Page 33 of Hearts Colliding
“It’s nobody’s business but our own.”
“Isn’t it? I don’t think your committee would see it that way.” He jumped up, and this time Ryan didn’t stop him as he rushed from the room.
Taking refuge under a torrent of hot water, Alex scrubbed himself clean, washing away every trace of what had happened between them. If he stayed in long enough, maybe Ryan would leave. He pressed his head against the tiled wall and groaned. He didn’t want him to leave, because what he wanted was to curl up against that warm, strong body, to feel Ryan’s arms around him, to feel his heart beat against his own.
“No, no, no.” Alex ground his forehead against the tiles. He’d come back to Love’s Harbour for one reason only. He’d long ago cut the ropes that held him to the place, and he would never, ever reattach them.
Turning off the water, he squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shower. Drying off and wrapping a towel around his middle, Alex caught sight of himself in the small mirror above the deep butler sink. His lips were puffy and bruised from the kissing, but it was the small line of little red marks trailing across his neck and already turning to dark bruises that held his attention. Alex groaned. Love bites, hickies, whatever, he was too old be sporting them. Yet, his hand came to rest on the first, his finger tracing the line, the way he’d traced the incredible tattoo that wrapped its way around Ryan’s hard body. Alex’s chest tightened, as his cock twitched.
No. Ryan had no right to make him feel like this, to make his body react like he was some bloody horny teenager. It was a one-off. It could never happen again. It would be better for them both. He turned away from his reflection, unable to hold his own gaze.
Back in the drawing room, Alex rummaged around for a T-shirt and some sleep shorts, slipping them on behind the sofa. He didn’t have to see Ryan to know the man’s eyes were following his every move. They burned into his back. He hated it and loved it, and hated that he didn’t know which of the two was the strongest.
Alex cleared his throat, and turned to face Ryan. “I need to get some sleep. Here. On the sofa.” He grabbed a fresh pile of bedding from the stack and dumped it down. “If you don’t want one of the bedrooms, you can stay where you are and sleep on the floor.”
“You really do know how to make a boy feel wanted, don’t you?”
“Ryan—”
“Yeah, okay, okay. You've made your point and position clear. What I think makes no odds, but one thing I won’t do is force myself where I’m not welcome. Except for tonight, because there is no way I’m heading out onto the moor this side of daylight. And why do you sleep in here? I mean, really? I don’t buy because it’s the nicest room. You’ve got bedrooms, and some of them even have beds, remember?”
Alex started at the sudden change in subject.Because venturing beyond this one room makes my stay feel just a little less temporary…
“I’m not going to be here long enough to want to get comfortable. I’ll be leaving soon. Good night, Ryan.” Alex switched off the lamps, plunging them into a darkness lit only by the dying embers of the fire and a weak moon shining through the window.
He crawled under the duvet and curled up, his back to Ryan, biting down on his lip, hoping but not hoping Ryan would come and wrap himself around him on the sofa that was big enough for two.
He didn’t.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
“I want a word with you, young man.”
Ryan swore silently. His nan was wearingthat face,which meant he was in for a bollocking. He threw aside the cloth he’d been wiping down the bar with and followed her through to the back, into the kitchen, leaving his mum to deal with the last of the afternoon’s customers.
Eva didn’t hold back. “You’ve been bad tempered and downright rude to the customers. I won’t have it. Have you got a bee stuck up your backside?” She glared at him, hands on hips, and Ryan squirmed.
“Out of sorts, that’s all. And tired.”
He’d barely slept a wink. Curled up on the hard floor with his back to Alex, a chill had seeped into his bones that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room as the fire had died. As dawn inched across the sky, he’d slipped out of the New House when all he’d wanted was to slip under the duvet and pull Alex into his arms. His heart lurched, and Ryan rubbed at the sore spot on his chest. Some hope of that ever happening.
Alex had been a revelation, until he’d switched back to frosty and aloof, distancing himself from what had happened between them. It’d hurt. It had hurt so much, as he’d lain in front of the dying fire after Alex had retreated and rebuilt the barrier that for a mind-blowing moment they’d torn down and thrown away.
Ryan squirmed as his nan, arms crossed over her chest, peered hard at him. He shifted from foot to foot, feeling like a kid again when he’d been caught out raiding the biscuit barrel before dinner. Everything about her was still, from the confection of her backcombed orange hair, to her bright green trainer-clad feet. She huffed, and her combative little body relaxed.
“So, what did you do?”
“Do? What do you mean, what did I do?” Heat pulsed through him. No way could she know what had happened… But if she did, what would she think of him? His stomach shrank at the disappointment he’d see in her eyes.
“Did you get a chance to have a dig around? Find out more about his plans? Have a rummage through his drawers?” Eva cackled.
“No. But don’t bank on any last minute change of heart. He’s a cold bastard and doesn’t care about the village.”
“I dare say you’re right,” she said with a sigh. “It’s such a shame, because he never used to be like that. Oh, he was shy and serious. And watchful, that’s true, but I reckon that was because of his father.” She tapped her temple. “Sir Anthony had a few problems, we all reckoned. Had to take a lot of tablets, after Lady Verity died, the old village doctor used to say. The things he used to tell us about his patients, when he’d had a few. It was why he got struck off. That, and a few incidents regarding missing prescription pads, according to…”
Ryan rubbed at his eyes, dry and itchy through lack of sleep, letting his nan’s voice wash over him. All he wanted was to crawl under his duvet and pull it up over his head, blotting out everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours. No. Not everything. A bitter taste coated his tongue like the dregs of beer left to stagnate in the barrel.
“…up our game.”
