Page 75 of Counting Down To You

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, see the way his eyes drop there. When he meets my gaze again, the darkness quivers between us.

Do something that scares you.

It’s that guiding me as I lift my hands and place them on his chest, over his coat. His own hands come up too, circling my wrists. But he doesn’t push me away. He just keeps his fingers there, holding me in place. I tilt my head up. His fingers flex on my wrists. He must be able to feel my pulse jumping.

“Ali…” His voice is low, and the sound of it scrapes over my already raw nerves.

“I know,” I whisper, moving my hands up to the exposed skin on his neck. He shivers lightly when my fingers touch there. I’m not sure what, exactly, I’m claiming to know. That it’s a bad idea, maybe. That it can’t go anywhere, because I’m leaving in two weeks. That he has a reputation. Right then, I don’t care. Because, right then, I only want to know what it would feel like to have him kiss me. Properly kiss me.

He closes his eyes, tightening his hold on my wrists. When he opens them, I see something like resolve there. For a second, I think he’s going to pull back from me, like he has before. Instead, he closes the distance between us. And this time, when he catches my mouth with his, it’s not so gentle. My lips part for his tongue and he shifts, moving his hands from my wrists and running them up my sides, angling us closer together on the swing. My hands travel up to his hair, fisting there, trying to pull him closer.

Not close enough. He seems to have the same thought, shifting again and taking hold of my waist, half pulling me onto his lap. I do the rest, hooking my legs over his thighs so I’m straddling him. His mouth skates down my jaw, over my throat, and I let out a low moan. He tightens his hold on my hips, mutters an oath into the side of my neck as I rock against him, causing a low ache in my pelvic bone.

His mouth comes back to mine, his teeth grazing my bottom lip. My hands travel down the front of his coat, then under, desperate to find skin. I feel his stomach muscles tighten as I get my hands under his shirt, fingers splaying there. His own hands are traveling down my legs, then up, finding their way under my dress. His hands squeeze my thighs, and a bolt of heat travels straight through my core. I let out a pathetic little whimper, and he bites my lip at the sound, harder this time.

I try to move my hands, to find somewhere else to touch, but there are too many damn clothes between us. I huff out a frustrated sound and he laughs darkly against my neck, his teeth softly catching my earlobe. One of his hands has found its way to my hip bone, his thumb scraping there. Need stretches out in every direction as his nose skates down mine.

Somewhere in the distance there is the sound of glass shattering, followed by a cackle. I turn my head toward the noise and blink as another cackle fills the air. It was someone inside, breaking glass.

I look back at Leo. His hands are still under my dress, which is bunched up around my waist. My legs are either side of him, my hands on his stomach. We are both breathing heavily, and his eyes are as black as the night around us.

I swallow, my mouth dry. “We should go back inside,” I say again.

His fingers flex, briefly digging into my sides. I can’t help pushing into him at the feel of it, and his gaze drops to where my thighs are wrapped around him. “Yeah.” His voice is low. “We really should.”

He can’t move though because I’m still there, straddling him. I don’t want to move. Jesus, I want to stay out here, in this moment. But there are guests in there, and I have a job to do. I take a breath, then swing one leg off and get to my feet, pulling my dress back down, then running a hand through my hair. I’ll have to check myself in the mirror before heading for the dining room.

I glance down at where he’s still sitting. “I’ll meet you back in there,” he says. And I think I know why he’s not following me immediately.

Don’t think about that, Ali.

I swallow again, nod. And let my breath out on a whoosh as I head back inside.

Chapter

23

After clearing up what we need to in the kitchen and dining room, leaving the majority for Refuge’s own staff, Leo and I sit in the living room around the fire with Betty, Louisa, and Mark while they finish their drinks, Adrian having excused himself after dessert. Despite the warmth of the room, all tiredness has evaporated from my system. I feel twitchy, unable to fully concentrate on the conversation, too aware of Leo’s movements across the room, trying too hard not to look at him, worried that it will be obvious to everyone here what I’m thinking if I do.

It’s a relief when Betty announces it’s time for bed and Louisa and Mark agree. Louisa stands up, stretches. “Thank you for a lovely evening, you two,” she says to me and Leo.

Betty winks. “Now you can stay up and enjoy the rest of the evening without us.”

I stand as the three of them make their way upstairs, chatting to each other all the while. Leo has stood too, starting to clear away the glasses. It feels too quiet all of a sudden, too warm, despite the fact the fire has basically burned out, the coal a low orange glow.

I pick up my own glass—a sparkling water—and cross the room to put it on top of the drinks trolley, next to the other empties. Leo stands there, watching me. The echo of what happened outside thrums between us in the silence.

I stop a few meters from him, listening to the creak of floorboards upstairs. My heartbeat whirs as he steps toward me, my whole body going still, expectant.

“Ali,” he begins, his voice soft, “I—” I tilt my head up to meet his gaze and his throat bobs. “I suppose we should get to bed too.” I get the distinct impression that wasn’t what he wanted to say.

“Right.” I nod. “Okay.” But I don’t move. The way he’s looking at me makes it kind of hard to remember how to.

He takes another careful step toward me and reaches out to place a hand on my cheek. His thumb traces a path there, and heat flares under his touch. Then he leans in, kisses me gently on the other cheek. “Goodnight, Ali.”

He turns away from me, a clear dismissal. For a moment I stand there, my body still thrumming in useless anticipation. “Right,” I say again. “Night.” Because what else am I supposed to say?

Embarrassment coils in my gut as I turn toward the staircase. And, beneath that, there is the sting of rejection, ugly and wrenching, as I head upstairs.