblings. Noisy, but wonderful. Especially at Christmas. Or birthdays. She blinked. Today was her birthday. And would have been Helen’s, too.
She took a sip of wine, then said, “Do you see much of them?”
“No. They all live in Oregon, in a small town up near the Crater Lake National Park. My work—past and present—has always conspired to keep me away. But I’m in the process of buying a house up there and hope to correct that.”
His words sliced through her. She lowered her gaze, concentrating instead on her wine. So, the truth was there for them both to see. No matter what happened between them, he wouldn’t stay here in Australia.
“Kirby—”
She raised a hand. “Don’t.” Don’t tell me you care for me. Don’t tell me you might love me, because in the end, it doesn’t really matter. Nothing did, beyond the fact that he would go back to America.
Take heed, my foolish heart. Because knowing he would leave didn’t alter the fact that she wanted him as she’d never wanted a man before.
“I’m not—”
She met his gaze. “Are you going to tell me you’re not going back?”
“No, but—”
“Then I don’t want to hear it.”
“And you have the gall to call me irritating.” He sighed and thrust a hand through his dark hair. “Whatever am I going to do with you?”
Take me with you, she thought, and she knew that just wasn’t an option. His work was too important—to him and to the other people he was destined to save. He didn’t need someone permanently in his life, particularly when that someone was as flawed as she was.
Besides, Helen was here, even if only in spirit.
She raised her wineglass. “How about pouring me some more wine?”
He did as she requested, then collected the plates and rose. “Do you feel like dessert now, or would you rather wait a little?”
“I think I’ll let dinner settle a bit more, thanks,” she said.
He disappeared into the darkness. Flame flickered briefly, then a tiny patch of warmth appeared. “I can’t see how a flame that size is going to do you much good,” she said, amused. “Why not borrow one of the candles on the table?”
“Because this candle suits my purpose just fine.” He appeared out of the shadows, the tiny flame becoming a birthday candle sitting on the top of a cupcake.
“Happy birthday,” he said, placing the cake in front of her. “Don’t forget to make a wish.”
Her smile felt tremulous. She blew out the candle, then closed her eyes and made her wish. Time was all she asked for. Time with Doyle.
She opened her eyes and he held out a small, carefully wrapped present. She didn’t take it. Could barely see it through the tears stinging her eyes.
“You shouldn’t have.” Her throat felt so constricted, her voice came out as little more than a hoarse whisper.
“Birthdays are important.” His smile was warm and sexy, and was reflected deep in his eyes. “And you should never let one go by uncelebrated. Go on, open your present. It doesn’t bite and it doesn’t hold any magic. I promise.”
She smiled, and with trembling fingers began unwrapping the dark-red tissue paper. As the layers fell away, a long, plush velvet box was revealed. Her stomach chu
rned. It looked expensive. Felt expensive. I don’t deserve something like this …
