Page 27 of Wedding Crasher

Tom reached out and cradled her face in his hands, unsure how to pull their relationship back from the cliff edge it teetered on. ‘I don’t know what the future holds, Em. I just know I want to hold you in mine.’

He moulded her against him as she cried, the familiarity of her curves feeling like home under his hands. Comfort slid sideways into raw desire, as instinctive as breathing.

He unbuttoned her blouse, desperate for the warmth of her skin against his own.

Clinging.

Remembering.

Longing.

Reawakening.

Soothing away the bruises from each other’s heart.

Sometime after midnight, Tom dropped a kiss on Emily’s warm shoulder and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her. He stepped out onto their front step, cigarette lighter in one hand, and Emily’s unopened letter from the mantelpiece in the other.

Should he read it? He could rip open the envelope right now and read the words she’d written, know for certain why she’d stopped waiting for him.

Or should he flick the flame of his lighter against the unopened corner, let what had passed between them over the last few hours be all the truth they needed? His thumb pushed against the cold metal, wanting to burn the unread words, unsure which of the choices was braver or best.

CHAPTER TEN

Marla used both hands to push Bluey’s huge backside out from underneath her desk in order to make more room for her knees, then scowled at her watch. She’d told Gabe to come over after lunch. What time did the man eat? No doubt he was playing mind games, keeping her waiting as a casual demonstration of the fact that he held all the cards.

As if she wasn’t painfully aware of that already.

She could, of course, just storm over there and steal his thunder, but the idea of a rematch with Gabe’s guard dog of a receptionist didn’t hold much appeal. Anyway, what would it show him, besides the fact that he’d got under her skin? The home turf advantage was worth waiting for. She reached into her bottom drawer and pulled out a doggy treat for Bluey to apologise for banishing him to the other side of the room.

Her head snapped up as her office door creaked open, then shot down again to hide her disappointment as Dora came in, a can of polish in her hand.

‘You look as if you’ve found a penny and lost a pound,’ she said as she tipped the contents of the wastepaper basket into a black bin liner, produced from the pocket of her pinny.

Marla conjured up a smile. Or bared her teeth, in any case.

‘I’m fine, Dora. Or else I would be, if that man over there could tell the time. He’s late.’

She jerked her head towards the street. Dora’s eyes followed and settled mistily on the funeral parlour.

‘Gabriel? Oh, but he’s ever so busy, chicken.’ The dreamy smile fell off her face. ‘Is he coming over here? You really should have said, I’d have bought some Jammie Dodgers. They’re his favourites, you know.’

Thoroughly distracted, she dropped the polish into the rubbish bag by mistake, and didn’t even notice when Marla crossed the room and fished it out again.

‘Maybe I should slip over to the shop to get some?’

Marla was irritated to hear the same proprietorial tone in Dora’s voice that she’d detected in Gabe’s snotty receptionist’s the day before. What was it about him that turned women around him into territorial tigresses?

‘Only if you’ll lace them with cyanide when you get back. He’s not coming for a tea party, Dora, he’s …’

‘He’s outside the door and can hear every word you’re saying.’

Dora ruffled up her feathers like a peahen. ‘Gabriel, sit down. I’ll just pop downstairs and put the kettle on.’

‘I’ll take mine without the cyanide, if you don’t mind.’ He winked at Dora, who laughed girlishly as she left the room.

‘She’s a one-off, isn’t she?’ Gabe said, sitting down across the desk from Marla. ‘Reminds me of my gran.’

Bluey unfurled himself from beneath the window and looked Gabe square in the eye, and Marla crossed her fingers underneath the desk, hoping he’d be terrified of dogs.

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