Something in his eyes must have warned her of the fact. Head up, ponytail swinging, she grabbed the painting from the counter, hugged it under her arm, and marched ahead of him up the stairs.
“I heard you’re keeping all the staff on,” she said, stamping along, bustle swaying just a few tempting inches from his restless hands.
“Yes.”
“That’s very good of you.”
“They have experience. They know the place.”
He waited for her to ask about her own post, but she was silent, walking ahead of him, not looking back. She opened the door of each empty room to show him, acting as if he’d never been there before, never kissed her, held her, made love to her for four continuous hours. He was still proud of that achievement.
Finally, they reached his old room and she showed him inside. He closed the door and leaned back against it. She was in the middle of the room, chattering about the size and the view of the garden.
“Aren’t you going to ask me if you can stay on too, Miss Wellfleet?”
She stopped, setting the painting down by the bed, her ponytail temporarily still. “Haven’t you got someone to fill the position already?”
It struck him suddenly that her eyes looked wet and very large. She seemed younger somehow, but she was definitely more curvaceous. Her gown was too tight in a few of his favorite places. In profile it was more evident. Her breasts were almost twice as full as he remembered, and he usually had a good memory for things like that. And in the next breath he knew. His heart skipped a few beats and then slammed back to life with new resolve.
He walked toward her. “Actually, there is someone I had in mind.” His intemperate love for her, he realized, had not diminished. If anything, it was overflowing now that he saw her again. It was pervasive, covetous, unstoppable.
“Oh.” She eyed him sadly with those heavy pools of summer verdigris.
“My wife.”
“Your wife?” Her lips quirked. He wasn’t sure if it was the herald of tears or a smile. “Do you have one?”
“Yes,” he managed huskily. “She’d better still be mine.” Coming closer, he laid his hand against her stomach, where she was barely showing under her corset and only his knowledgeable, familiar eyes could tell. “Just as this is.”
She frowned but didn’t push his hand away. “I believe there was a different name written in the parish register beside my own.”
He leaned down and kissed her soft lips, unable to wait. “If she’ll have me back, we’ll do it properly this time and put the right name in. We’d better, don’t you think?”
* * * *
Daisy felt her heart tumbling over itself. Her body reacted to his touch just as it had before, perhaps even more so now, her skin was so sensitive.
“What are you doing here?” she cried out impulsively, shameful tears burning her eyelids.
“Getting untangled. Starting again from the beginning.” He wiped his thumbs across her cheeks to dry the hot tears away and then he kissed her again. “My name is Lucien Blackwood, delighted to make your acquaintance Miss Daisy Wellfleet.”
She drew a careful breath to calm herself and quell her silly tears. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Blackwood.” Then, unable to hold it in, she burst out, “Where have you been since April?”
He looked confused for a moment. “You did tell me to leave.”
“Yes, but you took your damned time coming back, didn’t you?”
“I wanted to make sure you had time to calm that temper of yours. And see sense.” He smiled wryly. “I know women’s brains are a little slower than men’s.”
She shook her head. “You’re very lucky I’m such a forgiving soul, Luke Blackwood. And I understand that sometimes people do what they have to, not always what they should. I suppose that’s because I’m so morally ambiguous myself.” She was very pleased with herself for remembering the words he’d taught her.
He stepped back, bowed, and held out his hand. “Then perhaps we might have dinner later.”
Accepting his large hand in her much smaller one, she shook it firmly. And then she smiled. “As long as you make the dessert.”
He cocked his handsome, sun-kissed head to one side. “Something with chocolate, perhaps? Would that meet with your approval, Miss Wellfleet?”
“It might,” she admitted with a pert sigh. “My appetite is a little unpredictable these days. It’s not as easily won over as it once was.”
He threw back his head and laughed. The sound calmed her anxious heart like a lullaby. “I’ll think of something to please you,” he said.
“I’m sure you will. I’m all anticipation, Mr. Blackwood.”
She had a feeling she’d like anything he did for her, but she wasn’t about to let him know that. A girl had to keep some thoughts to herself and not blurt them all out on her tongue.
“Perhaps we should discuss your position here in my hotel,” he said, watching her lips. “Your duties, my expectations, etcetera.”
Solemn again, she nodded and when he offered his arm, she took it. “And then we’ll discuss your duties and my expectations.” She batted her lashes. “Etcetera.”
“Miss Wellfleet, you wouldn’t be trying to distract me again, would you?”
She feigned shock. “Make you forget why you came? Make you forget you mean to take over my hotel? Of course not.”
“Good. Because I wouldn’t want us to become entangled again.”
Too late, she thought merrily, glancing down at their fingers tightly joined. No one in the world could get that knot undone. Not even them.
The End
www.jaynefresina.com
Other Books by Jayne Fresina:
Last Rake Standing
Engraved (A Private Collection)
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Entangled (A Private Collection) Page 13
