Page 32 of Strawberry Moon
“But you can’t build a relationship on sex.”
I take in a breath and look at him. “But you can build it on two people who like each other better than anyone else, who make each other laugh, interest each other, never run short of things to talk about, and who care desperately about the other person’s well-being.”
I hold my breath because, while those are my true feelings, it’s a bold move to make them known.
He watches me for a moment and then finally nods. “You’re very wise, Goldilocks.”
I grin at him, happiness sparkling in my veins like champagne. He pulls me closer and grabs a blanket and covers us with it. It smells of the sea and suntan lotion and is soft against my skin. I snuggle in, and he kisses my forehead. “Ten minutes’ sleep and then I’m taking you back to the house and we can do this in a proper bed.”
I nod and he’s soon asleep, his body lax against mine.
I smooth my hand over his hip, feeling the silky skin drum-tight over the bone beneath. I drop a kiss on his strong jaw, gentle enough not to wake him.
I’ve got everything I’ve ever wanted, but what will he do when he realises that what I’ve been doing started because of a silly plan? Will he still want me?
CHAPTER SIX
The wedding is held in a beautiful church in a chocolate-box village.
We crunch up the gravel path, and I look around. “I’m pretty sure this was another scene inMidsomer Murders,” I offer. “The one where the vicar fell off the steeple.”
“You’ve watched far too many of those shows.”
“Enough to know never to move to Norfolk. I’m pretty and mouthy enough to be a murder victim.”
He takes my hand. “You certainly are.”
It feels so natural to hold hands and walk beside him—easy and the way it should be. I’m proud to be by his side, and he looks particularly handsome today wearing a dark grey suit that shows off the width of his shoulders. The sun picks out golden highlights in his dark hair.
With my free hand, I fidget with my shirt collar.
“Leave it,” he says serenely. “You look wonderful.”
I look down at my own dark blue suit. I’d had it for my sister’s wedding and scandalised the tailor by demanding it be tighter. If I’d ever had any plans to have children, I might be out of luck, because the cut of these trousers has cancelled out a few thousand sperm.
We shake hands with Harry’s uncle, and then we’re escorted into the church by ushers showing everyone to their seats. Ours are on the bride’s side, and I slide into the old pew as Harry sits on the worn-smooth wood beside me. His body is hard and warm against mine, and I have a flash of him driving into me yesterday, his head thrown back in the moonlight. We’d spent the night fucking, and I flush at the thought. I cough and try to think of something less scandalous.
I think of how I’ll soon have to confess the silly plan that started us down this path, and that stops any amorous feelings dead. I’ll tell him about the scheme. It’s the way I’m built. He’ll probably think I’m a complete weirdo and run a mile.
He nudges me. “You okay?” he asks. His face is full of the same concern I’ve seen over the years when he’s ridden into battle for me. It always makes me feel special.
“Ofcourse,” I say with emphasis.
“Well, that’s enthusiastic.”
“That’s me.”
He edges close. “You’re not regretting last night, are you?” The undercurrent of anxiousness touches my heart, and I grab his hand.
“Never,” I say forcefully, and he relaxes, smiling.
I wonder if I can slip my confession into the next moment, but the vicar announces the arrival of the bride, and we all stand as she drifts past us, a vision in creamy lace and tulle.
“So, you don’t know her well?” I whisper up into Harry’s ear.
He grins. “I couldn’t pick her out in a police line-up.”
I snort and cover it with a cough.
