Page 83 of Possession Under the Southern Stars

Is it crazy that I find her sexy in that coat? That the first thing I think of is lifting it, tugging down her jeans, and sliding into her from behind?

I shake my head, mentally growl at myself, and walk into the room. Sunlight spills through the high windows, covering Hallie with thick yellow light. The sounds of the visitors in the museum are muted here, and she’s got the radio on, which is currently playing Crowded House’sWeather With You. I can smell the musty aroma of the aged wood, the acrid smell of the cleaning agent she’s using, and the nutty scent of the linseed oil she’s applying on the cleaned parts.

I lean on the table next to her. She hasn’t looked up.

“I wondered how long it would take for you to appear,” she says, carefully flicking away fragments of dirt from the wood.

“How did you know it was me?”

“I can smell your cologne. And I can tell by your walk.”

“Dragging my left leg again, was I?”

She giggles and sends me an amused glance before returning to her work.

I smile. “How’s it going?”

“Good, thanks. Should be done tomorrow.”

Unbidden, my gaze skims down her, taking in her curves, and the way the sunlight brings out copper tones in her brown hair.

She lifts her head a little from the magnifying glass, although she doesn’t look around. But her cheeks pinken a little, so she’s conscious of my gaze.

“Come to my place tonight,” I say.

She does lift her gaze to meet mine then, and her eyebrows rise. “What?”

“Please.”

Her lips part, but no words come out.

“I miss you,” I tell her.

Her lips curve up a little. Her big brown eyes are filled with affection. “I miss you, too.”

“I can’t promise anything,” I say with honesty. “And I don’t know what’s going to happen. All I know is that I miss you, and I’m not ready to let you go, yet. So come around this evening, and I’ll cook you dinner, and we can have a glass of wine, and…” I trail off.

“And…” she prompts, teasing me.

“Make out.”

She laughs. “What are you, sixteen?”

“We can snog on the sofa.”

She chuckles, dropping her gaze and rubbing at a mark on the box.

“Please,” I say again. “I’m not too proud to beg.”

“Fraser…”

I go to tell her that I’m in love with her, but hold back at the last moment. She’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t need me piling on unfair pressure when I have no idea whether I can offer her a future. I look away, at the motes of dust dancing in the sunlight. Suspended in time, like my dreams.

“All right,” she says softly.

I look back at her.

“Don’t be sad,” she says.

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