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In the end it hadn’t been that hard to tell Halle stuff he’d only ever told his therapist.
Exhausting themselves with sex afterwards had seemed like the obvious way to go.
But something was nagging at him now. Something that had been nagging at him most of the night, each time he’d seen the shocked arousal in her eyes, each time he’d touched her and revelled in her open, instant response. And especially when they’d snuggled up together, her bum nestled in his crotch and his heart attempting to beat right out of his chest.
She was the only woman who had ever come close to touching that lonely, isolated part of himself, which had crippled him as a kid. And which should have been dead and buried, but apparently wasn’t any more—because that lonely kid was popping out again now when he thought about how much he was going to miss Halle, when they both went back to their normal lives.
Sure, they’d have Lizzie—and that was some compensation. He’d be able to call on Halle while forging a new and more honest relationship with his daughter. But while he was already looking forward to having those conversations, they weren’t the only conversations he wanted to have with Halle. Because the past ten days had made him realise how much he’d missed the fine art of conversation with someone who was his emotional and intellectual equal in the past sixteen years, who was mature and smart and confident enough to challenge him, who was wise to all his bullshit and who didn’t have English as a second language.
The real reason he’d screwed up so badly with Chantelle was because she’d been so young and so adoring. She’d stroked his ego, let him get away with murder, and he’d been paying so little attention he hadn’t even realised she actually thought they had a future together.
That would never happen with Halle, because she knew all his tricks, all his faults, and she was as cynical about the L-word as he was.
And what about the sexual connection between them? It was as strong and exciting as it had ever been, but with a brand-new wow factor, because they both knew exactly what they wanted now and weren’t afraid to demand it.
No doubt about it, it was a crying shame they had only four days left to explore all these new aspects of their relationship.
Not that he was looking for anything permanent. He wasn’t cut out for long-term commitment. No amount of therapy would be able to solve that. But that didn’t alter the fact that four days felt like far too short a time to explore all the good stuff, now they’d put all the crap stuff behind them.
He threw off the duvet and headed for Halle’s bathroom, refusing to let the melancholy envelop him. They’d achieved much more than he could have ever hoped for. It was all good.
Her scent—bold and floral—drifted around him as he stepped into her shower cubicle. He turned the dial to scorching, contemplating the rest of their day together. And the nights to come. Absently soaping his erection. Eager for her to get the hell back to the cabin so they could get started.
He was climbing the spiral staircase to the mezzanine level and his own bedroom when he heard the cabin’s front door opening.
Wherever she’d run off to, she was back. The blossom of warmth that hit his belly disturbed him a little. Four days was more than enough, as long as they made the most of it.
He took his time shaving away two days’ worth of beard to prove to himself he wasn’t that desperate to see Halle again. After yanking on jeans and an old T-shirt, he headed down to the kitchen, drawn by the delicious aroma of cinnamon wafting up the stairwell.
She stood at the counter, her back to him, her damp hair tied up in its habitual knot, drying strands hanging down to touch flushed cheeks, as she beat something in a mixing bowl to within an inch of its life. Skintight jeans, bare feet and a summery minidress added to the effect of sexy, relaxed domesticity.
The reaction in his crotch was swift and predictable. The fist that wrapped around his heart and sucker-punched him in the gut … not so much.
Chapter 19
‘Luke!’ The wooden spoon stopped in mid wallop as a familiar forearm roped with muscles banded around Halle’s midriff.
‘Morning. What are you cooking?’
His chest butted her back as he lifted her hair out of the way to bury his face in her neck. The nuzzling kiss triggered a riot of sensations—surprise, arousal and panic.
‘Blueberry pancakes. I finally took Monroe up on his offer and raided the restaurant kitchen. The blueberries were picked fresh this morning.’
‘Mmmm.’ His teeth tugged at her earlobe. ‘Watching you cook is such a turn-on.’ His palm settled on her belly, sending the riot of sensations south. ‘Always has been, always will be.’
She put the bowl on the countertop to turn in his arms, her pulse flapping against her neck like the wings of a trapped albatross.
He looked and smelled delicious. All fresh and groomed and damp from his shower. His cheekbones were even more pronounced without the two-day scruff, and the well-worn Festival de Cannes T-shirt was doing not a lot to disguise the defined pectoral muscles she’d gotten far too well acquainted with during the night.
Always has been, always will.
He cupped her cheeks, his lips lowering to kiss her.
She shifted away, her bum hitting the counter. ‘Why don’t I get these on the go, then we can eat.’
‘Eat?’ His lips quirked in a wary smile as his hands dropped. ‘Really? I was kind of hoping all my bakery porn fantasies were about to come true.’
She puffed out a strained laugh. ‘So now I know why you watched my show.’
