Was he saying that he didn’t want her to go? ‘No,’ she said simply.
She saw his face cloud over. He nodded briskly. ‘Okay. I understand. Sorry if I got it wrong.’
He went to march past her, his face tightly set, but she grabbed his hand. ‘No, because I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here. Dad’s selling the cottage to me. I’m paying him so much a month.’
Marcus’s eyes held hers. ‘You’re not leaving?’
She shook her head, hardly daring to breathe. Was he pleased? He looked stunned. Did he love her? Had she got it all wrong?
Then Marcus’s face broke into a wide smile and he held out his arms. ‘That is the best news ever.’
She went into his arms and nestled against his chest. Was he pleased as a friend? Because he could still see Buddy?
Marcus wrapped his arms around her and hugged her tightly. Then he said softly, ‘Hattie . . .’
She eased herself out of the embrace a bit to look at him. ‘Yes . . . ?’
‘I love you.’
He was gazing down at her, with such tenderness in his eyes that she knew he meant it.
‘I love you too.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Really.’
He pulled her closer, his mouth seeking hers, and then she was lost in the passion of his embrace.
Much, much later, as they lay entwined on the sofa, their clothes a tangled heap on the floor where they had discarded them before making love, Hattie thought that she had never felt happier. She was home.
‘I think I fell in love with you the first time I set eyes on you,’ Marcus whispered in her ear. ‘Only I didn’t know it then.’
‘When you walked in on me naked in the kitchen, you mean?’ she said.
‘Well, you did look incredibly gorgeous. Then you glared at me with fire flashing in your eyes, swiped the tablecloth of the table and wrapped yourself in it while you stood your ground and argued with me. How could I resist?’
She groaned. ‘I must have looked ridiculous.’
‘You looked incredibly sexy, and feisty. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you, Hattie. You’re so natural, so warm and easy-going.’ He pulled her closer to him and kissed her on the forehead. ‘I tried so hard to fight it because I knew you were leaving, and in my experience long-distance relationships don’t work out. But I couldn’t bear you to leave with us at loggerheads. That’s why I came around today.’
She snuggled into him. ‘I felt the same. I didn’t want to admit I loved you because it would complicate things. I knew we had to sell the cottage, but Dad saw how much it meant to me, and I think he realised how much we meant to each other too, so he said he wanted me to have Fisherman’s Rest, to keep it in the family. He’s sold his half to me really cheap and letting me pay it monthly.’
‘That’s brilliant.’ He smiled down at her. ‘Mandy could see that we loved each other too. She told me that you were meant to stay in Port Medden. Her intuition told her that you wouldn’t leave. It seems that she was right.’
‘I’m glad. I don’t want to leave,’ Hattie murmured as she nestled into his chest. ‘This is exactly where I want to be.’
Marcus lowered his head and kissed her. ‘And this is exactly where I want to be too.’
‘Night, night!’ Buddy squawked. ‘Time for bed!’
‘I think Buddy is right. Shall we go up?’ Marcus asked.
‘That sounds like a very good idea,’ Hattie agreed.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Two weeks later
Hattie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared up at the painting of Buddy. It was so lifelike, the colours so vibrant. Marcus had caught the cheeky parrot’s personality so well. She couldn’t believe that this one hadn’t won first prize. Marcus really was talented.
‘It’s brilliant,’ she told Marcus, who was standing by her side. ‘I can almost feel the feathers. I expect Buddy to open his beak and squawk “Bugger off!” any minute.’
‘It is spectacular, and I’m sure it would have won a prize, but an artist is only allowed one award no matter how many paintings they enter, and the one of you is absolutely stunning,’ said Lady Thomwell, who was standing on the other side of her.
Hattie felt her cheeks flush. She felt a bit uncomfortable being the centre of such attention, and still hardly believed that Marcus had secretly painted a portrait of her and entered it into this competition.
‘You must be dying to see it?’ Lady Thomwell said, turning to look at her.
She was. Yet she felt self-conscious too. She nodded. ‘I am curious.’
They carried on walking along the room. Marcus held her hand as they gazed at the different paintings on the wall. There had been so many talented entries, what had made them choose Marcus’s painting of her? Hattie wondered.
‘Here we are, my dear,’ Lady Thomwell said.
Hattie looked up at the wall, then gasped at the woman who almost leapt out of the frame at her. Black-leather clad Hattie, straddling her motorbike, the zip of her jacket undone enough to reveal the top of her sun-kissed breasts, her unruly blond hair blowing behind her in the wind, her ruby-red lips parted in a half-smile, her sapphire-blue eyes twinkling with mischief. She looked sexy, wild, exciting. And anyone who looked at this painting would have no doubt that the artist loved the woman in it. Love was there in every stroke of the brush, every tiny detail, breathing so much life into the painting that it looked as if the rider might rev up the bike any moment and come racing out of the picture. It took her breath away looking at it and knowing that Marcus had painted it in secret. That he had refused to sell it because this was his memento of her. His declaration of
