Reach for the Stars Page 10

  She dabbed at the wall thoughtfully with a thin brush, absorbed, apparently unaware of Nick. Finally she stood back chewing thoughtfully on the tip of the brush and noticed him standing at the door. ‘What do you think? Will Maggie and Alex like it?’

  ‘They’ll be thrilled. Blown away. They’ll love it. I love it. I can see Maggie turning cartwheels of delight on the beach.’

  The comment earned him a withering look.

  ‘It’s not that good. And even if it was, Maggie’s never done a cartwheel in her life. The thing is …’

  He took the paintbrush from her hand and hooked an arm around her waist, drawing her close. ‘What’s the thing?’

  ‘Will the twins love it?’

  ‘The twins will turn cartwheels on the beach – in …’ He stopped to figure out at what age small kids would be capable of gymnastics. ‘… A few years, or so. Your work here is done.’

  He kissed her, losing himself in her irresistibility and feeling the strong spike of desire, deep urgency and need that made him want to take her, right now, this minute. She kissed him back, reaching to push her fingers into his hair, and drawing his head down, molding him to her soft body, so that his brain ceased to function, thought driven out by heady arousal, the world closing in on them so that they only existed in the moment.

  ‘I’m sorry I stormed off,’ he murmured, breaking the kiss. ‘I don’t want to spoil this. Us!’

  His fingers worked to explore the skin beneath her overalls. She wriggled and pulled away. ‘I have things to finish.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Tidying.’ She bit her lip. ‘And stuff.’

  ‘Let it wait.’ The kiss had left them breathless. He picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his body, hands hooked about his neck. Wanting to be inside her in that very second he half-carried, half-dragged her like a cave man out of Maggie’s cottage and into her own place. Inside he closed the door behind them and pressed her hard against it, her sweet scent whirling through his senses.

  His desire insatiable, all he cared about was her. She’d worked magic on him. No way was he ready to let this thing end. It damn well wasn’t going to just fizzle out. He’d make sure she had a fabulous time in Paris. They’d have a blast.

  He sought her lips, eager to get lost again, obliterate the brain cogs that threatened to whirr menacingly. He popped the fastenings on her overalls. They were so baggy he had no difficulty sliding them down over her thighs so that they dropped to the floor and he lifted her out of the crumpled leg holes like she’d been wearing a sack.

  ‘I want you,’ he drawled his words against her neck in a deep whisper. ‘I need you.’ One by one his fingers unbuttoned her shirt. ‘And in the name of Cornish pixies I’m going to have you.’ She spluttered out a giggle. His mouth found hers as his fingers worked to reveal the enticing lacy bra beneath the paint-splashed fabric. He pushed down the delicately patterned lace, exposed a breast and lowered his head to take the nipple in his mouth enjoying the feel of it harden beneath his tongue. With a gasp she twined her fingers in his hair and drew his head back to her mouth. Backing towards the staircase and pulling him with her she tore her lips from his.

  ‘Not here,’ she breathed.

  ‘Yes here,’ he pressed, his arms banding round her and holding her hard against him.

  Kissing him long and languid, she slowed him down. He controlled his urgent need, until turning she drew him after her up the stairs. ‘It’s broad daylight,’ she whispered. ‘We need curtains.”

  “And condoms,” he said, crazed by the fact that in spite of his best intentions he’d almost lost control because her sparkle had turned into something utterly overwhelming and unfamiliar.

  Chapter Eleven

  Later, much later, Nick and Layla and Ophelia set out for a very late lunch. She carried the picnic blanket and he had the hamper from the deli, so the dog trotted perkily at his side.

  ‘Where to? The beach? We could walk over to the big rocks. It’s less busy at that end.’

  She looked at him curiously. The obvious way to get there quickly was via the cliff path which he’d so far avoided because of his problem with heights. ‘Only if we take the shortcut, I’m starving, and the long way will take ages.’

  He grimaced.

  ‘How about a compromise?’ Layla said. ‘Picnic on the clifftop? I won’t force you down the cliff-side.’

  ‘I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this, but yes, let’s give it a go.’

  They took the track behind the cottages and headed upwards, through the field, over the stile, past the bench with the second-best view in Cornwall, along the path and through a kissing gate where the shortcut joined a small stretch of the scenic coast road. She couldn’t resist pausing to kiss him. It was the most beautiful summer’s day. White clouds floated across a blue sky and the calm sea, tide far out, spread out into the distance, sun glinting on the water.

  ‘I love it here. The view from the meadow in front of the old farmhouse is bliss. The best view in Cornwall I reckon. You’ll see.’ As they approached the entrance to the farm Layla let out a gasp at the sight of a For Sale board by the gate. ‘Oh my goodness. Cliffside House is on the market. I’d no idea.’

  ‘It’s important to you.’ He spoke with a conviction that surprised her and she gave him a sideways glance. ‘Your painting? In the bedroom?’

  ‘That?’ Wistful nostalgia rippled through her and a gull cried overhead. The house had belonged to the same family for generations. Her father was supposed to be distantly related to the owner. Second cousins or something. ‘My grandmother was evacuated from London during the war. She was taken in by relatives who owned the farm. She grew up here.’ Her heart thudded. ‘It’s silly really.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Tell me.’

  ‘When I was little I used to wish that the farm would be for sale and that my mum and dad would buy it. I imagined us being a big family with sisters and brothers and a dog. That was before reality kicked in.’

  Nick pointed to Ophelia, running ahead. ‘Well, the dog part came true.’

  ‘And I’m going to have a brother or sister soon. Better late than never.’ She stared across the meadow at the house. ‘I hope the new owners don’t make too many changes. Or worse, knock it down and replace it with something slick and modern.’

  After lunch they lay on the clifftop watching clouds, green grass beneath their backs, wild flowers scattered all around, not touching, but almost, nothing but the whisper of air and electricity between them. The last few days had been amazing. He wasn’t just a marvel in the bedroom, he was the next best thing to a Michelin-starred chef in the kitchen. He’d eased up on his camera-ready diet, although he still had vitamin goo for breakfast. One lunchtime she’d persuaded him to go halves with her on a Cornish pasty. He’d eaten the smaller half and run Ophelia off her feet on the beach for a good hour afterwards. He seemed more at ease than he had done the day of his arrival. He was less uptight about his fear of heights too. From their position way above the beach a sailboat in the bay was toy-sized, the people dolls on the sand. All things considered he seemed pretty relaxed about sitting mere feet from the top of the path that zig-zagged down the cliff-side.

  Five whole days – and nights – had gone by since Nick had arrived in Porthkara and he’d turned her world upside down with lust and loveliness.

  ‘Upside down ostrich,’ she said into the companionable silence.

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Can’t you see it? That big cloud is its body and the long bit at the bottom the neck. The head is that little cloud blob and the teeny wisp is the beak.’

  ‘What about legs?’

  ‘Those trails of cloud at the top.’

  He pulled a face.

  She laughed. ‘It’s so totally an ostrich.’

  The cloud shifted in the bluest of blue skies morphing into an altered shape. ‘It looks like a fire breathing dragon to me.’ Nick rolled onto his side, studying Layla instead of the cloud
s. ‘Good game,’ he said, ‘It’s a new one to me.’

  ‘Can you honestly, truly say you’ve never spotted cloud shapes before?’

  ‘I haven’t lived.’

  His eyes glinted, soft, seductive. Every time he looked at her like that she sparkled inside with flickers of the attraction that wasn’t showing any sign of running out. He reached out a long finger and twisted a thick strand of her hair around it.

  ‘Come to Paris with me.’

  ‘That’s a bit random.’ Her heart beat faster.

  ‘My photo shoot can’t wait any longer. I’m leaving early on Saturday. Come with me.’ He pushed the twisted tendril of hair behind her ear. ‘Just say yes.’

  ‘I can’t drop everything and go to Paris on a whim.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Too many reasons.’ She counted on her fingers. ‘One – I’ve got the mural to finish.’

  ‘That’s done.’

  ‘Two – the B&B. Three – the Kandy Shack. Four – changeover day at the holiday lets.’

  ‘Five?’

  ‘There isn’t a five. But give me a minute I’m bound to think of one. In all honesty, four’s enough.’

  ‘Emily’s getting the hang of the B&B and the kiosk. Can’t Jasmine manage changeover day?’

  ‘She’s got morning sickness and she loathes changeover day. I doubt Dad will cope without me.’

  ‘Nonsense.’ He broke off a small piece of freshly baked crusty bread and fed it to the dog.

  ‘Five – Ophelia.’

  ‘This is exactly why you should come to Paris. Nobody’s indispensable twenty-four seven. Not even you. I bet your mum would be happy to mind the dog.’

  Right there was the very reason she shouldn’t go to Paris. In less than a week Nick had become her definition of indispensable. While she’d been painting, the anticipation of seeing him lightened her heart. When he walked in the room she got a floating happy-in-her-skin feeling like she’d been filled with helium.

  ‘Go on,’ he urged. ‘This is too good end now.’

  She madly, desperately wanted what they had to last a while longer.

  She’d only just got over Joe’s wedding on social media. Nick’s private life attracted publicity in a different league. She’d been discombobulated enough over the story about his ex. She’d hate to be any part of intense press scrutiny.

  He cupped her chin and tipped up her face, forcing her eyes to meet his. Softly crushing her mouth with the indomitable power of his kiss, his persuasive lips worked their magic on her senses. Their lips moved together, a moment captured in time. Loathe to break away they lingered and lingered, his hands twisting in her hair, their mouths craving escape. Submerged in the amazing potency of their connection she pressed in closer and wrapped him in her arms like she’d never let him go. Two hearts and minds harmonized, her mouth searched his perfect lips endlessly as if they held the answer to an unasked question.

  Finally, inevitably, the kiss broke, his breath fire on her skin. He’d unpopped the cork on her emotions and released her from the post-Joe stupor she’d been in.

  ‘We’ve been lost in space Nick. It’s been …’ Heaven. ‘Good. But it can’t go on.’ She stared at the vast blueness of sea and sky.

  ‘Look me in the eye and tell me you don’t want to go to Paris.’

  ‘It’s incredibly tempting but I’m a home bird,’ she said decisively. She picked a blade of grass, held it up to the wind coming off the sea and it fluttered. ‘It’s time to get on with our real lives.’

  ‘Final answer?’ Everything about him sparkled, wicked, provocative.

  Tiny yellow seaside flowers dotted through the grass quivered in the gentle breeze. Around them, bees buzzed and butterflies flitted amongst the purple clover. Pulling away from him and kneeling in the grass she stashed the leftovers of their picnic in the wicker hamper. Resolute, she focused on tidying with the concentration of someone whose life depended on working out the answer to a difficult question. ‘Yep,’ she confirmed, heart quivering like the flowers. ‘I can’t go to Paris with you. Final answer.’

  They strolled back along the cliff path in silence.

  ‘You were impressively cool about picnicking on the cliff.’

  ‘Anything for you. Evidently the feeling isn’t mutual.’

  ‘Don’t sulk about Paris. It doesn’t suit you. And it’s not up for discussion. Let’s leave it at that.’

  ‘Can I say the offer’s still open? If you’d like to think it over and get back to me …’

  She shook her head at his persistence, aware that he was wearing down her thin veil of reasons not to say yes.

  ‘I leave early Saturday.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind.’

  As they hit the stretch of coast road a white van bearing her dad’s unmistakable logo approached over the brow of the hill.

  ‘Ask him if he can get cover for changeover day.’

  ‘Drop it, I’m not going.’

  ‘If you don’t ask, I will.’

  ‘Control freak.’

  ‘I can’t help it. I’m addicted to you. And I’d love to show you Paris.’

  The van slowed to a stop and her dad leaned out the open window. ‘What brings you up here?’ she asked.

  ‘I’ve just been by the Lobster Pot to help fix a fridge. Someone said Cliffside’s for sale, I wanted to see for myself.’

  ‘It’s for real. I hope someone nice buys it,’ she said.

  ‘I’d buy it in a heartbeat, but I’d have to win the lottery first, it’s out of my league.’

  They both laughed.

  ‘Listen, I’m glad I caught you. Joe’s coming home tonight. Bringing the missus.’ His eyes rolled up. ‘Apparently someone’s giving him a temporary job troubleshooting for tourists at a camping and caravanning site near Newquay. She’s going to work in their kids’ club. They’re not staying long.’

  ‘With a bit of luck I’ll avoid him.’

  ‘Trish is beside herself. She’s about ready to throttle him. He wants to celebrate the …’

  He stopped abruptly so as not to offend, obliging Layla to supply the word herself. ‘… Wedding.’

  ‘There’s a longstanding private party booked in for Saturday, an eightieth birthday Trish isn’t prepared to back out of.’ One arm resting on the steering wheel he ran the other hand over his chin clearly uncomfortable. ‘So they’ve cancelled all their reservations for tomorrow night. It’s all systems go for a shindig at the restaurant. They asked me if the band would play.’

  ‘That’s not on. You’re not going to do it, are you?’ The idea smarted like sea water in a cut.

  ‘They’re that stressed they’re not thinking straight. I told them some of the guys are out of town. Gave them the number of some youngsters who do dance covers.’ He sighed heavily. ‘There’s no way I’m playing at the toerag’s party.’

  ‘You’ll go though. You’ll have to. Trish and Bob are your friends.’

  ‘Will you?’

  ‘Wild horses wouldn’t drag me. But I won’t be asked.’

  ‘Sorry to be the bearer of bad news.’

  ‘You didn’t really come up here to see the For Sale sign, did you?’

  She’d rumbled him. He shook his head. ‘I’ve been driving around looking for you since I finished with the fridge. I didn’t want you to hear on the grapevine, or worse, bump into him at the pub or somewhere by accident.’

  ‘Thanks Dad.’

  Ralph gave a disgruntled smile, put the van in gear and pulled away.

  Nick slung an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close so that she slotted neatly into the curve of his body.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘How perfectly lovely.’ The words almost choked her and they didn’t exactly answer his question.

  Chapter Twelve

  ‘Take me to Paris.’

  ‘I thought “no” was your final answer.’

  He’d stopped plaguing her about Paris after her Dad had delivered the blow abo
ut Joe. They sat together on a wooden bench at a table outside the ancient timber-framed seaside pub the next day. Halfway down the hill to the harbour, the tables out front had a picture postcard view. To the right the shining sea in the horseshoe shaped bay, to the left the fishing harbour with its quirky stone chapel, the white lighthouse and the pier. Layla watched the world go by, sipped her piña colada and ignored her ploughman’s lunch.

  Nick admired the ice-cold, amber-coloured pint of real ale in front of him. He’d been making like a true Brit and not a Hollywood actor. But his timeout had run out. He’d have to get back to work. He shuffled things about on the table, a beermat, his car keys, sachets of mayonnaise, mustard, ketchup. The beer had barely touched his lips, but for one sip.

  The words ‘Smugglers’ Inn’ were painted on the side end of the pub in bold black letters. A cloud blocked out the sun and a breeze off the sea fluttered the napkins on the table. Nick pushed his sunglasses onto his head. He raised the glass to his mouth and drank, a single cool swig of beer slipping down his throat. He pictured his nutritionist’s face, tempted to text her a selfie saying ‘Cheers’ and asking for a calorie check. Then he set his pint on the table and stared at Layla.

  ‘I’ve had a rethink.’ She dabbed a yellow finger of cheddar cheese into a tiny pot of caramelized onion chutney and took a bite. ‘I’d like to go with you.’

  ‘Cool.’

  ‘If the offer’s still open?’

  ‘Of course it is.’ He stole some cheese from her plate and bit into it. ‘What changed your mind?’

  ‘Joe.’ She shrugged.

  ‘I knew it.’

  ‘I don’t want to have to prove my heart isn’t broken. What’s wrong with that?’

  The flash of possibility that her heart could be beyond fixing bruised his ego somewhat. He thought he’d been doing an outstanding repair job. ‘You want to come so you can avoid people. That’s not a great reason.’

  ‘I wouldn’t say it’s the only reason.’ She held out her hands, palms up, and moved them fractionally in the air like they were a set of vintage weighing scales, drawing his eyes to the jingling charms on her bracelet. ‘But in the toss-up between facing people and going away with you, you win.’