Page 13 of Enticement
She wondered what he looked like when he came. Quietly restrained? Or did he let his emotions out in a violent explosion? Ross exuded passion like a force of nature. Outwardly, Kit seemed more refined, less earthy somehow, and more teasingly urbane, but that didn’t really give her any insight into what he was truly like beneath the surface.
“Penny for them,” Kit remarked.
“Eh?”
“You’re staring. That or you have some sort of weird zombie eye disorder.”
“Zombie what?”
“Nothing, forget it.”
Something kept her focus fixed upon him, despite the observation, which in turn made Kit sit up. “What is it?” he asked. “Did that mouse tell you all about my evil deeds?”
“What evil deeds?”
“If you need to ask, I guess not.” He slumped back down again, his hands clasped behind his head so that his elbows stuck out to the sides.
“Were you and Ross the village tearaways?” she asked.
Kit’s brows furrowed. He turned partially onto his side and curled his legs up towards his body. “We got into all sorts of trouble, just like most teenage boys. Scrumping apples, nicking asparagus, twanging bra straps, all the normal stuff.” He counted them off on his fingers, turning one down without remark and leaving the little finger noticeably standing.
“And later you broke hearts,” she said, curling the last finger down for him. The contact stoked a shocking fire in her innards, quelled a moment later by the hollow look in Kit’s eyes. The realization struck her that he hadn’t just drifted away from Kirkley in search of adventure. He’d run, all the way to Japan at a guess, with no intention of ever coming back.
Despite the dark swarm in his eyes and the thickness in her throat, Evie had to ask. She couldn’t just ask him straight out why he’d gone though. If she did, judging by his current expression, he’d probably just tell her to go fuck herself. Instead, she twisted the question round, eventually asking, “What was Ross like the last time you saw him? Tell me about the last day you spent together.”
“What do you damn well want to know about that for?” His knees got even closer to his chest, until he was virtually hugging them. “Nothing happened. We had a few beers together out by the ruins.” The tone of his voice suggested that far from being an unremarkable occasion, it’d been positively influential. She’d have to remember to ask Ross about it later, to see if he clammed up in the same way he had over Kit’s job, which was something else she still hadn’t had a satisfactory answer over.
“Tell me something else, then. How did you and Ross first meet?”
The hunch vanished from Kit’s shoulders, and he uncurled a little from his foetal position. “God knows, Evie. I was probably only five months old. What did I do to suddenly warrant the inquisition?”
“It’s not an inquisition.” She perched on the sofa arm. “It’s called getting to know you. It’s what normal people do in place of innuendo and exposing themselves. They ask questions. You are living with us. I have a right to know a bit about you.”
The mini rant finally earned her a grin. Kit pushed his fringe back off his face, revealing a thin silvery-white scar just above his right eyebrow, on which her attention honed in, until he let his hair fall back into place. Scars always came with stories, not that she expected him to be very forthcoming over that one given his current record. “You want a story, right? I’ll give you one. About Ross and myself and a camping trip.”
“You go camping?”
He sniffed and looked rather put out.
“Okay, you go camping. Tell me.”
“It was part of what I like to refer to as the summer of sin and seduction, when—”
“The what!” Evie lurched forward, which resulted in Kit’s explosive laughter filling the empty room.
“You know, it hardly seems fair to be telling you about this when Ross isn’t here. Maybe we should save it for later.”
“Oh, no, you’re not wriggling out of it.” Evie battered his knees until he budged along the sofa far enough for her to sit comfortably without touching him. “Start talking, buster, or you can pack your bags and move into this dump right now.”
“Are we agreeing the rent criteria here?” he quipped. “Tales for torment? Your guest bed’s lumpy as hell. I reckon this one’s good for a month.”
“A fortnight.”
“Without prying?”
“Prying as part of the flow of conversation is allowed.”
The look he gave her—a wickedly calculated glare—suggested he had a more visual form of snooping in mind.
