His heart paused. Then again, was it really so incomprehensible?
He sat forward, swirling his drink. She was an orphan. All out of links, all out of family—except for his. And maybe his family didn’t amount to much now, but still, if it was all she had... He felt his heartbeat picking up. Would she not cling to it like a raft, even at a subconscious level, perhaps find the fear of losing it surfacing involuntarily at the wrong moment, say, in the middle of a kiss, find it asserting itself as suddenly as his own scars were prone to doing, rupturing in an instant, putting whiplash words into his mouth at precisely the wrong fricking time! It was absolutely possible. So slow on the uptake, Will! The writing was blazoned on the wall. Quinn volunteered at a homeless shelter, for pity’s sake, giving her time and attention to those enduring the thing she most feared—dreaded—being without: loved ones. Ties. Roots. Place!
He felt his heart twisting. All things he could give her, wanted to give her from the depths of his soul. He set his glass down. But he’d jumped the gun because of his own messed-up history, because of his own messed-up head, because she seemed to get him, understand him, and he was so desperate to be understood by her. Accepted. Loved. But desperation was a poor hand, one he wasn’t playing again.
He got up and went to the window. Twilight now...bats flitting. He felt his pulse settling, the mist clearing. Lucky for him he’d taken her home, leaning on the pact they’d made, because it had seemed like a good way to bounce them back from that kiss, show her that from his point of view they were good. And yes, maybe there was a part of him that had been hoping she might open up the conversation, which she hadn’t, but they’d parted on smiling terms, which meant he had a head start now. He would call her tomorrow, fix up a lunch, show her she wasn’t lost to him, that he wasn’t about to break any links.
And maybe he was crazy for letting that hopeful voice inside start whispering some day again, but he didn’t want to switch it off, didn’t want to kill off his hope yet. Not when time was on his side, when he could use it to show her that he was steadfast, dependable. That he could be a sound business partner and, most of all, a good friend. Maybe then she’d come to see him as a win-win prospect!
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE CAB PULLED up and Will smiled, mischief glinting in his eyes. ‘Here we are!’
She looked out and started. ‘Lisbon!’ She felt her jaw trying to fall against a rising smile. ‘I had no idea there was a restaurant called Lisbon in London!’
‘There isn’t.’ Will handed the driver a twenty with instructions to keep the change and then his eyes came back, twinkling. ‘I paid a guy to repaint the sign. It’s really called The Lucky Star Takeaway.’
Her smile won out. How she’d missed this—him!—even though it had only been four days since she’d last seen him.
He sprang the door. ‘Come on. Sadly, I’m on the clock.’
On the clock but making time for her all the same, calling her the day after they’d got back. Business lunch, Thursday! What it felt like though, was that he was trying to smooth things out, get them past that kiss. But smooth was good, exactly what she needed. Or maybe it was just the sweet, sweet sight of him she needed.
Whatever! Right now, she was floating on air.
Inside, the host led them through a sea of white damask and glittering crystal to a table by the window. A prime spot—of course. For her. Her heart pulsed. It was all for her. This beautiful restaurant, this table overlooking the Thames...
She swallowed hard and turned to meet his gaze. ‘This is amazing, Will. Thank you. Such a view!’
His eyes crinkled. ‘I’m glad you approve. I figure if we’re talking business, we might as well do it in style, right?’
In style, in a blur. It felt like the same thing. A fantastic dream. And then somehow their plates were being cleared and their glasses were being replenished, and the rest was falling away so it was only Will again, smiling over, drop-dead gorgeous in his business suit.
‘I’m curious...’ He inclined his head. ‘What got you volunteering at the homeless shelter?’
Drop-dead gorgeous and working so hard. All through lunch talking earnestly about the project, and now he was switching tracks to keep them running along smoothly. The problem was that his efforts seemed to be having the opposite effect, drawing deep, velvety warmth up through her, fresh longings. She couldn’t seem to stop her eyes from drifting to his mouth, and to that patch of golden skin at the base of his throat where his collar was open. And she couldn’t stop remembering the way his lips had felt, what that brief, sweet scorch of his tongue had done to her body, her core—
‘Quinn...?’
Eyes. Face. So dear. So beautiful. So utterly—OMG! Her heart pulsed. It was true! Everything Sadie said. She could feel it surging inside, rampaging through her veins. How could Sadie have seen it and she not? She was absolutely mad for him, past saving. Head over heels in love.
Her heart thumped. But she couldn’t say it, go anywhere near it. Not after shutting him down like that in Lisbon, not when loving him didn’t guarantee a happy ending—not when she needed to process and couldn’t, because he was taking up all of her bandwidth. Nothing for it but to dig deep and push through, as if climbing over the table to kiss his face off was the last thing on her mind.
She forced herself to swallow. ‘Sorry. I was just thinking about my friend Sadie...’ Not a lie, and a neat segue! ‘I got involved through her...’ She felt a ripple of calming warmth at the thought of the older woman. ‘She’s my friend now, but back in the day she was one of my design tutors. She set us a brief to design an interior space for a homeless shelter which was compliant, functional, nurturing. I liked that she specified “nurturing”. It felt generous of spirit.’
He smiled a tingle-inducing smile. ‘I like it too.’
‘Anyway...’ She blinked to reset. ‘Turned out Sadie was a volunteer. I don’t know why but the idea spoke to me so I asked if I could go along.’ She felt a flick of incredulity. ‘That was ten years ago. Sadie’s full-time now, and I’m still there...’
He let out a short, astonished breath. ‘Wow! And what do you actually do?’
‘Street patrol, mostly. Checking in with the rough sleepers, seeing that they’re okay.’
‘Okay being a relative term?’
‘Sadly, yes. We try to get them to come in, especially the women and girls, but a lot of them don’t like the shelter. Some of our service users have mental health problems, addictions. They can be disruptive, aggressive sometimes.’
His eyes flared. ‘So, it’s dangerous?’
‘Potentially, but the permanent staff are trained to deal with it. Volunteers are trained too but generally we don’t encounter problems—verbal abuse sometimes, but most of the rough sleepers don’t mind us. Some of them like to talk.’ She felt an ache in her chest. ‘They get lonely, feel invisible.’
‘You are officially blowing my mind.’
Admiration in his gaze, tugging at her strings, making her blush.
She reached for her glass to deflect. ‘Do you do anything outside work?’
His expression fell. ‘Nothing useful or remotely noble.’ He touched a finger to the base of his glass as if he was toying with a thought, and then his eyes flicked up. ‘Until quite recently, I was a regular at Aspinalls.’
Her heart pulsed. And now, what? He wasn’t a regular any more? What to say? She sipped to buy a second. Maybe he just wanted to talk about it.
She set her glass down. ‘Anthony did mention the casino.’
His lips flattened. ‘Oh, I’m sure he did! The old goat didn’t exactly approve.’
She felt a stir of recognition, took care to make her tone gentle. ‘Was that the attraction?’
His ocean-blue gaze stilled. ‘Very perceptive!’ And then he was picking up his glass, tilting it this way and that. ‘Lest you think I’m bitter and twisted, it wasn’t all spite.’
