Second Chance At Sea. Jessica Gilmore

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      ‘Oh, Lawrie.’ There was no lightness in his voice, in his face, at all. ‘I was used to that. Not being needed. And, if you remember, in the end you were the one that walked away.’

      ‘Maybe...’ Her voice was low. ‘Maybe I was afraid that I did need you.’

      ‘Would that have been so bad?’ He examined her face, searching for answers behind the mask.

      She shook her head and another lock of hair fell out of the loose ponytail, framing her face. ‘Bad? It would have been terrible. I was barely started on my path. Oxford, an internship at one of the best City firms... And I seriously, seriously considered giving it all up. For you. For a man. Just like my mother would have. Just like she did again and again. I had to leave, Jonas.’ She turned to him, eyes wide, pleading for understanding. ‘I had to hold on to me.’

      And in doing so she had let go of him. Jonas closed his eyes for a second, seeing a flash of his heartbroken younger self frozen in time. He hadn’t wasted a single emotion on his parents’ rejection, pouring all that need, all his love, into the slight girl now sitting beside him. It had been far too much for someone so young to carry.

      He reached out and cupped her cheek. Her skin was soft beneath his hand. ‘I guess I needed you to choose me. I needed somebody to choose me. I still needed validation back then. It was a lot to put on you. Too much.’

      ‘Maybe you were right. We were too young.’ Her eyes were filled with sadness and regret. ‘I didn’t want to agree with you, to prove all the I told you so right, but we had a lot of growing up to do. We weren’t ready for such a big step.’

      He nodded. Suddenly he didn’t feel any anger or contempt towards her or towards their shared past. Just an underlying sadness for the idealistic kids they had once been. For their belief that love really was all they needed.

      He was still touching her cheek. She leant into him trustingly and he turned his hand to run the back of it down the side of her face, learning once again the angle of her cheekbone, the contours of her chin, the smoothness of her skin.

      Jonas had made some rules for himself before he came on this trip. No talking about the past, no flirting, and definitely, absolutely no touching.

      But sometimes rules were meant to be broken.

      Slowly, deliberately, he let his fingers trail further down her face, brushing her full mouth before dipping down to her chin. He let them linger there for one long, agonising moment, tilting her face towards him, giving her ample time to pull away, to stop him, before he leant in slowly—oh, so slowly.

      It was a butterfly kiss. So light, so brief, their lips barely touching. Jonas pulled back, searching her face for consent. Her eyes were closed, her face angled towards his, lips slightly parted. Expectant. It was all the agreement he needed.

      He shifted closer to her, closing the space between them as he slid one arm around her slender shoulders. The other hand moved from her chin to the sweet spot at the nape of her neck. She moved in too—an infinitesimal shift, yet one that brought her body into full contact with his. Her face lifted, waiting, expecting. Jonas looked down at her for one moment—at the face at once so familiar and yet so strange to him, at the dark eyelashes, impossibly long, improbably thick, the creamy skin, the lush, full mouth waiting for him.

      And a gentleman should never keep a lady waiting.

      Another fleeting kiss, and another, and another. Until, impatient, she moaned and pressed closer in, her mouth opening under his, seeking, wanting. She tasted of cider, of sunshine. She tasted like summer, like coming home, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer until they were pressed together, her arms wound around his neck. His own arms were holding her tightly to him, one bunching the silky strands of her hair, the other caressing the planes of her back through the lightness of her top.

      It was like being a teenager again, entwined on the floor of the camper van, mouths fused, hands roaming, pulling each other closer and closer until it seemed impossible that they were two separate bodies. There was no urgency to move, no need to start removing clothes, for hands to move lower. Not yet.

      Seconds, minutes, hours, infinities passed by. All Jonas knew was the drumming of his blood in his ears, the fierce heat engulfing him. All he knew was her. Her touch, her taste, her mouth, the feel of her under his hands. When she pulled back it was as if she had been physically torn away from him, a painful wrench that left him cold. Empty.

      She looked at him, eyes wide, dark with passion, her pupils dilated, mouth swollen. ‘I think...’ she began, her voice husky, barely audible.

      Jonas readied himself. If she wanted to be the voice of common sense, so be it. He looked back at her silently. He might not argue, but he wasn’t going to help her either.

      ‘I think we should close the doors.’

      Her words were so unexpected all he could do for a moment was gape. The van doors were still open to the night sky. The sea breeze floated in, bringing the taste of salt and the faint coconut-tinged smell of gorse.

      Then the meaning of her words hit home. Anticipation filled the air, hot and heavy, making it hard to breathe as excitement coiled inside him.

      ‘There’s no one out there.’

      They were in a secluded spot, parked at the very edge of the field. As private as you could be in a campsite full of tents and caravans. Not as private as they could have been if he’d planned for this.

      ‘Even so...’

      She smiled at him, slow and full of promise, and slowly, as if he were wading through treacle, he got to his feet and swung the sliding door firmly closed. The outside world was shut out. It was just the two of them in this small enclosed space. The air was heavy with expectation, with heat, with longing.

      ‘Satisfied?’ He raised an eyebrow and watched her flush.

      ‘Not yet.’ She was turning the tables on him. ‘But I’m hoping to be.’

      Passion jolted through him, intense and all-encompassing. In swift, sure steps he closed the space between them, pulling her in tight. ‘Oh, you will be,’ he promised as he lowered his mouth to hers once again. ‘I can guarantee it.’

       CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘OOOF!’ WHEN HAD breathing got so hard? Bending over to catch her breath, the tightness of a stitch pulling painfully at her side, Lawrie conceded that a ten-mile run might have been a mite ambitious.

      Of course, she reassured herself, running outside was harder, what with all those hills and the wind against her, to say nothing of no nice speedometer to regulate her stride. Straightening up, one hand at her waist, Lawrie squinted out at the late-afternoon sun. On the other hand, she conceded, although her late, lamented treadmill came with TV screens and MP3 plug-ins it was missing the spectacular views of deep blue sea and rolling green and yellow gorse of her current circuit. It was definitely an improvement on the view of sweaty, Lycra-clad gym-goers that her old location had provided her with.

      Taking a much needed long, cool gulp of water, Lawrie continued at a trot, looping off the road and onto the clifftop path that led towards the village. If she continued along to the harbour she could reward herself with a refuelling СКАЧАТЬ