Page 89 of Tattered Edges

I looked away from him, staring unseeingly out of the window as I bit the inside of my cheek and tried really hard not to cry. My mascara wasn’t waterproof.

“Sawyer?” he called gently, squeezing my leg.

Speaking around the knot in my throat, I whispered, “You hide it behind that sexy scowl of yours, but you’redefinitelythe annoyingly sweet one.”

“Come now, don’t cry.”

“Give me a minute, will you? I’m working on it,” I teased.

He squeezed my leg once more, and we fell into a comfortable silence.

Not ten minutes later, we were parked in front of the most adorable cottage I’d ever seen. As I would soon find out, the couple who resided inside were just as great.

“Hello there, my boy,” greeted his mother at the door, reaching up to pat his cheek affectionately. “So good to see you. And you must be Sawyer.” She settled her kind gaze on me and smiled. “I’mdelightedyou’re here. Come in, come in out of the cold!”

“There you are! How ya getting on?” asked his father, who appeared from what must have been the kitchen. He was wearing an apron, on which he was wiping his hands. “Was a little late getting home this evening, so dinner’s not quite ready. But it shouldn’t be long now.”

Lorcan Collins was a tall, lanky, redhead with bright eyes, a broad grin, and a heavy Irish accent. Adelaide was only a little taller than me, but curvier with curly, gray-streaked, sandy brunette hair she wore in a long braid that draped down her chest—her accent that of a proper English woman.

“I hope you like shepherd’s pie,” said Adelaide after introductions were behind us. “It’s Lorcan’s specialty. Or, rather, theonlything he’ll cook. He refuses to let me do it. Says the seasoning’s always off when I try.”

“G’wan, don’t let her fool you! I’m no one trick pony.”

“Well, it smells delicious,” I assured them on a laugh. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Rory, take her into the next room and you two have a seat. I’ll fetch something to drink. What would you like? We’ve got wine, tea, water—tap or sparkling, depending on your preference.”

Rory and I both opted to start with water before he showed me into the next room. We were there long enough for me to come to the conclusion I had worried over nothing. Both his parents were practically tripping over themselves to make sure I felt welcome. It was when we sat down to dinner with a bottle of red wine that we settled into relaxed and engaging conversation.

Lorcan was quirky but obviously clever and deeply intellectual. Any mention of Manchester United set him off on a tangent, which I loved. We discussed the club’s ownership and the ramifications of the coaching staff for more than twenty minutes.

Adelaide was the definition of maternal, but also sophisticated and brilliant without being pretentious. She was passionate about her work, and when I mentioned how I would be interested in exploring Oxford University, she lit up and insisted upon it.

“How about tomorrow?” she asked, looking from me to Rory and then back at me. “If you don’t have to rush back. I know you’ve got responsibilities, but you’re already here. My first class doesn’t start until half past ten. We could grab a tea, and I’ll give you an abbreviated tour. I’d love to show you around.”

I smiled sheepishly at Rory, hoping he would say yes. When he winked at me, I grinned at Adelaide and said, “Tomorrow it is.”

“Wonderful!”

And it was—the whole night was wonderful.

It wasn’t just the kindness of Rory’s parents, or the lack of nerves I felt as the night wore on—it was getting the chance to see a different side of Rory that left me in awe.

Since we’d started a more intimate relationship, I’d seen what he was like after peeling back a layer or two. But Rory when he was with his parents opened up completely—like he knew there was no place safer for him to be his whole self. He laughed more, and shared bits and pieces of himself I didn’t know he had inside of him.

It was mesmerizing.

Later, on our drive back to the hotel, I couldn’t get it out of my head—what he’d shared with me. He hadn’t said or even hinted at it, but I understood his invitation to the countryside wasn’t about his parents. Not really. It’s why he was so nonchalant about it; because he’d already made up his mind, and therealinvitation was for me to know him better.Deeper. I knew, without him having to say a word, he wanted me to have that—him.

We were all or nothing, and he was giving meall.

As soon as we got back to the room, the only thing I could think about was how much I wanted him. Every bit of him.

When I reached for him—I didn’t even have to say it.

His mouth still tasted of wine. As he began to remove my clothes, I couldn’t tell if the heady feeling I had was a result of the two glasses I’d drank or just the effect ofhim.I was desperate to get as close to him as possible—to have every inch of me pressed against him. Skin to skin. Stripped naked and vulnerable.

I wanted to give it.

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