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‘I blame myself for not being strong, like you were. You wanted me, but you were never going to do a damned thing about it—were you?’
‘Of course not. Apart from anything else, you’re my boss. And that’s before I think about the steady stream of women filing through your bedroom. This is probably the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.’
‘Yes.’ He nods, his eyes locked to mine. ‘But you don’t want it to end.’
I shake my head, seeking refuge in honesty at last. ‘Do you?’
‘No.’ And now his smile is broader. ‘Turns out I’m scared of something else.’
‘What’s that?’
‘How much I want you. Need you. And I’m scared of hurting you, Gemma.’
‘You won’t.’
He nods, but I know he’s not convinced. Nor am I. In fact, I would say Jack hurting me is as inevitable as the morning that will break over the harbour in the next few hours. But I don’t care. Having given in to this, I am just a tree in the middle of a storm, trying my hardest to hold on, to stand tall even as it threatens to uproot me for good.
The mood is oppressive. Suddenly I want to lighten it. To make him smile. To feel his warmth and contentment.
‘I bet you were a real little shit growing up.’
The ghost of our conversation lingers, but he makes a visible effort to push it away. ‘Why do you say that?’
‘Hmm...remember who you’re talking to? You’re stubborn and selfish...’
‘Selfish, huh? I always look after you...’
My face burns hot and I’m sure it’s flame-red. ‘I didn’t mean in bed,’ I mumble.
His laugh is my reward. Sweet and husky, it makes my nerves quiver.
‘I see...’
Perhaps he takes pity on me. He strides across the kitchen and props his arse against the kitchen counter. I imagine his tattoo through the tailored cut of his trousers and absent-mindedly slide my hand out and curve it over his hip.
‘I was a good kid, actually,’ he says, not reacting to my touch visibly.
I like the intimacy of this, though. Perhaps more than I should. Of being able to reach out and feel him, to sense his nearness.
‘So your recalcitrance came later in life?’
He laughs. ‘I g
uess so.’
His hand lifts and wraps around my cheek. I inhale. This moment, his fragrance—everything. I fold the memory away and store it for later delight. It is a perfect slice of time.
‘I went away to school.’
‘A boarding school?’
His nod is a small movement—just a jerk of his head. ‘I won a full scholarship.’
‘And you call me an overachiever?’ I tease.
His smile is indulgent. ‘I had no choice. There was only one way out of the backwater I grew up in. I succeeded because the prospect of failure was too depressing to contemplate. You, on the other hand, m’lady, are motivated by something I don’t understand. You had everything... You were born with a fortune and a family lineage that dates back to the Magna Carta... It would have been so easy for you to stay within the boundaries of that life. And it would have been a good life.’
‘It depends on how you define “good”,’ I say simply. ‘I’ve never fitted in.’
