“They’re not a bad lot,” he said, feeling for the words as if through the dark. “A bit noisy and nosy, perhaps, but that’s it. They won’t bite.”
She gave another one of those huffs. “That’s what they said. And I know they won’t. It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
A quick, darting look at him before she shook her head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
“It must do—”
She shook her head, her gaze on the damp, rather grimy slates below. “I heard them talking about me,” she said in a low voice he strained to hear.
Oh. Owen struggled for something to say. He really wasn’t good with this kind of thing, but because of the look of naked vulnerability on Emily’s face, he thought he’d give it a try.
“I’m sure they meant well.”
“They said I was a cold fish.” He was silent, and she glared up at him, blinking rapidly. “You agree with them.”
“Of course I don’t. I don’t know you well enough to say.” Although as an initial assessment, there might be a grain or two of truth in the statement…
“It doesn’t matter,” she dismissed, sounding as if she were caught between anger and hurt. “I am a cold fish, and I don’t even care.” This was said with a touch of belligerence that made Owen hold up his hands in a peace-making gesture.
“Okay.”
“I really don’t care. I never did.”
“I believe you.” Although he wasn’t actually sure he did, if her defiant tone was anything to go by.
She drew another breath, and then straightened, a haughty look coming over her face that reminded Owen of when she’d first entered the pub a few days ago, with butter never melting in her mouth. “Never mind. Thank you for your offer.”
“It still stands.”
“I’m not going to be rude.” Her lips trembled and she pressed them together. “You’re probably right. They do mean well.”
She looked so impossibly vulnerable that Owen had an ache inside, as if someone had punched a fist into his gut. How could a woman be so prissily composed and yet look so unbearably sad? How could she be coolly distant and yet seem so heartrendingly fragile?
It made Owen want to…protect her. Something she undoubtedly would not appreciate. And something he didn’t really want to do. He didn’t have a good track record with protecting people.
“All right, then. If you’re sure.”
“I am.” She moved forward, and Owen, realising he was blocking the door, moved to the side at the same time she did, so they were engaged in one of those awkward little shuffles until Emily stepped forward and Owen didn’t move, and he had to grab her by the shoulders to keep her from ploughing into his chest.
The second he touched her he felt as if he’d come alive, a hot wire in his hands, pulsing through his blood. The strength of his feeling, his undoubted, impossible-to-ignore physical attraction, shocked him. Yes, she was beautiful, no question, and he always appreciated a good-looking woman, but this…
This felt like something else entirely. Something mind-blowing, life-altering, a force both outside of and inside himself that was taking him over in an instant, like a whirlwind had just whipped through the courtyard. Through him.
What the hell…?
*
Had she been electrocuted?
Emily went stock-still as Owen’s hands remained clasped on her shoulders. He was staring at her in blank incomprehension, and Emily felt as if she might be staring back the same way. Although in all honesty she had no idea how she looked. How she felt. The whole evening had been an impossible swirl of tangled emotion.
His hands were warm on her shoulders, his palms strong and sure, the heat of them burning through her jumper, branding her skin.
This was ridiculous. She didn’t ever feel this way. She couldn’t now. She wouldn’t even know how. Besides, Owen Jones was completely not her type, if she had a type, which she didn’t. But if she did, it wouldn’t be this. Him.
Him…
His face was close, closer than it had been even a second ago, so she could see the dark stubble on his decidedly firm jaw, the sweep of his surprisingly long and lush lashes as they hid his blue, blue eyes from her view. She’d tilted her head to look up at him, her lips parting, her mind spinning, her heart beating. Everything going at once, a kaleidoscope of motion inside her, a whirl of feeling.
“Well.” His voice was caught between a thrum and a growl, and it made her shiver, an impossible-to-suppress ripple going through her that she knew he felt. His hands tightened on her shoulders. Emily’s eyes widened as her heart thudded so hard it hurt.
Was he actually going to kiss her? Right here, right now? It was absurd. Impossible. She couldn’t even imagine it happening, and yet…
She wanted it to. At least, part of her did. This crazy, racing, out-of-control part of herself that she’d never encountered before, because she’d never let herself be out of control. Not once. Not ever.
Not now.
“Don’t…” The word was barely whispered, so half-hearted a child could have seen through it, but it had the desired effect. At least, the effect she’d intended it to have, desired or not.
Owen dropped his hands from her shoulders as if she’d burned him and he took a step back. And then another. A cool, composed look had come over his face, making him suddenly seem very remote, and reminding her that she did not know this man at all, and he probably didn’t even like her. He certainly hadn’t acted as if he had the last time they’d met.
They stared at each for an endlessly uncertain moment; Emily could not think of a single thing to say, and yet she had the weird urge not to end it. She didn’t want to walk away.
Then Owen gave a little bow, gesturing for her
