“You don’t think you belong here.” And, as simple as that, Nate expressed the secret fear Carrie had been trying to ignore, ever since Nancy left her the Avalon Inn.
“This is Nancy’s place. You’re all Nancy’s friends.”
“We’re your friends, too.” Nate rested his hand on her waist, his fingers long enough to almost reach around to her spine. The heat from his palm through the thin silk of her dress mesmerized her. “If you’ll have us.”
Carrie focused on the warmth spreading across her torso, and answered without over thinking, for once. “Because I’m Nancy’s granddaughter? Because I’m your boss? Or...”
“Because we like you.” Nate squeezed her waist, and the warmth spread farther. Her chest was probably flushed, Carrie realized, and gave silent thanks for the dim lighting in the room. “Because you’re trying to save our home. And we want to help you.”
Which made sense, she supposed. It was just... “This was going to be my big chance to do something by myself. To prove myself.” To Anna, to her parents. To herself.
“And even better than that, you get to do it with friends.” Nate nudged closer, just a few centimeters, but enough to bring his lips within her reach if she just bent her neck forward. “Seriously, though. This is all you. It’s your inn, your risk, your plan. Well, yours and Anna’s, anyway. We’re just...adding some details.”
But she was still relying on him, and the Seniors, and even her own family’s booking, Carrie thought. Not to mention Anna’s backing. But then Nate moved his hand up slightly, spanning her rib cage, and Carrie forgot what they were talking about for a moment. When her mind returned, she said, “I do appreciate it, you know.”
Nate raised an eyebrow. “Really? How much?”
Swallowing hard, Carrie asked, “What do you want?”
“My greenhouse,” Nate said, and somehow he’d got closer again, and she barely needed to move if she wanted to... Carrie stopped herself, and gave the tiniest nod she could manage. “And...this.” Finally, finally, Nate inched forward, and Carrie leaned in to meet him before she was even really sure it was happening.
His lips against hers felt different from her first night at the inn, she realized, even as she wondered how she could think at all. But they did; less sure, softer. Carrie’s hand snuck up to play with the hair at the nape of his neck, ensuring as she did so that he couldn’t escape without her permission.
She’d wanted to kiss Nate like this since that first night on the terrace. She wasn’t letting him go now.
But, eventually, breathing became an issue and Carrie pulled away just enough to look Nate in the eye again.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice softer even than his gray velvet eyes.
Carrie nodded. Then something awful occurred to her. “Although I can’t help thinking about the last people to lie here doing this.”
Nate’s forehead crinkled up into a frown. “Cyb?”
“As disturbing as that alone might be, it’s worse.” She pushed herself up on one elbow and leaned over him, her hair falling forward against his shirt. She could feel her nipples hard against his chest, but ignored the sensation to deliver the real clincher. “Uncle Patrick and Aunt Selena.”
Wincing, Nate levered them into a sitting position. “Not that this hasn’t been nice...”
Carrie chuckled. “Want to take it up to the attic?”
Her reward was another heart-stopping kiss.
* * * *
Carrie woke alone in her own bed the next morning, but the sound of her shower running in the en suite told her Nate hadn’t gone far. She hoped he’d figured out which handle to jiggle for hot water. She didn’t want to drive him away with bad plumbing.
Stretching out across her sheets, she wondered what, except wine, had got into her the night before. Confidence, she supposed. And relief.
Whatever it was, she wanted it again. Her body could still feel Nate against her, around her, within her. And it wasn’t going to be happy unless she could lure him back there once more.
The shower shut off, and Carrie propped herself up against the headboard, waiting for Nate to emerge. When he did, wrapped only in a towel, her body started making its desires more clearly known.
“Good morning,” Nate said, with a lazy smile. He ran a second towel across his hair and leaned against the foot of the bed, obviously waiting to see which way she was going to jump.
Carrie smiled up at him as sunnily as she knew how. “A very good morning.”
She could almost see the breath Nate left out, and wondered why, after the night before, he was so uncertain of her.
“I’ve got to get to work,” he said, retrieving his jeans from a heap on the floor. Folding clothes hadn’t been a priority on their arrival last night. “Lots to do before this dream wedding of yours. But I’ll see you later?”
Still smiling, Carrie nodded. “Sure.” Or, more accurately, most definitely later. She really wanted some more of whatever had left her in such a good mood.
Nate, unfortunately fully dressed now, paused at the side of the bed for just a moment too long before bending to kiss her sweetly. Carrie resisted the strong urge to pull him back into the bed with her. After all, there was work to do.
“Work,” Nate murmured, sounding a little dazed as he pulled away. “I’ve got to go and...do that.”
“Yes, you do,” Carrie said, letting go of his shirt. “And so do I.” She swung her legs out of bed, glad she’d pulled on her camisole and knickers at least while he was in the bathroom. Nate started to get that glazed look in his eyes again. “Don’t get too hopeful. I will be putting on clothes before heading down to reception.”
“Shame,” Nate said with a sigh, and shook his head. “Right. I’ll see you later.” And he left, presumably before his resolve could be tested any further.
Carrie laughed, and headed into her shower, hoping that the light, bright feeling she was filled with would last all day–or at least until she saw Nate again, and could get him to replicate it.
As it turned out, Carrie’s good mood only lasted as long as it took to get to reception.
“Carrie, finally.” Anna Yardley folded her newspaper and stood up from the wingback chair by the lobby window. “I thought, since I had a free morning, that I’d pop over and see how things went for your cousin’s visit.” She smiled, a sharp, tight grin. “Why don’t you show me around all your improvements?”
Chapter 8
Nate’s very good morning only started going downhill when he found his grandmother waiting outside his summerhouse, packed lunch in hand and eyebrows raised.
“Can I assume, then, that you had a nice evening?” She gave his creased and crumpled clothes a pointed look. “Only, I didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the party.”
Nate decided to try for levity. “I saw you dancing with Cyb, though. Seemed like you were having plenty of fun without me.”
Moira stared at him in the way that had always made him break down and confess to anything as a child, if she’d only just stop looking. Still, he was an adult now, and he’d done nothing wrong. He would hold his ground.
For all the good it did him. Moira, obviously realising he intended to stay silent, gave a short nod and said, “I think I shall help you in the gardens today. It’s such a beautiful day.”
Overhead, gray clouds gathered. Nate looked incredulously at his gran, but apparently she planned to stand firm, too. “That would be lovely,” he said eventually. “I’ve got to dig over the beds for the cutting gardens today. It would be nice to have some help.” Gran hated digging.
“I’m not sure how much help a frail old lady will be with that sort of work,” Moira said, and Nate manfully ignored the steel backbone and the fact that she could still out-walk him anywhere. “But I’m sure I can find something to do.”
“Lovely.” Nate hesitated. “I just need to change my clothes...” He sidestepped past her into the summerhouse, fumbling with the lock on the way in.
Moira took a seat on the bench outside his window. “Nice that you’ve been able to get out for an early morning walk before work.”
“And on such a lovely day,” Nate called back, as the sky turned darker. If she wanted to ignore where he’d really been last night, that was just fine by him. He had absolutely no desire to discuss his sex life with his grandmother, anyway.
But, he thought as he changed his shirt for one of his work polo shirts, it would be good to talk with somebody about what the hell was going on. He supposed that really he should talk to Carrie, find out what she expected from this. Was it just good company–and it had been really good company, which he also wasn’t telling his gran–or was she expecting something more? Was he, for that matter?
Was he going to be able to stay at the Avalon Inn? Or was Carrie going to think he’d only slept with her to stop her selling the gardens?
Remembering the previous evening, he swore, hopefully not loud enough for Moira to hear through the window.
Carrie had offered him anything, as a thank you, and he’d asked for a greenhouse and then a kiss. What, exactly, did that tell her about him?