‘I accepted some,’ she conceded. ‘At Brent’s urging. Good practice, he’d said, and I guess he’d been sort of right. But, honestly, I was so bored out of my brain I contemplated stabbing myself in the eye with a fork,’ she joked.
He lifted his brows. ‘So my witty and insightful conversation is how I won you over?’
‘Nope, it’s all down to sex appeal with you, sorry.’
‘I’m flattered.’
‘You probably shouldn’t be. I’m basically reducing you to an object.’
‘I don’t think I mind.’
She grinned. ‘I’m glad to hear it, because I intend to objectify you a lot for the next little while.’
‘Why not start now?’
* * *
He thought she was asleep. She’d been quiet a long time, her head pressed to his chest, her hair loose along his arm. He’d been lying there, staring up at the stars overhead, replaying their evening: her rapid-fire conversation, a smile playing about his lips as he recalled the perfection of how it had finished—making love here beneath the ancient night sky.
‘I always loved stars.’ Her voice was a murmur.
He stroked her back, wondering what time it was. Two? Three?
He heard her yawn then she nuzzled in closer, her body cleaved to his. ‘When I was nine, and incredibly homesick, I used to look out at the stars and imagine my mum. Did you know we’re all made of stardust?’
‘I thought that was just a song.’
‘No, it’s true.’ Another yawn. ‘Stars that go supernova create all the elements. We’re more than ninety per cent stardust.’ Her breathing slowed, and once more he thought she’d fallen asleep. Indeed, when she spoke next, her words were heavy, almost slurred.
‘I used to look out at the stars and take comfort from the fact that, through them, my elemental make-up and my mum’s, we were connected even though we were far apart. Stars bind us all together, in a way.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE INTERNET WAS littered with articles about her, and photographs too. As Amelia Ashford had said, Amelia Jamieson had been in every broadsheet newspaper several times. But Amelia had also been modest. She’d told him some of her story without revealing many of the things others might have bragged about. Such as the scientific breakthrough she’d made as a ten-year-old that had led to a whole wing of a university in Texas being named after her. Or the research she’d done that had added a new dimension to the way scientists viewed star formation. She hadn’t told him about the awards, the accolades, the grant money.
Her life, up until she’d made the decision to branch off from her scientific work and become a teacher named Amelia Ashford, had been completely different.
While he was in awe of her genius, he was even more in awe of her courage. To disregard the accolades and praise that was part and parcel of her success, to disappoint her parents and start a whole new life completely on her own, took guts and bravery. While he’d known she was special, seeing the full picture made him appreciate the full extent of that. Photographs of a young Amelia did something to his heart, layering cracks into it. She looked so young and so intensely vulnerable.
It also made a whole heap of sense when it came to why she’d turned up on his doorstep at Renway Hall like a lioness preparing to defend Cameron. She hadn’t had anyone to stand up for her interests as a child, and she hadn’t been prepared to let that same thing happen to Cameron.
It was hard not to feel a sense of affection for someone who was prepared to go in to bat for your own flesh and blood—and who’d single-handedly salvaged the relationship. Without Amelia, he didn’t want to think about where he and Cameron would be.
* * *
‘Working?’ He propped one shoulder against the door of her office, scanning the whiteboards. Each was covered with incomprehensible mathematics. The first time he’d come in here and seen it he’d felt as though he were landing in a parallel universe. He was by no means intellectually lacking but his skill set was totally different from this. Mathematics was useful to him when it came to bonds, and profit and loss schedules, not these kinds of complex equation.
‘Mmm...’ She was scanning a piece of paper on her desk. She lifted her eyes to him, then a finger. ‘Hang on one second.’ Without turning away from him, she spoke again. ‘Bishop to E7.’
Santos scanned the desk and saw that there was a tablet propped to her left. A man’s face filled the screen. Handsome with blond hair, overly white teeth, a swarthy tan and green eyes. ‘You’re sure?’
She rolled her eyes but there was a wink in them for Santos. ‘Absolutely. I have to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?’
‘No worries. Later, Millie.’
Millie? Heat shifted inside Santos. It wasn’t jealousy so much as surprise, he told himself. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected her friend Brent to be like—surely that was who she was talking to—but it hadn’t been this.
‘Playing chess?’ He covered his unexpected response conversationally.