‘Hurt you?’ His arm fell away. ‘What kind of a man do you think I am, Libby?’
‘That’s the point, Owen. I have no idea. I don’t really know anything about you.’
A deep groove etched between his brows. ‘I’m not one for all that soul-baring, “tell me all about your feelings and I’ll tell you all about mine” crap. Can’t we just be two people having a good time together?’
There was a tension to his words, and she wondered exactly what it was he was trying to hide from her. She tried again. ‘I’m not expecting you to bare your soul to me. I just meant that I don’t know anything about your life in London, or what your interest is in Lavender Bay.’
Owen sank down on the edge of the bed, eyes fixed on the glass he held between his fingers. ‘I have my own company which I built from scratch after starting out as a builder’s mate. I own a one-bedroom flat in an anonymous high-end development in Canary Wharf, which I share with a half-dead spider plant, and by own, I mean I have a mortgage large enough to give myself nightmares. Half the other apartments are empty because they’ve been bought as investment opportunities or tax write-offs so I have no neighbours that I’ve ever met. I eat out most nights because the meals for one section in the supermarket is the most depressing place on the planet. I date the right sort of women and take them to the right sort of places and I’m bored shitless by the whole bloody lot of it.’
Wow. She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but this wasn’t it. At least she had her dad and her friends, a community she fit into and was an integral part of. People who would always be happy to hear her voice if she called them. She couldn’t imagine anything worse than the empty, lonely life he’d just described to her. A couple of steps brought her close enough to stand between his legs. ‘I’m definitely the wrong sort of woman then because as much as I love the effort you went to this evening, I’d have been just as happy with a bag of salt and vinegar crisps and a glass of house white in the pub. I don’t do materialism.’
Leaning back on one elbow so he could look up into her eyes, Owen waved the glass in his free hand towards the discreet logo sewn onto the front of his shirt. ‘That’s a shame, because I’m a study in materialism.’
‘Bollocks.’ Libby nudged his knee with hers. ‘You’re the most real person I’ve ever met.’ There was a vitality to him, a strength of will that made him stand out in the crowd. She’d called it confidence, arrogance even, but that wasn’t it at all. He was a man who knew himself for what he was and wore it well. If she wasn’t careful, she’d get caught up by his sheer force of personality and be swept away. ‘Being around you scares me a little bit,’ she admitted.
He sat up so quickly champagne spilled over the back of his hand. Eyes wide with horror, he stared at her. ‘I scare you? Christ, Libby, that’s the last thing I want to do.’
‘Not like that!’ Cupping his cheek, she smiled down at him. ‘You have a lot of presence, and sometimes that’s a bit overwhelming. I feel like it’d be easy to lose all sense of myself when I’m with you.’
Owen’s hand found her hip. ‘Now it’s my turn to call bollocks. You’ve got personality in spades. You’re not like any other woman I’ve ever met.’
‘So you keep telling me, and that worries me, too. I don’t want to be some novelty or amusement.’
His fingers slid down to squeeze her bottom. ‘Because there’s nothing novel or amusing about mermaid hair.’ There was such a sweet smile on his lips, it was impossible to be offended.
His hold on her firmed, urging her down until she straddled his lap. ‘That’s better. I couldn’t do this with you all the way up there.’ Leaning forward he brushed her lips with his, a sweet glide of temptation that brought every inch of her to life with the spark of delicious memories. ‘There’s no nefarious plan here, I promise. I fancy the pants off you, and I think that’s mutual. Let’s just have some fun and see where things go, okay?’
‘I’m overthinking all this, aren’t I?’
Owen took her glass then placed it together with his own on a little bedside table. ‘On the grounds that there’s no way for me to answer that without getting myself in trouble, I’m going to distract you instead.’
‘I like the sound of that.’ Libby let herself sink deeper against him as she wound her arms about his neck. A loud buzzing came from the desk behind them, and she turned to glare at Owen’s mobile. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ As though on command, the phone fell silent and she turned back to him with a grin. ‘Now, where were we?’
To her disappointment, Owen’s attention was fixed behind her, a frown etched its way between his brows. ‘I should probably just check that.’
Ugh. She hadn’t counted on him being a workaholic, but then again she knew that running your own business didn’t always mean keeping to regular office hours. With a sigh, she started to rise from his lap. ‘If you need to work, I can leave you to it.’
‘What? No, don’t go!’ His hands tightened on her hips, holding her in place. ‘That was just an email alert, I can check it later. My office will call if it’s something really urgent.’
‘Great, so if it starts ringing, what will you do, put me on hold? Way to make a girl feel special.’ Libby pulled herself away from his hands and stepped away. She’d dated a man before who’d been more interested in his phone than in her, and sworn she’d never do it again.
‘Hold on a sec.’ Owen stood, crossed to the desk and picked up his phone.
And that was her cue to leave. ‘I’ll see you around.’
Arms locked around her waist. ‘Where are you going?’
Turning in his arms, she eyed him warily. ‘What about your phone?’
‘It’s off.’ Keeping her held against him he walked backwards until the bed hit the back of his knees then fell back onto it, taking her down with him. ‘You’ve got my complete and undivided attention.’
Warmth curled inside her. ‘Is that so?’
Still a bit breathless from being on the receiving end of Owen’s complete attention, Libby rested comfortably in the crook of his arm eating occasional strawberries from the bowl he’d propped on his chest and listening to the gulls’ cry as they dipped and soared over the evening tide. The tiny hut was like a space out of time, the real world only a step and yet miles away. Lilac, orange and red painted the patch of sky visible through the small square window above the bed. ‘I could stay here forever,’ she said with a contented sigh, before biting her lip. She needed to play things a bit cooler, not come over quite so eager. Sure, he’d gone to a lot of trouble tonight, but she couldn’t afford to read too much into it. Trying to keep her body relaxed against his, she hoped he’d take it as a throwaway comment.
Tilting the bowl on his chest towards him, Owen peered at the last couple of strawberries. ‘You’ve already eaten most of the food so that might be a bit of problem.’
Relief flooded through her, and she told herself to stop second-guessing everything and just enjoy the moment. Stealing one of the strawberries, she popped it into her mouth. ‘Not for me. I’ll laze around here, and you can channel your inner hunter-gatherer and go out on foraging trips.’
With a chuckle, Owen dropped a kiss on the top of her head. ‘I’m not sure Lidl existed in prehistoric times. Besides, I thought it was the woman’s job to tend and care for her man?’
Sitting up, Libby grabbed a pillow and bopped him on the head with it. ‘Let this be the first of many disappointments for you, because I can barely look after myself.’
She’d expected another laugh from him, but the look on his face as he shoved the bowl of strawberries to one side and tucked the pillow behind him to sit more upright was anything other than amused. ‘Don’t do that.’
‘Do what?’
‘Make yourself the butt of the joke. You work so bloody hard. Don’t think I haven’t noticed all those hours you spend on your feet. And I bet you take care of your dad too, on top of everything else.’
Taken aback at the
vehemence behind his words, Libby reached for her glass of champagne and gulped the last mouthful. ‘I didn’t think I was doing that. I thought we were just messing around. Dad and I take care of each other, like we’ve always done. We’ve always split everything down the middle at work and at home. Though just lately he’s been trying to do more than his fair share.’ With a sigh, she scrubbed a hand through her hair. ‘He gets on these periodic guilt trips, like he thinks he robbed me of my youth or some such nonsense. It’s been much worse since Beth and Eliza came home.’
‘How so?’
‘He’s always on at me to go out and spend time with them, like we’re still teenagers. I’m not a kid anymore. This is my job, my life and I’m happy with the responsibility of it. I can’t get him to see that, though. Working in the chippy was good enough for him, and his parents before that, so why shouldn’t it be enough for me?’
‘Is it enough for you?’ When she frowned, he held up a hand. ‘That’s not a criticism, I’m just asking if it’s really what you want and that you’re not just saying it because you think it’s what’s expected of you.’
She knew what he was trying to say, but it was hard to stop her next words from sounding defensive. ‘I’ve got plenty of plans for the future, but they all revolve around staying here in the bay.’
‘And have you told him that? He’s probably just trying to make sure you enjoy a better life than he had. That’s what all parents want for their children—or so I’ve heard.’
That wasn’t the first time he’d made a reference like that, and she wondered anew what else lurked behind the confident face he turned towards the world. Whatever his personal issues might be, he was right about one thing: she hadn’t told her dad about her plans for the future. And it was something she’d have to address with him sooner rather than later. Stretching over, she snagged the champagne bottle from the bucket they’d placed on the floor, and said as much. ‘You’re right, I need to talk to him.’
Owen tucked a hand behind his head, drawing the muscles in that side of his body tight. With a lazy smile that did all sorts of ridiculous things to her insides, he gave her a nudge with his foot. ‘Of course I’m right. I always am. Now pour me some more of that champagne.’
‘Ugh, you’re so bossy.’ She needed to stop making it sound like a compliment. Her feminist credentials would be withdrawn if she kept melting every time he issued a command.
She shared the remaining champagne between their glasses—making sure she added just a bit more to her own glass—then settled next to him against the pile of pillows. It was time to take control of the situation, make it clear she was putting no expectations upon him, that she wouldn’t be running straight to Eliza and Beth to tell them about her new boyfriend. ‘Would you be offended if I asked if we could keep this just between us?’
‘A clandestine and sordid affair?’ Humour sparkled in his eyes, and she saw no sign of offence, thank goodness. She wasn’t ashamed of being with him, but she didn’t want their friends getting the wrong idea and reading more into it than there was. And not just them, either.
‘Not sordid, just private.’
Owen slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. ‘Just a little bit sordid?’ He caught her lobe with the edge of his teeth making her shiver in delight.
‘I might be persuaded.’ She wriggled away from his lips before she did something unforgivable like spill her champagne, or let slip the turmoil he stirred up inside her. ‘Cheers.’ She tilted her glass and he clinked them together.
‘Cheers. Here’s to us.’
‘To us,’ she echoed. For as long as that might be.
Chapter 11
Every free moment he had over the next few weekends was spent with Libby. When he couldn’t be with her, he found himself daydreaming about her. When his phone buzzed during the long, lonely evenings in his flat, he resented the fact she wasn’t there to tell him to switch the damn thing off. Even his enthusiasm for the restaurant project was starting to wane. He couldn’t let Sam down, though, so he’d forced himself to spend the whole day in the sweaty heat of the old skittle alley helping him rip out the old fixtures and fittings.
‘That’s the last of it,’ Sam said with a groan as he knuckled his back. ‘I reckon we’ve earned a beer.’
Owen checked his watch. Libby was covering the early shift in the chip shop and would be finished in a few minutes. ‘I might take a pass on that, mate, if you don’t mind. I’ve got a few things to catch up on, so I’ll head down to the hut once I’ve had a shower.’ It didn’t feel right lying to him, but he’d promised Libby they could keep things on the down-low.
Sam shook his head. ‘Don’t you ever stop?’ There was no censure in it.
‘Joys of being the boss, as you’ll find out for yourself soon enough.’ Owen tied the top of the last rubble sack and stacked it in the corner with the other rubbish. They’d booked a Wait and Load skip for Monday so there wasn’t much more to be done until then.
‘Don’t remind me.’ Sam clapped him on the shoulder. ‘Thanks again for pitching in like this, I didn’t expect you to get your hands dirty.’
Tugging off his work gloves, Owen tucked them into the back pocket of his filthy jeans. ‘A bit of hard work never killed anyone, and I don’t believe in paying someone to do something I can do just as well myself. This project will start eating up our money soon enough.’
‘That’s very true, but I’m glad you’re here all the same. Well, if you’re sure about that beer, I’m going to grab a shower and go and see my gorgeous girlfriend.’
Me too. ‘I’ll catch you later.’
A shower and a quick change and ten minutes later Owen perched on the railings a few feet along from the chip shop. Libby let herself out the front door with a wave over her shoulder then started along the prom, hands tucked into the pockets of a pair of black-and-white tartan trousers she’d teamed with a black vest top. He felt a smile stretching his mouth at the shock of scarlet hair feathering around her face. She’d been at the bloody hair dye again. Thinking back to his early days on the building sites, he stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled his appreciation. ‘All right, love, fancy a drink?’ He’d tried hard over the years to smooth the rougher edges of his accent, but he exaggerated them for her now.
Jerking to a halt, Libby stared at him in surprise before glancing around. A few early evening strollers were watching them, but no one he recognised. Striding over to him, she folded her arms across her chest. ‘I thought we were meeting in the hut?’
He slid down from the railing to curl an arm around her waist and tug her close. ‘What if I said I couldn’t wait a moment longer to see you?’
Eyes bright, she shook her head. ‘I’d say you were full of it, or after something.’
Grinning, he hooked his fingers through the belt loops of her jeans and spread his legs so he could settle her between them. ‘I’m always after something, but I thought we could take a stroll along the beach first.’
‘That sounds nice.’
Keeping one arm around her waist, Owen steered them along the prom towards the step that led to the beach. His nose started itching, probably from all the dust and dirt in the skittle alley and he drew a white handkerchief from his pocket. Releasing his hold on her, he turned away to blow his nose.
When he turned back she was giving him a funny half-smile. ‘How is it that you’re the only man I know other than my dad who still uses a hanky?’
Shrugging, he folded the cotton into a square and tucked it away once more. ‘One of the few helpful lessons I learned from Mrs Travers was to always keep a clean handkerchief in my pocket.’
‘Mrs Travers? Who was she, one of your teachers?’
His harsh bark of laughter seemed to echo off the quiet buildings behind them. ‘You could say that, I suppose. Mrs Travers was my foster mum for about six months until the social worker found out she was a proponent of cold baths and starvation techniques as part of our
training regimen.’ Okay…soul-baring hadn’t been on his agenda, but it was out there now, and he was so tired of pretending he had everything together. For reasons he couldn’t fathom, he wanted Libby to know him—the real him.
‘Foster mum? What happened to your parents?’ The gentle concern in her voice felt like a stroke over his skin.
Not sure how much he wanted to say, he kept it to the barest of facts. ‘I was given up at birth; got bounced around the system until I was old enough to get myself out.’
‘I…I can’t imagine.’ Her voice took on a harder, almost angry tone. ‘How old were you when you were with this Mrs Travers?’
‘I went to live with her a couple of weeks after my ninth birthday. Hers was the seventh foster home I’d been in by then.’ At her gasp, Owen shrugged. ‘It wasn’t the worst place I lived, and when it all got too much, I had Mr Buttons to cry to.’ When she blinked up at him, he realised what he’d let slip. Embarrassed, he kicked a small pile of sand by his foot. ‘He’s just some silly teddy bear. I don’t know where he came from, only that I’ve always seemed to have him. He’s got this row of buttons on his chest, so I called him Mr Buttons.’ And that was all he was going to say about that. She didn’t need to know that the tattered old bear still sat on the chest of drawers beside his bed. ‘Come on, let’s walk.’
Having made their way down to the beach, they removed their shoes. Dangling his trainers from the fingers of one hand, he took Libby’s free hand with the other. They strolled in silence for a few minutes before Libby halted at the edge of where the sea lapped against the sand. The fading sun glinted off the vibrant colour of her hair as she stared down at neat toenails painted the same vivid red. ‘I don’t know what to say to you,’ she admitted on a sigh. ‘I mean, I never know what to say to you, but now it’s even worse.’
Snowflakes at Lavender Bay Page 10
