‘For what? For quite frankly ruining one of my favourite shirts by sobbing inconsolably onto it, for declaring undying love, or for running out of milk?’ He grinned and kissed her temple. ‘Just as well I don’t mind black coffee.’
‘We’d packed everything up in the car,’ Callie protested. ‘You’re lucky the coffee was on top of one of the last bags I squashed into the boot otherwise it would have been a mug of hot water. And your shirt will dry.’ She trailed a finger down its buttons, longing to stroke the skin beneath. The thought made her go hot.
Capturing it, he brought it to his mouth and kissed the tip. ‘So, what are you sorry for? Loving me?’
Callie sat up in indignation. ‘No!’ She shook her head, curls flying. ‘Never that. I’ve no idea how all of this, whateverthisis, is going to work, but I’ll never be sorry for being in love with you.’
‘Excellent news. And, as to whatever this is, let’s clear that up.’ His expression became serious. ‘I want to build a life with you, Calliope. I want to marry you. I want to love you and live with you.’
Breath hitched in her throat. She took his face in her hands and kissed him. ‘I’ve been an idiot.’
‘Tell me, my delightful idiot. How so?’
‘Think I was running away.’
‘From me?’ Johnny looked startled. ‘Am I that scary?’
‘Yes. You were making me feel things I hadn’t felt for years, maybe not ever. It was seriously messing with my head, as Frida would say. I was too scared to give in to it all, think around how it would all work out.’ She bit her lip and looked down, concentrating on a tear in the knee of her jeans. ‘I was worried it was just a holiday fling. That when we got back to the reality of our lives, you’d see the real me.’
Johnny put a gentle hand under her chin and lifted it. ‘The real you?’
She met his eyes. ‘An overworked, stressed-out teacher, who had no time to breathe let alone put effort into making a new relationship work. That’s if you wanted a relationship,’ she amended hurriedly. ‘I didn’t know. Couldn’t read you.’
Johnny wound a curl of bright hair around his finger. ‘Oh I want a relationship.’ He nuzzled her neck, the sensitive part just beneath her ear. ‘I want lots of relationships!’
For a moment she sank into the pleasure, then pushed him off, giggling. ‘Be serious. There’s nothing more I’d like than to take you to my bed, but you were the one who wanted to talk.And there are things we need to talk about. I was worried, amstillworried you’ll end up thinking I’m boring.’
He looked incredulous. ‘Boring?’
‘We’re very different, Johnny.’
‘True, in some ways. In others we’re remarkably alike. But neither makes you boring.’
‘It does in comparison to your family.’
‘My family?’
‘They’re all so…’ She struggled for the right words. ‘…glamorous and show-bizzy.’
‘They’re a pain in the neck,’ he replied, basely.
Callie giggled again. She toyed with a button on his shirt and it came loose revealing his chest. Bending to kiss it, she felt his breath hitch and wondered if she was that boring after all. She seemed to be having quite a dramatic effect on him. Running her hand down his side, she felt his larger one stop her.
‘Oh no, if you won’t take me to your bed, which by the way I think is a splendid phrase and one I intend on using often, you can stop making me go cross-eyed with desire, and talk. Why on earth did you think I’d think you were boring? Have I ever said that?’
Callie shook her head again. ‘No, you haven’t.’
‘You must know I think you’re amazing. Your art talent, the way you’ve brought up Frida on your own. The way you battle for her. How can that possibly be boring?’
‘We’re from such different backgrounds.’
‘Which is good in my eyes.’
‘I’m not like you.’
He trailed a hand over her breast. ‘For which I am exceedingly grateful,’ he murmured, his eyes glazing.
She put her hand over his, loving how it cupped her breast and feeling her nipple stiffen against his palm. She needed to concentrate. This was important. But she was losing the abilityto recognise why. ‘Johnny, you’ve never had to struggle for money, worry about feeding your child. You’ve never been so exhausted by the stress from work that you lose all power of thought but aren’t in a position to give it up. Have you?’
