“What about your father?” Owen asked. He realised he hadn’t properly considered her dad, perhaps because his own had been so absent. “Is he around? Involved? I know you said they divorced…”
“He lives in Reading with his second wife and two teenaged children.” She spoke matter-of-factly but he heard sadness. Grief.
“Ah,” he said quietly.
“We are in touch. I haven’t told him about this latest episode, but I called him the week before and said I was concerned about her going off her medication. He said my mum was an adult who had to make her own choices.” She shook her head. “I know I can’t expect him to sweep in like some knight and rescue everything. They’ve been divorced for nearly twenty years. He’s moved on. Of course he has.”
Moved on from his wife…and his daughter? Owen disliked the man already. Intensely. Still he kept his voice neutral as he said, “You haven’t struck me as someone who’s looking for a knight to charge in and rescue her.”
She turned to him with a surprisingly playful smile. “Don’t I?”
“No, you seem frighteningly self-sufficient. You could run rings around me, I’m sure, in a thousand different ways.”
“Well…I don’t know how to pull a pint.”
“I could show you.” There was a flirtatious undercurrent to the conversation, a sensual promise that was making Owen feel as if he were buzzing inside. Emily’s smile curved wider, and then he knew he had to kiss her. He couldn’t wait a moment longer.
“I look forward to that,” she said, and then her eyes widened as he did a slow lunge towards her, intent obvious in every taut line of his body. She didn’t move, just waited, quivering a little, as he probably was, because he wanted this so much.
Gently he swept a tendril of hair behind her ear, let his fingers trail across the silky softness of her cheek. She sucked in a quick breath. “May I kiss you?” he asked. “Because I’ve been wanting to all evening, and it’s becoming rather difficult to think about anything else.”
She gave a jerky nod of her head. “Uh…yes, I suppose that would be…okay.”
“Just okay?” he teased. “I hope it’s better than that.”
“Maybe…” Her voice trailed away as he came closer, and then he brushed his lips across hers. Just as before, it felt as if he’d been instantly electrocuted, the shock of the feeling nearly overwhelming him. How could he have such a strong physical response to this woman? It was like being burned alive and dipped in ice water at the same time, but nice. Lovely. Absolutely lovely and amazing and all-consuming.
And she seemed to be having the same response back, her mouth opening under his as her hands came up to brace against his shoulders.
The kiss deepened as they fell back against the sofa, and Owen’s head blanked completely, leaving only sensation—her softness, her surrender, the little sigh she gave as her arms came around him and he felt all that lovely, pliant warmth beneath him.
Limbs tangled as they stretched out, his body on top of hers, braced on his forearms as the kiss went on and on and his head continued to spin.
And then he felt it, like a light going out. Her body stiffened and her lips slackened under his. Reluctantly, feeling as if it were costing him everything, he lifted his head.
“All right?” he asked gently and she bit her lip. He realised she looked near tears, and in horror and self-recrimination he lurched upright. “Emily…I didn’t…”
“No, no. It was… lovely. So lovely.” She let out a choked laugh and then, mortified, held her hands up to her face. Owen stared at her in a sort of terrified alarm as she began to cry. This was not how he’d hoped this evening would go at all.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, wanting to put a hand on her shoulder yet not sure if he should. “Tell me what’s wrong, please. Did I… Was I moving too fast?” Although it had felt agonisingly slow to him.
“No, no. It’s not that. I don’t know if I can explain it.” Her hands still covered her face and her shoulders shook. Heaven help them both, she was really crying. This was bad.
“You could try,” he offered weakly. “Please?”
She dropped her hands, showing him a tear- and mascara-smeared face. “It’s just…I’ve never. Well, I’ve never done loads of things.”
“I know.” Of course he knew. She’d already told him she’d never gone on a bloody date. So naturally he assumed she hadn’t done a lot of other things, either, including things he was already envisioning with painful clarity.
“I feel like a freak,” she admitted baldly. “I’m twenty-six and I’m…well, never mind. And I’m scared. Scared of getting too close, and scared of scaring you off, because I’m so…” She shook her head, leaving him to fill in the unfortunate blank.
Owen leaned back against the sofa as he did his best to relax. “You’re not scaring me off.”
She searched his face with a sort of hungry desperation. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Because I’m sort of scaring myself off.”
“Don’t do that.”
Her mouth quirked in an impossible smile. “I’ll try not to.”
“Good.” Owen released a long, low breath. Maybe it was all going to be okay, even if he felt rather shaky inside. He might have said he wasn’t scared, but he sort of was. This was so much more intense than anything he’d ever experienced, and he was so very afraid of letting her down. Still he smiled, just to reassure her. “That’s all I need to hear,” he said.
Chapter Fifteen
“Do you think this rain will ever stop?”
Alice stood by the tall sashed windows as Emily came into the office, the Monday after her date with Owen. She hadn’t slept much the night before, her mind insisting on replaying every single moment of the evening, with accompanying in-depth analysis. What had he meant when he’d said…
