The Return of Mrs. Jones (9 page)

‘Is this the plan? To be here with me?’

It was like a punch straight to the stomach, winding her with its strength. ‘No,’ she said after a long pause. ‘No, this wasn’t in the plan. But I’m adaptable, Jonas. I’m strong. Don’t ever mistake a desire to fit in with weakness. Lions blend in with the Sahara, you know.’

He threw his head back and laughed. The sound jarred with her jangled nerves.

‘Weak is the last word I’d use to describe you. Lioness, on the other hand...’

It was his turn to duck as she threw a cushion at him.

‘I was just agreeing with you,’ he protested.

‘If you had lived with my mother you’d have learned to fit in as well,’ Lawrie said. She didn’t know why she was telling him this—why she needed him to understand. But she did. She needed him to know that she wasn’t shallow or weak. ‘One moment I’m living in Stockbrokerville in Surrey, learning French and pony-riding, the next we’re in a commune near Glastonbury and my mother is trying to make me answer to the name of Star. She changed completely, depending on who she was with, and she never went for the same type twice.’

‘I know,’ Jonas said, pity softening the keen eyes. ‘It was hard for you.’

Lawrie shook her head. ‘I don’t need you to feel sorry for me. I’m just explaining. What I wore, ate, did, the friends I had—they were interchangeable, dependent on her whims. If I had cared, had tried to hang on to
things
, it would have been unbearable. So I kept my head down, I worked hard, and I vowed that I would be so successful that I would never have to be dependent on anyone. And I’m not.’

‘Is that why you and the fiancé split? Because you didn’t need him?’

‘No.’ Of course it wasn’t. Hugo had
liked
her independence. Hadn’t he? ‘It was...complicated.’ That was one word for it. ‘Is that why you wanted out? Because I didn’t need
you
?’

‘Oh, Lawrie.’ There was no lightness in his voice, in his face, at all. ‘I was used to that. Not being needed. And, if you remember, in the end you were the one that walked away.’

‘Maybe...’ Her voice was low. ‘Maybe I was afraid that I did need you.’

‘Would that have been so bad?’ He examined her face, searching for answers behind the mask.

She shook her head and another lock of hair fell out of the loose ponytail, framing her face. ‘Bad? It would have been terrible. I was barely started on my path. Oxford, an internship at one of the best City firms... And I seriously,
seriously
considered giving it all up. For you. For a man. Just like my mother would have. Just like she did again and again. I
had
to leave, Jonas.’ She turned to him, eyes wide, pleading for understanding. ‘I had to hold on to me.’

And in doing so she had let go of him. Jonas closed his eyes for a second, seeing a flash of his heartbroken younger self frozen in time. He hadn’t wasted a single emotion on his parents’ rejection, pouring all that need, all his love, into the slight girl now sitting beside him. It had been far too much for someone so young to carry.

He reached out and cupped her cheek. Her skin was soft beneath his hand. ‘I guess I needed you to choose me. I needed
somebody
to choose me. I still needed validation back then. It was a lot to put on you. Too much.’

‘Maybe you were right. We were too young.’ Her eyes were filled with sadness and regret. ‘I didn’t want to agree with you, to prove all the
I told you so
right, but we had a lot of growing up to do. We weren’t ready for such a big step.’

He nodded. Suddenly he didn’t feel any anger or contempt towards her or towards their shared past. Just an underlying sadness for the idealistic kids they had once been. For their belief that love really was all they needed.

He was still touching her cheek. She leant into him trustingly and he turned his hand to run the back of it down the side of her face, learning once again the angle of her cheekbone, the contours of her chin, the smoothness of her skin.

Jonas had made some rules for himself before he came on this trip. No talking about the past, no flirting, and definitely, absolutely no touching.

But sometimes rules were meant to be broken.

Slowly, deliberately, he let his fingers trail further down her face, brushing her full mouth before dipping down to her chin. He let them linger there for one long, agonising moment, tilting her face towards him, giving her ample time to pull away, to stop him, before he leant in slowly—oh, so slowly.

It was a butterfly kiss. So light, so brief, their lips barely touching. Jonas pulled back, searching her face for consent. Her eyes were closed, her face angled towards his, lips slightly parted. Expectant. It was all the agreement he needed.

He shifted closer to her, closing the space between them as he slid one arm around her slender shoulders. The other hand moved from her chin to the sweet spot at the nape of her neck. She moved in too—an infinitesimal shift, yet one that brought her body into full contact with his. Her face lifted, waiting, expecting. Jonas looked down at her for one moment—at the face at once so familiar and yet so strange to him, at the dark eyelashes, impossibly long, improbably thick, the creamy skin, the lush, full mouth waiting for him.

And a gentleman should never keep a lady waiting.

Another fleeting kiss, and another, and another. Until, impatient, she moaned and pressed closer in, her mouth opening under his, seeking, wanting. She tasted of cider, of sunshine. She tasted like summer, like coming home, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her even closer until they were pressed together, her arms wound around his neck. His own arms were holding her tightly to him, one bunching the silky strands of her hair, the other caressing the planes of her back through the lightness of her top.

It was like being a teenager again, entwined on the floor of the camper van, mouths fused, hands roaming, pulling each other closer and closer until it seemed impossible that they were two separate bodies. There was no urgency to move, no need to start removing clothes, for hands to move lower. Not yet.

Seconds, minutes, hours, infinities passed by. All Jonas knew was the drumming of his blood in his ears, the fierce heat engulfing him. All he knew was her. Her touch, her taste, her mouth, the feel of her under his hands. When she pulled back it was as if she had been physically torn away from him, a painful wrench that left him cold. Empty.

She looked at him, eyes wide, dark with passion, her pupils dilated, mouth swollen. ‘I think...’ she began, her voice husky, barely audible.

Jonas readied himself. If she wanted to be the voice of common sense, so be it. He looked back at her silently. He might not argue, but he wasn’t going to help her either.

‘I think we should close the doors.’

Her words were so unexpected all he could do for a moment was gape. The van doors were still open to the night sky. The sea breeze floated in, bringing the taste of salt and the faint coconut-tinged smell of gorse.

Then the meaning of her words hit home. Anticipation filled the air, hot and heavy, making it hard to breathe as excitement coiled inside him.

‘There’s no one out there.’

They were in a secluded spot, parked at the very edge of the field. As private as you could be in a campsite full of tents and caravans. Not as private as they could have been if he’d planned for this.

‘Even so...’

She smiled at him, slow and full of promise, and slowly, as if he were wading through treacle, he got to his feet and swung the sliding door firmly closed. The outside world was shut out. It was just the two of them in this small enclosed space. The air was heavy with expectation, with heat, with longing.

‘Satisfied?’ He raised an eyebrow and watched her flush.

‘Not yet.’ She was turning the tables on him. ‘But I’m hoping to be.’

Passion jolted through him, intense and all-encompassing. In swift, sure steps he closed the space between them, pulling her in tight. ‘Oh, you will be,’ he promised as he lowered his mouth to hers once again. ‘I can guarantee it.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

‘O
OOF
!
’
W
HEN
HAD
breathing got so
hard
? Bending over to catch her breath, the tightness of a stitch pulling painfully at her side, Lawrie conceded that a ten-mile run might have been a mite ambitious.

Of course, she reassured herself, running outside was harder, what with all those hills and the wind against her, to say nothing of no nice speedometer to regulate her stride. Straightening up, one hand at her waist, Lawrie squinted out at the late-afternoon sun. On the other hand, she conceded, although her late, lamented treadmill came with TV screens and MP3 plug-ins it was missing the spectacular views of deep blue sea and rolling green and yellow gorse of her current circuit. It was definitely an improvement on the view of sweaty, Lycra-clad gym-goers that her old location had provided her with.

Taking a much needed long, cool gulp of water, Lawrie continued at a trot, looping off the road and onto the clifftop path that led towards the village. If she continued along to the harbour she could reward herself with a refuelling stop at the Boat House before walking back up the hill home. No way was she going to try and run up that hill—not unless her fitness levels dramatically improved in the next half an hour.

Just keep going,
she thought fiercely.
Concentrate on that latte...visualise it.
It was certainly one incentive.

And if Jonas just happened to be working at the Boat House today then that, just possibly, could be another incentive. The pain in her side was forgotten as the night before flashed through her mind, her lips curving in a smile as she remembered. Another night of heat, of long, slow caresses, hot, hard kisses, hands, tongues, lips. Bodies entwining.

Lawrie’s pulse started to speed up as her heartbeat began racing in a way that had nothing to do with the exercise.

She upped the trot to a run, her legs pumping, her arms moving as she increased her pace. She wasn’t going to think about it. She wasn’t going to dwell on the delicious moment when day turned into evening. She wasn’t going to remember the tingle of anticipation that ran through her as she sat on the terrace in the evening sun, an untouched book and an iced drink before her, pretending not to listen for the purr of his car. Pretending not to hope.

She was most certainly not going to recall the thrill that filled her entire body, the sweet jolt that shot through her from head to toe, when he finally appeared.

Time was moving so fast. She had less than a month left in Trengarth. So she wasn’t going to question what was going on here. She was going to enjoy the moment. And what moments they were. She couldn’t remember the last time she and Hugo had made love twice in a week, let alone in a night, whereas she and Jonas... Well...

Sure, she hadn’t planned for this, and for once she was being the exact opposite of measured and sensible. But wasn’t that the point? She had to make the most of this enforced time out. It would all get back to normal soon enough.

Starting with today. Her first interview.

It was all happening so fast. Just a few days since the initial approach, the phone call, and now a face to face interview. In New York.

It was perfect. This would show Hugo and the partners. She could just imagine the gossip.
Lawrie Bennett? Out in New York, I believe. A most prestigious firm.
Anticipation shot through her. It was as if a load had been lifted. To be approached for such a role meant that her reputation was intact. It should be, but sudden departures were responsible for more scurrilous gossip in the legal world than any tabloid could imagine.

Lawrie slowed her pace as the cliff path began to wind down towards the harbour and the pretty stone cottages clustered beneath her. Which was Jonas’s? He hadn’t asked her over and she was certainly not going to invite herself, to admit she was curious.

Even if she was.

Was it the one overlooking the harbour, with the pretty roof garden situated in exactly the right place for the afternoon sun? The three-storeyed captain’s house, imposing its grandeur on the smaller houses around? The long, low whitewashed cottage, its yard covered in tumbling roses?

What did it matter anyway?

Despite herself she slowed as she jogged along the harbour-front, looking into the windows, hoping for some clue. She didn’t care, she told herself, but she still found herself craning her neck, peeking in, searching for a sign of him.

Beep!

A car horn made her jump. The follow-up wolf whistle which pierced the air brought her to a skidding halt.

Lawrie turned around, hands on hips, ready for battle, only to find her mouth drying out at the sight of Jonas Jones in that ridiculous low-slung sports car, top down. She coloured, looking around to make sure nobody had heard, before crossing the narrow road and leaning over the car. ‘Shush. People will hear you,’ she hissed.

He raised an eyebrow mockingly and Lawrie clenched her hands, controlling an irresistible urge to slap him. Or kiss him. Either would be inappropriate.

‘Let them,’ he replied nonchalantly, that annoying eyebrow still quirked.

She wanted to reach out and smooth it down, caress the stubble on the strong jaw, run her fingers across the sensual lips. She clenched her hands harder. She wouldn’t give him or the curious onlookers openly watching them the satisfaction.

Jonas leant closer, his breath warm and sweet on her cheek. ‘They all think they know anyway.’

‘Let them think. There’s no need to confirm it.’ She was painfully aware of people watching them—many openly. How many times had she seen neighbours, parents at the school gates, people in the local shop watch her mother in the same way as her latest relationship began to disintegrate? ‘I hate gossip, and I really hate being the focus of it.’

‘Just a boss having a chat with his festival-organiser—nothing to see...move it along,’ he said, an unrepentant grin curving the kissable mouth.

She bit her lip. She was
not
going to kiss him in public, no matter how tempted she was. But how she wanted to.

Her eyes held his, hypnotised by the heat she saw in the blue depths. The street, the curious onlookers faded away for one long moment. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he leant back, the grin replaced with a purposeful businesslike expression.

‘I was on my way up to collect you—thought you might appreciate a lift to the airport. Yet here you are.’ He ran his eyes appreciatively over her and she fought the urge to tug her running top down over her shorts. ‘You’re not really dressed for flying, though. And I don’t mean to be offensive, but...’

Lawrie snorted. ‘That will be a first,’ she muttered.

‘But I’m not sure eighties aerobics is really the right look for business class
or
an interview. You might want to get changed,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption. ‘I could give you a lift up—or, if you really want to finish your run, I can pick you up in ten minutes.’

‘If you’re in such a hurry I’d better take the lift,’ Lawrie said, opening the door and sliding in, her pride refusing to admit to him that she’d had no intention of running up the hill. ‘I was planning to drive myself, though. I do appreciate the offer, but can you spare the time?’

She sounded cool enough—shame about her hair, pulled high into a sweaty bun, the Lycra shorts, the sheen of sweat on her arms and chest.

‘Actually, it’s on my way—that’s why I’m offering. I’m heading over to Dorset to look at some potential sites. I’ll be passing Plymouth so I might as well drop you off.’

‘Oh.’ He wasn’t making the journey especially. Of course he wouldn’t—why would he? Her sudden sharp jolt of disappointment was ridiculous. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you.’

There was a long silence. She sneaked a look over to see him pushing his hair out of his eyes, his face expressionless.

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘As I said, I was passing the airport anyway.’

Neither of them spoke for the two minutes it took to drive back to the cottage, and as soon as the car pulled up in the driveway Lawrie was ready to leap out. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, expectant.

‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she called as she hurried over the lawn and round to the back door. ‘Make yourself at home.’

She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief as she finally pushed the door open, almost collapsing into the sanctuary of the kitchen, then heading straight to the bathroom to peel off her sweaty clothes and get into the welcome coolness of the shower.

The same peculiar feeling of disappointment gripped Lawrie as she lathered shampoo into her hair and over her body. What did it matter if he was dropping her off in passing or making the journey especially? Either way she ended up where she needed to be. Her trip to New York would be short—just a few days—but it meant time away from Cornwall, from the festival, from Jonas. Which was good, because their lives were already re-entangling, boundaries were being crossed. This interview was a much needed reminder that there was an end date looming and neither of them could or should forget that.

*

It had been a sweet kind of torture, watching her Lycra-clad bottom disappear around the corner. Jonas had to hold onto every ounce of his self-control to stay in the car and not follow her right into the shower, where he would be more than happy to help her take off those very tight and very distracting shorts.

He grabbed his coffee and took a long gulp.

This was temporary. They had always had an undeniable chemistry, even when nothing else between them had worked. And now they were both single, available, it was silly to deny themselves just because of a little bit of history.

Besides, they both knew what this was. No messy emotions, no need to prove anything. No need for words. It was the perfect summer fling.

It was all under control.

She’d said five minutes so he settled in for a half-hour wait, roof down, coffee in hand, paper folded to the business pages. But in less than fifteen minutes she reappeared, wheeling a small suitcase, laptop bag and handbag slung over her shoulder. She looked clean, fresh, so smooth he wanted nothing more than to drag her back inside and rumple her up a little—or a lot.

His hands clenched on the steering wheel as his pulse began to hammer, his blood heating up.

Damn that chemistry.

He dragged his eyes down from freshly washed, still-wet hair, combed back, to creamy skin—lots of it. Bare arms and shoulders, with just a hint of cleavage exposed by the halter-necked sundress, skirting her waist to fall mid-thigh.

He stifled a groan. He had a couple of hours’ driving ahead of him and it was going to be hard to concentrate with so much skin nestled next to him.

‘Is that suitable for flying? You’ll need a cardigan,’ he bit out, wrenching his gaze from the satisfied smile she gave him as she pulled a wispy wrap from the bag hung over her shoulder. ‘Hurry up and get in. There’s bound to be a lot of traffic.’

*

The powerful sports car purred along the narrow, winding lanes connecting Trengarth to the rest of the county. Lawrie leant back in the low leather seat, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair and watching the hedges and fields flash by. The blue glint of the sea was still visible in the distance, but soon the road would take them through the outskirts of Bodmin Moor, its rolling heathland and dramatic granite tors a startling contrast to her coastal home.

Home? She felt that pang again. Home was a dangerous concept.

‘Lawrie?’

She jumped as Jonas repeated her name.

‘Sorry, I was just daydreaming.’

‘I know. I recognised that faraway look in your eyes,’ he said wryly. ‘Where were you? Round some boardroom table in New York?’

‘Actually, I was thinking how beautiful it is round here.’ That felt uncomfortably like a confession. ‘No moors in New York.’

‘No.’

Now it was his turn to stay silent, a brooding look on his face, as he navigated through open countryside and small villages until they met the main road. Suddenly the silence didn’t feel quite so companionable, and after one uncomfortable minute that seemed to stretch out for at least five Lawrie began to search desperately for a topic of conversation.

It felt like a step backwards. Things had been so easy between them for the last few days—since the road trip, since that last night in the van. They had fallen into a pattern of colleagues by day, lovers by night—professional and focused at work, equally focused in the long, hot evenings.

Now she suddenly had no idea what to say.

‘Will you be visiting your parents when you’re in Dorset?’

Whatever had made her say that? Of all the topics in the world.

His face darkened. ‘I doubt I’ll have time.’

‘You’ll pass by their village, though, won’t you? You should just pop in for a cup of tea.’

He didn’t say anything, but she could see the tanned hands whiten as he gripped the steering wheel. She tried again, despite the inner voice telling her to back off, that it was none of her business. ‘They must know the areas you’re looking into. It might be interesting to hear their thoughts. Seems silly not to canvas local opinion, even if you don’t take them into account.’

He was silent again. Lawrie sneaked a quick glance over, expecting to see anger, irritation in his expression. But he wasn’t showing any emotion at all. She hated it—the way he could close himself off at will.

‘I just think it’s worth one more chance,’ she said hesitantly. Why did she feel compelled to keep going with this? Because maybe this was one relationship she could fix for him? ‘If they understood why you work the way you do—understood that you love Coombe End, that your changes are an evolution of their work, not a betrayal—maybe things would be better.’

He finally answered, his face forbidding. ‘What makes you think I want things to be better?’

Lawrie opened her mouth, then shut it again. How could she tell him that where his parents were concerned she understood him better than he understood himself? That she knew how much he was shaped by his parents’ indifference, how much he craved their respect?