So simple. So clean, so pure, so unfussy.
So Michael.
And a rose. Just one, in a tall, slim glass, beside one of the places. A white rose, touched with cream, the bud about to burst.
Tears filled her eyes. ‘You’re really spoiling me, aren’t you?’ she said, suddenly fiercely glad that she’d worn the dress and not caring if this thing was going too fast for common sense. Since when had that had anything to do with anything?
‘I’d like to,’ he said, and there was something utterly sincere in his voice, utterly trustworthy and decent and honourable. It made her feel safe—oddly, since she was poised on the brink of a precipice, staring out over the unknown.
He picked up a remote control, and soft music flowed through the room, romantic vocals designed to set the mood. The lights dimmed, he picked up the dishes and put them on the table, then held out his hand to her, his mouth kicking up in that one-sided, curiously sexy smile.
‘Dinner is served, madame.’
A shiver ran over her. Etienne had called her mademoiselle, in just the same way. She was falling for Michael as she’d fallen for him, headlong without thought or caution.
Was that how she was destined to fall in love every time?
She held out her hand to him, letting him take it and settle her in the chair. He lit the candles, lifted the lid on the dishes and she caught the scent of the steaming, fragrant rice and the rich, creamy Stroganoff.
It tasted wonderful. The flavours, the textures, meltingly tender and rich and smooth, the salad a sweet, fresh counterpoint.
She shook her head, smiled wordlessly at him and cleared her plate.
‘More?’
‘Absolutely. I’ll probably put on a half a stone, but who cares?’
He chuckled. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ he said, and piled another helping on each of their plates.
‘If you can cook like that, why on earth do you need to eat in my scruffy little tearoom?’ she asked in amazement as she set her fork down for the second time.
‘Because the food is wonderful.’
‘No. That was wonderful. My food is wholesome.’
‘Exactly. That’s what you need on a daily basis. If I ate like that all the time, I’d probably have a heart attack before I’m forty.’
The words stopped her in her tracks, and she looked away, sucking in a suddenly much-needed breath. ‘I don’t think that’s always why people have heart attacks,’ she said quietly, and he groaned and put down his glass.
‘Oh, Annie, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I said that.’
She looked back at him, smiling to reassure him. ‘Don’t be silly. I was just feeling guilty because the whole time I’ve been with you I’ve hardly given Roger a thought.’
Well, it was plausible, at least. In fact she’d suddenly considered the possibility of losing him and been shocked at the stab of grief that had pierced her heart. It was nothing to do with Roger and everything to do with this man and what he was coming to mean to her.
And suddenly she couldn’t lie to him.
‘That’s not true,’ she said, before she could bottle out. ‘Actually, it was the thought of you dying—of anything—that shook me. Apparently you’re coming to mean something to me—something I hadn’t expected. I know you were joking, but—it’s just—I’ve lost two men already. I know it happens. I’m sorry, I’m being silly, spoiling things—’
‘Annie, I’m not going to die,’ he said, leaning towards her and taking her suddenly cold hand in his. ‘I promise you, I have no intention of dying—at least not for a damn long while.’
‘What about your headaches?’ she said, and his mouth twisted into a wry smile.
‘They’re just the aftermath of my accident,’ he told her. ‘I had neck injuries as well as facial injuries. Sometimes, if I do something stupid or get stressed out, I get a migraine. The osteopath fixes it, it’s not a problem.’
She nodded, reassured about something she hadn’t realised was troubling her. ‘Liz had headaches,’ she said, and he sighed.
‘Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t think about that, either.’
‘Why should you? It’s over—past. Let’s talk about something else.’
‘Such as?’
‘You,’ she said promptly. ‘So how long have you got before this heart attack you aren’t planning to have at forty?’ she asked, swirling the wine in her glass as she studied him shamelessly.
He chuckled and eased back in his chair. ‘Two years. I’m thirty-eight.’
Strange. He looked older, and yet not. Maybe it was just because of all that had happened to him, but the touch of silver at his temples and the lived-in face were older than the body.
Vicky was right. He was male. Macho. Dangerous.
But only to her heart.
Their eyes locked and, despite all the things she wanted to know about him, she couldn’t string a single coherent thought together. All she could do was feel—
He pushed back his chair and stood up, holding out a hand to her.
‘Dance with me,’ he murmured, and without argument or question she stood and went into his arms.
Common sense reared its head briefly. ‘This is crazy,’ she whispered. ‘I have to get back for Stephen.’
‘You’re quite safe. It’s quarter past seven. I’ll have to take you back at a quarter to eight. When I make love to you, Annie, I’m going to want more than half an hour to do it.’
When I make love to you.
Not if.
When.
Oh, yes. Please. It’s been so long.
Her body seemed to fit so perfectly against his. Their legs meshed seamlessly, thigh to thigh, hip to hip, their bodies swaying together in perfect harmony.
She felt his lips trace a slow, leisurely trail down from her brow, over her cheekbone, across her ear and down to the sensitive skin of her throat. She lifted her head, allowing him access to the hollow where his touch was making the pulse leap.
His tongue stroked it, dragging a groan from her aching, longing body, and with a murmured ‘Shh,’ he rocked her gently against him, bringing their hips closer together so she could feel exactly what this was doing to him, too.
A whimper escaped from her mouth, and he lifted his head and stared down into her eyes, then slowly, achingly slowly, he lowered his mouth to hers.
That was when she realised she’d never been kissed in her life before. Not by Etienne, not by Roger, certainly, and not even by Michael in that slow, thorough exploration on Saturday night.
Because this kiss was a promise, a vow, a total surrender of his heart to hers.
And hers to his.
Finally he lifted his head, his eyes dark with need and laced with regret. ‘I have to take you home,’ he said hoarsely.
‘No,’ she moaned. ‘Please, no.’
‘I have to,’ he said. ‘Stephen—’
And that was enough.
There would be time for them. But she couldn’t let her son down, and she was shocked at how close she’d come to it.
She took a step back out of his arms, and then another.
‘Of course,’ she agreed. ‘We’ll go now.’
While we still can…
CHAPTER SEVEN
WOW.
He’d been that close.
He dropped into the sofa, a glass of Antoine’s excellent Pinot Noir in his hand, and closed his eyes.
She’d tasted of wine and cream, and honey from the salad dressing, and her body had felt so good—so soft, slender and yet lush, full in all the right places.
She’d changed, filled out. From breast-feeding?
The thought dragged a groan f
rom the bottom of his lungs. He wanted her. Needed her.
He squeezed his eyes tight against the sudden prickle of tears. He’d waited so long, loved her for ever. And it seemed she loved him, too.
She hadn’t said so, but he’d felt it. That kiss had said it all, and it was more than chemistry. It was recognition, he was sure of it. Their souls had been reunited in that kiss, and finally, after the agony of the past nine years, he allowed himself to dare to hope.
And it was time to tell her the truth, and hope she’d forgive him for all the lies and deception of the past and present.
‘I love you, Annie,’ he said softly. ‘Whatever happens, I love you. I always have, and I always will.’
He opened his eyes again, staring out over the valley to the lights of the village in the distance. He could see the floodlights illuminating the church, and just down and to the left was her house. He couldn’t tell which room she was in, but if he got out the binoculars he could work it out, even in the dark.
He didn’t, though. He just waited, and eventually the lights went out.
‘Sleep tight, my darling,’ he murmured.
Then, draining his glass, he went up to bed.
* * *
‘Hi, Sport.’
‘Hi. I’m starving. Can we play chess?’
‘Maybe later. Haven’t you got homework to do?’ Annie asked, coming over to the round table by the window where Michael had been for the past half hour and where Stephen was now busy making himself at home after school.
‘Not tonight. Mr Greaves was sick, and we had a supply teacher. She let us off. She’s cool, I like her.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Annie muttered. ‘So did you go swimming this afternoon then?’
He shook his head and pulled a face. ‘No. We couldn’t. She’s not a lifesaver. I told her we didn’t need a lifesaver—well, I don’t, anyway, but she wouldn’t change her mind.’
He looked so glum and crestfallen. Michael had vowed he was going to have less to do with him until he’d talked to Annie, but there was a pool at his house, just sitting there waiting—
‘Are you a good swimmer?’ he asked, and Stephen nodded.
‘He swims like a fish,’ Annie said. ‘And he needs to burn off energy, so I hope you did something energetic instead?’ she added, turning her attention to her son.
‘We had to be trees,’ he said, disgust in his voice. Michael nearly laughed aloud, and there was a twinkle in Annie’s eyes, quickly disguised. He looked away as she spoke, biting the inside of his cheek to trap the laugh.
‘I thought she was cool?’ she was saying.
‘Only because of the homework.’
Michael glanced up and met her eyes again, then glanced at Stephen and jerked his head slightly.
To his relief she understood. ‘Stephen, why don’t you go and wash your hands before you have something to eat?’ she suggested, and with a sigh he slid off his chair and headed for the cloakroom.
Annie cocked her head on one side. ‘Why did you want him out of the way?’
He smiled wryly. ‘I’ve got a pool at the barn,’ he told her. ‘It’s heated, it’s safe and, unlike the partly cool teacher, I am a lifesaver. I could take him over now, let him swim and give him a game of chess, then you could come over when you finish here and we could have supper. Well, if you bring something to eat we could. I’ve got salad but not much else. And I might be able to find another glass of that wine for you.’
Stephen was coming back, and she hesitated, doubt in her eyes. ‘You will take care of him?’
‘With my life,’ he vowed. ‘Nothing will happen to him while I’m looking after him, I promise.’
Still she wavered, and he sensed the struggle in her, and the moment that he won.
She nodded. ‘OK. Stephen, do you want to go swimming with Michael at his house?’
The boy’s eyes widened with delight. ‘You’ve got a pool? Wicked!’
‘So is that a yes?’
‘I think so,’ Annie said drily. ‘You’ll need to go home and get your swimming things. Michael, could you go with him? Do you mind?’
‘Of course not. And when you come over, you could bring yours and join us in the pool.’
She looked flustered for a second. ‘I have to cook some time this week. I’ll be running out.’
‘I’ll help you later.’
‘My silent partner?’
He laughed softly. ‘I can’t promise to be silent, but at least you know I can cook.’
Amongst other things.
Heat flared in her eyes and she looked hastily away. ‘I’ll see you guys later, then. About six or so.’
‘Can you remember the way?’
She nodded. ‘Of course.’
He ruffled his son’s hair and stood up. ‘Come on then, Tiger. Let’s go.’
* * *
Annie watched them through the window, her son and the man who was coming to mean so much to her.
He was wonderful with the boy—just what Stephen needed.
Just what she needed—
‘No!’
He stopped Stephen on the kerb with a firm hand on his collar, just before he ran out in front of a car. Her heart in her mouth, she was on the point of rushing out to tell him off when Michael shook his head and said something. Stephen hung his head, then muttered what looked like a slightly shamefaced apology; then Michael reached out and took his shoulder—not his hand, because he wouldn’t have allowed that liberty—and steered him across the road and in through her gate without any further incident.
‘So where are they going?’
‘Michael’s taking him swimming. He’s got a pool at his house.’ She turned towards Grace and found the woman eyeing her with unashamed curiosity.
‘Indeed?’ she said slowly. ‘Wicked.’
‘That’s what Stephen said. Are you on your own?’
‘No, Jack’s just parking and Chris is joining us.’ Grace grinned. ‘So how was dinner? I liked the car.’
‘What was it?’ Chris asked, appearing at her elbow.
‘An Aston Martin DB9.’
Chris whistled softly. ‘Wow, the guy has class. Can he cook?’
She nodded slowly, remembering the food, the wine, the candlelight and soft music. Dancing with him.
The kiss.
‘Yes, he can cook.’ She was pretty damn certain he could do everything.
Especially that—
Colouring, she turned back to the kitchen. ‘Tea?’
‘Mmm. And the rest,’ Grace said. ‘You don’t get away with that.’
Annie sighed. She didn’t imagine for a moment that she would!
‘So,’ Jackie said the moment she sat down with them, ‘tell us all. What did he cook you?’
‘Don’t be boring. What’s the house like?’ Chris asked, and Grace rolled her eyes.
‘You lot! Talk about the trivia,’ she said, then lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Can he kiss?’
Annie sighed. ‘Beef Stroganoff the proper way with meltingly tender rare fillet steak, served on a bed of wild rice with a side salad, the most gorgeous estate-bottled Pinot Noir from a friend of his godfather that was quite amazing, a lovely, lovely converted barn with stunning views over the valley towards the village, and yes. Absolutely.’
Grace sighed with contentment.
‘Thought so.’
‘What?’ Jackie said, clearly lost.
‘He can kiss. I knew it.’
All six eyes swivelled back to Annie, and she felt her colour mount.
‘That was all! It was just a little kiss.’
Like the north pole in January was just a little chilly.<
br />
Chris looked out to the car park and watched as Michael backed the Volvo out of a space and drove slowly away, Stephen strapped into the rear passenger seat.
‘Interesting.’
‘What?’ Annie asked, craning her neck and starting to worry.
‘He’s put him in the back,’ Chris explained. ‘If you put them in the front without a booster seat the seat belt’s too high on their necks until they’re about twelve. Not something you’d expect a bachelor to think of.’
‘I’m amazed you let him go with Michael.’ That from Grace, who’d obviously moved on from the kiss, to Annie’s relief.
‘I haven’t had a choice about letting him do things with other people. I’m in here so much that I either have him here bored to death with me or I let him get on with his life with someone else.’
And worry myself sick the entire time, she added silently.
‘He’ll be fine,’ Chris said gently. ‘Michael’s thoughtful and intelligent and considerate.’
‘And he can kiss, and he’s got a great sense of humour, he doesn’t smoke and he’s got a lovely, lovely barn. So when’s the big day?’
Annie laughed and swatted Jackie gently. ‘Give me time to breathe! I’ve only known him just over a week!’
‘Nine days, seven hours and fifteen minutes,’ Grace said smugly.
Annie already knew that. It said something about what a sad, desperate widow she was turning into.
‘If you say so,’ she said, and dragged the conversation into safer waters. ‘What can I take over there for supper?’
Their eyes locked on hers again. ‘You’re going for supper?’
‘Again?’
‘Two nights running?’
So much for safe!
* * *
‘That was cool!’
Michael grinned and threw the boy a towel. ‘Here—you can go and shower and get dressed. We can have a game of chess before your mum gets here, and maybe we can swim again later if she wants to.’
‘Excellent!’
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