to the side as I attempt a graceful descent. Which is pretty difficult, considering the sight of him sends my insides aflutter.
Dust motes dance like fairies between us, his face made up of shadow and the piercing green of his eyes. But as I draw closer, I see the love shining there.
This beautiful man loves and desires me, and whatever happened in my life before, and whatever happens going forward, this moment feels as perfect as the lustre of his blue-black satin lapels as they catch the dying rays of the sun.
Oh, man, I knew he’d look good in a tux, but I didn’t expect it to make me want to strip him out of it tout de suite. I restrain the urge to say so as I reach the bottom stair but one, trying for something a little more dignified as I smooth my hand across his shoulder.
‘Don’t you look dashing.’ This is such an understatement. He looks like James Bond’s better-looking brother, his hair swept back from his face, the angles of his cheekbones and strong jaw smoothly shaved.
‘And you . . . you have stolen my breath, my thoughts, and my words.’
As he leans toward me, I press my hand to the centre of his chest. ‘This lipstick might promise twelve hours of staying power, but I’m still not sure it’d withstand a make-out session with your rakishly handsome self.’
‘Rakishly handsome?’ he repeats, his tone playing up to the role, the lift of a singular brow a perfect complement to my assertions. He’s Rhett to my Scarlett. Darcy to my Elizabeth. Jacob to my Hannah, and I am crazy, stupid (in) love.
‘Yep, you’re so deliciously right yet so deliciously wrong.’ I lower my voice as though there are people around who might hear. ‘Because I know what’s going on underneath that fine suiting.’ I trail my hand down his chest, my gaze following the path of my fingertips. As I reach his belt, he lifts my hand to his lips.
‘And you say I’m the wrong one.’ His eyes sparkle as he presses a kiss to the back of my hand. He’s still holding it as I take the final stair, somehow finding myself twirled into the curved space at the very bottom of the staircase.
‘I don’t need to ask you for a kiss, because this is the place kisses are stolen.’ His words are an echo of my much earlier ones. The first time I’d visited this house, I’d spoken of debutantes and brides, of the love affairs and lives the four walls of this house must’ve seen. The realisation that he remembers, as though he’d plucked my words from the air and kept them close causes, a tiny explosion of delight inside of me.
In an achingly perfect moment, his lips glance across mine. ‘You look so beautiful, Rose.’
‘No one ever called me beautiful before you,’ I find myself admitting.
‘That’s a little hard to believe.’ He twists an artfully curled lock of my hair, brushing it against my neck. His mouth follows his fingers and I sigh, my head rolling to the side as his lips press to the curve between my shoulder and neck. One kiss becomes two, two becomes a trembling sigh, my back pressed against the bannister in an attempt to keep myself upright. ‘My beautifully tempting Rose. Perhaps you were waiting for me to bloom.’
And bloom I do, under his wandering hands and his lips, under his beguiling attentions there, at the base of the stairs. And when he finally withdraws, my lipstick is right where it ought to be, though my wits are rolling about the floor like marbles.
He presses his palm low on my spine, leading me to the front door when a sudden realisation hits
‘I almost forgot.’ I turn to him, finding myself once more in the circle of his arms.
‘Do you want to test your lipstick again?’
‘First, the places you kissed weren’t wearing lipstick. Second,’ I say, sliding my hand into my clutch. ‘I thought you might like this.’ I place his grandfather’s watch in his palm, folding his fingers over it.
‘You had it repaired?’ His expression is a mixture of surprise and something I can’t quite identify as he looks down at it once more.
‘They had to replace the strap, but it’s almost the same. And the mechanism underwent some kind of repair.’ With genuine parts. I push away the thought. There would be nothing to gain from telling him what was discovered in store.