I’d flown thousands of miles to spend time with Nick, but as he was caught up with Morgan, I was guilt free. He’d kept me at arm’s length during this visit and I didn’t care, because my time had been spent hanging out with Daisy.
“What time are you heading out?” I said. “I can give you a lift to Covent Garden, if you like.”
“Thank you, but I’ll be fine,” she said. “How about you?”
“Well, I was supposed to be taking my mum to church.”
“Oh no! I’m sorry.”
“It’s all right. Anyway, she’s always trying to nudge me into the confessional. I’m a backsliding Catholic.” I laughed. “Whenever I approach a priest, I see terror in his eyes.”
“You’re not that bad, are you?”
“No, he just assumes I’m a bad boy because I’m thirty-three and not married. I’m half convinced that’s why my mother parades me around after the service to introduce me to potential…”
I’d said too much.
Daisy ’s hand rested on my forearm. “Whoever she is, she’ll be a very lucky young lady to have you.” She grinned. “I mean, you took me to church this morning. I’m a convert. Love isn’t so scary anymore.” She realized what she’d just said and closed her eyes in embarrassment.
Reaching up, I pushed a strand of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear, my hand lingering for a beat too long. In prolonging these intimate moments, I suppose I was trying to convince myself that being with her for the rest of my life was possible.
“I feel the same way, Daisy. I want you to know that.”
“Thank you again for last night,” she whispered. “For keeping me company in that old house.”
“It was my pleasure.”
“Might go back there tonight,” she said, grinning. “It’s a lucky place for me.”
“Even with that rat running around?”
“Nothing scares me anymore.”
“You don’t need to take on these dares, Daisy. You’re perfect the way you are.” My fingertips trailed up and down the silky skin of her arm.
She responded to my touch, her eyelids heavy, her breathing shallow.
I pushed up from the bed and strolled over to the chair.
Grinning, I whipped off the towel to reveal my nakedness. She pressed her hand to her lips in mock shock, but she didn’t look away. She watched me dress, her eyebrows raised in playful curiosity. This could have been what every morning was like for us. Heading out for breakfast in some café and whiling the day away.
I buttoned my shirt and pulled on my trousers. Finally, when I was fully dressed, I went to give her one last kiss goodbye.
My feet paused at the foot of the bed. If I kissed her again I wouldn’t leave.
I looked down at her. “Want me to bring you anything?”
“No, thank you.” Her hair spilled over the pillow like silk and she’d raised her arms above her head unconsciously languishing in an erotic pose, a nipple peeking above the sheet.
I wanted to bury my hands in those beautiful locks and lavish her body with kisses.
This was how I would remember her. Just like this.
I headed for the door, then paused and rested my forehead against it as I felt the pull of her stare. The pulse of our connection ever present.
She should have been The One.
“I wish I’d met you before him,” I said, my voice deep and full of anguish.
This longing I felt to stay with her was all-consuming.
I forced myself to open the bedroom door, willed myself to walk down the stairs and out of the house.
Later, when I entered my hotel room and collapsed on the bed, I couldn’t remember climbing into my car and driving across town.
I stared up at the ceiling with my stomach in knots, the loneliness suffocating me.
I lay there knowing I’d done the right thing by walking away. As the hours ticked by, I tried to think of anything or anyone but Daisy.
Once through the doors of the Quinto Bookshop, the heady scent of ancient paper woos you, keeping you entranced amongst the tomes.
This is what I needed, to immerse myself in this antiquated refuge for book lovers, keeping busy so I didn’t think about the way Max made me feel, knowing that our short burst of happiness was over. I didn’t want to mull over how his kisses felt like life itself. Or how incredible it was to lie naked beside him.
Or that I’d let him leave this morning when I should have grabbed his ankles and refused to let him go. Okay, that would only have scared him away faster…
Think about the books.
Remember why you’re here.
Taking my time, I searched their well-stocked shelves for an exceptional collector’s item that would be a perfect gift for Aunt Barbara. I had no doubt there was a first edition here waiting to be discovered, then cherished by her forever.
Tracing the spines with delicate fingers, I moved along a line of hardbacks. My heart skipped a beat when I found one she’d adore, an original copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit by Beatrix Potter. Perfectly preserved with a colored drawing of Peter Rabbit on the cover.
When I opened the hardback and saw it had been printed in 1901, I knew it would be expensive. Still, my aunt had opened her doors to me and made me feel at home. I wanted to splurge a little on her birthday.
After peeling open the first page, I sucked in my shock at the price. “Bloody hell!”
The book cost a thousand pounds.
Self-consciously, I threw a cheeky smile over at the young man behind the counter. He gave me a knowing look back. Beside him sat an antique till that gave the place character. That was what I loved about this shop, its quaintness. Its prices, not so much.
I slid the book back and said, “As if.”
From behind a bookshelf, another customer coughed loudly, hinting that my outburst had bothered them.
Okay, Mr. Quiet Police. But a thousand pounds is too much for a book. For me, anyway.
Continuing my search, I found a hardback second edition of Harry Potter. Its condition looked flawless. My heart stopped when I saw the swirl of a signature on the first page—it had been signed by J. K. Rowling.
“Oh, my God!” Barbara would love this one.
“Shush,” came the chastisement from the same man behind the bookcase.
I poked out my tongue in the stranger’s direction.
The price of the Harry Potter novel was more within my range. I’d read that second editions could also be collector’s items if they were in mint condition.
While paying for it, I shared with the shopkeeper how much I loved this place and how I’d always been able to find that one book I didn’t know I needed.
“Keep the noise down,” came a gruff male voice from the back of the store.
Then Annoying Bookcase Man stepped out into the aisle.
He was tall and shockingly handsome. He had the kind of face that made me stare because he looked exactly like…Max.
I forgot how to breathe.
Max was dressed casually in ripped jeans and a jumper, and he looked especially sexy in his leather jacket. He was also wearing a panty-melting smile.
My body responded to him like we were back in my bedroom, like his kisses were again running along my skin, his touch firm and masterful, causing time to stand still.