Desire: Love and Passion - By Lesia Reid Page 0,5

it careful thought."

"You don't have to get defensive," she said. "I understand. Everyone understands. We have your back, whatever you decide."

James was recently appointed as British Envoy to the United Nations. As if someone was playing a cruel joke, his first duty was to broker an aid package to the same countries that had been enemies of the Crown during the war. He was quite candid in his opinions and carrying the title of diplomat did little to temper his candor.

"What would you decide?" he asked.

“Sorry, I’m not in your shoes. I don’t have all the facts and therefore have no clue what I would do.”

"Okay then, what do you think I should do?"

"I’m not a politician. And I’m certain you know both the humane and politically correct thing to do."

"That's a cop out," he said. "I think you do have an opinion on the matter."

"My opinion is unimportant. In fact, even the opinions of your peers are irrelevant and that is why everyone has quietly and respectfully shoved the ball in your court."

"Now that is an interesting observation." He whipped a batch of eggs to which he added mushroom, spices she could not identify and a whole host of other vegetables.

“But you knew that’s why the assignment fell to you."

“I suppose. It doesn’t make the decision any easier.”

She turned away and started the coffee. Willow was thinking of what to say. She was good at making light of a bad moment. Somehow her senses were failing her in this moment. Maybe some of it had to do with him standing across her kitchen looking all male in his tight-fitted tee-shirt and everyday jeans. She noted that he hadn’t bothered to comb his hair before showing up at her door, and that rugged unkempt look was very sexy on him.

"Are you going to be living here alone?" James asked breaking the silence.

"Mostly," she said.

"Mostly?"

"A girl has to get out once in a while," she said. "You don't live out here by yourself. You have Larry and your bodyguards."

"So are you in a relationship?"

"Occasionally."

"You mean like an on again off again thing?" James asked.

"No, I mean occasionally, sort of like you. You may be single but you get out every now and then. If the media is to be believed," she said the last part as if it was a secret.

"Oh."

"Come on," she said with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "You cannot be a prude at thirty seven. The whole world has changed. Homosexuals have legally recognized unions with the same benefits as heterosexual married couples and the richest man in the world is making breakfast in my kitchen."

"I didn’t mean to upset you," he said.

"I’m not upset, and I know you’re not prudish. Your trysts have made Murdoch a lot of money."

“Don’t believe everything you read,” he said stiffly.

“Why do you hide it?” She pointed to his face and he knew she meant his scar.

“Why do you think I hide it?”

“I’m asking you.”

“It makes everyone more comfortable?”

"Does it make you more comfortable?"

He shrugged.

She removed a clean dish towel from the drawer and ran it under the sink. She walked over to where he stood, waiting on the timer that would tell him precisely when to start his omelets.

"Do you mind?" She pointed to the scar.

He realized that he did what he always did when going out in public. He put a dash of make-up to conceal it as much as possible.

"No," he said.

Her right palm was on one side of his head, soft slender fingers fanning out for support. She gently dabbed away at his deception.

For a moment, he had a feeling of déjà vu. It was a long time since anyone had touched him so tenderly and he closed his eyes against the sudden surge of emotions. He breathed in the soft scent of lilacs that came from her. They had done this before.

"I hope I'm not hurting you," she said in a soft voice as if she was watching him.

"No," he opened his eyes.

"That's better," she said looking at him and not his scar.

"Thank you."

She moved the hand on the side of his face and he reached for it, caught it. He held her hand for a moment. They were only a few inches apart. He wondered if she would run if he kissed her. Oh, how he wanted to kiss her. It wasn't the first time he'd thought of it since opening the door. The beep from the oven sounded, shattering the moment.

"Sounds like breakfast