by Talli Roland
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Of all the directions the evening might have taken, the last thing Will expected was ending up on his boat. Maybe he should have said no? But that would be churlish, especially since Emma had gone through the trouble of buying half the veggie department. Still, something about her presence in the close confines of his home made him nervous—even more nervous than he’d been already. And bloody hell, she looked good tonight. The way that jumper clung and how her jeans hugged the right places.…
Not to mention how talented she was, he thought, tearing his mind from her neat little body. He’d been blown away when he’d first seen her sketch back at the DIY centre, but flipping through her earlier drawings had been mind-blowing. All in all, she was the perfect package.
Except he wasn’t looking, Will reminded himself under his breath.
‘Sorry?’ Emma’s green eyes met his.
‘Oh, nothing. Just saying it’s cold out here tonight.’ He gave her a lame grin, thankful she couldn’t see just how lame in the dark.
What would Emma think of his boat? He remembered Cherie’s reaction, back when she’d come to pick up a few bits and bobs she’d left in the old flat. The look of abject horror as she’d glanced around the sparse space was something he’d never forget. But Cherie was a woman who liked creature comforts, someone who’d think nothing of buying a thousand-pound phone from Bang & Olufson, for example, just because it was top of the range. Given the surprising state of Emma’s flat and how she’d managed to live for so many years in conditions that would rival Siberia, Will didn’t think she’d mind his boat too much.
‘Where are we going? Thought you were taking me to your flat?’ Emma asked as they navigated down the stairs to the canal towpath. The basin of water gleamed darkly, willow branches on a small island framing the clear night sky. Thankfully, the moon shone brightly, lighting the pathway. Emma’s voice sounded with trepidation, and Will realised it might seem slightly dodgy, taking a woman he didn’t know very well through the depths of the canal.
‘Well, actually,’ he said, turning to face her, ‘I am. My flat just happens to be a boat.’
Emma stopped. ‘A boat?’ Her tone was incredulous, and Will’s heart dropped. Here we go—another woman who’d look at him like he’d lost his mind. Maybe Emma wasn’t so different from Cherie, after all. But her next words stopped his thoughts from progressing further down that track.
‘That’s brilliant!’ Emma continued, a note of childlike glee creeping into her voice. ‘Wow, like one of these boats here?’ She gestured to the working narrow boats lining the canal. They were covered in chains, with rusty machinery perched on their peeling decks. Will was surprised she hadn’t run off in horror.
He nodded. ‘Yes. Well, no, not exactly. It’s a similar size—all narrow boats are made to the same dimensions to fit through the network of canals—but I’m in the process of renovating mine to become a miniature flat. It’s kind of a mess at the moment, but the basics are in place. You won’t be making your curry over a camp stove.’
Emma grinned back at him. ‘Good thing, because I have enough trouble with a normal oven!’
They walked companionably along the path, listening to the water lapping against the side of the canal.
‘So why did you decide to live on a boat?’ Emma asked, her voice echoing off the high walls that surrounded them.
Will shrugged, contemplating how much to tell her. No way did he want to talk about MS and the decision to leave behind his father’s company—he liked having someone who took him at face value, even if it was only for tonight. And he wasn’t going to dive into the sordid details of how his ex had left him…pathetic.
‘Fancied a change, I guess,’ he responded finally, keeping his voice devoid of any emotion. ‘When I was a kid, my family went on a narrow boat holiday for three weeks, chugging up and down all the canals, pulling over at pubs whenever we got hungry and mooring where we liked at night. There was a kind of freedom about that, taking everything with you and moving on when you wanted.’
Emma nodded. ‘I can definitely understand the appeal. I’ve always thought it’s nice to have your own defined space, something separate from everyone else.’
‘Exactly.’ Will raised an eyebrow in the dark, surprised she’d got it spot on. What he’d really wanted from the boat wasn’t exactly freedom…he’d accepted that would never happen, now that he had the disease. He’d craved isolation, a place where he could live with no intrusions.
So why the hell was he letting Emma on board?
Too late now. Will shrugged, kicking a loose pebble with the toe of his shoe and watching it scurry across the stones into the water. Anyway, it was only dinner. She couldn’t be interested in him, could she? By the looks of things, she was some hotshot insurance exec in the City, and all she knew was that he sold paint for a living at a DIY centre. He pushed aside the swirl of attraction that surrounded them when they were together, telling himself she was only saying thanks for his help painting.
The thought comforted him as they approached his boat, the dark green hull glistening as it floated on the silent water. ‘Here we are.’
Emma grinned as she took in the vessel. ‘Fantastic! I love the colour.’
A flash of pride went through Will as he climbed carefully onto the deck. ‘Let me help you.’
Emma placed her palm in his, the warmth of her fingers heating his stiff hands as she stepped aboard.
‘Welcome,’ Will said, returning her smile of delight. He was about to usher her down the steep staircase when he heard a rustle on the next boat over.
‘Yoo-hoo!’ Lou’s voice rang like a clarion through the clear night air.
‘Oh no,’ Will muttered. Lou poking her nose into his life every once in a while was bad enough, but meeting Emma, too? He’d never hear the end of it.
‘Is that your neighbour?’ Emma’s eyes widened as Lou emerged onto the deck. Tonight, her bulky form was wrapped in a Navajo blanket, her orange hair plaited into multiple braids, adorned with what appeared to be twigs and leaves. She looked like she’d been rolling around in the trees that lined the towpath further down, and for all Will knew, she had.
‘I see you have company, Will,’ Lou said before Will could answer. ‘Who is this delightful young lady?’ Her cut-glass accent was a sharp contrast to her dishevelled appearance.
‘Emma, meet Lou. Lou, this is Emma.’ Will realised too late he didn’t even know Emma’s surname. Better to keep it that way, he thought to himself. Have a bit of distance.
Lou took a few doddering steps towards the edge of her boat, and Emma shot Will a look of alarm. The way the older woman was moving, it seemed she could very easily tumble from the vessel, a repeat performance of her antics last year. Then, Lou had performed her Native rituals under the influence of natural herbs, and she’d splashed right into the canal’s slimy waters. It had taken a whole group of men to pull her back to dry land. Clearly, she’d been smoking her ‘medicine’ again.
‘Nice to meet you.’ Emma quickly crossed the deck to close the distance.
‘I’m glad our William has finally found some female company,’ Lou said. ‘Celibacy does the soul no favours at any age, you know. In fact, the Native Americans—’
‘Okay, great, thanks Lou.’ Will cut in before Lou uttered anything else. Good God, she’d already said way too much! Emma would think he’d dragged her back here for a quick shag or something. ‘We’d best get inside before we freeze. Take care of yourself, okay?’ He grabbed Emma’s hand and motioned her down the steep ladder stairs leading to the boat’s interior, trying to ignore the knowing smirk on Lou’s face.
Emma glanced around the narrow space, keen to take it all in. When Will had said he lived on a boat, she’d pictured something like the grease-scented ferry her father had once taken her on to the Isle of Wight. This wasn’t exactly luxurious—in fact, it
was downright basic—but oh, the potential! Already her mind was spinning with ideas. You could do it up in soft shades of grey, maybe with a patterned carpet to add some depth. Long stripy sofas lining the wall on one side, built-in bookcases and shelving on the other.
‘Emma?’ She met Will’s inquisitive gaze, conscious he was waiting for her to say something.
‘Sorry!’ She laughed. ‘My creative mind is going into overdrive. It’s such a great space.’ Even with the worn sofa, beat-up wooden flooring, tiny galley kitchen, and the double bed shoved into the bow, it was still a fabulous home. Emma could just imagine curling up on the couch as the boat glided through England’s canals. What a fantastic way to live.
But how could Will afford this, Emma wondered, running her eyes over the interior again? It must be costing a fortune to refurbish. He’d have to pay for mooring on the canal, too, and in this desirable part of London, she couldn’t imagine that came cheaply.
‘It is, isn’t it?’ Will switched on a few more lights, and Emma’s eyes bulged as she caught sight of a stack of canvases shoved next to the sofa. She stepped closer to one, admiring the intricate swirls and patterns.
‘These are wonderful.’ She squinted at the signature in the corner, but she couldn’t make it out. ‘Who are they by?’
Will dropped his head. ‘Me, actually.’
Emma spun in surprise, jerking back when she realised his face was only inches away. God, this boat was close quarters—not that she minded. All evening, it felt like layer after layer of Will was being revealed, and they were more alike than she’d realised. The knowledge drew her to him even more.
‘You did these?’ She flipped through the paintings, loving the bold colours and sweeping lines, then turned to meet his gaze again. ‘They’re wonderful.’
A faint blush tinted Will’s cheeks, and Emma longed to reach up and stroke his dark stubble. Will cleared his throat and stepped back from her, like a skittish animal sensing attack.
‘Should we get started on making the meal?’ he asked, moving towards the safety of the kitchen. ‘Did you bring the wine? I’ll pour us a couple glasses.’
‘Yes.’ Emma’s face reddened now as she produced the half-full bottle, complete with an added layer of cork floating on top.
Will laughed. ‘Well that’s certainly been through the wars, hasn’t it? Not to worry. I’ll just crack open a fresh bottle.’
‘I brought this.…’ Her voice faded when she noticed Will opening a cupboard door, revealing row after row of wine bottles nestled inside.
‘Here,’ he said, placing one on the counter. Emma was no wine connoisseur, but she could tell from the label it was another expensive bottle. What was with this man? Skilfully, Will removed the cork and poured two glasses full of crimson liquid.
‘Cheers.’ He lifted the wineglass in the air, and Emma followed suit. ‘Here’s to dinner.’
‘If I ever get it made!’ she joked, taking a sip of the smooth, oaky wine.
Will rolled up his sleeves. ‘Come on, let’s start. I’m starving.’
He switched on some jazzy piano music and the two of them organised ingredients on the counter, Will laughing when he realised Emma had no recipe and only the vaguest idea what to do. Abandoning the tomatoes and radishes, he put her in charge of slicing onions and peppers as he fried the chicken in the curry paste. After pouring in coconut milk, splashing lime juice from a jar in his miniature fridge, and adding the veggies, the concoction smelled delicious. Much better than the noxious fumes she’d have produced on her own.
‘We’ll leave it to simmer for a bit,’ Will said, pouring the remainder of the wine bottle into Emma’s empty glass. She eyed it in astonishment—had she drunk all that already? She was feeling surprisingly relaxed. The smooth wine, soothing music, and the gentle ease at which they’d worked together in the kitchen combined to reduce any lingering nerves. Will seemed less tense, too.
‘So do you cook very much?’ he asked playfully as they settled onto the sofa.
Emma laughed. Given her lack of domestic prowess—more than evident when she failed to cut the ends off the onions before slicing them up—it was blindingly obvious she and a recipe hadn’t come within miles of each other recently.
‘I can’t even remember the last time, to be honest. But’—she twisted to face him—‘I really enjoyed tonight! I might have to cook more often. With a recipe,’ she added with a grin. ‘So, tell me more about your artwork.’ Maybe now he might open up a little bit. ‘Have you painted for long?’
Will sipped his drink, and for a second, Emma thought he might not answer. He was such an odd mix of open and laughing one minute, closed and distant the next.
‘I can’t remember not painting,’ he said quietly, rolling the wine around in his glass. ‘I’ve always been surrounded by colours, and I guess it made sense I’d want to use them to create something of my own. I’ve never trained formally, although I did get accepted to an art college after leaving secondary school.’ He shrugged. ‘It wasn’t practical, so I decided to go into business.’ Will’s face closed up as if he’d said too much.
‘What kind of business did you study?’ Emma asked, trying not to make it sound like she was probing.
But Will was already getting to his feet. ‘We should check on the curry. There needs to be enough coconut milk; it’s rubbish when—’
Before she could stop herself, Emma’s hand snapped out, grasping his wrist. Her eyes widened as she met Will’s surprised expression. What was she doing? Suddenly, Emma realised she didn’t want him to keep closing up and running away. There was something between them. She could sense it, and she was sure Will could, too. And for once, she was going to act on her desires.
Without letting go, she scrambled to her feet and leaned forward, feeling the heat of his body…the scratch of his stubble…his lips on hers. God, they were nice: soft and warm, so different from George’s oily ones. She felt Will’s body tense for a minute, and a dart of fear went through her. Had she made a mistake? Would he push her away?
But then his arms encircled her, pulling her up against his solid form. The pressure on her lips increased with his intensity, and before she knew it, she was yanking his shirt free, desperate to touch his skin. She ran her fingers over his smooth back, conscious his hands were slipping under her jumper and tugging her even closer.
So this is what it should feel like, Emma thought as Will’s lips moved down her neck to the sweet spot on her shoulder. Goosebumps rose on her arms as she was swept away on a carpet of pure emotion, her mind blank except for the delicious sensations cascading through her body.
Without words, Will tugged her over to the bed, slipping off her sweater. As the cool air caressed her skin and she sank onto the soft mattress, Emma’s last thought was that she would never again settle for anything less than this.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As light filtered through the curtains, Will opened his eyes, heart sinking when he faced the reality that last night hadn’t been a dream. What had he done? One kiss and he couldn’t control himself? There was something electric about this woman, something that jolted him to the core each time he touched her. Cherie had been attractive and the sex, always satisfying, but with Emma…If only he wanted a relationship, things would be just right.
Things weren’t right, though, and they never would be again. Will let out a soft groan. He should have brushed Emma off, but the unexpected way she’d grabbed his hand…the look of desire on her face…and how her lips had touched his…well, it was too late to go back now.
Taking in Emma’s sleeping form—her pale, slender limbs bunched together, as if she was trying to protect herself from invisible forces—he couldn’t help reaching out a finger and brushing a chunk of dark hair back from her cheek. Something deep inside him shifted as she stirred in her sleep, and Will shook his head to dispel the emotions.
He ba
rely knew this woman, for God’s sake. And more to the point, he couldn’t afford to get involved—didn’t want to get involved—with anyone. As much for her as for him, really. He’d never expect someone to stick around as he lost control of his limbs—or whatever monstrosities might be coming.
There was only one way to deal with this, and that was to say he’d got carried away last night and didn’t want anything long term. It was definitely the truth! Who knew? Maybe Emma didn’t, either. They could part amicably, fading from each other’s life. Wouldn’t be too difficult, given they’d just met a week ago. Will blinked—had it really just been a few days? For some reason, it felt longer. A brief stab of pain hit as he pictured Emma walking off the boat and into the misty morning, but he steeled himself against it.
Sighing, Will climbed from the warm cocoon of the covers and into the frigid air, every muscle stiff and complaining. Last night had used up a lot of energy. After making love the first time, they’d laughingly joked that the curry must be ready by now. With Emma in one of his T-shirts, they’d padded over to the kitchen, devoured the meal with another glass of wine, and gone back to bed for a second session that had lasted well into the night.
‘Morning.’ Beside him, Emma was yawning and rubbing her eyes. As she smiled his way, Will noticed she looked even more beautiful—makeup smudged and hair dishevelled—than when she was carefully done up last night. Suddenly, the space felt too small, and the overwhelming urge to get out gripped him. If he stayed, Will knew he wouldn’t be able to resist leaning down, kissing her, and picking up where they’d left off.
‘Morning.’ Will threw on jeans and a T-shirt. ‘I have a shift at work. Got to be there in forty minutes.’ It wasn’t true, but right now he’d say anything to leave the boat.
‘Oh. Okay.’ Emma’s face fell as she wrapped the duvet around her and sat up in bed. ‘Brrr. It’s freezing!’
‘Yeah.’ Ducking into the bathroom, Will splashed cold water on his face, then hurriedly brushed his teeth and ran a comb through his hair. After gulping down his meds, he dabbed on some cologne, then went back out to the main living area. Thank God, Emma was now sitting on the side of the bed, buttoning up her jeans. The thought of her naked under that duvet was too much.