Page 32 of Release (Symbols of Love 3)

"You’re right. We are going to go our separate ways. You to America, me back to England. So, let's just have a good time.”

Harry lets go of my hand, and I miss the comfort and safety of it right away. I grasp it with my other palm and put both of them on my lap.

"I'm thirty-two, I have a twin sister and a younger brother. My family lives in England, and I manage my family’s business. I'm a farmer, a landlord, hate cheese and apples and I only like music with no words."

I sputter a laugh and look up at him.

"Who hates cheese, apples, and music with words?"

"I do. Cheese is basically one big ball of cow pus. Apples make my mouth itch, and if your music needs words to sound good, you need to rethink your music."

"All of that is absurd. And weird." I wrinkle my nose in distaste.

"I can see you like cheese." He looks down pointedly at my cheese smothered eggs and the big hunk of brie that's sitting next to the crusty French bread they serve with every meal here.

"Of course, I like cheese. Who doesn't like cheese? That's like saying you don't like ice cream."

"I don't like cheese, and ice cream gives me a bubbly tummy. I like it, but I don't eat it."

"TMI, man," I grimace even as I chuckle.

"I want your TMI," he says, and my laughter dies.

"I told you everything last night." My eyes drift from his.

"No, you didn't," he says quietly, but there's an edge in his voice that makes my nerves tingle.

"Fine. I wear those headphones because I have an extra piece of cartilage in my ear. Ear buds don't fit."

He leans close and pushes my hair off my shoulder to reveal my ear.

“Hmm, so it does. How interesting,” he murmurs and leans in close to study my ear.

His breath tickles my ear, and I have the sudden urge to turn my head and kiss him.

“I’ve got to g

o." I push my seat back and stand up.

"Where?" he asks, even though he doesn't make any move to stop me. Not that I want to be stopped.

"To listen to music with words," I quip.

"What about your breakfast?" he asks, tipping his head down to my very full plate.

"I'd say you should eat it, but you hate cheese." He laughs, a delighted, happy laugh. I scowl at him. “I'm full and tired of twenty questions."

As I walk past him toward the door, I let my hand trail over his shoulder. He puts his own over it and holds it there. And despite my racing pulse, I make my eyes look as disinterested as possible.

"Yes?" I prepare for more questions, but his eyes are soft, his mouth curved in an alluring smile.

"Meet me on the beach tonight," he asks, his eyes imploring.

"Why?" I ask him with an exasperated tone. But, my defenses are flagging.

"I want to spend time with you. But only if you want to. I don’t want to push you or coerce you. I can take no for an answer." He says simply and the naked honesty in his eyes is my undoing.

The wall I'd spent all night constructing sustains a direct and fatal hit. His eyes, the memory of his kiss, the earnestness of his plea, are more than I can resist.

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