It Was Only a Kiss - By Joss Wood Page 0,24

likely.’

‘You’d be surprised. I must ask him if he knew her.’ Jess looked over her shoulder at him. He stood at the edge of his bed, his hands shoved in the pockets of his cargo pants, his eyes on the painting. ‘She died when you were very young, right?’

‘I was three,’ Luke said in a flat voice.

Jess sat down on the edge of his big bed. ‘Do you remember her at all?’

Luke took so long to answer that she thought he was ignoring her question. ‘I have a vague impression of long dark hair.’

‘Did you inherit any of her talent?’

‘No. Did you?’

‘My dad’s love and appreciation for art, but not his skill.’ Jess looked at the painting again. ‘Do you have any more of her art? If you do, I’ll buy one right now.’

‘I only have this one and the one in the lounge downstairs.’ Luke gestured to two closed doors on the opposite side of the room. ‘My closet.’

Conversation over. Jess sighed. Damn it. He was as mysterious as his mother’s painting, she thought as she crossed the room to his closet. Inscrutable and elusive and very, very compelling. Jess pulled open the doors and raised her eyebrows at the jumble.

And very messy.

There were shelves on both sides of the narrow passage that led to the en-suite bathroom, and the right side held a rail that was bulging with jackets and shirts. Jess itched to reorganise the jumble: there was a pile of T-shirts jammed into a space next to some files, jerseys on top of piles of paper, shoes and sports equipment in a heap on the floor.

Jess found some jeans and picked them up to find the pair he’d worn the other day—with the handprint on the seat. She turned her attention to his shirts. Flipping through them, she muttered as she pushed hangers to find what she was looking for...if he had it. His shirts were either too businesslike or too smart-casual. She wanted something worn, but button-down—long-sleeved, but... And there it was, right at the back and half hanging off its hanger. A long-sleeved collared flannel shirt, missing a button and with its pocket half falling off, in a green-and-black check. Jess pulled it out and nodded. Perfect.

‘Jess, that shirt is about twelve years old. I wore it when I spent a summer travelling Alaska. It’s falling apart,’ Luke complained when she waved it at him.

‘It’s exactly what I want,’ Jess replied. ‘Where’s that hunter-green long-sleeved T-shirt and your leather belt?’

‘Belt is in the bathroom. Green shirt? In a pile...’ Luke grinned at her slight scowl. ‘I suppose your closets are military tidy? Everything organised by type?’

And colour. But Jess didn’t think she needed to tell him exactly how anal she was. ‘Get changed. T-shirt underneath. This on top. Sleeves shoved up your arms. Your normal boots.’

‘Yes, boss,’ Luke grumbled, reaching past her to pull the T-shirt from a pile she hadn’t looked in. Mostly because she’d thought it was full of rugby shirts.

God, this man needed a wife—if only to sort this mess out. Luke moved past her into the bathroom and Jess went back into his bedroom and walked over to a shelf where she could see a couple of photographs in silver frames. There was a photo of him and Kendall and Owen after a rugby match, looking much younger and splattered with mud. Another of two elderly people standing arm in arm in the doorway of the manor. Judging by their dress, Jess surmised that they were Luke’s grandparents. The man had Luke’s smile. The picture in the most ornate frame was very obviously of Luke’s mother, holding and gazing adoringly at, even more obviously, Luke as a toddler.

Jess picked up the frame and looked into the feminine version of Luke’s face. That was what his eyes would look like if he was happy, Jess realised. They’d dance in his face... His nose was longer than his mother’s, his mouth a little thinner. But those eyes, the shape of her face and that luxurious hair...that was all Luke.

Jess replaced the photo and noticed that Luke’s father wasn’t in any of the remaining frames. Hearing him behind her, Jess turned around and smiled. Yep, that was the look she wanted—relaxed, casual...happy in his old clothes because, hell, he was the Savage of St Sylve. He didn’t need to dress up and pretend to be something he wasn’t...

Jess smiled. ‘You’ll do.’

‘Good, because I’m not changing again.’ Luke tugged at the shirt. ‘I like