She wanted to know what heaven felt like. Even if it was for just one night.
She slowly raised her lace-gloved right hand and ran a fingertip down his cheek. He swallowed and sighed low and deep, his eyelids flashing closed for just a second.
And in that instant she knew that he wanted her. Almost as much as she wanted him.
Thrilling excitement surged through her. This changed everything.
Torment raged inside her and her brain whirled faster and faster.
Sleeping with Heath would destroy both of them. He might want her now. But in the morning? They didn’t have a future together. They never could. They lived in different worlds.
She lowered her hand onto the front of his pristine white shirt and instantly felt a connection to the warm beating heart of the man she loved. She had to be the strong one. Even if it did break her heart all over again.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes and she opened her mouth to speak but words were impossible. His brows came together as a tear rolled down her cheek.
Kate dragged her hand from his chest, lingering as long as she possibly could, lifted her gloved fingertips to her lips, kissed her fingers then pressed them against Heath’s lips. And held them there.
A look of surprise, alarm, delight and confusion swept across his face and his eyes were bright.
Her shoulders slumped in distress. But she did what she had to do.
Kate released her hand from his warm soft lips, shook her head very slowly and deliberately from side to side. And then she pushed him away from her.
As she struggled and failed to stop the silent tears and gentle sobbing intake of breath, Heath leant back and lifted one hand from the door so that he could wipe a tear from her cheek with his forefinger.
The sensation was so delicious that she gave a half sob and rubbed her cheek against his hand.
He looked bewildered and through her blurry vision she saw the passion and fire fade in his eyes. And she already missed it so much that she could hardly speak.
Heath instantly released his hands from the door and almost staggered back upright.
They had not spoken one word in the last ten minutes. And yet she felt as though she had just had one of the most intense conversations of her life. Only with Heath. It had always, only been Heath.
She was the one who turned away, opened the door and stepped outside into the corridor and her own bedroom, bracing the door behind her, knowing that beyond the turmoil and chaos which she had created in his room was a man who wanted her. Body and soul.
Which probably made her the biggest fool on the planet.
ELEVEN
Kate bit down so hard on her lower lip as she pushed her front door key into the lock that she could already taste the metallic tang of blood as she pushed open the door and half collapsed over the threshold.
It took all of what little strength she had left to push the door tight shut behind her and draw the bolts across. Only then did she let her legs collapse slowly under her as she slid down the door and sat down in a heap among the letters and junk mail on the carpet.
She was safe now.
Safe back in her own home.
Safe behind locked doors and windows.
Safe.
Her head fell back against the solid wooden panels and she closed her eyes and tried to breathe again. But it was no good. All she got was the complex aroma of leather and glue and old machine oil that filled the air in the enclosed space between the hallway and the parlour.
The day had become hotter and hotter and the air inside the hallway was heated by the south-facing window above her head. There was no movement of fresh air in the tightly locked house and suddenly she felt oppressed by the stifling heat.
Her eyes flickered open.
She should wash and get changed and have a cool drink. Then everything would be fine and back to normal again.
Wouldn’t it?
Kate looked around the hall. There were cobwebs under the console table where the telephone and key tray sat and the carpet she was sitting on was pale with a thick layer of dust and fraying at the edges where they were not hidden under the deep wooden skirting boards. The paint was peeling off the woodwork and the lovely Edwardian light fitting hanging from the ceiling was thick with dust and dead flies.
She blinked and peered down the hall towards the kitchen and the mismatched china and faded painted cabinets.
Tears pricked the corners of her eyes.
Whenever Amber or Saskia of any of her fashionista pals came around she would laugh off the state of the house by calling it ‘shabby chic’. But, seeing it now, from floor height, it wasn’t chic. It was just shabby. Shabby and worn and tired and dusty. Just as her grandfather had left it on the day he’d died.
Was that it? Was that why she hadn’t changed anything in five years? Because she wanted to hold on to anything connected to the man who had loved her so unconditionally?
The tears trickled down her cheeks.
This was how Heath had seen it.
A museum, that was what Heath had called it. And he was right.
It was a museum and she had made herself into the curator. As if freezing the house the way her grandfather had left it would somehow bring back the love and laughter and positive encouragement that he had taken with him when he’d died.
She was a fool. The only thing her grandparents ever wanted was for her to be happy, and she had let them down.
Because she wasn’t happy.
She was so miserable she could barely breathe.
Her sobs turned into a torrent of self-pity, and she scrabbled about in her bag until she found a tissue.
And then another. Then another, until her sobbing faded away and she sucked in breath after breath of hot dusty air.
She loved Heath. And she couldn’t have him.
Their worlds were planets apart and staying with Heath would mean giving up her creativity and conforming to what went for the standards of life in his world. Become acceptable. And it would destroy her. Destroy their chance of happiness. Destroy her dreams.
And she couldn’t do it.
She couldn’t live like that, even if it meant giving up the man she loved.
He had given her so much. She would never forget him.
Whatever happened, going forward there was only one pledge that she had made on the slow, horrible drive from the Manor at dawn that morning after a sleepless night knowing that the man she loved was only a few steps away across the corridor.
She was going to change. She was going to make her terrible sacrifice worth the pain. She was going to claim her passion—her work—and make it shine by working harder and smarter than ever before.
And that started right here. And right now.
Kate gritted her teeth and pushed hard enough on the rough rug to get back onto her feet. In a second her bag was stowed under the table and she was striding forward through the crates of goodness knew what over to the window above her grandmother’s sewing machine.
She didn’t need a warehouse she couldn’t afford when she had a perfectly good work space right in her own home. If she could find the courage to clear the space and make it her own.
Her hand quivered for a fraction of a second but Kate pressed her lips tight together and grabbed hold of the centre edge of the heavy curtain and pulled it sharply across with all of her strength.
She hadn’t expected the curtain rail to fall down with a clatter, knocking most of the sewing kit all over the cluttered floor and bringing down what was left of the now ripped curtain with it.
Bright white sunlight blinded Kate with its brilliance. And for the first time in so many years she looked out through the grimy windows at the patio garden, as her grandmother had done. But this time it was d
ifferent. Because the cloud of dust that had been trapped on the curtain started to settle in the still air and, as Kate coughed and flapped it away, she half turned and saw the truth in the clutter. This was not the proud, happy place it had once been. How could it be?
They were gone.
And she was here.
A vision flickered through her mind of what she could do with the long wide space and she caught hold of it and held it firm before it floated away like the dust.
Kate pushed hard on the window latch. It fought her for a few seconds but gave way with a jolt and she opened it wide. Fresh air and birdsong replaced the dark gloom and she collapsed down on the work chair with a slump.
It took a couple of deep breaths to take in what she was looking at. Shelves and shelves of boxes and bags of dirt-faded fabric and tired, useless trimmings and hand models mocked her great plan.
Reaching into her pocket, Kate flicked open her cellphone. It was answered in three rings. ‘Hi, Saskia. It’s me. Any chance you could pop around? It looks like I have some gloves to sort out.’
* * *
Heath sat behind the library table and picked up the best man’s speech he was supposed to be memorising. He stared at the first card, tapping his pen on the desk, but he couldn’t concentrate.
Rubbing his eyes, he blinked and shook his head, trying to clear away the fog that came with a sleepless night.
This was it. His father’s wedding day. A happy occasion with plenty to celebrate.
And he had never felt so lonely or miserable in his life.
Perhaps that was why he had worked so feverishly most of the night to block out any thoughts except the business. Trying every trick he knew to hold on to control with his fingertips.
But it was useless.
Because all he could think about was Kate.
Heath lifted his head and stared out of the window at the sun-kissed gardens, which were bright with colour and life from the wedding party guests who wandered amongst the flower beds and knot garden after their early morning coffee. The party had gone late into the night but a few early risers were already enjoying the day.
Their happy laughter echoed up to his first-floor window and he smiled back, envious of their easy, relaxed manner. He glanced down at the cards and tried to make some sense of the words he had written weeks earlier in his Boston apartment.
Strange how the lists and charts he had prepared only a week ago seemed petty and ridiculous at that moment.
He turned to the next card, and instantly did a retake.
Because, handwritten in the purple ink that Kate liked to use, was a smiley face and a few lines of a good joke which was so perfect for the audience, and yet he would never have thought of it. He flicked through the cards and, time and time again, she had marked in some witty remark or funny comment which he already knew would make his father smile and Alice laugh out loud.
This was the girl he had accused of being a stranger. And yet she understood his father and Alice better after two days than he did. How did that happen?
Was it Kate? Or was she right? He was trapped in the past even more than she was.
It was almost as if Kate was standing here, teasing him, making him step outside the carefully drawn lines that he had drawn for himself.
They might have started in very different places but in the end they were so similar. Both longing for reconnection with people they had loved and lost, and both struggling to find a way forward and make a life for themselves.
Perhaps that was why Kate understood exactly what he was going through?
He had never felt this connection with any girl before. Amber had been too young to really understand how he was feeling when her mother had moved into his home. And Olivia?
He had never once talked to Olivia about his past, the way he had talked to Kate last night after the dinner party.
He had been with Olivia for over six months and yet he had never told her the truth about what had happened between his father and Alice.
Why was that?
Heath raised his head at the sound of a familiar voice and watched in silence as Charles and Alice walked across the garden. His father popped a flower he had just plucked from a shrub behind Alice’s ear and then pretended to be taking her photo with a four-finger camera until she waved him away. But she kept the flower.
His father, the romantic. Well, that was a revelation.
Like so much of this past week.
He would never have believed it possible that a few days in the company of Kate Lovat would make him rethink everything he’d used to hold sacred.
From the second she’d walked into the London office carrying her box with a bridesmaid’s dress in it, with her cute suit and fire-engine-red toenails, his life had been one roller coaster of shocks and delights, one after the other. With him hanging on for dear life.
Last night they had crashed into the barriers.
Kate Lovat had robbed him of a tranquillity and inner calm that perhaps had never been there in the first place, but it certainly wasn’t there now.
She had already left when he’d eventually headed down for breakfast. There had been a note for Alice, asking his father not to report that his car had been stolen because she would be coming back for their wedding.
No note for him. Not that he blamed her.
When she’d told him that she had fallen in love with him, he had not even tried to tell her how much he had come to care about her. But she knew that he needed her, but wasn’t ready to say the words which would open up his heart for pain.
So much for his rule of not becoming emotionally dependent on any one woman!
In the course of one week his comfortable life had been turned over and his outer shell of cool disdain swept away and destroyed for good.
She was the most annoying and frustrating and irresponsible and enchanting woman that he had ever met. He was cool and she was as fiery and temperamental as the weather.
Which was probably why he adored her.
It had not taken him long during the night to realise that he had been kidding himself. He had given Alice those paintings to show her that he was prepared to accept her.
Just so that he could stay in control of his life, and keep the people he loved close by and safe and protected. People like his father and Kate.
His fingers froze.
Love? Was that what he was feeling?
The breath caught in the back of his throat and he had to cough out loud as the sudden realisation of what he had done hit him hard.
He was in love with Kate Lovat.
Just when he’d thought that his life couldn’t be more exciting and terrifying and amazing. And he had never even told her how much he truly cared about her and how very special and remarkable she was.
Kate was his Alice.
And God, he loved her for that.
And he had just let her go. No—not let her go. He had driven her away.
So what did he do now?
If only there was someone he could talk to about the whole mess. Amber was Kate’s friend and he had no other close friends.
But he did have his family.
Inhaling a deep breath, he picked up his cellphone and dialled.
Down below in the garden, he watched his father flick open his cellphone as he watched Alice chat with some of the guests.
‘Dad? Spare a minute?’
‘Heath? Sure. What is it?’
‘Something I should have said a long time ago. When Mum died we should have talked it through together like we used to. But instead I pushed you away. I couldn’t deal with the pain so we left everything unspoken.’
‘I know. It is one of the things I have always regretted.’
‘You shouldn’t,’ Heath replie
d. ‘I’m beginning to understand how love can creep up and surprise you out of the blue. Alice is the only woman who can make you happy and you have waited long enough to be with the one you love. Go for it.’
Charles looked up at the library window and smiled. ‘Heath, that sounded positively romantic. What has gotten into you? Or should I say, who has gotten into you?’
‘Sorry, Dad. Can’t talk now. I have to go and persuade Kate Lovat to give me a second chance. You’re in charge. But we’ll be back in time for the wedding.’
‘Not so fast, son. This calls for team work. We’ll be right up.’
TWELVE
For the first time in years, Kate threw caution to the wind and turned the water heater to maximum, never mind the cost, and filled her bathtub full of steaming hot water and the scented bubbles that Amber had given her for Christmas.
It was divine and just what she needed to help calm her aching muscles, fevered brain and painful wounded heart.
Saskia had been amazing and, with the help of Charles Sheridan’s huge car, every box of gloves in the workshop and all of the plastic crates of materials and tools had been moved out, loaded up and transported over to Saskia’s cavernous cellar storeroom. It had been dirty work and, by the end of it, both of them were filthy, exhausted and in serious need of a change of clothes and tea.
Of course Saskia had invited her to stay at her place and be cosseted and cared for and the offer had been so tempting that it shocked Kate with how needy and fragile and vulnerable she had become.
But it was no good, she had explained. She had to do this on her own. She had to change her life and make her fashion designs the most important thing in her life.
She loved making gloves. That would never go away. But Heath Sheridan had shown her just how many compromises she had made in trying to hold on to the past. And she couldn’t live like that any longer.
Last-Minute Bridesmaid Page 15
