“Why wouldn’t it be?”
“Okay then.” He headed toward the stairs. “We did T&O and E&D,” he began. “I guess we’ll move on to N&N—Nick and Nora.”
“
“A little sleek, a little glamorous.” He made the turn down the hall of the second floor. “So, The Library’ll be down there, and—”
“Oh, The Library. I really want to see that space.”
“Sure.” He turned left down another short hallway, flicked a switch for the work light.
“Pretty dim right now. It’s only got the one front-facing window. We’ll put a desk there. Built-ins—the bookcases—in those recesses, fireplace with surround between, brown leather sofa facing.”
She wandered through. She’d seen his sketch of the bookcases, she remembered, and lusted for them.
“Ah, you and your brothers are building the bookcases.”
“Yeah, and the fireplace surround. A few other things.”
“It must be satisfying to be able to build something.”
“You should know. You built a family,” he said when she glanced back at him.
“That’s a nice thing to say.” She studied him as he stood in the doorway and she in the center of the room. This, she decided, this
Time to fix it, she told herself.
“I can’t figure it out.”
“Figure what?”
“If you’re annoyed with me, avoiding me, or if I’m imagining one or both.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“You haven’t been in the bookstore since . . . I was here last. And like right now, you’re standing as far away as you can manage and be in the same room. Look, Beckett, I’m sorry about what happened, even though it didn’t happen.”
“You’re sorry about what didn’t happen,” he said slowly.
“Well, for God’s sake, I just got caught up in the room and the light, and . . . whatever. It was only a moment, so—”
“The.”
“What?”
“Never mind. You’re apologizing to me for what happened?”
“And I don’t know why I should when it didn’t.” Temper surged in, only highlighting embarrassment. “I don’t know why two adults can’t handle something that didn’t happen without acting like it did. And even if it had, so what? Oh, never mind,” she snapped when he simply stared at her. “Just show me the next room.” She stalked toward the doorway. “I need to get back.”
“Wait a minute.” He took her arm, effectively wedging them both in the open doorway. “Are you sorry it didn’t happen?”
“I don’t like embarrassing myself.”
“I embarrassed you?”
“No.” She shook her head. “Now you’re confusing me.”
Maybe. But she was clearing things up for him. “Why don’t we start over?”
Lightning flashed, a bold burst of blue through the tarped window. She jolted in his hold as thunder boomed its cannon fire.
“It’s only thunder.”
“It just startled me,” she said, her eyes on his. “I’m not afraid of storms.”
“Let’s see.”
Still, he moved slowly, taking his time as much to prolong this new moment as to gauge her reaction. He laid his hands on her hips as the rain beat and splashed, sliding them up her body, smooth and easy as he lowered his head, paused—one long breath—then fit his mouth to hers.
This, he thought as he took her face in his hands. Just this, so worth the wait. Soft, sweet, a yielding tremor, and her arms came up to wrap around his waist, to draw him into her.
The next flash of lightning didn’t make her jolt. She rolled with the thunder, sinking into that lovely flood of pleasure.
Being held, being touched. Tasted and tasting. Nerve endings coated dull by circumstance, by obligation, snapped hot and sharp to life.
She fisted her hands in the back of his shirt and took what he gave her. No, she’d never been afraid of storms.
Even when he eased back she felt buffeted, wonderfully, by the whirlwind.
“I’ve been waiting to do that since you were sixteen,” he murmured.
She smiled, gave a half laugh. “Come on.”
“Okay, since you were fifteen, but that seemed pathetic.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Why don’t I give you more time to think about it?”
He kissed her again, stealing her breath, shooting bolts of heat and ice along those newly awakened nerves.
Think? Impossible.
“Beckett.” She nudged him back, just a little. “I’m out of practice. I probably do need to think—should think —but it’s hard right here and now.”
“How about anywhere and anytime?”
She laughed again, not so steadily. “Maybe if—” She broke off, frowning as she leaned in to sniff his shoulder. “It’s not you.”
“What?”
“I could swear I smell honeysuckle.”
“She likes honeysuckle.” He smoothed a hand down her ponytail, something else he’d wanted to do for years. It ran against his skin like sunny silk.
“Who does?”
“Elizabeth. I call her Elizabeth because the first time I was sure she was here, I was in E&D—Elizabeth and Darcy.”
“You’re seriously talking about a ghost.”
“This building—or parts of it—has been here for two and a half centuries. It would strike me odder if there wasn’t a ghost. Not everything, everyone, leaves.”
That cut straight to her heart, but she only shook her head. “Everything about this strikes me as odd. My kids are over playing video games, and I’m here, with you. I should get back. At this rate it’s going to take me a year to see the whole building.”
“All the time you want. Come out with me tomorrow night.”
“I . . . I can’t. I’m having Avery and Hope over for dinner. And before you ask, because I hope you were going to, Saturday I promised the kids a movie marathon. They start school on Monday, and Murphy’s starting kindergarten. It’s a big deal.”
“Sure it is. Soon then. Say when.”
“Maybe next Friday. If I can get a sitter.”
“Next Friday.” He kissed her, lightly, to seal it. “Don’t change your mind.”
She stepped away because she wanted to step toward. “Sorry, but the kids. I don’t even know how long we’ve been gone. It got fuzzy.”
“Not that long.” He took her hand to draw her down the hall.
“It’s dreamy here,” she began. “I can, if I think about it, layer image over image. It’s the strangest thing, the way I could picture the rooms when you talked about them, even before I looked through the binder. I should’ve brought it with me. I have it at the bookstore.”
