Cuts Like An Angel (9 page)

“No,” she answered quickly, making Josh curious as to why. “I have a niece, though. She’s five. When I was back home, I would take her out for a day sometimes. My sister worked a lot.” Her gaze flitted with shadows that never wanted to be told before she turned a pretty smile at him.  You?”

Josh looked out at the mother and child. “No. My mum used to bring me here, though. When I was little and it was her day off work. She’d come here with some sandwiches and crisps.”

“Crisps?”

“You know, chips?”

“Oh yes.”

“She would read and I would play. I think I drove her mad sometimes.” He didn’t think. He knew. William anyway. Not Josh. Josh’s mother would have brought him to these places with lovingly made jam sandwiches and a flask of hot chocolate that they would sit and share together. William’s mother, he had to make his own sandwiches when she wasn’t looking. Usually when she was asleep. She never rose before noon and even then the only thing she said to him was “
where’s my cigarettes?”
The closest he got to sitting and drinking a hot chocolate with her was when he made her black coffee. The days she was too tired, too beaten to bother. He would make it for her, sit opposite her and sip his hot chocolate he dared to make. Those days she wouldn’t shout at him for taking what was hers in the kitchen. She wouldn’t shout at all because it hurt her hung over head.

“Sounds wonderful. You and your mother are close?”

“Yes.” He came away from the railing. Came away from that poisonous memory.

“Sorry,” she said. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No.” For whatever reason it was, he couldn’t fathom it just then, but he dared to hold out his hand to her. Brave, confident. This was Josh. “Do you like ice cream?”

Chapter Twelve

Rosie

Rosie’s heart skipped five beats as she regarded his extended hand. Before she could wonder too long if he meant what she thought, she reached out with her own and put it in his. A few seconds of weird feeling passed between them and she felt his hesitancy. “Sorry,” she whispered, pulling her hand out as they walked. God what a stupid moron she was. Of course he wasn’t wanting to hold her hand and walk the park, girlfriend and boyfriend style. Way to jump the gun. Was probably English custom to hold your hand out and direct a person along, or gesture come on, follow me, let’s go. Not let’s hold hands and walk like lovers.

And oh God, there was that remote possibility that maybe he
did
want to hold her hand and all her stupid overthinking showed through and made him think
she
didn’t want to. Dammit.

“So beautiful here,” she sighed, wanting to let him know she wasn’t upset or bothered with any of it, and a do over was fine with her. “Did you walk here?” she suddenly wondered.

He laughed. “I do like walking but no. I rode my bike.”

“Oh,” she said, smiling. “You like riding bikes? I have that on my list of things to buy still.”

“A motorcycle,” he said, casting that sexy smile her way.

Rosie gasped with a huge smile. “You have a motorcycle?”

His cute smile grew, making everything jiggle and wiggle in her stomach. “You like them?”

“Oh, I love them.” Rosie fought the need to squeal and jump up and down.

“I could take you for a ride.”

“Oh my God you should.” She couldn’t keep from sounding like he’d offered her a ride to the moon.

He gave a light shrug. “It’s a great day for it.”

“It is,” she agreed, giddy that he might mean
that
day.

“And … maybe I even brought an extra helmet.” He shot her a glance. “In hopes you’d let me show you the countryside?”

Oh joy and rapture. “I can’t believe you did that,” she said, thrilled.

“Yeah,” he said, sounding guilty, running a hand through his hair, nervously.

“No, I mean I would
love
that.” The squeak she fought won the battle and she even bounced. But it was squeak and bounce worthy.  Him bringing a helmet? That meant he’d planned! That meant he’d thought about them doing stuff! She did happy jigs in circles in her mind before gasping to herself. Oh God, she’d get to sit behind him and
touch
him.

“What’s wrong?”

She turned wide eyes up to him, realizing she’d gasped. “Uh. Do you think it’s okay if I leave my car here?” she made up quickly.

“It’s fine,” he said. “Or if you wish to drive it home I can follow you and take you back later?”

She thought quickly through her options. Driving home meant she wouldn’t get to touch him till after. And with her luck, something would happen between that second and her drive home and she’d lose the chance. “I’ll just leave the car here.” She’d leave it there forever, she realized. Just to get that ride with him. She’d drive that junk bucket off a cliff maybe. For that ride.

Suddenly they were at his bike and she was breathless with excitement, feeling like it was an impossible dream come true.

“You’re not afraid, are you?”

She turned a smile up at him and shook her head. “Just bloody excited,” she said in her best English accent. She marveled in dreamy awe at his boom of laughter. So strong and yet soft, gentle. Her smile got so big it hurt as she made note to make him laugh more—such a
beautiful
sound that brought bubbly champagne to her insides.

He unhooked one of the helmets and handed it to her, then put his own on before inspecting she’d done hers properly. “Don’t stare at me!” she whined. “I probably look like one of those bobble heads.”

He smiled, adjusting the chin strap. “You look cute, actually.”

“So do you,” she blurted, not meaning the kind he meant.

“I’m sure,” he said, climbing on.

She put her hands on his shoulders, eyeing the height of the seat before climbing on.

“Hold on to the thumb hooks,” he instructed.

Thumb hooks? Oh dear, okay. She reached in front of him and hooked her thumbs in his belt loops. “Like that?”

“Actually, they’re behind you,” he said, laughter in his tone.

Shame lit her face to a thousand degrees. “Oh shit,” she muttered. “Sorry, we usually hold on to the driver in America.”

“You can if you want,” he said. “It’s just safer to hold the thumb hooks. But I will be careful so ...”

So …? So what? Geeze. “It’s fine, I’ll hold the bar.” She reached behind her and held tight, not liking the feel of that position. He moved the bike off the kickstand and the sudden motion sent her arms flying around his waist in a death grip. “I swear I’m not wanting to grope you,” she half lied. “But this feels safer.”

“That works fine for me,” he said, sexy all over in his voice. Like it worked very fine for him.

“Okay, maybe I am a little nervous,” she admitted. “Don’t laugh at me.”

He chuckled, and this time it vibrated into the entire front of her body and under her fingers. “You’re doing great.”

Great. He was great under that tight shirt. She closed her eyes as her mind did an etch-a-sketch of every muscle her fingers felt. Lord, the press of his back into her body and the smell of his cologne seeping into her everything had her drunk. If he had no shirt on, she was sure she’d lick him like candy.

They made their way out of town and Rosie clung tightly to him. She was in love already; she could feel it. Stupid, stupid, Rosie. Falling in love just from the feel of his every muscle flexing as he maneuvered the bike; it was pure heaven. It was just the thing that would make any lonely, pathetic girl fall. It didn’t take much with her. A smile. A kind word. Any kindness, really. She was a mess. A mess that helped other messes. But her mess was not quite as messy as theirs and helping them helped her to keep perspective of her so called messes. She had it made compared to some of the people she helped. It reminded her she was blessed and she had no business whining or complaining or anything else resembling that. She had the right to help and that’s what she did. Now Josh would help with her. Lord have mercy, she’d not seen that one coming. One day she was socially shriveling up to nothing and today she was bear hugging the cutest guy in the world. At least in her world. Like, ever. She wasn’t sure why he even liked her and she didn’t even care that it might be because she was American. So what. She was ready to kiss the American soil if that was the case. God Bless America if that was the case.

They finally slowed and he turned into a small driveway. She spied a house at the end of the lane and her heart hammered with fear and excitement. Mostly excitement. No, maybe more fear. Where were they?

He slowed and turned his head. “This is my home,” he said loud enough for her to hear.

Her stomach cut flips. “Oh, wow. It’s beautiful. I love the country.”

“Do you want to stop?”

Oh dear. Mercy. “Yes, I’d love to.” Shit, shit, please don’t be a psycho. The odds of him being a psycho were not so high until her luck entered the equation. She was the one that got the freak accidents, the once in a lifetime crap events.

He parked the bike at the front of the beautiful home. She slid off the bike and began working on the helmet strap. He pulled his own off and hung it on the handlebar then climbed off.

He turned to her and smiled at finding her still fighting with the buckle. “Here,” he said, taking over. She fought her blush, feeling like that bobble head with the huge helmet. “There.” He carefully lifted it up and she quickly patted at her hair as he put the helmet on the back bar. He turned and gave her a grin.

“My hair must look lovely.”

“It does. I like what you did to it.”

“You mean what the helmet did?”

He laughed. “No, the cut. Brings out your pretty eyes.”

Her tummy jumped at the compliment and she smiled, lowering her head while pushing said hair behind an ear. Shit. Dumbo. She quickly removed it and fluffed it a little.

He reached and tucked the hair back behind her ear and she removed it again. He put it back and she swatted his hand with a laughing “Stop.”

“Why? I like your ears.”

Oh God, she loved him. “Well I don’t.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“You notice a lot for a guy,” she said, looking around while trying to calm her nerves. He was touching her and she loved it and was terrified at the same time.

He chuckled. “I have this love affair with details I’m afraid.”

“Oh great,” she said lightly, wondering what other flaws he noticed.

“It is great sometimes,” he said, making her blush. Wow. She was sure she’d never gotten so many compliments in one moment.  Or ever. Wasn’t she just perfect material for criminal activity. 

“I won’t ask you in,” he said. “I don’t want to scare you. But we can sit on the porch?”

“I’m not
scared,
” she laughed and kind of lied. “I realize I probably should be but …” She made her way behind him to the porch and sat.

He sat next to her, and Rosie considered the distance between them. She wasn’t sure if there was a measurement ratio thing but to her he sat at a proximity that meant he liked her. And maybe even wanted her to know that. The idea had her heart racing a million miles an hour.

“I’m glad you’re not scared,” he said, sounding very genuine. “I guess you’ve learned to discern things in people with your job?”

She nodded, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I think, yes.” She eyed the cute smile he aimed at her. “What?”

“You’ve got cute ears,”

“Ugh,” she whispered, forgetting. “As long as you only see one at a time, I guess it’s okay.”

He laughed. “Let me see both.”

“No,” she cried.

“Come on, let me see.”

“God no, I look like Dumbo.”

He laughed. “I am sure you do not.”

“I am sure that I do,” she repeated exactly. “I know, trust me.”

“I do trust you, but not with that one. I have to see for myself.”

“Well, you’re not,” she laughed. “And I’m glad you trust me too; I could easily be a psycho.”

“Right,” he said, feigning worry. “And here I’ve brought you home where you can assault me.”

She sniggered at that. “Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you. Much.”

“I appreciate that.” He looked out into the yard with the amazing huge oak trees. “I have high hopes of working at the call center as a helper, not a victim.”

She threw her head back and laughed, then heard how obnoxiously loud it was. “Oops.”

“Oops?”

“My laugh is kind of way loud.”

“No it’s not,” he said, chuckling at her.

“Oh please,” she pfft. “Don’t’ try to tell me it’s not.”

“I think you have a lovely laugh.”

She let out another boisterous one at that term.

“What?” he said, smiling, his brows drawn in offense.

“Lovely?” She gave a tinkly, delicate laugh. “Now that’s lovely.”

“No, that’s pathetic,” he argued, to which she gave another booming cackle. “And that is lovely.”

“Okay, fine, call it what you want.”

“I will.”

She angled her smile at him and shoved his shoulder lightly with hers. “You’ve got spunk kid,” she said and it was his turn to really laugh. “Now see, that’s a lovely laugh.”

“No, no, no,” he argued, still chuckling. “Men don’t have lovely laughs.”

“Figures,” she said. “So what is a sexy laugh called here in England?” She watched him blush. “Oh my God, you’re
shy,
that’s even more sexy! Or is it sexier?”

“Sexy,” he mumbled, looking around with that adorable smile that Rosie found absolutely breath taking.

She gasped in sudden realization. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know you had a sexy laugh.”

He only replied with a low chuckle and lowered head. “I don’t think I knew that, no.”

“Well, you do. How many girlfriends do you have, anyway?” She loved the way he looked at her, that pretty sparkle in his eyes. “Thirty-five? Forty?”

“Try zero,” he said, seeming tickled about it.

“Zeeeeeeeero,” she said, giving him a look of wide-eyed shock. “What is
wrong
with these proper bitches? You should have a hundred on a waiting list.”

“What about you? How many boyfriends do you have?”

She winced and drew her shoulders up. “Do pets count?”

He laughed. “No.”

She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Possibly … only … none. At this time. That could change any day.”

“I’m totally shocked,” he said.

“And smiling,” she informed.

“I am, yes. Because I’m shocked. And possibly a tiny bit glad.”

“Tiny bit?” she squealed then nodded. “I get it, I get it.”