He pauses for breath and I try to relax my instinctive defensive shield. I don’t need it with him.
He rubs my arm affectionately. “You’re so clever and talented and no one sees it here apart from us, and you need more than that. You should be living it up and going to exotic parties. Mixing with artists and the bohemian crowd.”
I swallow hard at the thought of the people that used to surround Thomas. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a bohemian crowd. They sound quite noisy and tiring,” I manage to say.
“Well, maybe look for a sub-branch. The whispering bohemians or something.” I laugh, letting it flush away the horrible memory, and he smiles at me. “I’m not sure why you stay here, to be honest. It’s a lovely place and my home, but you could be anywhere.”
“I don’t want to be anywhere else.Chi an Moris my home too,” I say quietly. “It’s very pretty.”
We both jump as there’s a loud bang on the door and a familiar messy blond head appears. “What are the two of youdoing up here?” he demands. “We’re sending out for Chinese. What do you want?”
Oz grins at me. “Oh yes, he’s very pretty indeed,” he mutters. “But which of his parts are the prettiest?”
“Shut up.” I feel my cheeks flush and hope it looks like it’s the cold. I look at the man who’s just appeared and sigh. Niall Fawcett. Estate manager ofChi an Mor. I’ve known him all my life, as in his teenage years he practically lived with us. He’s my brother’s best friend and the man I crushed on for years.
He’s gorgeous. Tall with wide shoulders, narrow hips, and legs that go on for days. With a head of shiny white-blond hair that looks fashionably messy and piercing blue eyes, he looks more like a Nordic model than an estate manager. He was the subject of many of my wet dreams when I was a teenager, which is slightly awkward, but it needn’t be for one very good reason.
“It’s bloody cold in here,” he says, coming into the room fully and striding over to the radiator. “Jesus,” he mutters, standing up and coming over to me. “The radiator’s out.” I swallow hard as he grabs my hands. “Fucking hell, Lo, your hands are freezing. You’ll make yourself ill again. You’ve only just got over that flu you had a couple of months ago.” He ruffles my hair affectionately, sending strands of it falling messily out of my ponytail.
Yes, that is the reason why it’s not awkward. Niall completely missed out on the memo that I’m a grown man now and not the small, nervous child who shadowed his footsteps through the long school summer holidays or even the damaged man he brought back here. He treats me like I’m seven and although I know the reason and adore him for it, it’s still fucking aggravating.
I pull my hands back, not missing the swift frown he gives. “I’m fine,” I say shortly. “You make me sound like something from a Bronte novel.”
“Which one would you be?” he asks.
I arch my eyebrow. “Read many of them, have you, Niall?”
He flushes slightly. “I do read, you know.”
“The weather reports, mainly,” Oz says tartly.
“They’re very educational.”
“Only if you’re interested in hot air and cold fronts.”
He laughs. “That sounds like the title of your autobiography, Ozzy.”
“Oh, fuck off,” my friend mutters, shoving Niall but not managing to move him an inch. Niall ignores him and looks back at me.
“Food,” he says succinctly. “You’ve been up here all day and Maggie says you haven’t eaten anything.”
“Oh my God, you’re spying on me using Maggie.”
He raises one very arrogant eyebrow. “Spying is such a common word, Milo. Let’s call it overseeing.”
“Well, stop all the seeing over,” I say crossly. “I’ll eat when I’m ready and not a second before.”
He shoots a quick look at me which for a second almost looks proud but then it vanishes, no doubt because I just sounded like a sulky seven-year-old.
“I’ll order you a sweet and sour chicken,” he says decisively. “You always eat that like it’s going out of fashion.”
I open my mouth but it’s too late to blast him as he smiles at Cora in my arms. It’s far too warm and potent this close up and I swallow hard, seeing Oz grinning out of the corner of my eye.
“How’s my precious?” Niall coos. “Did she miss her Uncle Niall? Did she?”
Oz and I exchange shakes of our heads, but Cora is a lot less discriminating. She fucking loves Niall, and whenever he’s in the room she gets agitated and waves all her arms and legs trying to get his attention. I gape as he removes her adeptly from my arms.
“Let’s go and get some food, Cora Bora,” he says, kissing the tiny tip of her nose and making her go briefly cross-eyed. “If I take you downstairs the silly boy will follow.”
