Chapter Twelve
Blane helped her clear up after dinner, but Bea shooed him out onto the terrace with another glass of wine while she finished.
Now that he was staying, she understood why he’d only had one glass earlier—he’d intended to drive to that ridiculous villa his friend had rented for him.
And she needed a few moments to come to terms with what asking him to stay here with her might actually mean.
He hadn’t expected anything. He’d arranged somewhere else to sleep because he hadn’t assumed. That, perhaps more than anything else, made her decision easy.
She nodded to herself, hung the dish towel on its hook, and went out to join him.
The lights from the village twinkled in the dark below, and cicadas still filled the warm night.
Blane was standing at the rail with his back to her, looking out at a valley he’d known for a few hours, and that she’d committed her whole life to.
“You’re hovering,” she said. “You’ve the look of a man deciding where the exits are.”
“Habit.” He didn’t turn. “Nice view, though.”
She came to the rail and stood beside him, not quite touching, the way they’d stood not-quite-touching in front of the lifts at the hotel half a lifetime and three days ago.
Then he turned to face her, his expression the same one he’d worn the night before, when he’d straightened up instead of leaning in, said early flight, and very politely broken both their hearts.
She took a deep breath. “There’s no early flight in the morning.”
He went still, and she watched him take in what she meant.
“I’ve thought about it rather a lot, if I’m honest.” Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
“Last night, outside my room, you did the decent thing and I let you, and I’ve spent the whole time since wishing that you hadn’t and being glad you did, in roughly equal measure, and it’s been exhausting, Blane.
I’m nearly sixty. I don’t have the stamina for this much restraint—”
His eyebrows drew together.
“—and the whole reason not to,” she went on, speaking faster now, because she knew that if she stopped, she’d lose her nerve, “was that I was leaving at dawn and it would’ve been cruel to start something we couldn’t…
But I’m not leaving at dawn. I’m not leaving at all.
This is where I live now. And you’re here.
And I can’t for the life of me remember what we were being so sensible about because—”
“Bea.”
“—because it seemed terribly important last night and now it seems like the stupidest—”
He kissed her.
He’d been going to let her finish—she could tell, even as it happened, that part of him had meant to wait for permission.
He wanted to do this right, not to be the man who takes—but then he’d got about as far with that as she had with being sensible, which was nowhere.
He crossed the last six inches that had been killing them both and kissed her like a man who’d been talking himself out of it and had finally, gratefully, lost the argument.
Her hands were in his shirt; she didn’t remember putting them there.
When they broke apart, he kept his forehead against hers, and she could feel him not-quite-smiling, that small war she’d learned to read, except this time he wasn’t fighting it.
“Should’ve done that last night,” he said.
“You couldn’t have done that last night. I’d have missed my flight.”
“That was the idea, darlin’.” He looked far too pleased with himself and went as far as actually winking.
“Don’t start being charming. I’ve only just recovered from the restraint—” But she was laughing, and he was kissing her again.
And the way he kissed her. It wasn’t simply a case of her being out of practice.
She was certain of that, even though she and Simon hadn’t exchanged anything more passionate than a lingering peck in years—decades, probably.
Simon had never once kissed her with his whole self, and that was the only way she could describe what Blane was doing.
One of his hands curled around the nape of her neck while his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her against his very large, very solid chest. Not that she was complaining about that. Not in the least.
But even aside from the sheer size of the man, there was all of him inside that kiss. His whole focus was on her, she could feel it, was enveloped in it. She looped her arms around his shoulders and kissed him back, hoping as she did that her whole self was making itself known to him too.
The rest of the world faded away. She was aware only of the feel of him, of them together, of being held close against his large chest, the weight of his arm around her, his mouth on hers.
And then it hit her—it wasn’t just that he was kissing her, she was kissing him too.
She tried to stop her mind from chattering away about it, but this was such a delightful discovery.
Maybe she was simply old-fashioned. But back when she and Simon were young, that was how it worked—or at least how she’d believed it did—the guy kissed the girl.
But this, with Blane, wasn’t like that. It felt as though they were in it together, and she loved every moment of it.
She deepened the kiss and ran her fingertips over the back of his neck.
The way he shivered in response made her feel…
powerful. Perhaps that was a strange word for it, but realizing she could have that kind of effect on this enormous, contained man was heady.
She had no idea how much time passed while they stood there in the warm Greek darkness.
All she knew was that she really wouldn’t mind if this never ended.
Of course, eventually it had to. When he finally lifted his head, he was wearing a broad, unguarded smile, and she slapped lightly at his shoulder.
“There’s no need to look quite so pleased with yourself.”
His brows drew together.
“Oh my goodness, no. Don’t look disappointed.
I didn’t mean there was anything wrong. I only meant…
” She laughed. “I don’t know what I meant.
If you want to know the truth, you have every reason to look as pleased with yourself as you like.
I don’t mind telling you—that has to have been the best kiss of my life. ”
His smile deepened. “Seriously?”
“Yes, Blane. Seriously. I wouldn’t say that sort of thing if it weren’t true.”
“No. Yeah. Right. I get that.” He studied her for a moment. “And for what it’s worth, same here.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“You already know I won’t say things I don’t mean. Or you should.” His mouth twitched. “What I meant was, best ever for me too.”
“Now I’m the one who has to ask if you’re serious. I’m sure you must have had a lot more opportunities for good kisses than I have.”
“I’ve had some relationships in my time, but…”
“Oh, go on. You have to explain what you’re thinking now.”
He didn’t look as though he planned to.
“I’ll only worry if you don’t.”
“All right, then. I’ll tell you. But I’m warning you first—it’s not bullshit, so it might be too much.”
She waited.
“I’ve had relationships. Probably won’t surprise you to hear I haven’t done too well at them.
But you and me…” He touched two fingers lightly to the center of her chest, then to his own.
“This thing, whatever we are. It means more to me already than any of them did.” He frowned, apparently giving that statement serious consideration.
After a moment, he nodded slowly. “You know I won’t bullshit you; it’s true. You got to me already, Bea.”
She couldn’t keep the smile off her face. “Well, that’s…” She shook her head. “I’m glad you told me. Thank you.”
He tightened the arm that was still around her waist. “I’m not gonna say you’re welcome, because it’s not something I did on purpose. And I’m not saying it just to please you. I’m telling you the truth, woman. That’s all.”
She slapped his arm. “Would you stop calling me woman?”
A low chuckle rumbled through him. “You don’t like it?”
“I don’t think I do, no. It might simply be an English-versus-American thing, but… woman...” She trailed off. Perhaps she was being silly. When she looked back up into his eyes, they were shining with amusement.
“What do you think I should call you, then?”
“I don’t know. Maybe lady is better than woman. It feels a little more dignified, at least.”
His hand came up to curl around the back of her neck again. He leaned close, his lips brushing her ear as he asked, “How about darlin’?”
That word! She melted against him. She couldn’t have stopped herself if she’d tried. “Blane!”
He chuckled again. “Figured you liked that one.”
“I more than like it, you terrible man. And you know it. You know the effect it has on me.”
He cocked an eyebrow and somehow looked even more appealing—and sexy—with that mix of confidence and humor in his eyes. “Didn’t know for sure, but I was hoping.”
“Well, I’ve given myself away now. You can use it against me anytime you like.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
She went up onto her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his. She’d intended it to be brief, but even this she couldn’t have called a peck. There was too much in it, especially when his hand flattened against the small of her back and he held her there while the kiss deepened again.
When they finally broke apart, she turned to lean against the railing and look out over the valley.
She wanted to imprint the moment on her memory.
All of it—this wonderful man, this wonderful night, the warm darkness with the cicadas gone drowsy around them, and the sweet scent of jasmine drifting on the air.
Blane stood behind her and braced his hands on the railing on either side of her. Shivers ran down her spine when he bent to kiss the back of her neck.
“You really are a terrible man.”
He chuckled. “You complaining? Thought you liked it.”
She turned around to face him. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, darlin’. I do.”
He looked out over her shoulder. “Even in the dark, it’s a hell of a view you’ve got here.”