Second Chance Girl
Page 49

“Were you out all night?”
“At the studio. Working.”
“Did you have to or was it because your father arrived yesterday?”
He winced. “It’s early, Carol. Or late, depending on how you want to look at it. Maybe you could be a bit less direct.”
“Do you really think that’s going to happen?”
“Not for a second.”
She put her coffee in the cup holder and set her bag on the passenger seat before straightening. “Come on. You can stay here.”
He grinned. “You’re finally going to sleep with me?”
Her stomach clenched and a few key parts of her body tingled in anticipation.
“No,” she said firmly. “You’re going to sleep here alone. My house is small but I have a guest room.”
He followed her inside. “I’d sleep better in your bed.”
“I doubt that.”
She got him clean sheets and towels, then pushed him gently toward the guest room. “Text someone at your house and tell them where you are, then get some sleep.”
Mathias turned to face her. Before she could stop him, he’d leaned in and lightly kissed her.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re good to me.”
I can’t help it. Luck was on her side and she only thought the words instead of saying them. Taking care of Mathias couldn’t possibly be healthy—at least not for her. But she couldn’t help herself. There was something about him. Reminding herself about their disastrous sexual encounter didn’t seem to make a damn bit of difference. It was as if he had a firm grip on her heart and she couldn’t get him to let go. Or she didn’t want him to.
As either scenario was dangerous, she backed up a few feet and did her best to smile.
“Go get some sleep. I’ll be at work all day. If you wake up before I’m back, let yourself out.”
His dark gaze met hers. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.”
She wanted to say so much more, much of it along the lines of take me, take me now. So she did the only sensible thing she could think of. She ran.
* * *
VIOLET SLID THE omelets onto two plates. It was day two of their little domestic arrangement and she was enjoying herself way too much. Yesterday, after a night of incredible lovemaking, she and Ulrich had spent the day together. They’d walked around town, done some grocery shopping and spent the afternoon in bed. Last night had been just as magical.
It was more than what he was doing to her body, she thought with a sigh. It was what he was doing to her emotions.
What a silly thing—a shopgirl in Happily Inc, California, falling for an English duke. Not that falling for a duke from anywhere else would be all that sensible.
She carried the plates to her small table. Ulrich had already squeezed fresh orange juice and made toast. They were both on their second cup of coffee.
“This is a lot of food,” she said as she sat across from him.
“We need to keep up our strength.”
She laughed. “I suppose that’s true.” They both picked up their forks.
She found herself watching him. In part to memorize everything about being with him, but also because she enjoyed looking at him. This morning he wore a T-shirt and sweatpants. His hair was mussed, his jaw shadowed. He looked sexy and faintly dangerous—nothing like the elegant man she’d first met.
“You were so pissed at me when you first got to town,” she said conversationally.
He grimaced. “I believe I have apologized for that.”
“You should do it again.”
He smiled. “I’m very sorry that I misjudged you.”
“You assumed really bad things about me.”
“I did and it was wrong.” He studied her. “Is this your way of saying you’re into spanking and you want to punish me?”
“What? No. Never. Ick. Why would you ask that?”
He grinned. “Just checking. One never knows what others find erotic.”
“Not that.” She narrowed her gaze. “You’re not spanking me, by the way. Just so we’re clear.”
“Good to know.”
“You totally messed with my train of thought,” she complained.
“Then my work here is done.”
She smiled. Ulrich had a surprising sense of humor. He was smart and loyal, caring, determined and sexy. Falling for him was not her fault. How could anyone not want to be with him? Okay, maybe his lifestyle wasn’t for everyone—there would be a lot of expectations and it wasn’t as if his wife would ever inherit the house, but still. That was okay. Any children would be the ones—
She stared at him. “You have to have children.”
Ulrich nearly choked on his juice. “Excuse me?”
“Children. You need heirs. You have to get married and get on that, Ulrich. You have a duty to your family and the estate.”
“Volunteering?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m serious. What are you going to do?” She sighed. “You’re going to be sensible, aren’t you? Find someone who understands your situation and wants the same things you do. Won’t that be difficult? Not to love her? Or do you think you’ll grow to love her?” Not that she wanted to think about Ulrich loving anyone, but this was bigger than them. She had to be realistic.
“You seem to have all the answers,” he said drily. “What do you think I should do?”
“I can’t decide for you. Plus, I’ll admit I’m not wild about the idea of you falling madly in love with someone else at this exact moment.” She realized what she’d said and flushed. “Not that I’m implying that you, um, are more than smitten with me. I was just making, you know, a point.”
He leaned toward her and took her hand. “I know exactly what you meant. For what it’s worth, as you Americans say, I have no interest in falling for anyone else, Violet. I will at some point have to do my duty to God and my country but that is not for today. Today is about us. Agreed?”
She nodded, then wondered how he defined smitten. Did he like her a lot? Did he like her really a lot? Or was he possibly in love with her?
She knew there was no way she would ask, which made her pathetic, but better to wonder than find out the answer wasn’t what she wanted to hear.
“I’m glad you danced with me all those summers ago,” she said instead.
“As am I.”
She laughed. “You don’t even remember me. I was simply one in a series of duty dances. I, on the other hand, will treasure the memory forever.”
“In that, sweet Violet, you are far more fortunate than I.”
* * *
MATHIAS PULLED THE small statue of a glass bird out of an Amazon box. “You drove down the mountain like this?”
Ronan shrugged. “I used tissue paper.”
“Not very much.”
Ronan had shown up at the studio with several boxes, all filled with his artwork. He’d decided to use the fund-raiser to showcase a few more of his bird pieces. Or as Nick put it, yard sale a few dusty leftovers.
Mathias turned the smallest of the birds so it was directly under the light. He could practically feel the wind ruffling feathers as the creature took flight. Damn, his brother was good.
Nick had also set out a few of his wood carvings. There was a three-foot-tall giraffe that was a surprise to everyone.