She turned to face him. His face was so close she could see the tiny pricks of stubble starting to break through his skin and his eyes were still and watchful.
‘You OK?’ he asked, his voice gentle with a suggestion of hoarseness.
‘I am now.’
He lifted one hand to cup her face. The crackle of the fire suddenly seemed loud and her heart pounded so hard she thought it might burst through her chest. With a tiny exhale, an almost sigh, she opened her lips, unable to take her eyes from his.
Tracing a sure path, his hand slipped along her jaw and cupped her neck as he pulled her towards him. Their mouths met on a shared sigh.
Kissing Devon was like sliding slowly and languorously into the enveloping warmth of a hot scented bath, heating every bit of her, making her body pliable with longing. She wrapped her arms around him, her hand sliding into the hair at his nape, pressing her body up to his. He explored her mouth with thorough gentleness, his hand sliding through her hair while his other hand supported her back. The tender trace of his lips was intoxicating and addictive. The sense of wanting to gather him close and not let go almost overwhelmed her.
Together they settled into a more comfortable position and at last drew apart. Ella’s breath seemed to have stalled somewhere in her chest and her blood sizzled as she gazed into his face. A flush seared her cheekbones, all her nerve endings tingling and dancing in delight.
‘Wow.’ She didn’t know what else to say. Giddy elation whirled through her system as the enormity of the kiss sank in. Different to any other, it felt grown-up and precious. One that went somewhere and could lead to more. As she looked at Devon, certainty settled in her heart with horrible intrusion. She could love this man.
And that was the last thing either of them needed.
He leaned forward to touch his forehead against hers in a silent heartfelt salute.
‘Wow, indeed. That’s quite a thank you-for-cleaning-my-dog kiss. Maybe I should give Tess a treat. I owe her.’
She eased back to make sure he could see her face, the moment weighted with sudden seriousness. ‘It should be a thank-you-for-everything kiss. You were so kind up at the Beacon, talking really helped. It was the first time I’d been able to speak about it and it was like lancing a boil. I feel so much better. You really helped.’
‘You didn’t need saving.’ Devon traced her lips with a single finger. ‘Just waking up.’
Ella smiled. ‘I can see you hacking through the forest to rescue Sleeping Beauty.’
‘I’m no knight in shining armour. Marina certainly wouldn’t agree.’ He sobered for a second.
She put a hand over his.
He sighed and she could almost see him pushing the negative thoughts away. ‘Where you’re concerned, I just seem to be in the right place at the right time.’ He paused and then added wickedly. ‘Although with all the scrapes you get yourself into, it’s not exactly difficult.’ The arm he snaked around her waist to pull her into him robbed the words of any sting.
‘I never used to . . . do such stupid things in London.’ She shook her head. ‘Life there was so much narrower. Funny, you always think that a city is where everything is going on, where it’s all happening, but actually the scope is quite limited.’
‘What do you mean?’ Devon put his wine glass down, looking interested.
‘You stay within your confines. The world you construct and you’re so used to it, that it creates its own boundaries. You restrict yourself.
‘I got so used to the galleries we went to. The art we saw. The people I mixed with. I forgot there was a much broader spectrum out there. Another way of seeing or doing things. I was so bound by habit. I stopped questioning anything for myself.
‘You asked me “what is art?” I looked it up. There are loads and loads of definitions. Some dead simple, some so pretentious and laborious. For me it has to be simple. Thomas Merton expressed it beautifully, “Art enables us to find ourselves and lose ourselves at the same time.”’
Devon nodded. ‘I like that. Do you think you’ve found yourself?’ The direct question hovered between them, suddenly full of import. To her, anyway; his face gave nothing away.
Her heart hitched. ‘I’m certainly on the way.’
He tilted his head, listening, encouraging her to go on. She loved that about him. He knew when not to talk.
‘When I came here . . . well, you know what it was like. This was a prison sentence. I was miserable, so I came here not expecting anything. Just to ride out my misery.’
Devon nodded and looked down at his hands. She waited until he lifted his head again, meeting his eyes with her steady gaze.
‘To hide away and hope that all the problems would vanish while I wasn’t looking directly at them.’ She gave a half-laugh. ‘Life doesn’t work like that, does it?’
Devon’s lips twisted. ‘Sadly not. It’s easier to hide. Easier to bury your head. Distract yourself. But it doesn’t solve the problem.’
Distraction was his tool. Running away was hers. They were both as bad as one another.
