down easily had dissipated into an all-out seduction.
What the hell was the matter with him anyway? One minute he’s embarrassed by his innuendo and the next minute he’s trying to bring it to fruition.
He stood in the small guest-bath shower at Trevor’s, arms braced against the wall, letting the cold, stinging spray cool his blood.
His grandmother was right. He needed to be careful where Sarah was concerned. She was recovering from a divorce, a husband who’d cheated on her, and she didn’t deserve yet another heartbreak.
He never set out to hurt the women he dated. He respected women. With examples like his grandmother and mother how could he not? He was careful to avoid those looking to marry into money and title. That’s why he only had ‘relationships,’ if that’s what they were, with women who could hold their own—women who were only looking for a casual fling.
Sarah wasn’t one of those women. She was so easy to read, she’d get beat at poker even if she was holding a royal flush.
Warm and tender, sophisticated yet reserved, and the kind of woman who’d put everything she had into what was important to her. She was the first woman in recent memory, perhaps ever, who didn’t give a damn about his title, his money, or his relative fame.
He toweled his wet hair before discarding the towel and climbing into bed. He had to make up his mind. Either he must let her down easy as he’d previously intended, or pursue her with all the seriousness she deserved. The question that would plague him all night was: which one would it be?
Chapter 16
Harry, the desk clerk, called Sarah’s name as she walked out. He wanted to know if she’d lost a hair clip, saying he’d already asked the other guests, and no one had claimed it, so she was the last logical choice.
In his hand lay her errant clip. Mortified, she said, “Ahem, yes, I wondered where that had disappeared to.” When she didn’t reach out to take the clip, he gently placed it on the desk. “Thank you.”
“Yes, miss. I wondered how it got there . . .”
“I’m not sure,” she muttered, looking back down quickly, and striding out the front door.
She wasn’t looking up as she exited the building in haste, so she was surprised when she ran right into a hard, masculine chest.
“Hey, where’s the fire?” Alex laughed, grabbing her shoulders to prevent her from falling.
She looked up into his grinning, handsome face. Her blush deepened. “The desk clerk apparently found my hair clip on the floor this morning,” she replied, looking into his face with an arched brow.
“Well, he could think you simply dropped it,” he said unconvincingly.
“Right . . . I dropped my hair clip on the floor . . . against the wall . . . in the darkest corner of the lobby,” she retorted with an embarrassed laugh.
“That is probably a very popular location for passionate late night kisses, so I’m sure they find all manner of interesting items there,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “A hair clip is probably the least incriminating item.” He grinned devilishly.
Sarah wanted to kick him in the shin. She was a little grumpy this morning after going to bed alone and sexually frustrated. “Are you planning to stand there all day holding my arms, or are we going on that bike ride we discussed?”
He released her shoulders, stepping aside to reveal two bicycles.
Each bike had a basket on the front. One basket looked to have a picnic lunch, while the other basket contained a blanket.
“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he said with a grand, sweeping gesture, turning on the devastating charm.
“Very original,” she said, giving him a withering look.
Their bike ride took them past Radcliffe Infirmary and then briefly up Walton Street before turning onto Jericho Street and into a suburb of the same name.
Now one of Oxford’s most sought after residences, Jericho had a storied past. In the Victorian Era, it was notorious for poor quality housing. It is said to be the model for Thomas Hardy’s fictional slum, Beersheba, in Jude the Obscure.
Alex pointed out one of the terraced houses. “That’s where Trevor lives.” They breezed past on their bikes, giving her little time to study the house.
They made their way back to Walton Street and then to Walton Wells Road, which came to a dead end at Port Meadow, a large common area of grazing land still used for horses and cattle. It was also a