Page 36 of Strawberry Moon
I wring my hands. “But you don’t know what an awful person I am and what I’ve done.”
“Or maybe I should call you Fifi,” he says thoughtfully. “Yes, that might be more appropriate.”
I stop my hand-wringing and stare at him. “Fifi? What the hell?”
He raises an eyebrow. “It’s a shortened version of Fiona.” He looks down at the bed and I follow his gaze to the book lying there. I freeze when I note the title.Torridly Yours.
“Oh.”
He sits back in his chair, his arms folded across his chest. “Yes, oh. My dad popped it in the bag, because he thought you might like something to read while we waited. I had no idea that Edward Gibbon wrote such flowery prose. I quickly realised I wasn’t reading about the collapse of the mighty Roman empire but rather the jettisoning of Fiona’s morals.” He raises a hand to his mouth. “I was soshocked.”
My eyes narrow. “You don’t look shocked. You actually look like you’re trying not to laugh.” He raises an eyebrow, and I swallow. “I’m so sorry,” I mutter. “I’d like to say it was my grandad’s idea. In fact, Iamsaying that. It was all his idea.”
“What was, Fifi?”
“Donotcall me that.” I sigh. “But I went along with his stupid idea, and I can tell you that the next time he has a plan, I’m emigrating to Australia.”
“I can’t have that.” I watch as he lowers his hand. His eyes are still dancing and full of so much feeling. “I can’t have you far away from me, Clem. Not ever.”
I stare at him. “When I suggested that I be your fake boyfriend, it was designed to make you see that I could be your real boyfriend and for you to finally see me.” I swallow as he bends close to hear me. I can smell his cologne and have to clench my fists to stop myself from reaching for him.
“You failed,” he says softly.
My heart breaks at the absolute finality in his voice.
But then he takes my hand and says, “You failed because I havealwaysseen you, Clemo Pascoe.”
“What?”
He gives me a smile that is simply radiant. “I’ve wanted you since the moment I met you. I was in the shop trying to change that till roll while waiting for a phone call from the estate agent. I’d taken one look at the shop and decided to cut my losses and sell the bloody place. And then you banged in. Your hair was messed up by the wind and you were wearing tight jeans and a Christmas jumper that said,Who are you calling a ho-ho-ho?You glowed in that winter light, and I had never seenanyoneso beautiful.”
“Go—” I stop and clear my throat, my heart hammering. “Go on.”
“Thank you. Are you sure you want to hear more?”
I glare at him. “Positive,” I say with gritted teeth.
His mischievous smile fades as he sits down on the bed. His body feels warm against me, and I note the long muscles of his legs outlined by the trousers’ grey fabric.
“And then you opened your mouth,” he continues softly, his eyes fierce and bright. “And you were bright and funny and so fucking clever. And that afternoon when my agent rang, I told her I wasn’t selling.”
“Really?” I breathe.
There’s so much tenderness in his face that it makes my stomach clench. “Yes, really. And the more I got to know you, the faster and harder I fell.”
“But why didn’t you say anything?”
He grimaces. “You’re very young.”
“So? What does that mean? Don’t be discriminatory.”
He holds up a hand to stop me. “I know that now. I think I’ve really seen you this weekend—how warm and kind you are and how much you know your own mind. And I have something to confess to you too.”
“What?” I whisper.
“I went along with this whole plan you concocted, because I wanted to spend time with you.”
I gape at him. “You didwhat?”
