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Craved. Needed.
Well, she was just going to have to get used to going without. Because there was no way she could ask him for it now. Humiliation really wasn’t her colour, and she wouldn’t risk him turning her down again.
Damn it.
With a deep breath, Luce sat up. ‘Time to move on,’ she said softly.
Her room—the spare room—had a desk, a king-sized bed and an en suite bathroom. If you had to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, Luce figured this was the sort of place you wanted to be stuck. It wasn’t a particularly feminine room, but then, Luce wouldn’t have expected it to be. Ben had decorated it, after all. The huge bed was draped in a wine-red quilt, soft and cosy, with cushions and pillows piled up at the head. Beside the bed stood a chenille-covered armchair, perfect for curling up with a book. And under the window was the desk—sturdy, probably antique, and exactly what she needed. Slipping out of bed, Luce ran a hand across its scarred wooden surface and for the first time could imagine herself finishing her book. Telling Nest’s story to the world, finally, the way she wanted it to be known.
Might as well make the best of a bad situation. She was stuck there at least until Ben woke up. She’d retrieved her laptop from the car before their trip to the pub, so she could at least get some work done.
Luce listened for movement outside her door and, hearing nothing, risked slipping out long enough to make a pot of tea and some toast and sneak it back into her room. Then, wrapped up in her pyjamas, socks and an old jumper she’d found in one of the drawers, she settled down at her desk.
Ben Hampton didn’t matter any more. All that did matter was telling Nest’s story the right way.
* * *
There was no sign of Luce when Ben emerged from his room the next morning. Which was probably for the best. His surge of nobility, admittedly spurred on by a determination to prove that he had changed in the last eight years, might not have lasted in the face of Luce in pyjamas. Or a nightdress. Or maybe nothing at all...
After a night of contemplating the possibilities, and imagining what might have happened if he’d just kissed her properly and carried her off to bed, those images were firmly burned onto his brain. God only knew what it was going to take to get them out again. And knowing she was just metres away, probably still in bed, really wasn’t helping.
Ben eyed the closed bedroom door, grabbed his keys and headed out. Fresh air and distance was what he needed. And he could check out the state of the roads while he was at it.
Ben took the drive into the village slowly. The snow showed no sign of melting, but the roads were clearer than he’d expected—obviously some of the local farm vehicles had already been out. Ben parked up outside the Eight Bells and decided he deserved a warming cup of something, and maybe some of Tracy’s homemade cake, before he hit the village store for supplies and a weather forecast.
Johnny, the landlord, raised his eyebrows from behind the pumps at the sight of him. ‘Didn’t expect to see you out of bed so early.’
‘It’s gone ten,’ Ben pointed out, leaning against the bar.
‘Exactly.’ Johnny reached behind him to flick the coffee machine on. ‘Tracy said it looked like you and your new friend were planning to hit the sheets for the rest of the week when you left here last night.’
‘Well, Tracy was wrong,’ Ben said, trying not to think about how close to right she might have been. ‘Besides, Luce is an old friend—not a new one. We were at university together.’ No need to get into the details.
‘Hmm.’ The corners of Johnny’s mouth dipped down for a moment, as if to say, Okay, then. If you say so, as he handed over a cup of coffee.
‘What?’
‘Just... You do realise she’s the first person—male or female—you’ve ever brought to my pub?’
‘So?’
‘Is she the first person you’ve taken up to your cottage at all?’
An uncomfortable feeling crept up Ben’s back. ‘Yeah. We were driving to Cardiff when the snow got heavy, so we stopped off here.’
‘That explains it, then, I guess. We just figured she must be someone important.’ He didn’t sound pleased at the explanation. ‘So. Old friend?’
‘Yeah, you know. Nice to catch up and stuff.’ Ben picked up his coffee, and motioned to one of the tables by the window. ‘Anyway, I’d better drink up and get back to her. Lousy host, really.’
‘I can imagine,’ Johnny said.
But the frown line between his eyebrows told Ben he was still a little disappointed by the set-up.
