Page 26 of The Cowboy Takes a Nanny
“Not right away. I went back to London. My degree is in art history and I was managing an art gallery in Mayfair. Emile stayed in Paris. But we spoke every day. Saw each other most other weekends.”
“Ah, you were like, soulmates?” His face pulled into a got it expression. He hadn’t. Not by a long shot. “Had you always planned to marry?”
Her mouth pinched in of its own volition; they were getting into tricky territory now. “Not really … Oh, you know—the usual adolescent promises. Like if we hadn’t met someone by the time we were a certain age we’d get together. Rubbish stuff like that.”
That time he almost choked. “And yet you got married! What was the age limit on that oh so romantic life plan? Nineteen?”
“Ha!” Tired as she was, Ella couldn’t help but laugh at his ridiculous expression. “No! Thirty-two for me, thirty-three for him. Obviously, I’d been thinking of feasible embryonic potential—fertility—when those ages were set. But, you know, things happened. His father died …” She shrugged.
Sobered by her reply, Leo kept his eyes on her for what seemed to be an age—right up until she began to squirm under the intensity. “Leo, unless you have x-ray vision, I’d prefer you to ask whatever question is eating you up than you trying to bore through my skull to decipher the answer.”
His lips twitched. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?”
No. There are some things I can never say. “When it’s appropriate. It saves time. Why, does it bother you?”
His answer surprised her; words that seemed to fall from his mouth before he’d had time to think about them. “Not nearly as much as it should. Just the opposite in fact.” His shoulders had dropped, along with his voice, leaving her to have to lean in to hear those last trailing words.
“Leo?”
He shrugged. “Sorry. My brain’s fried.” He fiddled with the crumbs on his plate, pushing them from one side to the other. “Did you love him?”
That one came from out of the blue and she took her time replying. “I will always love Emile. He was my friend. He’s my son’s father.” Was I in love with him? No … Time to deflect. “What about you and Hope?”
She may not have bothered him with her occasional directness, but her question obviously had bothered him. She felt it in the subtle change in the air around them; saw it in his face. Almost like he was shutting down and suddenly the silence around them seemed deafening. She watched, waiting. Should she retract the question? She watched those powerful hands, watched those crumbs receive even more intense concentration, tracked his deepening frown.
Finally, he cleared his throat. “Honest answer? I think I thought I was. I know I thought I was.” He pulled in air, long and slow. “And if she’d lived? We’d have married and she’d be here living with Mia and me. But we had so little time together. And most of our relationship consisted of phone calls. And even those eventually stopped. I realize now it was when she must have found out she was having Mia. I don’t know why she didn’t tell me. I was devastated when she died, but—”
He paused and once more; his face wreathed in a mix of confusion and regret. Ella stilled, knowing instinctively that he hadn’t ever spoken to anyone else about his feelings. Her heart ached, and she wanted nothing more than to reach out and console him, but she knew she had to let him find his own way.
The long sigh he emitted seemed to release some of the tension that had built up over the last several minutes when, voice ragged, he finally continued. “But, some of that is guilt. Guilt that I hadn’t known about her plight; that I hadn’t been there for her and Mia. That I’d let her down—in the worst way. And questions—like would she have survived if I’d come back sooner? Got her better treatment? And then there was … the other thing. My heart broke for Mia, it broke for the life Hope was denied … But I realized in those moments that I wasn’t sure that I loved Hope in the way I should have. I wondered if our attraction would have faded eventually. She ah … had some, um, problems, stuff left from her childhood. In retrospect it should have been obvious she’d never been treated well; at least not the way she deserved to be loved. I hope that given time we might have found that place again; that I’d find that feeling that had bowled me over when we first met. But I’ll never know because we were denied the chance, and there are too many questions left unanswered.”
“Oh Leo.” Tears pricked the backs of her eyes, and her throat ached from the pressure of trying to contain those tears. Certainly, lack of sleep played a part as well; and maybe her own guilt, didn’t help.
She’d slid past his question about loving Emile, whereas he had laid all his truth at her feet; trusted her. Combined with their shared worry over the children; their lack of sleep; in the intimacy of the moment and soul baring—she finally gave in to impulse and slid from her stool to stand before him.
It was only supposed to be a hug, something to console him when words would sound trite; a connection to reassure him that she understood. But the moment his arms slid around her, when she was crushed up against that chest; inhaled the essence of him—something changed.
Everything changed.
“Ella…” It was broken whisper.
He’d pulled her into the space between his knees, enclosing her, wrapping himself around her. His head at first rested against her shoulder, his breath teased the sensitive skin of her neck, his lips so tantalizingly close. His heart beat against hers, so fast, so hard, it told her what she wanted to know.
His hands moved up over back, sending out a ripple of delicious vibrations, pebbling every inch of her skin. She heard his groan as his lips brushed a spot just below her ear: a sound so compelling it stripped her of all rational thought. She lost all sense of what was right and what was wrong. Powerless to do anything but fall into the vortex of swirling sensations as a million delicious sparkling arrows shot through her, each one igniting another nerve end that exploded in a shower of liquid warmth.
And that was before his lips even found hers.
His kiss was gentle but sure, moving with certainty, compelling her to move closer and wind her arms around his neck—hold him to her like she would never let him go.
Responding to her invitation, he deepened the kiss, slid forward on his stool, pressed himself into her, showing without any doubt that he felt just as she did.
Emboldened, she rubbed herself against the long hard length of him, felt the sharp intake of his breath.
He moaned and pulled back enough to whisper, his breath fluttered against her mouth, “Ella?”
It was a question. She knew that, just as she knew what he was asking; what he wanted—what they both wanted.
What did she want? Through the fog of passion, rational thought strove to be heard; a thin thread of lucidity strengthened until it gained a foothold.
