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Lukas felt his blood chill.
Then something soft and alive brushed his ankles and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
Eleanore glanced up. She smiled when she saw him but the smile on her face dimmed just as quickly as it had appeared. ‘What is it?’
‘What’s that?’
She gave a small laugh. ‘Muffins. I thought you might be hungry.’
Muffins. Biscotti. An old need he’d had as a kid to belong rose up inside him and the knot in his belly returned. It was a need that terrified him. It whispered to him that his life wasn’t as perfect as he liked to think it was. That there was more out there. But there wasn’t. Not for him. He’d learned that the hard way.
‘Lukas, what’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’ He cleared his throat. ‘I just didn’t realise you were a domestic goddess.’
‘A domestic goddess?’ She frowned. ‘Why does that sound like an insult?’
‘It’s not.’ His gaze shifted to the main door. ‘I just thought you women’s lib types would head to Starbucks instead of the kitchen.’
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Look, I have to go.’
Eleanore stared at the man who had made love with her so completely the night before and again that morning to the point that she thought she’d expire from the bliss of it.
It was a feeling she’d thought he had shared but now he was looking at her as if he’d like nothing more than to erase the time they’d spent together from his memory banks.
Heat rose up in her face. It had all seemed so perfect. He had seemed so perfect. Last night he’d said he had missed her; he’d told her she was beautiful. And she’d felt so happy that she’d gotten up and baked muffins.
Somewhere between deciding to go to bed with him and this moment she’d forgotten that last night was just a temporary hiatus for both of them.
‘Tell me,’ she said with a coolness she was far from feeling, ‘have you ever made a woman a cup of hot chocolate after sex?’
His brows shot up his forehead. ‘Hot chocolate?’
‘That’s what I thought.’ And if that didn’t stop her from wanting more from him then she didn’t know what would. ‘Well, goodbye, then. Have a great...day.’ Life. Whatever.
Irrational emotions bloomed inside her chest and Eleanore turned away and headed toward the bank of windows in the living area. She suddenly felt lonely. Really lonely, just as she had after her mother had died.
‘Bozhe, Eleanore.’ He swung her toward him and hauled her into his arms before she could take a breath. Eleanore resisted. She really did. But his mouth was so hot and hungry on hers and she just ignited, her body moulding itself to his without permission from her brain.
‘I’m sorry, Eleanore. I don’t know what just happened. Sometimes I’m glupo. This is one of those times.’
‘I don’t know what glupo means.’
‘Stupid.’
‘No, I shouldn’t have expected you to stay for breakfast.’
He kissed her again and Eleanore felt her determination to resist him crumble under the warm pressure of his skilful mouth. God, the man could kiss.
‘Yes, you should, but I do have to go,’ he murmured. ‘There’s a lot to do before opening night tonight.’
‘I know.’ Part of her had been hoping that maybe they could spend the day together given that she was flying home the next day but she wasn’t going to come across all desperate. Not when she’d woken up and thought how easy it would be to fall in love with a man like him. A man who was capable and strong and tender and so easy to talk to. Those kinds of thoughts didn’t fit into her game plan. And they obviously didn’t fit into his either. ‘I have a lot of things to do myself,’ she said. ‘But I’ll see you later on at the party, right?’
‘Right.’
Eleanore stood statue still as he closed the apartment door. Then she went back to the bench and picked up a muffin. Broke a piece off. Her orange notebook lay on the small table by the window and she brushed the crumbs from her fingers and picked it up. Flipped it to the last entry. She read her current goals.
Flipped back through her others. Every year she spent part of her New Year’s Day reassessing. Her current list hadn’t changed for three years. Before that her degree had dominated the number-one spot.
She’d been writing down her goals ever since her mother had died. Ever since she’d arrived home from primary school and raced down to her mother’s bedroom to give her a clay bird she’d painstakingly modelled in class only to find the room empty. Sometime during the day her mother had passed away and no one had told her. Of course they’d meant to and her family made a great fuss of her afterward but the desolation of finding her mother’s bed empty and remade as if she’d never existed had never left Eleanore.
