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He was interested, the note confirmed that, but could I really go on a date with him? How could I not? Should I reply? The cottage next door appeared deserted all day, and the car had gone. I went for my walk but didn’t venture so far today, just in case they came back. As the evening approached, and my neighbors still hadn’t returned, I felt the first twinges of anxiety. I’d waited all day in the hope of catching a glimpse of Jonah and had been disappointed. Please God, this wasn’t just some teenage prank. My brain immediately conjured up a scenario where one of his friends had written the note, and he knew nothing about it. Where I might go trotting across at eight p.m. to meet him, and he’d be embarrassed and angry, and I’d be humiliated. Surely not.
I decided that I wouldn’t go to find him. If this really was a date, he’d come to fetch me. Six came and went, then seven p.m., and the car had not returned. When I ducked into the shower at seven thirty, I told myself it was just because I needed to freshen up. My dinner date looked as remote a possibility as winning the lottery.
Even so, I lingered in the bathroom, smoothing a scented body lotion into my freshly shaven legs, and then took the time to tidy my eyebrows. It was all basic maintenance, I lied to myself.
I heard the clatter of car doors and high-pitched voices as I peered into the bathroom mirror, tweezers in hand. They were back. It was already ten to eight, and I felt like the biggest idiot in the world, but I applied some light makeup anyway. Maybe I spent just a little longer on my eyes, but my friends had always told me they were my prettiest feature. God knew they were all I had in the attractive department. Neither tall nor short, I had a typical, pear-body shape. My hair was a vague, not quite blonde not quite brown, with too much wave in it to be straight but not enough to qualify as curly. My complexion was pale with a tendency toward freckles. I could sum myself up in one word. Forgettable.
The clock moved inexorably on. Ten past eight and no sign of Jonah. I’d dressed casually in cropped jeans and a soft, floral shirt, and I had a pair of pretty, flat sandals waiting by the door. I’d even painted my toenails with an iridescent, shimmering polish that reminded me of the shells on the beach. All dressed up and nowhere to go. My self-conscious taunted me, and I mentally stuck my tongue out at her. So what if I’d been stood up? It wasn’t the first time and likely wouldn’t be the last. It still hurt, though.
At eight fifteen—not that I was watching the clock at all—I headed for the kitchen to raid the fridge for wine. I’d have a liquid dinner tonight and get back to my manuscript. I really didn’t expect the rapid knock at my door, and I answered it with the half-empty bottle of wine in my free hand.
Jonah stood there, wet hair slicked to his head and face flushed. I couldn’t help myself, I smiled to see him, my heart racing and my nipples leaping to attention. He wore long, denim shorts and another faded T-shirt that was molded to his chest. On his feet were the ubiquitous flip-flops that all Kiwis seemed to love. He looked as though he’d rushed from the shower, and he smelled delicious, woody and spicy all at once. I wondered if he’d be on the menu for dessert.
“I’m late.” His eyes were worried. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” It was, now he’d arrived. I wanted to perch in a nearby tree like a bird and sing to everyone that I hadn’t been stood up. I had a date! I remembered the wine in my hand and held the bottle to him. “Would you like a drink?” He shook his head. “No matter. Did you all go out somewhere today?”
“Yeah, seeing some friends.” He seemed to weigh his words. “It took longer than I thought.” He cocked his head slightly to one side, his gaze flashing over me. I saw his eyes darken. “Gorgeous.” His voice was gruff. “Am I too late?”
I felt my cheeks flush at his compliment. “Of course not. Shall we go?” It suddenly occurred to me that I might have read this entirely wrong. He might simply have invited me to eat with his friends, another barbecue on the sand. I hoped not. There was an awkward moment where I waited for him to say something while my stomach tied itself in knots, but then he gave me his sexy half smile and held out his hand.
There was something very intimate about walking alongside Jonah, his fingers tangled with mine. I’d quickly come to like his quiet style, the way he refrained from chattering at the top of his voice like his friends and like my son. Instead, he spoke slowly, with care, as though considering each word. We talked in a gentle, unhurried manner as we strolled up the beach toward the little, corner shop where I’d bought my groceries. He invited me to talk, to tell him about life in England (busy and overcrowded), where I’d grown up (the outskirts of Manchester), if I missed my home country (not so much), and how I’d given up the day job to carve out a career as a writer.
I’d already decided that the old Cass would be staying at home tonight. Instead, her spicier, naughtier alter ego would emerge, the kind of woman that might captivate someone such as Jonah. Someone confident in her own skin, open to new experiences, and willing to take a short-term lover. With Jonah, I could be the woman I’d always longed to be, safe in the knowledge that we’d only be together a matter of days. If that.
I wanted to step outside myself, to look at the two of us walking along the sand, smiling and laughing, to capture that perfect, fleeting moment. He was rugged in profile, his cheeks and chin rough with stubble and his rapidly drying hair falling forward. He raked his fingers through it, and I thought I saw a flash of angry scar tissue over his ear, but moments later, it was lost from view again as though it had never existed. All too soon, he led me up and over the small sand dune and onto the quiet beachside street in this sleepy village. We walked past the corner shop and approached the bar, where he squeezed my hand. I’d not been in there yet, preferring the café farther up the street for sitting in alone. I always felt exposed in a bar, as though inviting men to hit on me. With Jonah by my side, though, it would be different.
It was Saturday night, but even so, it was busier than I’d expected, and we had to wait a few minutes for a table to become free. The smiling waitress lit a set of candles on the table for us and chattered through the evening specials before depositing a pair of menus. She poured water, left us the remains of the pitcher, and finally disappeared. Jonah gave me an uneasy smile.
He shrugged. “Thought it would be quiet. Sorry.” His gaze flicked left and right, and one hand fiddled with the neckline of his T-shirt before dropping to the table where he played with his napkin. Was he nervous?
“I heard someone talking about live music this evening. That’s why it’s so busy.”
His brows drew together, and he pursed his lips. It made them look even more sultry. Unbidden, a surge of lust spiraled through me. Dear God. After the scorching kiss we’d shared, would I be able to keep my hands off him tonight?
“So, Jonah, where are you from?” I gave him an encouraging smile.
He stared down at the cutlery. “Wellington.” The city was only an hour away from this quiet stretch of coastline, and it made for a popular weekend haven for many city-ites. I’d been living there, too. An unwelcome realization crept in. This would just be a holiday fling for Jonah, the possibility of a few nights of no-strings sex. He would be uncomfortable about giving me too much information in case I tried to find him later, to follow him home like a needy puppy. I took a quick breath into tight lungs. With this delectable, young man, I’d still take that over being alone, even if only for the weekend.
No more personal questions. I produced a bright smile and pretended to examine the menu. “What do you fancy to eat?”
Jonah, meanwhile, stared at the pile of musical instruments in the far corner of the bar. Dark eyes flashed back to me. “The pizzas are good here.” He’s been here before. Maybe he’s worried about someone knowing him, seeing him here with me. He might already have a girlfriend, I reminded myself. A muscle ticked in his cheek, and with a small sigh, he rubbed his forehead. More people poured into the bar, and Jonah eyed them warily. His hand closed around his napkin so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.
My stomach churned. My hoped-for evening was falling apart. I touched the back of his hand with my fingertips. He met my eyes instantly. “Hey,” I spoke softly. “You okay?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Don’t like crowds.” He stared at me, as though daring me to look away. Was that all? I could easily fix that.
“Me neither.” I shrugged and smiled. “Why don’t we come back another night?” I leaned forward across the small table. “Something I’ve never done is eat fish and chips on the beach. Should we do that instead?”
His face cleared, and like the sun coming out after rain, he smiled fully at me. My heart juddered, and I literally fought for breath. He was beautiful. A dimple winked high in one cheek and little crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes. His fidgeting hand settled palm up, like an offering, and I took it, lacing our fingers together. From awkward to happy in the space of a few seconds.
Jonah led me to a small fish and chip shop on the next street, and from there, clutching our paper-wrapped bundles of hot food, we walked back to the beach, only stopping to buy bottles of water. His mood had lifted the instant we walked out of the bar, and he smiled happily at me as we settled down on the dry, powdery sand to eat our dinner. It didn’t take long, and he looked in no hurry to leave, so I relaxed and lay back on the sand.
“I feel stuffed now. I don’t usually eat so much.” I closed my eyes against the low, evening sun. “I give you fair warning, I may fall asleep.”
He chuckled, and I heard a rustling noise close by. I cracked open my eyes to find him settling down beside me. “Lift your head.” I complied, and to my delight, he slid one arm under me to act as a pillow.
“Thank you.” I rolled onto my side to sneak a look at him, only to catch him staring at me. His arm curled protectively around me, drawing me even closer. “It’s been fun this evening.” I still knew almost nothing about him. He’d kept me talking most of the time, and I burned to understand him. What could I ask him that wouldn’t overstep the mark?
Holidays and travel were usually safe subjects for most people. “You mentioned Cassiopeia. Have you seen it? Have you been to Europe?”
He froze. I felt his arm tense beneath my head and saw his jaw tighten, his eyes narrow. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
What? I felt churlish. “I’ve told you almost everything about me, Jonah, but anytime I ask you a question, you shut me down. What are you so afraid of? If it’s me, why did you even ask me out tonight?” He looked stricken, but I plowed on. “I’m guessing I’m just a booty call, and I can handle that. I’m not going to go all bunny-boiler and plead undying love, but at the same time, I’m not just going to fall into bed with you. I don’t even know your last name.”
“Marsh.” He snapped the word out. “Jonah Marsh, okay?” He scratched at his chin but maintained eye contact with me. “What else?”
What else, indeed? My mind went blank. “What do you do? Are you a student? Do you work?”
“I mend guitars and amplifiers.”
“You’re here just for the weekend with your friends?”
The taut lines of his face softened a fraction. “Yes.” He took a quick breath. “Greg’s my younger brother. Rich and the girls are his friends.”
It hadn’t occurred to me they were brothers, but on reflection, both were tall, dark, and handsome. Did Jonah have piercings, too? I couldn’t ask that.
“I was in England a couple of years ago.” He spoke precisely, careful with each word, and I suddenly realized his speech patterns seemed odd—as though English was not his native language. “I was glad to come home.”
I felt sorry now, for hounding him. The new Cass wouldn’t care anyway; she’d just take him as he stood. Lifting my hand, I reached toward him and stroked his cheek, savoring the prickliness beneath my finger. He caught my hand. “Have you finished? Can I kiss you now?”
My alter ego made her move. I leaned forward and closed the gap to tease Jonah with my lips. He made a muffled groan and kissed me back, hard. He rolled to lie on his back and urged me to go on top, then wrapped both arms around me. I squealed with glee inside. Thirty-four years old and making out on the sand like a horny teenager. I ran my fingers through his hair and rubbed myself against him while he explored my mouth. I had to lift my head. I needed to breathe. He lay there, flushed and panting, wild hair covered with fine, powdery sand, and gave me the sexiest grin I’d ever seen on a man. Cocky, confident, and very alluring.
“That’s a yes, then?” How could I possibly resist him? I already knew I’d be taking him back to my bed tonight.
“What do you think?” We kissed again, slowly, learning each other. A faint tang of lemon clung to his lips, a reminder of our dinner, but he tasted dark and delicious. He slid his hands down my arms, and every nerve ending jumped to life. He was creating erogenous zones that I didn’t know were possible. Right now, my entire body was rewriting itself to a new language, one that whispered Jonah with every breath.