‘I don’t want people’s pity. People think...’ He didn’t want to think what they thought.
‘Pity because of the accident?’
‘I don’t want people around when they’re only interested in my money.’
She looked sceptical. ‘Is that really the only reason why they’re interested?’
‘Apparently one or two are only interested in my looks,’ he jeered lightly. ‘But usually it’s the money.’
‘And women?’ Her colour was high again. ‘You like sex. You’re good at it.’
He caught his breath. She floored him with that honesty sometimes.
‘I’m good at a lot of things, Violet.’ He was soft but so insolent and her colour rose even more.
But it didn’t please him the same. Because he was not good at some other things—things she might really want—and he never wanted to be good at them, such as real, deep relationships. He needed to make her understand that somehow. ‘For a while in my early twenties, I partied hard. But I grew up. Got a little jaded.’
There was more to it, a nuance—the reasonwhyhe’d partied hard. He couldn’t tell her that. He’d had foolish hope when there could be none and losing it had almost destroyed him.
She fiddled with a silver knife instead of buttering her croissant. ‘So what happened with me...?’
‘Was the first in a while. There hasn’t been anyone since.’ The truth just slid out and for a second he felt as shocked by his admission as she looked.
Why there hadn’t been anyone else?
The question flickered in her eyes but he didn’t answer. He only knew he’d not been able to shake her from his mind. He’d not even noticed other women these past few weeks. He’d not wanted to. And, even though he was no longer the player he’d been a while back, it was weird. But that night with her hadn’t just been intense, it had been emotional—touching something within that he didn’t think could easily be repeated. He didn’t want to settle for less with someone else. He didn’t want someone else at all.
The blush now blooming on her face was scarlet and every cell inside him was swamped by satisfaction. Yeah, itmatteredto her. To him too. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else. The irritation he’d felt about his fixation with her evaporated. It was all he could do not to vault out of his chair, cup her face and kiss her—everywhere—to help her release the surfeit of sensual tension he just knew she was struggling with right now. She’d been pleased to hear that from him and he ached to please her so much more. To satisfy the ache they were both barely enduring would ease everything.
Instead he pushed the instinct down. ‘Enough to go on for now?’
She nodded and shifted from the chair opposite his at the table to the larger, more comfortable arm chair by the window.
He was rendered useless to work again. Instead of focusing on number crunching, he surreptitiously watched her curled up on that chair, looking at the view out of the window. So beautiful, and unbelievably quiet. Where had the breathless chatter and tease gone? The wide eyes were still there. He wanted to know what she was thinking. He wanted to share how she experienced the world.
He tensed. What kind of whimsical wish was that? His untrustworthy, frankly fanciful, instincts were overriding any actual thinking right now. He needed space and time to work all this out, but honestly it was too huge to contemplate. Knowing they were aligned in having the child was good, but navigating arrangements for co-parenting? He feared it was going to be impossible. So the relief when the train finally slowed to pull into the station was intense.
‘Time to escape,’ she said lightly.
Yeah. She felt it as keenly as he did.
The station was in the centre of a pretty little lakeside town. They could opt for ‘ye olde horse and carriage’ to transport them, but it was only a three-minute walk to the waterside, and Violet was walking before he could even ask her. He chuckled ruefully. It seemed she didn’t want to sit near him even for a few extra minutes.
As the collection of timber booths decked out in festive finery came into view, he gritted his teeth and cursed himself for the idea. The Christmas market sold hand-made wooden ornaments and decorations, spiced wine, deep-fried dumplings, sleigh rides, sparkling lights and festive trees. And there were people. Lots of people—families, couples and older folk, all smiling and excited. It was everything he avoided in a one-mile radius. But in the centre, right beside him, with a bigger smile than anyone was Violet. So he avoided all the Christmas kitsch and focused on her.
‘It’s beautiful,’ she murmured.
Vitality and energy shone in her eyes as she chattered to the stall holders. She was curious, engaging and skilful in getting people to open up to her. They beamed, plying her with samples of cake and chocolate, or slivers of the soaps they were selling. She had genuine enthusiasm for hearing other people’s stories. No wonder she was good at customer-facing roles—she’d be an amazing tour guide. She was charming and guileless, this petite woman with an impish smile and irresistible freckles. She brought everyone’s protective instincts out the second they saw her.
Except for Roman’s. He—hungry beast that he was—just wanted to drag her back to his bed, cover her soft mouth with his own and keep her all to himself. Because he knew the stormy passion that lay beneath that sweet surface. He’d seen the challenging sassiness in her eyes and he’d felt her heat. She was a complex creature and he couldn’t get enough.
Now she was at a booth selling fine wool products, inspecting brightly coloured hats. There were tiny, knitted baby hats—Christmas-themed ones—and he couldn’t look at them.
‘Are they all hand-knitted?’ she enquired. ‘They’re exquisite.’
The stall holder smiled but Roman had frozen. Years ago at Christmas he’d been given a woollen hat like the ones on display here. Hand-knitted and exquisite and made with love.
‘You like them too.’ Violet glanced up at him.