Alice’s eyes met his and she felt again that whump of sensation, a deep throb at her core. At the time she’d been moved by his revelation, but too caught up in her own concerns to really consider what it had meant for him to share that secret. It made her past problems fade. At least she’d had people who genuinely loved her.
‘Okay.’ He was right—it would help if he knew it all. Yet, though her life was an open book, she was reluctant. She tried to live in the present, not dwell on the past.
As she hesitated Adoni leaned forward and poured tea into the delicate porcelain cup on the table beside her, adding milk. At her raised eyebrows he murmured, ‘I know how you like it.’
The words took her back to her shabby room in Devon. To Adoni prowling the tiny space like a Greek god come down from Olympus to find himself in a cramped bedsit. He’d been annoying and bossy but...kind.
‘Thank you.’ She lifted the cup to her lips, inhaled the fragrant steam then sipped. Instantly she felt better. She shuffled back in the chair, letting it embrace her, and turned her head to find Adoni watching her, his lips twitching. ‘What?’
‘You English are addicted to your tea, aren’t you?’
She shrugged, glancing at the tiny cup of intensely dark coffee beside him. ‘Like you Greeks and your coffee.’
He lifted his shoulders in a casual shrug that tugged at her feminine centre. It made Alice remember the power in his tall frame, and the way he’d carefully leashed it to ensure her pleasure before his own. Her gaze dipped to her tea as she fought a quiver of excitement.
‘I don’t have any big secrets and you know most of it.’ She paused, annoyance flickering because he’d investigated her. But the investigator obviously didn’t know everything. She lifted her eyes to the soothing view of sea and sky that reminded her of her happy childhood.
‘I’m an only child and grew up in Cornwall. We were a close family. My mother was a talented portrait artist.’
‘That’s where you get your artistic talent.’
Alice felt the words sink in. It had been too long since she’d thought of herself as having real talent. She’d longed to attend art school but life and a lack of funds had got in the way. This morning was the first time in ages that she’d picked up a sketchbook.
‘From my father too. He was a commercial cartoonist.’ Even in his wheelchair, as his body slowly failed him, he’d worked desperately hard, trying to support them. ‘His cartoons were so insightful, yet they made you laugh.’
‘You’re proud of him.’
‘Of course.’ She met Adoni’s probing gaze. ‘I’m proud of both of them. Not just because of their talent. They were lovely people.’ She still missed them.
Alice took a fortifying sip of tea.
‘We were caught in a motorway accident when I was twelve. A lorry skidded on ice and crossed several lanes to slam into us. My mother died instantly but it took ages for them to cut my father out.’ Her throat closed and she pretended to take another sip.
‘I’m sorry. That must have been...’ He paused. ‘I can’t begin to imagine how hard it was.’
Alice nodded. ‘Somehow it seemed worse that I came out of it with only bruising and a cracked wrist. It took a long time before I stopped feeling guilty.’ It had almost felt as if it was her fault her mother had died.
She saw Adoni’s hand move as if to touch her, then he pulled back. Alice was grateful. Talking about this still choked her up.
‘After that we had to give up the house in Cornwall because Dad was in a wheelchair and couldn’t cope with the stairs.’ And because money had been so tight they couldn’t afford the mortgage. ‘An old friend of my parents offered us a place in Devon. It was ideal, on one floor and with doorways wide enough for Dad’s chair.’
Alice turned to Adoni. ‘David Bannister was my godfather. He and his wife saw my mother’s work when she was a student and encouraged her. She sold her first painting to them.’ She paused, waiting, but Adoni’s expression was unreadable.
‘David was very good to us. More than a landlord, he was a friend, and we needed all we could get.’ Her mother’s death had strained relations with their only relatives. Her mother’s sister had blamed Alice’s father for the accident, despite the evidence. There’d been a rift between the families ever since, till Alice’s cousin Emily had invited her to attend the wedding.
‘Dad’s injuries were complicated. His condition worsened till eventually he couldn’t work. Then David waived our rent and there was always a basket of fresh produce from the estate or our neighbours. We lived in the artists’ colony you saw.’
‘No wonder Jasper is so protective.’
She shrugged. ‘Everyone pitched in together.’ Alice drew a deep breath. ‘Dad fought his health problems but he died when I was seventeen. Soon after, David asked me to come and live at the big house.’
Alice turned narrowed eyes on Adoni, waiting for a reaction, but he merely nodded.
‘He was a widower and missed his wife dreadfully. He said he was lonely rattling around by himself. But he did it for me. SoIwouldn’t be alone.’ Her lips tightened as she remembered the lies Adoni had believed. Her stomach churned in indignation. ‘For the record we were never lovers. He didn’t seduce me. He was like a grandfather or an uncle.’
‘It was good you had someone to care for you when your father died.’ There was no doubt in Adoni’s deep voice, just statement of fact.
Alice dipped her head in agreement. ‘It wasn’t supposed to be long-term. I was researching art schools. I wanted to go as soon as I could, after I’d worked to save enough money. David was talking of giving me an interest-free loan. But then he was diagnosed with a degenerative illness.’