was my only friend in the world at that point.’
He sipped his drink. ‘Where were you coming back from?’
So many questions. She watched his mouth as he talked, just wanting to kiss it, just wanting to get on with what they both knew he’d come over for . . . Did they really have to know each other’s life stories? ‘Huh?’
‘You said when you were coming back, you needed to put down roots. Had you been abroad?’
‘Oh.’ Dammit. She hadn’t wanted to stray onto this. It invariably opened up a litany of questions and it wasn’t talking she wanted to do. ‘Um, yes. I . . . travelled a lot in my previous job.’
‘Like where?’ he grinned, having to pull it out of her.
‘Middle East mainly, but parts of Asia and North Africa too.’
He looked intrigued, which was not what she’d wanted. She didn’t want to waste time talking about this stuff. ‘Wow. What were you doing out there?’
She inhaled, knowing there was no way around it. ‘Actually, I was a war photographer.’
Sam’s mouth dropped open, his glass moving back to the countertop. ‘What?’
‘Yes. I was freelance to begin with, then worked for the Washington Post.’
‘God, I wasn’t expecting that,’ he replied and she could see he was reframing her – she was no longer the anonymous, slightly kooky blonde woman from the hospital loos, but a GI Jane with a camera. He looked around the large space with fresh curiosity. ‘You haven’t got any of your work up on the walls.’ They were enlivened only by a yellow neon sign that said ‘Sunshine Days’ in slanting script.
‘No. I have a young child,’ she reminded him. ‘I don’t want him thinking about suicide bombers over his breakfast. There’s no benefit to him being exposed to those horrors at his age. He’d never sleep again.’
‘Is that why you don’t?’
She looked up at him questioningly. How did he know how she slept?
‘Jasper mentioned your nightmares. He said he holds your hand.’
‘Oh . . .’ She looked away, feeling panicked again. ‘Well, he didn’t mean that literally. He was exaggerating for your benefit,’ she lied.
But Sam was still watching her closely. ‘It must have been intense.’
‘Intense,’ she repeated. ‘Yes, I guess you could say that.’
‘Do you miss it?’
She laughed. ‘Nobody misses—’ Her voice cut off suddenly as the memories came unbidden: ruined buildings, blazing cars, people screaming, the rat-a-tat-tat of gunfire like background radios.
She felt something warm on her hand and looked down to find he had covered it with his own, a look of concern in his eyes. She smiled, forcing back the memories that crawled over her like shadows. ‘I’ll tell you one thing I miss about it – living in places like that makes you appreciate the moment. When you have to live by the minute, you don’t waste time dwelling on the past or worrying about the future. All you have is the here and now, and that’s liberating. No one plays games, there’s no bullshit. There’s an integrity that’s missing here. In the field, the best way from A to B is always the shortest way.’
He was watching her like she was a unicorn – something magical and beautiful and rare – and she took a step closer to him, knowing this was the moment. The magnetism between them was undeniable. She turned her hand over, still in his, clasping his fingers. ‘Out there, no one makes things harder than they need to be,’ she murmured, letting her gaze roam him freely before reaching up and boldly, provocatively, kissing him lightly on the lips.
She felt his lips yield slightly to hers, accepting the kiss. But where she had anticipated passion, there was hesitation. She pulled back. He was staring at her, his brown eyes inscrutable now – the veneer of mannered politeness was gone and his gaze kept falling to her lips. He wanted her, she could see that. Her smile grew again, a suggestive light gleaming in her eyes—
‘Why don’t we sit down?’ He glanced over to the sofas.
She put her hand to his chest, able to feel the steady, distant pound of his heart beneath her palm. ‘Or we could just go downstairs.’
‘What’s downstairs?’
She laughed. ‘My spare bedroom? Where you got changed earlier?’ She plucked suggestively at one of the ribs on his sweater.
He watched her fingers work, before placing his hand over her own. It was heavy and warm and firm. ‘. . . How about we take our time getting to know each other