Cillian moved his arms, and she made a weak little sound of protest in her throat. He moved his hands to touch her face, his palms sliding up her cheeks slowly, delicately …
‘You banged your eye on the way down there,’ he said abruptly, turning her head quickly and peering at the side of her face. She tried to look demure, but a blob of something wet went into her eye and caused her to blink rapidly like a lunatic. ‘Here, hold still.’
Reaching down between their bodies, their legs still entwined, one hand still cradling her face, he reached into his jeans pocket. The movement jiggled them both, and April felt her cheeks burning yet again.
‘I can get up,’ she said, awkwardly trying to get to her feet. His left arm shot around her again, and he turned her face to look to his.
‘Stay still, you’re bleeding pretty bad. I don’t want you to keel over.’ April nodded reluctantly, his breath hot and sweet on her face as she held her own in. She managed another nod, wincing when a flash of pain exploded behind her eyes. Cillian caught her wince and his eyes narrowed, concern flooding his rugged features. In this light, with the sounds of the night filtering through behind him, he looked …
‘Breathtaking,’ she murmured dreamily.
‘What?’ he said, his eyes locked on hers intently as he brought a cotton handkerchief to her eye socket. ‘What’s wrong? You’re not going to pass out on me, are you?’
She shook her head, a tiny little movement, and Cillian’s features relaxed a little. He was still holding her, his hand resting in the small of her back. After a moment, she tried to move again, just a little, but his arm tightened around her.
‘Just … wait …’ he said, and she stopped moving. She turned her head to her good side slowly, his hand still holding the handkerchief moving with it. She lowered her head, avoiding the worst of the paint smears, and rested her cheek on his chest. He dabbed at her injury again, and after a moment, his hand stilled. She felt fingers walking up her spine slowly. One finger, then another, brushing against her loose Bardot-neck top. He walked his fingers all the way up to the bare skin at the back of her neck, making her shiver. In turn, she heard his breath catch, and she slowly, gently, lifted her head to look at him.
‘You’re quite good-looking when you’re not so cross,’ she ventured, trying to break the atmosphere. And the sexual tension, which she could have grabbed to pull herself up on.
‘You’re not so bad yourself,’ he rumbled, a cute smile lighting up his handsome face. He looked at her wound again, and his brows knitted together. ‘Concussion?’
‘No, I meant it.’
Cillian’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. He looked at her lips just a beat too long before dragging his gaze back to hers.
‘Funnily enough, so did I. I hope you’re not usually this clumsy though, or I’ll have to up my catching game.’
‘Yeah,’ she mumbled. ‘Sorry about that. You make me nervous.’
Cillian’s smile deepened. ‘How so?’
‘If I knew how so, I’d be able to tell you.’
‘I don’t doubt that – you speak your mind well enough.’
‘About time too,’ April countered, half to herself.
‘Agreed.’ Cillian laughed. ‘Carefully now, let’s sort that head. You get up first, I’ll follow.’ She slowly pulled herself up, Cillian moving with her like a magnet, stemming the flow of blood with the scrap of fabric still pushed against her head. They stood toe to toe, breathing hard. ‘It’s not too bad now,’ he said, pulling the handkerchief away just enough to check whether the wound was knitting together. ‘How many fingers am I holding up?’ He held up a closed fist, the hankie hanging from it.
‘Three and a half?’ she joked. ‘I’m fine, honestly. You should get back. Orla.’
He glanced back at the chalets, where the night sky made the line of buildings look all the prettier, like ornate treasure chests left on a moonlit beach.
‘I do need to check on her.’ He still had his arm around April’s back, and he moved back, his hand trailing till the last moment. ‘There’s nothing else for it.’
April, feeling woozy now, looked at him warily.
‘Nothing else for what?’
He strode over to the open paint tins, clicking on their lids and chucking the brushes into a nearby pot full of turpentine.
‘Given the events of the night, I think it’s best if you stay over at mine.’
You,
Your letter never arrived, and it wasn’t the infernal mail system this time. The lads were all brimming with good news and perfumed kisses. I hate them today. Being stuck on a ship here makes me feel ever more alone. Missing you. I knew the date was coming, but I never asked you when. I didn’t want to know. Is it over now? Am I too late? Write to me, please. If you can’t bear to speak, I will understand your silence.
I saw a beach today, much like our little patch of English heaven. The sky was blue, and the sea looked almost emerald-green. I thought of all the things you would say if you saw it, how excited you would have been. I hate all the never wills – they choke me in my sleep at night. Write to me, I beg you. If only to say goodbye.
G
Chapter 9
It was cold now, the spring air having a little nip to it
