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‘We’re not,’ Rufus said, shaking his head. ‘You’re a guest here. I’m responsible for you.’
Right, and that was all there was to it...
‘You’ve been responsible for a lot of people the past couple of years,’ she said.
‘What’s that meant to mean?’
‘It’s not meant to mean anything. I just find it interesting that after a time taking on big family responsibilities now you’re all anxious about protecting me when I never asked you to, never expected you to, and really don’t need you to.’
He frowned. ‘Fine. Then I’m doing it for myself, if you don’t need my help.’
‘It wasn’t a personal insult, Rufus.’
‘This has nothing to do with my family’s circumstances,’ he barked, angry.
‘Fine. Forget I said anything.’
She wasn’t sure how the conversation had descended into this. She’d obviously hit a nerve, but that didn’t excuse Rufus turning into a bear about it.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said, dropping onto the other sofa. So much for her fantasies about blankets and fires and...well. She’d try not to think about too many of the details.
‘The thought of the weather and how the house is going to stand up to it is putting me on edge. I shouldn’t take it out on you. And I never wanted to imply that you need taking care of. Or that it should be my responsibility to do it.’
‘Apology accepted,’ Jess said, deciding not to prod any harder at the sore spot she’d identified. It was none of her business if he had hang-ups over what had happened with his family over the last couple of years. If he felt guilt about moving them out of Upton Manor. After the snow melted and Christmas was over, she’d never see him again. He could nurse his wounds—or ignore them—however he wanted, and she’d never think about it. Or him.
‘Did you get much reading done?’ he asked, and she seized gratefully the change of subject and atmosphere.
‘About three sleepy pages,’ she replied, sitting back on the sofa. Reading at a snail’s pace with no footnotes. No pressure. Bliss.
‘Are you still up for a movie? Now that the power is back?’
‘Sure. If it means I don’t have to leave this spot for the rest of the afternoon. Except maybe to get snacks.’
‘Or dinner,’ Rufus suggested.
‘Right. Dinner. My body clock is so far off when I’m not working. Do you know what Lara had planned? She’s the real foodie. I don’t in any way pull my weight in the kitchen.’
‘Come explore with me,’ he said, standing and holding out his hand.
She raised hers, trying not to advertise the fact that she was having to brace herself for the idea of his skin on hers. It would be so much easier if she were immune to this. If she could just be indifferent. But if there was a key somewhere for turning these feelings off, she didn’t have a damn clue where to start looking for it.
Her fingers met his and her hand slid into his palm as she tried to hide a wince of pleasure at the contact. Surely it shouldn’t be so sudden, so immediate, so automatic—her response to him. He’d only touched her in a way he might help an elderly relative, and it had made her dizzy for him.
She wondered whether he felt it too. Whether the way he flexed his hand when he let go of hers was just easing some ache or pain, or if he had felt the same pulse of energy that she had.
She followed Rufus through to the kitchen and lingered by the door of the pantry while he scanned the shelves, aware of the heat that she had felt when they had shared that tight space the day before. But she had jumped away from him then out of instinct, because she hadn’t wanted to find herself on a slippery slope that would inevitably lead to feelings and heartbreak. But she’d had time to think since then. To think, specifically, about what she wanted. Because the who was clear. She wanted Rufus. And she was starting to think that if she wanted, if they both wanted, they could lay down some hard boundaries about keeping this temporary and just take what they were both clearly craving.
Now all she had to do was find out if that was what Rufus wanted too. She wouldn’t normally be hesitant in asking for what she wanted—but she wasn’t normally in the position of having to live alongside the person who turned her down if that was the way this was going to go. She wasn’t going to force a conversation that would make this situation more difficult. If it happened, it happened.
She realised her eyes had dropped to Rufus’s arse just at the moment that he turned around and caught her. The corner of his mouth quirked up and she wondered if he was going to call her out on it.
‘You thirsty?’ he asked, brandishing a bottle of prosecco. She raised an eyebrow. Boy, was she.
‘In the fridge for later?’ she suggested, and she wondered whether Rufus was being deliberately provocative, because she was well and truly provoked. But she wasn’t going to bite, or drink, yet. Not until she could be sure that they both knew what they wanted and were going to be able to extract themselves afterwards pain-free.
They gathered crackers, cheese, chutney and antipasti and created a luxury picnic spread on the coffee table by the fire. Jess tucked her legs under her and piled her plate high while Rufus looked through the Christmas movies on the streaming service.
‘What do you reckon,’ he asked as she spooned chutney onto her plate. ‘Rom com? Action? Sentimental?’
