Page 24 of London
Opening his eyes, he looked around the dimly lit bedroom, the closed deep blue drapes keeping out the brightness of the sun. The room, with its pale-blue walls, honey-colored furniture, and pastel accessories was pleasantly light, airy, and suited its owner.
He grinned. Last night hadn’t been a dream. Linda had been beside him, sharing in an explosive passion that had kindled inside him the moment they’d met.
He looked around the room once more. Where was she? Why wasn’t she in bed with him where she belonged?
Before he could identify the slight movement in his peripheral vision, Pirata jumped onto the bed, strutting across the sheets as if he owned the place. Gerard chuckled. He probably did.
After rubbing his stubbled-covered chin, Gerard stroked the cat’s head. Instead of the purring he’d expected, Pirata let out an unmistakably annoyed meow.
“If you’re looking for breakfast, you’re out of luck, mate.” He chuckled at the cat’s insulted demeanor. “But it you tell me where I can find your lovely mistress, I’ll put in a good word for you. It’s the least I can do.”
The cat glared at him, his eyes steady. He let out a haughty meow, reflecting his own feline interests, not shedding any light on Linda’s whereabouts.
“Mm-hmm. So that’s the way it is.”
Gerard rolled out of bed and gathered his severely wrinkled clothes from the floor before heading into the en suite bathroom. Seeing the shower and damp towels, he opted to wash before searching for Linda. While he wasn’t desperate enough to use her razor, he would avail himself of mouthwash.
Why the hell hadn’t he awakened when she’d left the bed? How had he not heard the shower? He’d always been a light sleeper, instantly awake at the least little noise, a skill he’d honed during his residency and the long night shifts in public hospitals. Apparently, the sex had been so incredible that it had rendered him comatose.
“What a way to go,” he murmured, grinning broadly as he squeezed Linda’s vanilla-scented shower gel onto a pink bath-sponge.
Freshly showered, he finger-combed his hair and returned to the bedroom to pull on his pants. Leaving his shirt behind, he set off in search of his Cinderella. Unlike that other princess, instead of a glass slipper, she’d left her cat behind.
With Pirata hounding his footsteps, Gerard went downstairs and then from room to room unsuccessfully seeking the mistress of the house. He spotted her through one of the living room windows. She was outside at work in the gazebo she apparently used as a workshop.
The door was ajar. The morning air, still fresh and cool, hadn’t succumbed to the predicted heat. He walked barefoot across the silky grass, ignoring the stone path meandering from the house to the smaller wooden studio.
As he approached, his gaze fixed on his beautiful lover. Even dressed in rough work-clothes and wearing thick gloves, her hair carelessly knotted on top of her head, she was lovely. She wielded a chisel with amazing dexterity, engrossed in the wooden object she carved.
“Is that a hand?” He stopped a few feet away from her.
Linda didn’t flinch, continuing to adjust her chisel to remove a sliver here and there from her creation.
“It is.” She stopped working and looked up at him. “Do you like it?”
She stepped aside to give him a better view of the two hands, their wrists rising dramatically from the square cherry wood base, the work incomplete and unpolished.
“It’s incredible,” he said, his voice filled with awe. “I’m impressed. You have an extraordinary talent with a chisel—and not just with that.”
He closed the distance between them, turned her more fully to face him, and gently removed the chisel from her hand. He placed it on the table before drawing her into his arms, sliding his hands around her slender waist. He thrilled when she melted against him.
“Good morning.”
He bent his head, capturing her lips. Last night’s magic still sparked between them. He released her mouth and gazed into her sapphire eyes.
She smiled shyly.
Gerard prayed the spell he was under would never break. She’d bewitched him.
“Good morning to you, too. They’re your hands,” she murmured, indicating the sculpture. “I’m fascinated by them. They’re so strong, agile, capable of saving lives, and yet gentle, able to deliver such indescribable pleasure.”
Pure male satisfaction filled him, and he grinned once more.
“Glad to know I wasn’t the only one for whom the earth shook… I thought I’d dreamed it.”
She slid off her work gloves and stroked his cheek.
“If you did, we both shared the same dream. Come on. Let’s go and get some breakfast.”
