Her fingers trailed through my hair. “This morning was something we both needed. Don’t feel guilty.”
“I don’t.” I pushed away my melancholy thoughts.
She was right, of course. Her wisdom eased my doubts.
“What are you doing today?” I asked.
This way I’d have a complete picture of her day. I’d be able to imagine where she was at any given moment. It would soothe the hurt a little, or so I told myself.
“I’m going to visit Covent Garden’s Quinto Bookshop,” she said brightly. “My aunt’s birthday is coming up soon. She collects old books. I always find her something special in there.”
“Sounds like fun.” Like heaven on earth.
“It’s a treasure trove for booklovers.” She beamed with happiness.
There’d be nothing more incredible than spending the day with her both in and out of bookshops. We could grab a bite to eat afterwards, and maybe, if she was up for it, see a show in the West End later in the evening. Ending up right back here in her bed and rolling between the sheets. Though the bed was cramped, what went on beneath the covers made up for it.
Of course, I could take her back to my hotel. We could order room service. We could shut out the world and never leave…
I’d flown thousands of miles to spend time with Nick, but as he was caught up with Morgan, I was guilt free. He’d kept me at arm’s length during this visit and I didn’t care, because my time had been spent hanging out with Daisy.
“What time are you heading out?” I said. “I can give you a lift to Covent Garden, if you like.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “How about you?”
“Well, I was supposed to be taking my mum to church.”
“Oh no! I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Anyway, she’s always trying to nudge me into the confessional. I’m a backsliding Catholic.” I laughed. “Whenever I approach a priest, I see terror in his eyes.”
“You’re not that bad, are you?”
“No, he just assumes I’m a bad boy because I’m thirty-three and not married. I’m half convinced that’s why my mother parades me around after the service to introduce me to potential…”
I’d said too much.
Daisy ’s hand rested on my forearm. “Whoever she is, she’ll be a very lucky young lady to have you.” She grinned. “I mean, you took me to church this morning. I’m a convert. Love isn’t so scary anymore.” She realized what she’d just said and closed her eyes in embarrassment.
Reaching up, I pushed a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, my hand lingering for a beat too long. In prolonging these intimate moments, I suppose I was trying to convince myself that being with her for the rest of my life was possible.
“I feel the same way, Daisy. I want you to know that.”
“Thank you again for last night,” she whispered. “For keeping me company in that old house.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Might go back there tonight,” she said, grinning. “It’s a lucky place for me.”
“Even with that rat running around?”
“Nothing scares me anymore.”
“You don’t need to take on these dares, Daisy. You’re perfect the way you are.” My fingertips trailed up and down the silky skin of her arm.
She responded to my touch, her eyelids heavy, her breathing shallow.
I pushed up from the bed and strolled over to the chair.
Grinning, I whipped off the towel to reveal my nakedness. She pressed her hand to her lips in mock shock, but she didn’t look away. She watched me dress, her eyebrows raised in playful curiosity. This could have been what every morning was like for us. Heading out for breakfast in some café and whiling the day away.
I buttoned my shirt and pulled on my trousers. Finally, when I was fully dressed, I went to give her one last kiss goodbye.
My feet paused at the foot of the bed. If I kissed her again I wouldn’t leave.
I looked down at her. “Want me to bring you anything?”
“No, thank you.” Her hair spilled over the pillow like silk and she’d raised her arms above her head unconsciously languishing in an erotic pose, a nipple peeking above the sheet.
I wanted to bury my hands in those beautiful locks and lavish her body with kisses.
This was how I would remember her. Just like this.
I headed for the door, then paused and rested my forehead against it as I felt the pull of her stare. The pulse of our connection ever present.
She should have been The One.
“I wish I’d met you before him,” I said, my voice deep and full of anguish.
This longing I felt to stay with her was all-consuming.
I forced myself to open the bedroom door, willed myself to walk down the stairs and out of the house.
Later, when I entered my hotel room and collapsed on the bed, I couldn’t remember climbing into my car and driving across town.
I stared up at the ceiling with my stomach in knots, the loneliness suffocating me.
I lay there knowing I’d done the right thing by walking away. As the hours ticked by, I tried to think of anything or anyone but Daisy.
Once through the doors of the Quinto Bookshop, the heady scent of ancient paper woos you, keeping you entranced amongst the tomes.
This is what I needed, to immerse myself in this antiquated refuge for book lovers, keeping busy so I didn’t think about the way Max made me feel, knowing that our short burst of happiness was over. I didn’t want to mull over how his kisses felt like life itself. Or how incredible it was to lie naked beside him.
Or that I’d let him leave this morning when I should have grabbed his ankles and refused to let him go. Okay, that would only have scared him away faster…
Think about the books.
Remember why you’re here.
Taking my time, I searched their well-stocked shelves for an exceptional collector’s item that would be a perfect gift for Aunt Barbara. I had no doubt there was a first edition here waiting to be discovered, then cherished by her forever.
Tracing the spines with delicate fingers, I moved along a line of hardbacks. My heart skipped a beat when I found one she’d adore, an original copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Perfectly preserved with a colored drawing of Peter Rabbit on the cover.
When I opened the hardback and saw it had been printed in 1901, I knew it would be expensive. Still, my aunt had opened her doors to me and made me feel at home. I wanted to splurge a little on her birthday.
After peeling open the first page, I sucked in my shock at the price. “Bloody hell!”
The book cost a thousand pounds.
Self-consciously, I threw a cheeky smile over at the young man behind the counter. He gave me a knowing look back. Beside him sat an antique till that gave the place character. That was what I loved about this shop, its quaintness. Its prices, not so much.
I slid the book back and said, “As if.”
From behind a bookshelf, another customer coughed loudly, hinting that my outburst had bothered them.
Okay, Mr. Quiet Police. But a thousand pounds is too much for a book. For me, anyway.
Continuing my search, I found a hardback second edition of Harry Potter. Its condition looked flawless. My heart stopped when I saw the swirl of a signature on the first page—it had been signed by J. K. Rowling.
“Oh, my God!” Barbara would love this one.
“Shush,” came the chastisement from the same man behind the bookcase.
I poked out my tongue in the stranger’s direction.
The price of the Harry Potter novel was more within my range. I’d read that second editions could also be collector’s items if they were in mint condition.
While paying for it, I shared with the shopkeeper how much I loved this place and how I’d always been able to find that one book I didn’t know I needed.
“Keep the noise down,” c
ame a gruff male voice from the back of the store.
Then Annoying Bookcase Man stepped out into the aisle.
He was tall and shockingly handsome. He had the kind of face that made me stare because he looked exactly like…Max.
I forgot how to breathe.
Max was dressed casually in ripped jeans and a jumper, and he looked especially sexy in his leather jacket. He was also wearing a panty-melting smile.
My body responded to him like we were back in my bedroom, like his kisses were again running along my skin, his touch firm and masterful, causing time to stand still.
He rose to his full height. “Bookshops are like libraries, young lady,” he chastised, pointing to the “Please Be Quiet—People are Reading” sign above the counter.
I loudly crinkled the paper bag I was holding.
He looked amused and held out his hand. “Max.”
What?
“I’m Max,” he repeated as though I didn’t know.
“Daisy…?” I made it sound like a question.
This was weird. Like green cupcakes weird. Like, you don’t mind eating them because they’re delicious, but all the while you’re thinking what the fuck.
I could be odd myself but right now Max had literally lost it.
“What did you get?” He nodded toward the bag in my hands.
“Harry Potter. It’s for my aunt’s birthday.” I’d already told him my plans this morning.
Right, which was how he knew I’d be here.
My insides did a flip as he leaned forward to say something.
He whispered, “This is where you tell me to fuck off.”
“Why?”
“I’m clearly flirting with you.” He winked.
I glanced over at the man behind the till who was watching us.
I snapped my gaze back to Max as it dawned on me what this was all about. “What’s a nice guy like you doing in a place like this?”
Max’s eyelid twitched. “That doesn’t work, Daisy.” Then he stunned me into silence with a devilish smile. “Try again.”
My hand pressed to my chest. “I didn’t think that you…”
“Want to help me pick out a book?” he asked. “I’m buying a gift for my secretary back in São Paulo. She’s sixty. She’s like a mother to me and I always bring her back something special. You seem to have great taste.”
It was like we were meeting for the first time. And to prove it, his eyes lit up with happiness and amusement, as though hinting he wanted this to be a new beginning.
A moment to cherish just for us.
I looked at him as though seeing him for the first time, admiring his extraordinary features, staring into his deep brown eyes and getting lost in this heady attraction. Max was like that first breath of fresh air you drew into your lungs on a crisp winter morning. Or that bit of luck you prayed for with a heart full of faith.
This felt like an impossible dream might be coming true at last, a chance at something profound that had always seemed out of reach. I struggled to believe it was real…Max and I together.
“Tell me about your secretary?” I said softly. “So I know her taste in books.”
“Her name is Gylda.” Max thought on it. “She loves the classics.”
“Really?” I said. “Me, too.”
“I didn’t know,” he said, but then quickly corrected himself. “How could I? Considering we’ve only just met.”
I gave him a quirky smile and had him follow me around the bookshelf that he’d been lurking behind. Together we searched for the perfect book for Gylda.
Max was thrilled when we discovered the collection of compendiums on John William Waterhouse’s paintings. With his secretary’s love of Shakespeare, the cover with its elegant portrayal of Ophelia would be perfect for her.
We got in the checkout queue and I looked up at him. “What happens now?”
Max tilted his head, smiling. “What would you like to happen?”
My heart stuttered at the thought of spending more time with Max. Not as my ex’s big brother, who was always looking out for me, but as someone who could be my friend without my past getting in the way this time.
We left the store with our purchases and headed to Max’s sports car. Even though our futures were uncertain, our chemistry held us together with the promise of being more…more than friends, perhaps.
All I knew was that my heart had begun to heal the moment I’d bumped into him outside Isobel’s. Our paths had crossed on so many occasions since, and each time my faith in people had been restored just a little bit more.
Max drove us to Soho.
By some miracle he found parking outside a flower shop.
He led me to the front door of a restaurant called Buteco, telling me this was a favorite hangout where expats of Brazil got to spend precious time together while sharing a delicious meal that reminded them of home.
“This place has a modest setting,” said Max. “But amongst the understated décor is a family run business with authentic cooking that will blow you away.”
It was easy to see how its hospitality eased the homesick. The owner, Pedro, made us feel so welcome.
He served plate after plate of delicious Brazilian food for me to taste. From the Acarajé, a black-eyed pea ball fried in palm oil and stuffed with shrimp, to a sampling of Moqueca de Camarão, a shrimp stew cooked in coconut milk. It made my mouth water and as soon as I’d finished the food on my plate, I wanted more.
For dessert, we were served coconut truffles.
Max reached for a truffle and fed it to me, looking pleased with my reaction to the delicious explosion of pleasure on my taste buds. Being with him, sharing this food and getting to know more about his culture, it evaporated my problems and made me feel nurtured.
Max made me feel nurtured.
Leaning back, I felt so stuffed I wasn’t sure I’d be able to walk out of the place. I rested my hands on my tummy like a pregnant woman, trying to ease the discomfort of having eaten one too many truffles.
“I’m glad you enjoyed it.” Max looked so happy. “I love seeing you eat.”
I reached over and rested my hand on his. “Thank you for bringing me here.”
His expression changed to uncertainty at my touch. Doubt crept in and I withdrew my hand. But Max quickly grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer toward him. He leaned forward and kissed my wrist. “Minha linda.”
“I hope you didn’t just call me your fat princess?” I tapped my stomach.
“Ha, not even close.”
“Are you going to tell me what you said?”
“If you are what you eat, then you look like a coconut truffle. Thought I might lose a hand there for a minute.”
“You ate half of them.”
“Not as many as you, apparently.”
“You fed them to me.”
“Only because I love your mouth.”
I drew in a sharp breath. “I love your mouth, too.”
He rolled his eyes playfully.
“That’s it.” I rested my napkin on the table as our plates were cleared. “I’m moving to Brazil.”
“My devious plan worked,” he said with a laugh.
Max thanked Pedro for the incredible meal. They chatted in both English and Portuguese with the warmth of old friends.
When Pedro returned to the kitchen, Max whispered, “He says you’re very pretty.”
“For a girl who looks like a truffle.”
“I hope I didn’t scare you back at the bookshop?” he asked, his tone amused.
“It was the best kind of surprise.”
“You were happy to see me, then?”
I gave him a look that told him he’d just asked me a ridiculous question. Seeing him again had made my day. It had made my life, actually. Even if all this was fleeting.
He sensed my reticence. “I can’t stay away from you, Daisy.”
I swallowed hard, my heartbeat racing at the thought that things might work out between us. Maybe we co
uld find a way to be together.
“I’m strong,” I said softly. “You know that.”
“Yes, I know.”
The words had come out wrong, so I tried again. “I know you’re going back to Brazil soon.”
He looked up at the ceiling and groaned. “Let’s talk about something else.”
“You’ll miss our food.”
“What food?”
“When you go back home. You’ll miss our beans on toast.”
“Do not talk to me about English food.”
“What! We have the best food! Bangers and Mash… Toad in the Hole.”
“No, thank you.” He raised his hands in defense. “And don’t get me started on Spotted Dick.”
I giggled. “You really have to taste my spotted dick.”
He chuckled loudly. “And I thought you liked me.”
“Well, I know what you love to eat.” My hand slapped to my mouth. “Oh, my God, I didn’t just say that.”
“Yeah, I think you did.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“I’m just here for the entertainment.”
“That’s not fair.”
“To be honest, I love getting to know the real you.”
“How do you mean?”
“You’re my version of Daisy.” Max bit his lip. “I see who you are and I’m…”
“You’re what?”
He sat back. “I’m compelled to spend more time with you. Is that something you’d like?”
I smiled at him, taking a moment to replay his words, letting them sink in.
“What do you like to do for a pastime?” he asked.
“I’ve been pretty busy lately,” I confessed. “With work and…”
“And?”
I shrugged. I was boring compared to him. “How about you?”
“I surf.” He let out a sigh of happiness. “Fernando de Noronha is off Brazil’s northeast coast. It’s a national marine park and ecological sanctuary. The beaches are perfect. Feeling the sand between your toes…there’s nothing like it. You get to swim with dolphins and turtles, and you might even see sharks, if you’re lucky.”
“I don’t call seeing a shark lucky.”
“They’re beautiful.”
Maximum Dare Page 13
