by Kelly, Julia
“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” he said.
A part of him wanted to confide in Moray, but his friend’s world was solidly contained within 108 High Street. The Lothian and the Tattler were everything to the obstinate bachelor. He couldn’t explain to a man like that that his wedding night had been so explosive, so soul-wringingly good that he’d bolted out of bed as soon as he’d come to his senses.
Ina had enjoyed herself too. He knew, from the tremble of her body, to her sighs, to her scream when her orgasm crested. He might have been able to walk away if he hadn’t witnessed the hunger in her—the need that said, Do that again—and he knew he had to walk away or risk falling under, so far gone he could never climb back out again.
“We were friends before and we’ll be friends again,” he said, nodding once and then turning back to his papers.
“If you need it, there’s a cot in my office,” said Moray. “Hardly ever use it myself.”
“That’s because you prefer to sleep in your desk chair,” muttered Eva.
Moray grunted. “Are you coming back up? We have advertisements to place.”
“In a moment,” she said.
When Moray shut the door, Eva seated herself in a chair in the corner, folded her hands over her knees, and assessed him with the look of a seasoned journalist who knows the man she’s interviewing is telling her spectacular lies.
Gavin sighed, setting his pen down. “What more do you want to know?”
“Moray’s never been in love before, so he doesn’t know that things are never so cut-and-dried as you’ve made them out to be,” she said. “And neither is sex.”
“This is a conversation I don’t want to have,” he said, pushing up from his desk.
“Sit,” she ordered sharply.
He immediately sat.
“You’re in love with Ina,” she said.
He pursed his lips but nodded just the same. There was little point in trying to hide it from Eva for any longer since she could clearly see through every one of his lies.
A look of satisfaction slid across her face. “I thought so. How long has it been?”
He let out a long, slow breath. “Do you want an exact date?”
“Just an estimate will do.”
“Five years, give or take.”
“That’s a long time,” she said.
“I have a high tolerance for pain apparently.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?”
“Why do you say it like that? Why call it pain?”
He raked a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain to her what it was like to love a woman who had not the least bit of romantic interest in you.
“Because I watch her every single day knowing she’ll never understand the way I feel about her. I’ll always be just her friend.”
There. He’d said it out loud. Ina could never love him because she didn’t see him as anything other than a friend. There was no future for them. Their relationship would always be as it was now.
“And yet you married her even though you knew she might never return those feelings for you,” she said. “Why?”
“Because she needed me. But need is not the same as love.”
“Can I say, for someone who reveres her friendship so much, you’re showing an extraordinary lack of faith in the lady,” said Eva.
He reared back. “What?”
“You’re so convinced she doesn’t have any affection for you other than friendship, but have you ever asked her?”
“I’ve wanted to a thousand times.”
“And what holds you back?”
Fear. The fear of losing her. The fear of rejection. The fear that he might have to step back and begin to rebuild a life without her in it. Except now there was no stepping back. They were married.
“Relationships change as people change,” Eva said softly.
She was right, of course. His relationship with Ina had morphed several times in the last week. They shared a last name. They shared a house. They’d shared a bed.
We work together in bed, more than I ever dared hope we would.
“Anyway, it’s just something to think about.” Eva rose from her seat. “I’m glad you’ll be joining the Lothian staff, but go home to your wife. You’re no longer welcome here today.”
He stared after his friend as she made her way down the hallway to her own office, her words playing over and over in his mind.
Have you ever asked her?
Just the thought of it was ridiculous, but Eva had planted the seed in his mind and it was already beginning to take root. What if Ina did want more? What if she’d come to him that night not to address the formality of consummating a marriage or out of natural curiosity, but because she was glad it was he who was in that bed with her?
He wasn’t going to do this now. Fatigue had settled into his bones, and his thoughts were no longer making sense.
Gavin gathered up his papers and stuffed them into a leather case. It was time to go home.
Ina was taking her hair down at her vanity when she heard the clatter of boots against the wood stairs leading up to the third floor where her bedroom lay. Her hands stilled. Gavin was home, but rather than rise to greet him, she studiously went back to the task at hand.
She regretted her ridiculous decision to throw herself at him, but her body couldn’t shake the memory of their shared night. All she had to do was close her eyes to remember his kisses, and an exquisite heat would burst in her chest and pool between her legs, making her squirm in her bed linens and reach her hand between her legs for respite.
She’d touched herself before, seeking satisfaction after vivid dreams or sinking into sleep in the delicious aftermath of a climax. The difference now was Gavin occupied her fantasies. She’d imagine what it would be like to have his hands skim over the wide spread of her hips and his legs between hers. She could almost feel his mouth on her neck, collarbone, and breast, sucking and biting his way down her body as he had. But mostly she wanted his mouth between her legs again. She needed more, but at the end of the fourth day of her marriage it seemed they were at an impasse.
Ina tugged the anchor pin out of her hair and sighed at the simple pleasure of the tight knot undoing itself. It felt nearly as good as loosening her corset at the end of a long day, such freedom and comfort.
She was just gathering up her pins into their little pink box so that Ruth wouldn’t have to bother in the morning when a knock sounded at her door. She started. Each night, Gavin had walked past her room without stopping. Why would he pause now?
“Come in,” she called, drawing the lapels of her dressing gown tighter across her breasts to avoid revealing any hint of her décolletage.
The door swung open as she turned in her seat, and she couldn’t help her sharp intake of breath. She must’ve been blind not to see before the handsomeness of the man who stood before her with his squared jaw and sloping cheekbones. She’d never given much thought to the deep blue of his eyes or the way his blond hair fell in slight waves across his forehead at the end of a day thanks to his habit of pushing it aside when he thought. His height hid his wiry muscle, but she knew now the way his bare shoulders, arms, and back looked.
He didn’t appear any different than on the eve of their wedding day, but she’d changed. Her eyes had opened to the man he was.
“You’re readying for bed,” he said.
“Yes.” Normally talking to him was so easy, but her words had all dried up.
He flicked back his jacket to shove his hands into his trouser pockets. “I won’t keep you long then, but I have some news.”
“Oh?”
“Moray’s offered me a job at the Lothian,” he said.
Any coolness she’d cultivated toward him fell away in an instant. “Gavin, this is wonde
rful! Does this mean you’ll be writing more often?”
He grinned, happiness shining through despite the tiredness around his eyes. “He’d like a few articles a week to fill out the pages. There will be editing work to do too.”
She knew the struggle to write his second book and its later rejection had eaten at him, because he’d stopped talking about writing almost entirely. But the newspaper would be just the thing to help him reestablish his confidence.
“And he’s paying you a salary?” she asked, her brow arched.
He held her gaze. “Yes. Is that a problem?”
“It would only be a problem if you weren’t being compensated.”
“Why are you always so certain of me?” he asked.
The question startled her. “You’re my friend. Why wouldn’t I be?”
His expression became guarded, just as it had their wedding night. Scrambling to keep him with her, she added, “But it’s more than that. You’re one of the few people who has ever encouraged me to sculpt. You never once told me that it’s not an appropriate pursuit for young ladies.”
“That’s because I see the brilliance in you. You’re a force of nature, Ina.”
“Then why is it so hard for you to comprehend that my belief in you has always been unshakable?” she asked, surging up out of her chair to take his hand. She pressed his palm flat to her chest. “My only regret is that the whole world doesn’t see you as I do.”
He sucked in a breath, and suddenly she was all too aware of how he towered over her, his lips close as he tilted his head down to look at her. She should have pulled back, but she couldn’t. She was frozen in place by his proximity, her entire body firing with the awareness of his unique scent—clean linen, wood smoke, and bottled ink all mixed together.
It was Gavin who took a step back, letting his hand slip from hers. Her heart squeezed. He couldn’t leave. Not when she finally felt as though they were beginning to piece back together what they’d broken.
“I read your article on the Dutch painters,” she called out, as though that would somehow get him to stay.
He cast a wary glance. She wanted to grasp him by the shoulders and shake him until his teeth rattled for even thinking he had to tiptoe carefully around her. When had they ever been anything but completely honest with each other?
“You did?” he asked.
“I read the paper every afternoon over tea as a break from working.” She hesitated. “When did you write it?”
He scrubbed a hand over his chin, the bristles of his stubble rasping. “The night of our wedding. After I left.”
His abandonment still hurt, but she couldn’t help the relief that churned in her. He’d been working, not with the woman from the letters.
“Well, I’d say we should ring for a bottle of champagne to celebrate, but you look tired,” she said.
He smiled sheepishly. “Thank you, I think.”
Inching closer, she went on tiptoe and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. “Good night, Gavin.”
His hand twitched as though he wanted to reach out to her. Her body leaned into him, unable to resist his pull. Something flashed in his eyes, and she was certain he wanted to kiss her. But then he seemed to think better of it. He let his hand drop to his side, pursed his lips, and silently walked out of the room, leaving her clenching her fists tight in frustration.
They had to get back to where they’d started. These long pauses and her own awkwardness were becoming too common. There was no wiping away the fact that sex had changed them, but they needed to find a way back to one another.
Ina set about undressing, hoping it would keep her mind off of Gavin, but as she fumbled with the clasps that held her skirt together, she imagined him stripping her of it. Her shirt, ordinarily utilitarian, felt sensual against her heated skin. When she released the front hooks of her corset, she couldn’t help the ache in her breasts to feel his hands on them.
She ran a stiff-bristled brush over her hair again and again, removing a day’s worth of marble dust that had no doubt settled in the strands. As she counted strokes, her eyes kept wandering to the door that connected their rooms. She couldn’t cross that barrier and risk his rejection again, but when she was done she went to unlock the door just in case he might prove to be the braver of the two of them.
Gavin stood in the dark, staring at the door to his dressing room that kept him from Ina. He’d stood there unmoving since he’d returned to his bedroom. All he could think of were Ina’s soft lips on his cheek just on the other side of that door.
He should’ve kissed her. He should’ve kissed her and carried her to bed and lost himself in her. He was almost positive she wanted him to, and yet he’d done nothing.
He was sabotaging himself and his reasons why were becoming dangerously few.
Somewhere between the Lothian offices and home, Eva’s words had lodged themselves in his brain. He’d believed with absolute certainty for so long that Ina felt nothing deeper than friendship for him, and yet he didn’t know, because he’d never asked her. Even worse, he’d never shown her what he wanted.
He’d just placed his hand on the brass door handle when the tumblers turned. She’d locked the door, shutting him out.
“Idiot,” he murmured, dropping his forehead against the cool wood. If she’d called to him, he would’ve gone running. He couldn’t make her feel what he felt, but maybe he could have something close to it. If she wanted desire and passion, he could give that to her, but instead she’d shut him out.
No. The thought rocketed through him. No, he didn’t want to give up this easily. He’d done that too often with Ina. It had always been easier to pull back and tell himself that their friendship was too important to risk, but now they were married. Everything was different, and he’d been a fool to try to convince himself that he could continue to shield them both from any change in their relationship.
He was done pretending that she didn’t matter to him. That his world didn’t center around her. He just had to figure out a way to show her.
Chapter Ten
INA STOOD, HANDS planted on her hips, staring at the sculpture that was slowly, steadily emerging before her eyes. Two days ago, she’d carefully sketched out the lines of Hero and Leander in chalk on the stone and begun to chisel away the marble, keeping a careful eye out for imperfections in it that might cause it to crack or, even worse, split if she tapped the wrong way.
It was only now, late into the evening, that the block of stone was beginning to resemble a very rough shape of what was in her head. There were shoulders and an angle that would soon become the slope of an arm. One of the points of Leander’s knee canted up, and the rough shape of Hero’s gown pooled at what would soon be her feet.
Setting her hammer down, she ran her fingers along a rough stone that would eventually become Hero’s back.
“You’re making progress.”
Her fingers stilled as Gavin’s voice cut through the quiet of her studio.
“I wasn’t expecting you home so early,” she said.
He chuckled, sending a thrill dancing down her spine.
“You haven’t looked at a clock all day, have you?” he asked.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Half past midnight.”
She glanced over her shoulder. He’d already loosened his neckcloth and undone the top button of his shirt. He had a sheaf of papers in his hand and in the other was a plate bearing a stack of sandwiches.
“Have you not had supper?” she asked.
“Moray sent one of the errand boys out for tea.” He set the plate down on her workbench and from under his arm produced a bottle of beer she hadn’t realized he’d been carrying. “Have you eaten?”
Ina looked at the statue and back at the sandwiches. It hadn’t even occurred to her until he’d mentioned it, but she was starved.
He picked up a sandwich. “I’ll never understand how anyone can forget to eat. I asked Norris if Mrs. Hart had anything at the ready, and she sent up these.”
Ina wiped her gritty fingers on her skirt and took the sandwich from Gavin’s outstretched hand. “Thank you.”
She rested her hip against the workbench but kept her gaze fixed on the partially blocked-out statue. Chewing in silence, it struck her that, for the first time since moving into this house together, something felt familiar. She was used to Gavin in her studio, scrutinizing her work when it was still just an image in her head. She’d missed his company since their engagement.
“You haven’t told me about this one,” he said, nodding at the statue while he popped the stopper off of the bottle of McEwan’s.
Taking another bite of thick-cut beef and spicy mustard, she used her free hand to shuffle through her sketches until she found one that showed the entire work.
“There,” she said, spreading it out for him next to the plate of sandwiches.
From under her lashes, she watched him study the sketch. After a long moment he said, “It’s classical.”
“Of course.”
“And tragic. The dead youth and his lover.” He took a swig of beer. “Alcyone and Ceyx?”
She shook her head. “I don’t remember that one.”
“They were a husband and wife who were so happy together they called each other Zeus and Hera in jest. That angered Zeus, and he threw a lightning bolt at Ceyx’s ship.”
“That hardly seems fair.”
“Not at all. When Alcyone found out her husband had drowned, she threw herself into the sea to join him.”
She scrunched up her nose. “I never realized how morbid these myths are.”
“The gods eventually turned them into kingfishers, if that’s any consolation,” he said, handing her the beer.
“Not really.” She took a long drink and passed the bottle back. “Meet Hero and Leander.”
“Ah,” he said with a nod. “That explains the wet hair. Is it a commission or for your own pleasure?”