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For the briefest moment, her smile slipped and her eyes darkened. It was a striking contrast to the easy amusement he’d enjoyed seeing moments earlier. “That’s a long story.”
He looked over his shoulder, to the rain that was lashing the window behind him, casting the room in gloom. “We seem to have a bit of time.”
“True,” she murmured, straightening, but still not moving, and not answering his question. Their eyes were locked and though they weren’t touching, the look was intimate and unnerving, addictive and heated. She broke the spell this time. “Do you mind if I make a cup of tea?”
“Of course.” He was surprised by his lack of manners.
She stepped back now, allowing him to pass, but as he did so, their arms brushed and he felt a burst of awareness, so he tilted his head towards her. She was staring at him, stricken, and he understood. The tension bubbling between them was arcing two ways, a powerful electrical current that was somehow intensified by the storm raging beyond the house.
She followed behind him – he felt her – into the large kitchen that opened off the lounge room. “Have a seat,” he gestured to the stools parked at the marble bench top.
“I can make it. I don’t want to put you…”
“It’s no trouble,” he repeated, flicking the kettle on and pulling a mug from the pantry. For himself, he scooped some coffee into the coffee cradle and pressed a button, watching as the dark liquid began to pool into his espresso cup. “You were telling me why you’re in Ondechiara?”
“Was I?”
She was intentionally evasive. It sparked curiosity and a hint of caution – hadn’t he learned his lesson about women who were secretive by nature? He didn’t want to think of Claudette though. He’d promised himself a long time ago that she didn’t deserve his consideration after what she’d done.
“You don’t have to if you’d prefer not to discuss it.” His words were unintentionally clipped, the ghost of Claudette filling him with reminders of disgust – at her easy deception and his gullibility.
“Thank you.”
Her response surprised him. She made no attempt to obfuscate, no attempt to lie. She simply chose not to answer him.
He studied her more thoughtfully now, new possibilities opening up to him. Was she a runaway? A fugitive?
“I’m not a criminal or anything,” she promised him, laughing now, the sound bursting into the room relaxing him, pleasing him, mending the tear Claudette had forced between them. “It’s just…something I’m still making sense of,” she offered. “And I prefer to keep to myself. You know?”
He lifted one brow, her words echoing his own mantra. “I do.”
She bit down on her lip so he had to ball his hands at his side to resist the temptation to reach across and smudge his thumb over the soft pink flesh.
“How long have you been here? Or would you prefer not to answer that as well?”
“No,” she shook her head, a smile playing about the corners of her lips. “About six months.”
Surprise shifted inside of him. “I haven’t seen you around.”
“No,” she lifted her shoulders.
“Because you like to keep to yourself?”
He put a teabag into the cup and poured the water over it.
“I guess so,” but she was smiling. “Part of the appeal of the place I rented was that it was secluded. I love that. I feel like I’m right on the edge of the earth.” She angled her face towards the window, staring out at the stormy view. “I go into town for supplies, but other than that, I like my own company.”
“For six months?”
“Uh huh.”
“And you walk.”
“Yep.”
“Why here?”
“Ondechiara?” Her skin paled perceptibly.
