Surprised she’d sought his opinion, Aaron leant back against the wall and raised an eyebrow. ‘Luke and Nee, you mean?’ She nodded, and he considered his next words carefully before speaking. Luke had poured his heart out to him for hours after his birthday party as he’d tried to sort through the mess of his feelings. Aaron knew how he felt about Nee, but it was still a struggle to set aside his protective instincts.
‘I think he loves her very much. And she loves him too.’ Whatever worries he might have about Nee hurting Luke, that much was as plain as the nose on his face. ‘As for the rest of it, I think we have to let them get on with it, and hope they work things out.’
Turning her back, she walked away to stare out of the patio windows. ‘I’m not sure I can stand by and say nothing. What if it goes wrong and she leaves him again?’ He could hear the pain in her voice, knew some of it stemmed from the fact Luke hadn’t confided in her when Nee had left him the first time. It was easy enough to recognise an emotion he knew all too well.
‘Then we’ll help him pick up the pieces and start again.’ Pushing away from the wall, he crossed to stand behind her, then placed a hesitant hand on her shoulder. ‘We have to let them find their own way, Cathy.’
With a teary laugh, she reached up to place her hand on his. ‘Oh, bloody hell, I know you’re right.’
He squeezed her fingers. ‘Doesn’t mean we have to like it.’
‘No. We most certainly don’t.’
Chapter Twelve
Nee drifted awake in a layer of sensations, the rattle of something more substantial than just rain on the window, the weight of Luke’s arm curled around her waist, holding her tight against the heat of his body, the scents of jasmine and rich amber from the infuser on the bedside table. True to his word, he’d made no attempt at anything more intimate than a sweet, lingering kiss before tucking her beneath his arm and falling asleep the previous night. She’d lain awake for some time after his breathing slowed into a regular deep rhythm, savouring the feel of him there beside her. The tension she hadn’t been aware of carrying seeped from her bones in slow stages until, feeling lazy and content, she’d tugged her pillow to the perfect angle beneath her cheek and slept.
She might have lain there for hours had her body not reminded her of the reason she’d woken in the first place. Lifting Luke’s arm, she began to wiggle out of bed until his fingers hardened on her hip. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Just to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a minute, keep the bed warm for me.’ His grip remained for a few seconds before he let her go and shifted over to lie more on her side of the mattress. By the time she returned, he was snoring softly. Deciding her pyjamas were decent enough covering, she slid her feet into her slippers and crept downstairs for a bit of foraging.
A knife and teaspoon resting in the sink and a few stray crumbs in front of the big wooden breadbin were proof she wasn’t the first person up and about. The only lights on the ground floor were those she’d switched on herself, and she guessed whoever it was had taken their breakfast back to bed with them.
The clock on the microwave read 06:30, so she set the coffee machine up and let it brew ready for whoever was up next. Although the heating had kicked in, the kitchen was still too cold for her to want to hang around long enough for the percolator to finish. Tea was her preference, and this early in the morning, Luke would be happy with anything caffeinated so she fixed him a strong cup of instant. Loading a tray with the two mugs, glasses of orange juice, and a selection of pastries from the breadbin, she made her way back to their room.
Having put the tray carefully on top of a chest of drawers, Nee switched on the lamp beside it. The burnt-orange shade cast a low, warm light across the bed, highlighting the threads of gold woven into the bottom edge of the magenta quilt cover. From the moment she’d first seen it, the opulent splendour of the room had delighted her. Some might think it gaudy, but the riot of colour, textures and scents created a fantasy world her senses couldn’t get enough of. It was a slice of pure escapism, and she adored the boldness of it, particularly in contrast to the subtle, muted tones of the rest of the house.
She put the coffee and a glass of juice on the table beside Luke, then placed a soft hand on his shoulder. ‘I brought you a drink.’ He grumbled a bit, then rolled onto his back, giving her enough room to reclaim her side of the bed. Wriggling her toes in the toasty warmth his body heat had left behind, Nee propped her pillows up and sipped her tea; the plate of pastries on her lap wouldn’t last much longer if he didn’t wake up soon. She nudged him with her elbow. ‘You’ve got about thirty seconds before I eat this Belgian bun.’
In truth, the sticky icing was a shade too sweet for her, especially this early in the day, but the threat was enough to get him stirring and he lifted his head. ‘Wha’?’
‘Coffee. Pastries. Happy Christmas.’
He gave her a sleepy smile, all dimples and rumpled curls. God, he looked like a cherub bent on mischief. ‘You’re here.’
Yes, she was there, and for the life of her she couldn’t remember why she’d chosen to be anywhere else. A wave of emotion crashed through her, and a flood of words full of promises she might not be able to keep filled her throat until she thought she might choke on them. The serene depths of her mug of tea held no answers; and though the bedroom might look like an Eastern bazaar, there was no fortune teller here to read the secrets of the future. Not sure where to start, she fell back on practicality. ‘Drink your coffee before it gets cold.’
Finally with it enough to sit up, Luke grabbed his drink and settled his pillows on the headboard so he sat shoulder to shoulder with her. ‘You brought me breakfast in bed.’
He pressed his leg against hers beneath the covers and she stroked his ankle with her toes. ‘I did.’
‘Thank you.’ His fingers raised to brush the side of her cheek, and she would have leaned in to the touch had he not dropped his hand to snatch up the Belgian bun, which he then appeared to scoff at least half of with a single bite. ‘You can have the pain au chocolat,’ he said magnanimously once he managed to swallow the mouthful.
‘Gee, thanks.’
‘Only one, though.’ He finished the bun and started on an apricot jam-filled Danish.
The plate soon held nothing more than a few buttery crumbs, and she moved to put it back on the tray, but he took it from her before she could do more than lift the corner of the quilt. ‘Stay there, I’ll do it. I’ve got something to show you, anyway.’
Intrigued, she nestled deeper into the cosy warmth of the bed, and waited. The faintest hint of daylight showed through a small gap in the curtains, but the unrelenting beat of the rain still spattered against the glass. It would be a few hours yet before Kiki returned, and it had been agreed the night before that everyone would get up as and when they felt like it. Given the pointed looks Cathy had thrown at her throughout the evening, Nee was in no rush to leave the safe cocoon of their bedroom and make polite conversation.
Luke slipped into the sitting room, and she looked away from the half-open door, forcing her mind to focus on the swirling pattern of the canopy suspended over the bed to resemble the inside of a Bedouin tent, rather than thinking about what lay beyond. If only she hadn’t left her portfolio behind…
That was the worst thing – knowing the oversized leather case which held her most precious treasures was still in Devin’s hands. Her whole life had been in that case, not just the glossy images of her favourite pieces, but her sketchpad and ideas book too, along with her favourite pens, pencils and tools. And she’d left it in his apartment when she’d fled into the night. Knowing she’d have to start again from scratch had been the biggest barrier, leaving her paralysed with dread the few times she’d plucked up enough courage to approach her favourite art-supply store.
Carrying a large A4 ring binder, Luke closed the door on the sitting room and returned to bed. He held the binder in his hands for a few moments before holding it out to her. ‘Look, I know I spran
g your ring on you yesterday, so I thought it might be better to give you this behind closed doors. Nothing’s booked, or anything. I’ve just been thinking about it a lot since I was up at your dad’s.’
She stared down at the big black words on the sheet inside the clear front cover of the folder: ‘Honeymoon stuff’. Honeymoon. They’d never got that far before. Getting married had been a spur-of-the-moment idea, and neither of them had given much thought to what would happen after the wedding – although she was damn sure neither of them could have imagined the actual outcome.
‘If it’s too much, you don’t have to open it.’ God, he would tie himself in knots if he kept trying to do the right thing by her all the time.
She placed her hand on top of the one he’d extended to take the folder back. ‘I want to see what you’ve be planning.’
His fingers hesitated on top of the cover before he nodded. There were so many conflicting emotions on his face – hope, worry, love, fear. They were a perfect match for the feelings fizzing in her stomach. Taking a deep breath, she flipped open the thick cover and gasped as an image of the distinctive orange domes and tiled roofs of Florence filled the first page. With a trembling hand, she turned over the plastic pocket to see the stark glass plains of a pyramid illuminated in the courtyard of the ancient Louvre palace. A reproduction of The Creation of Adam – the most famous image from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel. From Gaudi’s Gothic cathedral in Barcelona, to the breathtaking splendour of the gold room in St Petersburg’s Hermitage, pictures of the finest artistic sites across the continent filled her gaze.
There were brochures too, together with printouts for train timetables, cheap flight options and hotels in each location. Even details of a few cruise ships. She shook her head, speechless at the time and effort he must have gone to in pulling all the information together. ‘Keep looking,’ he murmured softly, and she turned the page to find a divided section towards the back.
Here, he’d placed details of artist retreats – a French chateau surrounded by ripe vineyards; a small stately home in a wild Scottish glen; a beautiful pastel villa on the shores of Lake Garda. Heart fluttering wildly in her chest, she met his gaze. ‘What would you do if we went on one of these?’
He shrugged. ‘Go exploring. Laze in the sunshine and read. I wouldn’t have any trouble finding things to keep me occupied.’ Giving her his best smile, he flexed his arms. ‘I might even do a bit of life modelling, if they needed volunteers.’
An image of him posing like some Greek statute before a group of eager-eyed women filled her mind. Not a chance! No one was getting the privilege of seeing him naked other than her. He was hers, and she was not going to share him with anyone else. A devilish urge to tease seized her, and she closed the folder with a snap. Shoving it towards the end of the bed, she got up on her knees and studied him. ‘Take off your T-shirt.’
His mouth dropped open in surprise, and she folded her arms. ‘Come on, if you want to be a model, I need to make sure you haven’t let yourself go.’
‘Let myself go? I’ll bloody show you!’ He stripped off his shirt, displaying the fine, broad muscles of his shoulders and upper chest. Doing her best to maintain a serious expression, she poked and prodded, lifting his arm to flex at different angles to trace the definition lines each pose created. There was no hesitation in her fingers, the landscape of his flesh a sense memory she’d never forgotten. There was a smattering of freckles behind his left shoulder; a jagged, faded scar on his right side from a childhood encounter with a barbed-wire fence. As familiar to her as her own skin, as precious, as beloved.
‘Nee.’ Her name a roughness in his throat to match the stubble on the proud jaw beneath her fingers.
‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Oh, yes…’ And he reached for her, rolled them both until the blissful weight of him pinned her down. With him to keep her grounded, she’d never float away, never disappear into an insubstantial wisp of nothingness. In his eyes, she could see the reflection of the girl she’d once been, the woman she could grow into with him there to hold her dreams safe.
With trembling fingers, he brushed aside the buttons on her top, peeled back the two halves of the material to expose her to the greedy heat of his gaze. He needed to know, and she needed to tell him what she wanted. That this—them together—was something she needed as much as her next breath. ‘Touch me.’
And he did.
With exquisite tenderness, and then a rush of hard, demanding strokes, he shattered her completely, and, in the process, made her whole again. By the time she welcomed him into her body with an insistent tug on his hips, her face was wet with tears; his too, she realised, as he settled against her and claimed her mouth. The familiar dance, the give and take of pleasure between them – she knew it to the point where instinct overtook thought. He was hers, she was his. Man and wife. ‘I love you.’ A breath of sound. ‘I love you.’ Louder this time, a heated rush against his ear. ‘I love you.’ The last a cry she turned her head to muffle in the pillow at the last second.
Panting, he dropped his head into the curve of her neck, the sweat from his brow slicking over her skin. ‘God. Nee.’
‘I know.’ It was the best her poor, scattered brain could come up with. ‘I know,’ she repeated as a fizz of giggles bubbled through her.
Luke pushed up onto his elbows to stare at her. ‘Why are you laughing?’ She might have worried, if not for the merriment sparking in his gorgeous brown eyes.
‘I don’t know,’ she gasped, before the giggles took her over. But she did know. Hope. It was hope filling every inch of her, expanding until she couldn’t keep it contained within her body.
They’d just finished dressing when she heard the sounds of laughter and little feet running on the stairs. Luke tugged down the front of his dark-grey waistcoat then turned from the full-length mirror. ‘Will I do?’
The waistcoat matched his charcoal trousers, and he’d teamed it with a white shirt and a tie covered in dancing snowmen. She thought he looked fabulous – smart and sexy, with just the right dash of fun. Stepping closer, she stroked her hand down his chest. ‘I think I might have a thing for waistcoats.’
Laughing, he captured her lips in a quick kiss then slid an arm around her waist – and lower to pet her bottom. ‘These velvet trousers are certainly making my morning brighter.’ She’d teamed the wide-legged black velvet on her lower half with a red camisole beneath a floaty, sheer blouse in the same vibrant shade. Her parents had always dressed up for Christmas Day, and it was a tradition they were all happy to carry on with.
She twisted away from Luke in a way that kept his touch on her lingering as long as possible, until his fingers slid down her arm to capture her hand. Her progress to the door was halted when, instead of following her, he took a step back towards the bed. ‘Luke…’ She threaded the warning laugh with just a hint of regret that they couldn’t do as he was hinting.
‘Nee…’ Sweet, sultry, and far too tempting.
Turning to face him, she tried to pull him in the right direction. ‘Come on, I know you’re just trying to duck out of kitchen duty.’ With so many people in the house, and everyone wanting to help, Mia had drawn up a rota so things would get done without too many helpers underfoot. She was on the after-lunch squad, together with Maggie and Richard.
‘Well, that’s not the only reason, but it was surely worth a try.’ He flashed her an unrepentant grin and they left their room hand in hand, meeting Maggie at the top of the stairs.
She’d also chosen red for her outfit, although her soft-knit dress was a deep-berry shade to Nee’s scarlet. A gold chain-belt encircled an enviably slim waist, matching the jewellery at her throat, wrist and ears as well as the clip holding her ash-blonde hair in an elegant twist. Oh, to have an ounce of her style and grace! Nee might have been intimidated by the woman, especially considering the great reputation of her gallery, but she was kindness personified. ‘Good morning and Merry Christmas to you both!’
They exchan
ged a quick kiss on the cheek, then Luke offered his arm to Maggie in a gallant gesture. ‘Allow me.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ She took his arm, glancing back at Nee as they began to walk down. ‘So, what do you think of your husband’s amazing design skills, then? I adore the pretty room I’m in, but I must say the sheer opulence of the Harem sets my heart racing. Have you tried out that gorgeous corner bath yet? If I got in it, I don’t think I’d ever get out – heaven!’
Almost stumbling in shock, Nee managed to stammer out something about how much she loved the suite of rooms. Her instinct about it not being Mia’s style had been right – but, Luke? Practical, straightforward Luke, whose own flat boasted the plain, dark colours of a typical bachelor pad? With his natural charm and tendency to turn everything into a joke, it would be easy to take him at face value. That beneath the façade, an imagination full of wild fancy lurked, surprised her. They might be married, but there was so much about him she didn’t know. With a silent promise to pay more attention to the things he didn’t say, Nee followed them into the kitchen.
‘Oh, damn. I forgot the tray.’ She turned on the threshold, but Luke beat her to it.
‘No, no. I’m the kitchen elf this morning.’ He jogged back towards the stairs, just in time to bump into Daniel as he came through the doorway, carrying Charlie in his arms.
‘Morning, all!’ Daniel bent down to set the little girl on her feet. ‘Here you are, Your Majesty.’ He bowed to Charlie, receiving a little tap on his head with her silver wand in return. Last night’s butterfly wings had been teamed with the wand and a sparkly tiara. They were the perfect contrast to the midnight-blue velvet dress she wore with thick, white tights.
‘A fairy princess?’ Nee guessed.
‘That’s right,’ Kiki said as she came through the door, Mia and Matty on her heels. ‘Santa brought you a new tiara, didn’t he, darling?’
‘Yes! And a pink bike, and Elsa, and fairy stamps, and a rabbit bag, and…’ Nee shook her head as the dizzying list of presents continued.
Christmas at Butterfly Cove Page 13
