Page 22 of For the Love of Lilah
As his mouth slipped from hers, she let out a long, pleased sigh, opening her eyes slowly. He was grinning at her, and the delighted expression on his face had her smiling back. Because she wasn’t sure what to do with the tender feelings he tugged from her, she patted his cheek.
“Not that I’m complaining,” she began, “but what was that for?”
“I just felt like it.”
“An excellent first step.”
Laughing, he swung an arm around her shoulder as they started toward the parking lot. “You’ve got the sexiest mouth I’ve ever tasted.”
He didn’t see the cloud come into her eyes. If he had, she couldn’t have explained it. It always came down to sex, she supposed and made an effort to shrug the vague disappointment away. Men usually saw her just that way, and there was no reason to let it start bothering her now, particularly when she’d enjoyed the moment as much as he.
“Glad I could oblige,” she said lightly. “Why don’t you drive?”
“All right, but first I’ve got something to show you.” After settling into the driver’s seat, he picked up a manilla envelope. “I went through a lot of books in the library. There are several mentions of your family in histories and biographies. There was one in particular I thought would interest you.”
“Hmm.” She was already stretched out and thinking of a nap.
“I made a copy of it. It’s a picture of Bianca.”
“A picture?” She straightened again. “Really? Fergus destroyed all her pictures after she died, so I’ve never seen her.”
“Yes, you have.” He drew the copy out and handed it to her. “Every time you look in the mirror.”
She said nothing, but with her eyes focused on the grainy copy she lifted a hand to her own face. The same jaw, the same mouth, nose, eyes. Was this why she felt the bond so strongly? she wondered, and felt tears burn her throat.
“She was beautiful,” Max said quietly.
“So young.” The words came out as a sigh. “Younger than I when she died. She’d already fallen in love when this was taken. You can see it, in her eyes.”
“She’s wearing the emeralds.”
“Yes, I know.” As he had, she traced a fingertip over them. “How difficult it must have been for her, tied to one man, loving another. And the necklace—a symbol of one man’s hold on her, and a reminder of her children.”
“Is that how you see it, a symbol?”
“Yes. I think her feelings for it, about it, were terribly strong. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have hidden it.” She slipped the paper back into the envelope. “A good day’s work, Professor.”
“It’s just a beginning.”
As she looked at him, she linked her fingers with his. “I like beginnings. Everything that follows has such possibilities. We’ll go home and show this to everyone, after we make a couple of stops.”
“Stops?”
“It’s time for another beginning. You need some new clothes.”
He hated shopping. He told her, repeatedly and firmly, but she blithely ignored him and strolled from shop to shop. He held his ground on a fluorescent T-shirt, but lost it again over one depicting a lobster dressed like a maître d’.
She wasn’t intimidated by clerks, but sailed through the process of selection and purchase with a languid air of pure relaxation. Most of the merchants called her by name, and during the chats that accompanied the buying and selling, she would casually ask about a man fitting Caufield’s description.
“Are we finished yet?” There was a plea in his voice that made her chuckle as they stepped out onto the sidewalk again. It was teeming with people in bright summer clothes.
“Not quite.” She turned to study him. Harassed, definitely. Adorable, absolutely. His arms were full of bags and his hair was falling into his eyes. Lilah brushed it back. “How are you fixed for underwear?”
“Well, I...”
“Come on, there’s a shop right down here that has great stuff. Tiger prints, obscene sayings, little red hearts.”
“No.” He stopped dead. “Not on your life.”
