I’ve never felt so warm. I pause. I’ve never felt so safe. It’s the last thought I have before I fall asleep.
Chapter
Twelve
Why, when you want something so bad, is it always so fucking complicated?
Gideon
It’s late afternoon the next day and I stand in the kitchen looking thoughtfully down at the tray on the table in front of me. A pot of strawberry jam glows a bright scarlet. Next to it is a pat of the creamy butter that is produced here on the estate. Croissants made by Maggie and stored in the freezer here have been heated up and they steam gently in a basket next to the cafetière where coffee waits to brew. I tap my lip. There’s something missing, and it has to be perfect.
My mind strays upstairs to the warm body lying lax across the bed, his tanned olive skin glowing in the late afternoon sunshine. He’d been so tired, having travelled from Dubai and then straight down here, then I’d exacerbated his condition with four bouts of sex, each one even better than the first. I shift a little, smiling at the tenderness in my arse. He’d hardly stirred when I moved out of bed. Even the clandestine kiss I dropped on his shoulder blades over his dragon tattoo hadn’t woken him.
I look down at the tray and exclaim, “Of course!” The backdoor is open, so, grabbing a pair of scissors, I pad outside to the small stone terrace. The garden is still a bit of wilderness, which they’ll probably tame for the first guests, but I secretly like it. It’s full of mature, blowsy plants that let out the most gorgeous scents that drift into the house.
One of those plants is a rose bush with beautiful flowers that are a deep purple-black and give out a heavy perfume. I look at it and painstakingly examine each bloom until I spot the perfect flower. It’s lush and heavy with scent and I cut it neatly off, holding it gingerly so I don’t get pricked by the thorns. Then I flinch as the front door slams, and I hear my brother shout, “Gideon!” Footsteps sound and he appears at the backdoor.
“Shush!” I say, gesturing at him furiously.
“Why?” He stares down at the flower in my hand. “Will I wake the flowers?” he enquires sympathetically as if he thinks I’ve finally gone off my rocker.
“What on earth are you babbling about?” I enquire acerbically, trying frantically to gather the shreds of my dignity together which are very threadbare. I am, after all, only dressed in a pair of blue and white striped pyjama shorts with a hickey dark on my neck. And I’m clutching a flower.
His eyebrows rise slowly until they almost disappear into his hairline. Then realisation dawns. “Oh my God,” he says slowly. Then. “Oh myGod,” a lot louder. “You’ve got someone here.” He looks at the rose. “Someone who deserves flowers the next day.Gideon Patrick Ramsay!”
“Oh, shut up,” I say sourly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
My gaze involuntarily shoots to the bedroom window, which is open. I don’t need Milo finding out about this. He’d have opinions.Lotsof opinions. And I’m not in the mood for them. I’m in the mood to climb the stairs and cuddle back down against Eli’s warm body that has made my sheets smell of spunk and coconut.
Milo’s clever eyes have tracked me, and I see him noting the open bedroom window. “Who’s up there?” he whispers.
My first instinct is a shameful and old one, and, after all these years, I almost fall into by rote. In my head I can hear Frankie say to lie.Lie and hide and deny. They can’t prove anything.I even open my mouth to do it. Then realisation strikes me that if I lie, I will lose Eli.
We haven’t discussed it yet, but I know he isn’t the type to climb in my closet with me. He’s too honest. Too forthright and principled. But if I have him, I’ll lose my career. Everything I’ve worked for. For a second, the two wants fight in me, but then my reason wins.
“Eli’s up there,” I say.
“Eli, yournurse?”
“He’s not my nurse,” I say quickly. “He hasn’t been my nurse for months.”
“Oh my God, was this going on during the cruise?” His eyes are turbulent with worry.
“No,” I say firmly. “No. He wouldn’t do anything. Said he had to protect me and make sure I knew my own mind. The four months apart have been about making sure I’m not coming into it out of gratitude.” I roll my eyes, although those protective words are still engraved on a tiny bit of my heart. “As if I don’t know my own mind, and when did I ever show gratitude for anything?”
“Gideon, I don’t think you’ve known your own mind since you were a teenager and fancied Ralph Fiennes. And you do express gratitude. You thanked Niall for getting you a sandwich the other day.” He pauses. “After lecturing him on how long he took to do it.” He shrugs helplessly. “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“Thank you,” I say enthusiastically. “I wish more people recognised that.”
“That a lecture is as good as a thank you? You should give etiquette classes.”
“We’d have a whole new generation of coolly rude people coming up the ranks.”
He shakes his head, dismissing the avenue of distraction I’m offering. My brother is resolute. Niall would totally have fallen for it.
“So he protected you?” Approval warms his eyes. “I like that. You need that.”
“I don’t needprotecting,” I say, revolted. “I’m not a fucking hedgehog.”
