Page 9 of Knots About You
‘I’ll drop them round in the morning. Freshly laundered.’ There was no arguing with his tone. I half expected a bunch of children to barge down the stairs, because he sounded like he was used to taking on the daddy role.
A fresh wave of heat filled my cheeks.
‘So where are you supposed to be?’ he asked.
‘Rose Cottage.’ Meowrse dug his nails into the fabric of the grey sweatpants, as though he resisted my impending departure. He wasn’t the only one. The thought of going back out into the storm after finally getting warm made me want to weep.
But I couldn’t exactly beg for Owen to put me up.
Could I?
No.
Lusting over a man was the last thing I needed.
four
OWEN
The wipers darted backand forth across the windscreen, pushing the rain back just long enough for me to see the ivy-covered front of Rose Cottage. I’d popped my leftover stew in the fridge, and scribbled my number on an old receipt I’d found crumpled in the bottom of a pocket. The fire had taken on the second try after the damp kindling had put up a good fight.
She’s an adult and can take care of herself. I repeated in my head. Although I knew it to be true, leaving her in the sorry-looking cottage, cold and alone, had pained me. Claire had looked so lost, drowning in my jumper among the old, dust-sheet-covered furniture.
But she wasn’t mine to worry about. The last woman I’d fretted over had torn out my bleeding heart and put it through a blender.
Claire stood in the doorway, the oversized jumper hanging off one shoulder and my joggers pooling near her ankles like accordion folds. The hallway light gleamed behind her, framingher hair like an angel. For a heartbeat, she looked at the truck like she might climb back in. Fat chance. Something told me that I’d seen a rare chink in otherwise impeccable armour. She squared her shoulders and disappeared inside.
Light flicked on as she made her way through the cottage, which took all of five minutes. The rain softened against my windscreen, and hot air clouded my face from the heater. I rested my hands on the wheel, knowing I should head home but resisting the urge to go.
‘That was a night,’ I muttered to the empty car.
Truth was, it was the most excitement I’d had in a long time. Not the big, dramatic kind. Just wild enough to break out of the usual routine but still have time for tea and a biscuit. Unexpected but controllable. A wet-socked Londoner crying in my barrel store and going home in my clothes. Not for the fun reason, of course. Not because I’d torn her clothes off to bare her beneath my rope, nor from bending her over a barrel and making her shudder with need. Not from half a dozen illicit and delectable scenarios that I’d been batting away since we met.
She was exactly my type. Fiery hair and eyes so blue they stole my breath. The way her lip quivered as she blurted out her problems and the steeling of her backbone with determination.
Claire had something about her.
Claire.
The name fit well on my tongue. Crisp around the edges and soft in the middle. Despite her protest that she didn’t do countryside and chaos, she’d done it anyway because there wasn’t another choice. That showed a spark. While the day might have bent her in half, it didn’t break her.
The damp grit of salt and rain coated my fingers as I rubbed a hand through my beard. Underneath the usual country smells, her perfume still lingered, and I found myself hoping she’d give my clothes back unclean so I could inhale her scent properly.Which, admittedly, was an odd thought. I wasn’t known for seeking out a near-stranger’s unwashed clothes.
I could tell myself the dirty jumper was for my cat.
Inspector Meowrse had curled on her lap like he’d known her for years. He’d taken a dislike to at least twelve people the past week. The postman and an accountant. A minibus of tourists who’d dared to interrupt his mid-morning tongue bath. Yet he’d sidled up to Claire and claimed her. I’d have bet a cask of twenty-year-old malt on him choosing violence. Instead, he’d chosen her.
‘Means nothing,’ I muttered, finally turning on the engine. Otherwise, I’d use all my battery up on the heaters and have to beg at the pub for a jump start.
I could see her shape moving past the fogged windows. A shadow of the enigma she was in the flesh.
Headlights swept along the road as some local idiot took the bend too quickly. I lifted a hand out of habit even though no one could see me behind the rain.
Rose Cottage sat nestled in the middle of a set of terraced homes. All dainty and weathered and the right amount of charming, the place would keep her safe enough. It had seen worse weather and lonelier people and come out the other side with its roof still on.
I tried not to think about the way her voice had wobbled when she said she’d been sacked. Or the way the wordexhad made her tense. Or the relief on her face when my socks swallowed her feet.
‘You’re getting soft,’ I told myself, before signalling and pulling away.
