Page 30 of For the Love of Lilah
“Oh, and I thought you were a poet.” With a shake of her head, she had her hand tucked back in his. “Lesson number one,” she began.
As they walked, she pointed out tiny clumps of flowers that pushed out of crevices or thrived in the thin, rocky soil. She showed him how to recognize the wild blueberry that would be ripe and ready the following month. There was the flutter of butterfly wings and the drone of bees deep in the grass. With her, the common became exotic.
She snipped off a thin leaf, crushing it to release a pungent fragrance that reminded him of her skin.
He stood with her on a precipice thrown out over the water. Far below, spray fumed on the rock, beating them smooth in a timeless war. She helped him spot the nests, worked cleverly onto narrow ridges and clinging tenaciously to faults in the rocks.
It was what she did every day for groups of strangers, and for herself. There was a new kind of pleasure in sharing it all with him, showing him something as simple and special as the tiny white sandwort or the wild roses that grew as tall as a man. The air was like wine, freshened by the wind, so that she sat on a huddle of rock to drink it with each breath.
“It’s incredible here.” He couldn’t sit. There was too much to see, too much to feel.
“I know.” She was enjoying his pleasure as much as the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. It was in his as well, streaming through the shaggy locks. There was fascination in his eyes, darkening them to indigo as the faint smile curved his lips. The wound on his temple was healing, but she thought it would leave a slight scar that would add something rakish to the intelligent face.
As a thrush began to trill, she circled her knee with her arms. “You look good, Max.”
Distracted, he glanced over his shoulder. She was sitting easily on the rocks, as relaxed as she would have been on a cushy sofa. “What?”
“I said you look good. Very good.” She laughed as his jaw dropped. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you you’re attractive?”
What game was she playing now? he wondered, and shrugged uncomfortably. “Not that I remember.”
“No starstruck undergraduate, no clever English Lit professor? That’s very remiss. I imagine more than one of them tried to catch your eye—and a bit more than that—but you were too buried in books to notice.”
His brows drew together. “I haven’t been a monk.”
“No.” She smiled. “I’m already aware of that.”
Her words reminded him vividly of what had happened between them two nights before. He had touched her, tasted her, had managed, barely, to pull himself back before taking her right there on the grass. And she had rushed off, he remembered, furious and hurt. Now she was taunting him, all but daring him to repeat the mistake.
“I never know what to expect from you.”
“Thank you.”
“That wasn’t a compliment.”
“Even better.” Her eyes slanted, half-closed now against the sun. When she spoke, her voice was almost a purr. “But you like predictability, don’t you, Professor? Knowing what happens next.”
“Probably as much as you like irritating me.”
Laughing, she held out a hand. “Sorry, Max, sometimes it’s irresistible. Come on, sit down. I promise to behave.”
Wary, he sat on the rock beside her. Her skirts fluttered teasingly around her legs. In a gesture he felt was almost maternal, she patted his thigh.
“Want to be pals?” she asked him.
“Pals?”
“Sure.” Her eyes danced with amusement. “I like you. The serious mind, the honest soul.” He shifted, making her laugh. “The way you shuffle around when you’re embarrassed.”
“I do not shuffle.”
“The authoritative tone when you’re annoyed. Now you’re supposed to tell me what you like about me.”
“I’m thinking.”
“I should have added your dry wit.”
He had to smile. “You’re the most self-possessed person I’ve ever met.” He glanced at her. “And you’re kind, without making a fuss about it. You’re smart, but you don’t make a fuss about that, either. I guess you don’t make a fuss about anything.”
