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“Your threats don’t scare me,” she sassed. “You used to make them all the time,” she reminded him. “But I don’t remember anything ever happening.”
Her words hit him like an accusation, although he knew they hadn’t meant to be one. She was playing with him, he knew. Flirting. But hearing her say them now, it was like his lack of follow-through on his empty threats had just been one more way he’d let her down. He swallowed down his guilt, forced away the defensiveness he felt rising up within him. Instead, he winked.
“Things have changed,” he whispered gruffly. “I’m much older and experienced now and I don’t make threats I don’t intend to carry out.”
His words had the desired effect—she sucked in a sharp breath, a blush crept across her face, and her eyes widened before sparkling with passion. He bit back a grin. Catherine liked the idea of being spanked, he was almost certain of it.
Tentatively, he reached behind her and placed his hand on the small of her back. It felt like a natural way to guide her, but a part of him was having second thoughts. Was it too soon to use such a possessive touch? She didn’t flinch when he rested his hand there; she didn’t react at all, so he took that as a good sign.
“Let’s go inside and get coffee,” he invited. “You still like vanilla latte made with that awful soy milk?”
She playfully slapped his arm and his hand on her back tightened in response as a small half-smile played across his lips.Just like the old days.
“Soy milk isn’t awful!” she protested. “It’s delicious.”
“Whatever you say.” He nodded. Even though so many years had gone by, a full decade, he could still remember nearly everything about her. Catherine had captured his heart years ago, and even though she had moved away and they’d both moved on with their lives, he’d never been able to steal his heart back from her clutches. And he’d never been able to forget a single thing about her.
* * *
It didn’t take long for the waitress to bring out their coffees, and the lamington and custard square that Jason had ordered for them, while she found a table. She dragged her latte closer, and Jason pushed across the custard square.
“How do you know I want this, and not that?” she asked, surprised that he remembered so much about her.
“You’re allergic to coconut,” Jason said. “And you always loved custard squares. Has that changed?”
Sheepishly, she shook her head. She didn’t think her love for custard squares would ever change.
“See?” He raised an eyebrow. “I know you, Catherine.” He sounded smug, and it irritated her.
“You don’t know me.”But I wish you did.
“I do know you,” he argued. “I know that when you were twelve you fell off Monty and you got a scar right above your knee, here.” He touched the spot, making fireworks explode around her.
She smiled, remembering the way he’d come running to her rescue after the little pony galloped away after unseating her, leaving her to limp back across the paddock, clutching her bloody knee.
“I know I taught you to skip stones across the river. Remember?”
Her smile widened. She certainly did remember. That summer had probably been one of the happiest of her life. She’d spent most of it with him.
“I know the colour of your eyes.”
“That’s because you’re sitting right there looking at me!” she pointed out, giggling. “That’s cheating!”
He grinned back. “True. But I also know that they change colour to match your shirt. They’re hazel now, but sometimes they’re blue, sometimes they’re green, and sometimes they’re brown. I’ve even seen them grey. I’ve seen your eyes, Catherine. Many times.”
She couldn’t argue with that. It was the truth—hehadseen her eyes plenty. Just as she’d seen his. She looked into them now, letting herself get lost in the grey-blue depths. His were the most mesmerising eyes she’d ever seen. She’d heard the saying many times, about eyes being the windows to a person’s soul, but with Jason, it really was true. He couldn’t hide his feelings or his emotions—his eyes betrayed his thoughts every time.
“Uh-huh. What else? Because what you’ve said so far, that doesn’t prove anything. They could just be lucky guesses.”
He chuckled, leaning forward across the table, closer to her. He picked up an empty sugar packet and scrunched it in his fingers. He’d always done that, fiddled with things. She’d never seen him completely still, ever.
“I know you can’t ride a bike.”
“I might have learned!” she objected, hating the way that statement made her feel so inadequate. She knew he hadn’t meant it that way at all, but after Steve, anything even remotely critical made her defensive.
“Have you?” he asked gently. “Why would you bother? Riding a bike isn’t that great, you know. Horses are much better.”
She shook her head, still feeling deflated, despite his simple attempt to make her feel better about herself. “No. I didn’t learn. I wanted to, but I never did.”
