‘What Lucy and I decide to do, and where we decide to live, is our business.’ His voice remained indulgent. ‘And when we do decide, you’ll be the first to know.’
He looked up from his mother, and over at Lucy. His eyes were warm, enough to calm Lucy’s nerves. Every time their eyes met she found herself wanting to touch him, to feel him. Not very appropriate when they were visiting his mother.
There was something about the way he said ‘we’ that made her feel all gooey inside – and she liked it a little too much. It reflected the way she felt about him, that it was the two of them, separated from the world by an invisible barrier. And whatever they decided, they’d decide together.
‘I suppose I’m not allowed to ask if she wants babies, either?’
‘Shall we talk about something else?’ Lachlan suggested. ‘Maybe we can discuss world politics, or the economy, or something less contentious like that?’
Lucy felt the corner of her lip twitch. There was that baby question again.
It was strange how it already seemed less frightening, as though exposure to it was lessening the shock. And deep inside her – in the part of her she was still barely acknowledging – the thought of making anything with this gorgeous, funny, strong man sent a delicious shiver through her body.
For her whole life, she’d been looking for control. Funny how the moment she let go of it, good things had s
tarted to happen.
An hour later, they were walking through the parking lot, her hand neatly tucked into his. He was half a step ahead of her as they weaved past the cars, ducking and dodging the wing mirrors as they made their way from the home. Though it was late afternoon, the heat of the day was still clinging on, warming up the wool of his suit jacket, and making the tiny hairs stick to the back of his neck.
‘You’re still here,’ he said, as they reached his car. For a moment he savoured the minor miracle.
‘Where else would I be?’ She tipped her head to the side, her face curious.
‘I thought my mom might have scared you.’ He tugged at her hand, pulling her closer until the front of her body was only inches from his. ‘All that talk of settling down and having babies, I thought it might send you heading for the hills.’
Though his tone was teasing, he could feel his body hesitating. Waiting for her response. She’d run from him before – from New York and from Glencarraig – he wasn’t sure he’d survive a third time.
‘I’m not afraid of you,’ she murmured, reaching out to trace circles across his shirt-clad chest. ‘Why would I run from you?’
But it was never him she’d run from. He knew that now. It was herself.
It had been the right thing to do, not to chase her. And though it had led to two excruciating weeks without her, she’d come running right back.
Thank God.
‘Love me, love my mom. Isn’t that what they say?’ He circled his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. ‘Doesn’t that scare you?’
She lifted her head to look at him. ‘Should it?’ she asked. Two tiny lines formed between her brows as she thought the words through. ‘I’d be more worried if you weren’t close to your mother. I liked watching the two of you together.’ She smiled wickedly, looping her arms around his neck. ‘And anyway, my family is bigger than yours, so I figure you’ll have more to deal with than I do.’
‘Three more like you,’ he whispered, brushing his lips against her cheek. ‘I’m not sure if that sounds like heaven or hell.’
‘It all depends on the day,’ she said, her voice full of humour. ‘When we’re good, we’re great. And when we’re bad…’
‘It’s time to head for the hills.’
‘Stop it.’ She was laughing, her arms still clasped around his neck. This close he could see a line of freckles across her nose, teased out by the hot Miami sun. He could see how beautiful she was, too, with her supple skin and blue eyes. Her hair almost glistened beneath the afternoon rays, falling in soft waves down to her shoulders.
She was gorgeous, in that perfect English-rose way. But her beauty went more than skin deep, he knew that now. It was in her humour and her sadness, in her bravery and her fears. It was in the way she always gave as good as she got, and yet somehow made him feel like he’d won.
Leaning his head towards hers, he kissed the tip of her nose, moving lower, capturing her lips against his. He pressed his palms firmly into the small of her back, feeling her warmth through the thin fabric of her summer dress. She arched against him, opening her mouth to let him, her body pliant, yet demanding more. And as they kissed, their tongues teasing and sliding in a way that made them both breathless, he realised that you can’t mend a plate with gold-filled lacquer until it’s broken, and you can’t have beautiful scars without being wounded first.
They’d stumble and fall, and they’d scramble back up, dust themselves off and start all over again. But this time they’d do it together, which sounded pretty damn perfect to him.
Epilogue
Their lips were four red roses on a stalk, which in
their summer beauty kiss’d each other