Dreaming Of You. Margaret Way
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asked in the same shy way she’d have asked eight years ago. He smiled. He felt tired and alive and…free. ‘If you want.’
She was by his side in a second. She turned back to the first page in the sketch pad. He’d lost count of how many pictures he’d drawn. His fingers had flown as if they’d had to make up for the past eight years of shackled inactivity.
Jaz sighed and chuckled and teased him, just like she used to do. She pointed to one of the drawings and laughed. ‘Is that supposed to be a bird?’
‘I was trying to give the impression of time flying.’
‘It needs work,’ she said with a grin.
He returned her grin. ‘So do my slippery dips.’
‘Yep, they do.’
The laughter in her voice lifted him.
‘But look at how you’ve captured the way the light shines through the trees here. It’s beautiful.’
She turned her face to meet his gaze fully and light trembled in her eyes. ‘You can draw again, Connor.’
Her exultation reached out and wrapped around him. He could draw again.
He couldn’t help himself. He cupped one hand around the back of her head, threaded his fingers through her hair and drew her lips down to his and kissed her—warm, firm…brief. Then he released her because he knew he couldn’t take too much of that. ‘Thank you. If you hadn’t badgered me…’ He gestured to the sketch pad.
She drew back, her eyes wide and dazed. ‘You’re welcome, but—’ she moistened her lips ‘—I didn’t do much.’
Didn’t do much.
‘You had it in you all the time. You just had to let it out, that’s all.’ She reached up, touched her fingers to her lips. She pulled them away again when she realised he watched her. Her breathing had quickened, grown shallow. She lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘If you ever turn your back on your gift again, it will desert you. For ever!’
He knew she was right.
He knew he wanted to kiss her again.
As if she’d read that thought in his face, Jaz drew back. ‘It’s getting late. We’d better start thinking about making tracks.’
She didn’t want him to kiss her.
He remembered all the reasons why he shouldn’t kiss her.
‘You’re right.’
He tried to tell himself it was for the best.
Jaz found Connor sitting on the sales counter munching what looked like a Danish pastry when she let herself into the bookshop at eight o’clock on Monday morning.
‘Hey, Jaz.’
She blinked. ‘Hello.’
What was he doing here? Shouldn’t he be upstairs working on her flat? The absence of hammering and sawing suddenly registered. Her heart gave a funny little leap. ‘Is my flat ready?’
‘We’re completing the final touches today and tomorrow, and then it’ll be ready for the painters and carpet layers.’
She’d already decided to paint it herself. It’d give her something to do. Funnily enough, though, considering how she’d expected her time in Clara Falls to drag, this last week had flown.
She’d have the carpet laid in double-quick time. She wasn’t spending winter in the mountains on bare floorboards. Once her furniture was delivered from Connor’s, she could paint and decorate the flat in her own good time.
She edged around behind the counter to place her handbag in one of the drawers and tried to keep Connor’s scent from addling her brain. Handbag taken care of, she edged back out again—his scent too evocative, too tempting. It reminded her of that kiss. That brief thank you of a kiss that had seared her senses.
Forget about the kiss.
‘Did you want me for something?’
His eyes darkened at her words and her mouth went dry. He slid off the counter and moved towards her—a hunter stalking its prey. He wore such a look of naked intensity that… Good Lord! He didn’t mean to kiss her again, did he? She wanted to turn and flee but her legs wouldn’t work. He reached out…took her hand…and…
And plonked a paper bag into it.
‘I thought you might like one.’
Like one…? She glanced into the bag. A pastry— he’d given her a pastry. In fact, he’d handed her a whole bag full of them. ‘There’s at least a dozen pastries in here.’
‘Couldn’t remember what filling you preferred.’
She almost called him a liar. Then remembered her manners. And her common sense. Who knew how much he’d forgotten in eight years?
But once upon a time he’d teased her about her apple pie tastes.
She wished she could forget.
Her hand inched into the bag for an apple Danish. She pulled it back at the last moment. ‘I don’t want a pastry!’
She wanted Connor and his disturbing presence and soul-aching scent out of her shop. She tossed the bag of Danishes onto the counter with an insouciance that would’ve made Mr Sears blanch. ‘Why are you here, Connor? What do you want?’
‘I want to thank you.’
‘For?’
‘For your advice to me about Melly. For making me draw again.’
He’d already thanked her for that—with a kiss!
She didn’t want that kind of thanks, thank you very much. Her heart thud-thudded at the thought of a repeat performance, calling her a liar.
‘I think I’ve made a start on winning back Mel’s trust.’
‘If Saturday’s evidence is anything to go by, I think you’re right.’ And she was glad for him.
Glad for Melly, she amended.
Okay—she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, slid her hands into the pockets of her trousers—she was glad for both of them, but she was gladder for Melly.
‘Look, Jaz, I’ve been thinking…’
Her mouth went dry. Something in his tone… ‘About?’
‘What if you didn’t leave Clara Falls at the end of this twelve months?’
Her jaw dropped.
He raised both hands. ‘Now hear me out before you start arguing.’
She supposed she’d have to because she appeared to have lost all power of speech.
‘What if you opened your art gallery in the mountains? It has two advantages over the city. One— lower rents. And two—you’d get the passing tourist trade.’ He spread his arms in that way. ‘Surely that has to be good.’
Of course it was good, but—
‘There’s an even bigger tourist trade in Sydney,’ she pointed out.
‘And you’ll only attract them if you find premises on or around the harbour.’
She could never afford that.
‘What’s more, if you settle around here you’ll be close to the bookshop if you’re needed, and it’s an easy commute to the city on the days you’re needed in at the tattoo parlour.’
He spread his arms again. ‘If you think about it, it makes perfect sense.’
‘No, it doesn’t!’
He