One Magic Moment(45)
Author: Lynn Kurland
He watched Tess stop just in front of him. She looked beautiful but exhausted. He smiled gravely, then reached out and drew her into his arms.
“We shouldn’t begin this,” he murmured.
“I couldn’t agree more,” she said, putting her arms around his waist and laying her head on his shoulder. She sighed deeply. “I’m not sure how to thank you.”
“Breakfast tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow isn’t Wednesday,” she said, the smile plain in her voice.
“I couldn’t care—” Her phone rang, startling him. He pulled back and looked at her in surprise. “It’s almost midnight.”
She looked at her mobile. “It’s Terry Holmes,” she said, frowning thoughtfully. “He knew I had a party tonight, so perhaps he was waiting for it to end. It must be important for him to call this late.”
“Who is Terry Holmes?” he asked.
“The president of the Tynedale reenactment group,” she said. “The ones from the other night. Maybe he has bad behavior to apologize for.”
“At least one of his club members certainly does,” John said pointedly.
She shot him a quick smile. “I’ll make it quick.”
He watched her pace back and forth in front of the fire, stopping now and again when she apparently heard something that surprised her. John couldn’t deny that he was curious about what that bloke might say. He didn’t imagine he should hope for it, but he couldn’t help but wonder if the man might have tidings about one of his members having acquired a fine new sword.
He finally sat down, then caught Tess’s hand and pulled her down to sit on his lap. She was halfway there before she realized what she was doing. She shot him a warning look, then pulled away and went to sit in the chair across from him. He shrugged. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He did, however, pull her chair close enough to his that he could capture her feet with his own.
“No, I’m not teaching next week,” she said slowly. “When is the festival? Well, I suppose either Wednesday or Thursday would work.”
John focused on what she was saying and had the words sink in. “No,” he said firmly.
“Hang on, Terry,” she said. She put her thumb over her phone and looked at him. “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you going alone.”
She frowned. “John, it’s a medieval faire at Warewick Castle. How dangerous can it be?”
“Go Thursday,” he said firmly. “I’ll take you.”
“John—”
“Thursday, Tess.”
She looked at him, clearly puzzled, then shrugged. “All right.” She turned back to her call. “Terry, how about Thursday?” She listened for a moment or two, then smiled. “I’ll be there. Thanks for the chance.”
John watched as she ended the call and set her phone down on the floor. “What chance did he offer you?” he asked politely.
She took a deep breath. “He wants to introduce me to the president of the living history society that sponsors that faire. Apparently there’s been some interest in trying to combine lectures with living reenactors.”
He smiled at the light in her eyes, something he had yet to see in conjunction with her business of hosting parties. “A potent combination.”
“And a very safe one,” she said pointedly. “Are you going to tell me why I need a keeper?”
“Because I don’t want you interacting with those fools unless I’m with you, and I’m in studio Tuesday and Wednesday,” he said. “Or it could be that I just want to spend time with you.”
“Why do I think there’s more to it than that?”
He only looked at her.
“And why do I think you aren’t going to tell me anything about it?”
Because she knew him already too well.
“You never know who might be in the crowd,” he said carefully. “I don’t want you caught in any dark corners.”
“With anyone but you?” she asked with a faint smile.
He nodded solemnly.
She reached out and took one of his hands, put his palm against her cheek, then kissed that palm quickly before she smiled at him. “Play for me now, would you? Something you love?”
He thought he might be too winded to. He took his hand back, curled his fingers into his palm, then looked at the spot where her lips had touched his skin. He wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t left some sort of scorching mark there. He met her eyes and saw that she was almost as overwhelmed as he was.
“I will,” he managed, “play whatever you want.”
Which he did. He got through half a dozen songs before he thought he might have exhausted his ability to play without blurting out some sort of sentiment he should have been saving for another time.
He left his guitar in her hands, checked the doors, had a little walk on the battlements just because he thought the chill might be useful in restoring his good sense, then went back downstairs to find Tess in the same place, trying out something on his guitar. She looked up when she heard his footstep and smiled.
He didn’t stumble, but it was a near thing.
He forced himself to concentrate on packing up his gear and checking the kitchen door one last time. After that, he had nothing left to distract himself with, so he grasped for the last shreds of his good sense and walked with Tess to her front door.
“What are you doing tomorrow?” he asked.
“Church in the morning, naps in the afternoon,” she said with a smile. “But we probably shouldn’t see each other.”
“I go to church,” he muttered. “Now and again.”
“Then we might run into each other.”
“How long a nap?”
“Too long for you,” she said easily. “Monday you should actually do some work in your shop, then you’re in London through Wednesday. I’ll be catching up on my mail and adjusting my tiara.”
He smiled in spite of himself. “Very well, I’ll limit my pursuit of you to phone calls and ecclesiastical sightings. Satisfied?”