Chapter 6
Chapter Six
For once, the notorious Wellington wind had died down. The evening was almost sultry in its warmth and stillness. There was no moon yet; water and sky were a single dark sheet. Clouds obscured the stars, trapping the heat and muffling sound, wrapping the waterfront in a heavy, soft-edged hush.
Lucy couldn’t seem to string a logical thought together.
She couldn’t believe he’d seen through her.
She’d chosen to live a life surrounded by friends, family and customers, while keeping the centre of her life protected, like an impregnable castle where she could be safe.
But inevitably it came at a cost. Almost no one guessed how the nights felt — how the quiet in her apartment sometimes seemed to go on forever.
The fact he’d understood that had thrown her.
And now, as she walked beside him, all she was aware of were her senses, humming.
It felt natural — inevitable, really — to slip her hand through Oliver’s arm as they left the restaurant and walked along the quayside.
He smelled so good she wanted to lean in and breathe him in properly.
She edged closer, her fingertips skimming the fine silk of his jacket.
She pretended she was adjusting her grip as she surreptitiously stroked the fabric.
He didn’t speak, but his arm tightened, just slightly, as if he were drawing her closer and didn’t want to make a big deal of it.
There were few people about. Early summer hadn’t yet turned the waterfront into a magnet for late-night crowds, and the earlier buzz of cafés, restaurants and theatres had faded behind them as they turned away from the bright cluster of the city and followed the curve of the harbour.
‘This way,’ Oliver said at one point, steering her away from the main promenade towards a narrower stretch of wharf. The water was black on either side now, lapping quietly at the piles.
Only when they reached the end did she realise they were heading towards a small development of pale, low-slung buildings at the very tip of the wharf — exclusive apartments she recognised from when they’d first been in the news.
Of course.
He stopped at a glass door and held it open. ‘Come up for a drink?’
She hesitated for all of half a second. It wasn’t as if she’d been dragged here. Her hand was on his arm. Her body had decided long before her brain caught up.
‘A drink would be great,’ she said lightly, and stepped inside.
She whistled under her breath as she walked into the apartment.
Floor-to-ceiling glass ran the length of the room, with the inky water almost directly beneath them. To the left, the curve of the city glittered across the harbour. To the right, the marina lay quiet, punctuated by the lazy clink of halyards against masts.
‘Nice digs,’ she said, dropping her bag onto a low leather sofa and turning slowly to take it all in.
It was exactly her kind of place. Beautiful lines. Quality finishes. Space to breathe. But something was off. After a moment, she realised what it was.
It lacked anything personal. No photographs. No piles of books. No stray shoes. It could have been a very high-end show home.
‘It’s convenient,’ he said, with the unconscious indifference of the very wealthy, apparently unaware quite how fabulous the place was. ‘Drink?’
‘An apéritif would be great. Amaretto?’
He nodded, opened a cabinet and took out a bottle. While he fixed the drinks, Lucy crossed to the sliding doors and pushed one open. Cooler air flowed in, carrying the faint smell of salt and seaweed. She stepped outside onto the deck.
‘This is amazing,’ she said as he joined her and handed her a glass.
‘A sea view is always nice,’ he said.
‘I have one, you know,’ she replied, arching an eyebrow.
She held up her thumb and forefinger a centimetre apart.
‘It’s about this big. If you crane your neck from my balcony.
Six of which you could get on this deck, by the way.
But it’s nice. I can hear the sea and smell it, even if I can’t see much of it.
’ She took a sip. ‘Mmm. It’s been ages since I’ve had one of these.
Actually, it’s ages since I’ve done anything like this, to be honest.’
He indicated the outdoor chairs, and they sat down. He settled opposite her, cradling a brandy balloon.
‘Me too,’ he said. ‘I’ve been too busy with work. What’s your excuse?’
‘Same,’ she said automatically. Then she thought about it. ‘Actually, no. That’s not entirely true. I guess that’s one downside of centring my life around MacLeod’s Cove. Not many interesting men.’
‘Hm, so I’m interesting?’ he asked.
She raised an eyebrow. ‘You know you are. And I like that you know it.’
His smile was slow and unhurried. Sensuous. Warmth slid through her body.
She drew a steadying breath. ‘You, Oliver, are a dangerous man.’
He tilted his head. ‘Surely not to you?’
‘Especially to me.’
‘How so?’
‘Because you threaten my resolve.’
‘And what resolve would that be?’
‘Not getting involved.’
He spread his hands in a gesture of mock relief. ‘Perfect. Because I don’t want to get involved either.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Our resolves are in perfect harmony so far. Any other resolutions I should know about?’
She went quiet, turning her glass between her palms. She’d been honest — but not completely. The drink, the warmth, the dark, his presence… all of it made the rest slip out before she could stop herself.
‘To not get hurt,’ she said.
‘Oh.’ For the first time, he sounded a little wrong-footed. ‘You’ll only get hurt if you want more than I can give. Do you?’
‘Well, that depends,’ she said carefully, ‘on what you can give.’
‘Not much.’
She burst out laughing. ‘Well then, if I adjust my expectations to “not much”, I guess all will be well.’
He reached for her hand, his expression softening. ‘Seriously though, Lucy. I really enjoy being with you. Talking with you.’ His thumb grazed her knuckles. ‘And I’d really like to kiss you. If that’s OK.’
Perhaps it was the dark sky, and the way the water below swallowed sound, leaving her too aware of her own pulse. Perhaps it was simply that her body had been waiting for this from the moment he’d crossed the street.
All she knew was that one moment she was sitting with her drink and the next she’d placed it on the low table, stood, walked to him and perched on the arm of his chair.
She rested a finger under his chin and tipped his face up. ‘I thought you’d never ask.’
She kissed him slowly, pressing her mouth to his.
He didn’t move at first, as if she’d genuinely surprised him. Then she felt the stillness shift. His hand came up to her face, cupping one cheek, then the other, as if he wanted to hold her in place and simply take her in.
It was nothing like how she’d imagined.
She’d wanted him; her body had been very clear on that. She’d expected heat, hunger, the clash of two determined people trying to get the upper hand.
There was lust, certainly — his meeting hers and matching it — but there was more. An unexpected tenderness in the careful way his lips moved over hers, tasting, exploring; in the way his fingers held her face as if she were something precious.
When she parted her lips, wanting more, his response was immediate, and for a long moment the rest of the world dropped away.
Then he broke off, resting his forehead against hers. His hands slid into her hair. She could feel his heartbeat hammering against her, could see desire in his eyes.
Something was holding him back, but it wasn’t a lack of wanting.
He blew out a long breath. ‘You, Miss MacLeod, are something else.’
He stood as if he meant to put distance between them, but she kept hold of his hands.
She tilted her head, trying to read him. ‘What does that mean?’
‘That you’re… not what I expected.’
She stood too and stepped closer. ‘And what was it you expected?’
‘Not someone who’s proving irresistible.’
Their fingers threaded together. He rubbed his thumb slowly over her palm, and the simple contact sent a shiver through her.
‘Then why resist?’ she asked, taking another step until her body brushed his and she had to tilt her head back to meet his gaze.
He wrapped his arms around her. ‘Why indeed? If I had any scruples, they’re disappearing rapidly.’
She traced a finger along his jaw and over his mouth. ‘Don’t let them disappear altogether. I’m a good girl. I don’t sleep around. But a few kisses?’ She let her gaze drift to his lips. ‘Where’s the harm in that?’
Her answer came in the form of a low sound torn from his chest and the sudden, sure pressure of his mouth on hers. And all thought dissolved.
She could only register his hands, his mouth, and her own response. His tongue brushed against hers, coaxing, and she melted, an ache pooling low.
Somehow they ended up on the sofa, still fully dressed, her legs drawn up beneath her, his arm around her, his other hand tangled in her hair.
They kissed and broke apart and kissed again, with those breathless little pauses where they simply looked at each other, as if checking this was really happening.
Only when a clock somewhere in the apartment chimed and she glimpsed the glow of the digital readout on the oven through the open-plan kitchen that reality barged back in.
She jerked upright. ‘Shoot.’
‘What?’ he said, a little dazed.
‘The time. I’ve missed the last train.’
He glanced over at the clock and gave an easy shrug. ‘I’ll call you an Uber.’
She fumbled for her bag. ‘I can do it —’
‘Lucy.’ His voice had changed. Softer. ‘You’re welcome to stay.’
She froze. ‘I don’t sleep around.’
‘Nor do I,’ he said quietly. ‘Believe it or not. Staying doesn’t have to mean sex. We can just talk. Eat. Drink.’ A faint smile tugged at his mouth. ‘I’m house-trained.’
Something inside her, tight for a very long time, loosened a little.
‘I just…’ She swallowed. ‘I just want to be held.’
His expression shifted, something like relief flashing there. ‘Holding is good. I can do holding.’