“The way she’s looking at you.”
Élise looked at the photo, wishing she could rewind time and do everything differently.
“Sean—”
“Go and have that shower before you freeze.” He put the photograph back carefully and pulled milk from the fridge. “Don’t use all the hot water.”
* * *
SEAN HEATED MILK and spooned chocolate into mugs. Then he stood and drank his, looking at the photograph.
The faint sound of the shower came from above his head. Because he knew she was going to be a few more minutes, he picked up the photo again.
His house was full of photos. His mother put them everywhere. Not just pictures of Tyler on the podium with medals around his neck, but family snaps—the three boys dusted with snow after a snowball fight, all of them grinning on a sled, the family dogs, pictures of his grandparents in their twenties, Snow Crystal before the lodges were built. A visual record of the passage of time. The whole house was plastered with memories. Jackson joked that their entire family history was right up there on the walls. And it wasn’t just the photos. His mother still kept pottery the boys had made in school, wonky, shapeless, unidentifiable lumps of clay that for some reason she refused to part with. She kept drawings they’d done as children, a medal Jackson had won for being young entrepreneur in tenth grade. Hell, she even kept a certificate Sean had won in Science.
He stared down at the photo in his hand, seeing the dimple in the corner of young Élise’s mouth.
Lifting his head, he glanced around Heron Lodge. Apart from the photo in his hand, there was nothing else that told him anything about her past. No clues as to who she was or where she came from. No more photographs. No objects. Nothing. It was as if her past didn’t exist. Of course, it could have been argued that Heron Lodge was too small to house too many sentimental objects, but still he would have expected to see something.
This was the only possession of hers. This one photograph.
Mother and child.
The mother she’d lost.
Guilt stabbed him. More often than not, he saw family as stifling, whereas in fact it was a cocoon. Not a straitjacket, but a protection. He’d always had that, it had always been there, even when he hadn’t noticed, or wanted it. Staying away didn’t change the fact his family was always there for him.
And he took it all for granted.
The sound of water stopped suddenly and Sean put the photo back quietly and finished his chocolate.
A moment later Élise appeared in the kitchen, her cheeks flushed from the hairdryer.
Her face was scrubbed clean of makeup and the sexy black dress had been exchanged for a simple strap top and a pair of cozy lounge pants tied at the waist with a cream ribbon.
He fought the urge to carry her straight to bed and instead handed her the mug. “I made you chocolate.”
“Thanks. If you leave your clothes outside the shower, I’ll put them in the dryer.” She took the mug and sat down on her sofa, curling her legs under her.
He took the stairs to the upper floor, remembering when he and his brothers had built the place. He’d banged his head a million times on the beam at the top of the stairs. So had Tyler.
The bathroom was off the bedroom and he had another glimpse of her personal space.
The bedcover was white and piled with small cushions. On the table by the bed was her phone, a small bottle of mineral water, various tubes of makeup and a notepad. There were no photographs. The only photograph he’d seen was the one downstairs.
The smell of her perfume was everywhere.
Feeling as if he was intruding, he walked into the shower room and blinked as he saw the number of bottles and potions lined up on the shelves. This, he thought, was another reason why he never invited a woman to stay at his place. He’d have to build an extension.
Smiling, he stripped off, dropped his clothes outside the door and showered. The shampoo smelled of flowers, smelled of her, and it was impossible not to remember that night they’d spent together last summer. Leading up to it, they’d been flirting. Still in the raw stages of his grief, his anger with his grandfather white-hot, he’d been so relieved to talk to someone who wasn’t family, he’d sought her out. They’d talked about everything from wine to European politics.
Still, he’d kept his distance, knowing he had nothing to offer, not wanting to do anything that might destabilize the work Jackson was doing at Snow Crystal.
But then he’d taken a walk through the forest to the meadow behind the house and she’d followed him.
Remembering it, Sean cursed softly and switched the shower to cold.
They’d barely spoken. Barely exchanged a word, but what had followed had been the most intensely erotic night of his life.