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Reality tugged at the periphery of his mind and he released her wrist. ‘Are you lost?’
‘No...’ Her eyes moved down his torso to his leather-tipped toes. Brown strands of silk teased forward to caress her cheeks. He clenched his fist, pushing down the urge to push her hair behind her ear. To touch her...intimately.
‘Who showed you how to get in here?’
‘No one.’ She craned her neck. Her stare was like a physical caress against his too-hot skin. ‘I found it by accident. I just ran...’
‘Ran from where?’ he asked, his gaze sweeping down over her slight frame. The dress was too big, and she was too small. ‘Do you usually take an evening run in a ball gown?’
‘No.’
Her lips lifted into something secretive.Seductive.
‘I wanted to be alone. London is so busy. Noisy. Everyone’s always moving. Always talking.’ Her eyes held steady to his. ‘But I’m done with running tonight.’
Wasn’t that exactly the reason he was here, too? Why he hadn’t gone back to the house he’d grown up in. Back to Sicily. He’d run from that Italian courtroom because his head had been too loud with unwanted memories. Too noisy with his own despair. And only now had his mind come to a stop, cushioned by the wide wonder of her brown eyes...
‘How didyouget up here?’ she asked.
He wanted to touch the deep lines between her brows. Smooth them.
‘I knew the way.’
‘You did?’
‘I did,’ he confirmed.
‘And you chose to come here?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘Why?’
A rush of words bulged in his throat. Refusing to let him lie or deny this moment of grief. Deny his mother.
‘To grieve.’
A smile, small and gentle, moved her lips. ‘Me too.’
‘And who do you grieve for?’ he asked.
Because he truly wanted to know. Curiosity pushed against his consciousness, demanding to understand why on this night the fates had seen fit to throw his grief against hers. To slam their worlds together.
Her slender shoulders dipped. ‘Myself...’
He frowned. ‘For yourself?’
‘Yes,’ she said, making small continuous dips of her head.
Her answer pressed against something inside him. Something buried deep.
‘Why?’ he asked.
‘Because—’
She sucked in a breath and he watched. Mesmerised. He itched to find the hardened peaks of her breasts pushing against the fabric of her dress. His hands would bury them—they were so small. He would be able to encase them fully in his palms...
Stop.
He rolled his shoulders. The leather jacket was too heavy on his skin. Too tight.
‘Why do you grieve for yourself?’ he forced himself to ask. Because she was not here for him to bury his grief inside her body. She was here for herself, to find a moment, some quietness, in a city that never slept. To find a place away from the noise. As he was.
