Last night had shown him how much she cared. She had been genuinely worried about Bonnie going missing. She had come flouncing in with her usual you-fix-it-it’s-not-my-problem manner but it was all bluff. She had acted childishly under pressure but rather than mock her for it, he felt drawn to her. She brought out every protective instinct he possessed. Getting to know her was proving to be the most fascinating and moving experience of his life.
What would it take for her to trust him enough to drop the mask? Would she ever feel safe enough to show her true self? Or would he have to be satisfied with rare glimpses, leaving him feeling frustrated and manipulated and dissatisfied?
‘Is this for me?’ he asked.
‘I made too much.’ Another hard little glare. ‘No point wasting perfectly good food.’
He pulled out a chair and sat opposite her. ‘Stop scowling at me. It’s ruining my appetite.’
Her fingers fidgeted with the handle of her mug. She had slender fingers, with nails that were short but neatly manicured. The first two of her knuckles on her right hand were faintly bruised. His chest felt strangely tight, as if someone was turning a spanner on each of the valves of his heart. He hadn’t realised she’d hurt herself when she’d landed him with that punch the other night. She hadn’t said a word.
So many layers...
So many secrets...
‘Is your hand OK? It looks bruised. Did you—?’
She slipped her right hand beneath the table. ‘It’s fine. I bumped it against something.’
‘Aiesha.’
She gave him the sort of look an unrepentant delinquent did a correction officer. ‘What?’
‘Give me your hand.’
She looked as if she was going to refuse his command, but then she rolled her eyes and shoved her hand out to him. He took her hand gently in his and began brushing his thumb over the back of it. Nothing moved on her face but he felt her fingers shift inside the cup of his, a soft little trembling movement that made his body spring to attention. His groin throbbed as he remembered how those fingers had wrapped around him. Holding him. Caressing him until he had to fight every instinct to explode. She was blowing cold on him now but how long before she switched back to sultry siren? She was so complex, so deeply layered, like a lake or a pond that had hidden caves and canyons below the surface.
James released her hand and sat back and picked up his spoon. ‘We need to get you a ring.’
She blinked at him. ‘What?’
He pointed to her left hand with his spoon. ‘An engagement ring.’
And, bang on cue, she did it.
One of her slim eyebrows arched and her grey eyes sparkled with her usual cheekiness. ‘Do I get to keep it after we break up?’
‘Sure.’ He sprinkled some more brown sugar on his porridge. ‘Think of it as a consolation prize.’
There was a moment of silence.
‘It’s not the one you bought for Phoebe what’s-her-face, is it?’
He looked up from his breakfast to give her a lazy smile. ‘No point wasting a perfectly good diamond.’
Her eyes hardened as she leaned across the table and pushed his spoon down away from his mouth. ‘Listen up. I don’t wear other women’s cast-offs. Got it?’
James felt the tingle of her touch run all the way up his arm. The fire in her gaze lit a blaze in his pelvis. He could feel the blood surging through his veins, thickening him with lust that was like a raging fever. Her mouth was set in an intractable line but it still looked lush and plump. It was impossible for such a beautiful mouth to look anything else. He remembered the taste of her, sweet and hot and sinful. Her tongue swift and seductive as it mated with his. He wanted to feel her tongue, hot and wet, on his neck, on his chest, his abdomen, stroking and licking all the way down to where he throbbed the hardest.
‘I’m not wasting my money on a ring you’ll only be wearing for a couple of weeks,’ he said. ‘What would be the point?’
She pushed back her chair and got up from the table. ‘Fine. Whatever.’
James frowned as he watched her stalk over to put her mug in the dishwasher. ‘What’s wrong?’
She slammed the dishwasher door. ‘Nothing.’
He rose from the table and went over to where she was standing with her arms folded across her body. Her expression was stormy and resentful and her eyes marble-hard.
‘What does it matter what ring you wear when all of this is a sham?’ he asked.
Her eyes glittered at they met his. ‘Do you know how insulting it is to be given something that was intended for someone else?’
‘Are we talking about engagement rings or something else?’