‘And that would be okay, would it? With everyone?’
She meant his mother, but the words stayed stubbornly in her throat.
‘Of course. Archie’s a Lao, and soon you will be too.’
She felt a flicker of disappointment, but this wasn’t about her. Family mattered—to his father, his sisters, to him—and now she was part of that family.
‘I want to do whatever you think is best for the family. That’s my priority.’
Something flickered across his eyes, too fast for her to track, much less understand. All she knew was that his smile had faded.
‘You’re nice, you know...’ he said quietly.
He leaned forward, hesitated, and then lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her again—only this kiss was harder, more urgent, as though he was trying to communicate something that was beyond words.
His hands moved over her back, pressing her closer, his fingers sliding beneath the shirt to find hot, bare skin, then lower to the jutting curve of her bottom.
She felt his thigh nudge between hers, parting her legs, and instantly she was melting, arching helplessly against his body, the friction between them making an ache spread out inside her.
He breathed in sharply, breaking the kiss as a light wind rippled across the water, lifting the sails and her hair. She shivered.
‘Are you cold?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘A little.’
Pulling her closer, he stared down into her eyes and she felt the hard press of his erection. Her body pulsed, aching for him to fill the hollowed-out space inside her.
‘Then let’s go inside and get warm,’ he said softly.
Gazing at his reflection, Charlie frowned. For some reason he could not get the knot of his tie to sit centrally.
‘Here, let me.’
He hadn’t noticed Dora come into the bathroom. His mind had been somewhere else. But that was as it should be, he told himself.
Today was Qingming. Today was all about the past, about his ancestors. It was about remembering and paying respect to the dead, to his father.
Turning, he stared down at her as she thumbed his tie loose and began patiently re-knotting it.
Her blonde hair was tied back into some kind of chignon, and she was wearing a demure dark fitted dress and black court shoes.
He couldn’t fault her appearance.
Qingming was a day of reverence for the dead, and she looked composed and sombre, and yet he couldn’t help wishing that she was still lying beside him in bed, wearing her pink-and-white-striped pyjamas. Or, better still, nothing.
‘Don’t look at me like that,’ she said softly.
‘Like what?’
Her grey eyes met his, and she bit into her lip. ‘You know, like...’
Dropping her gaze, she pulled the knot tight, but he didn’t notice. He was too busy looking at the marks on her lip and thinking about how badly he would like to smooth them out with his mouth.
‘There—done! Now, can you zip me up?’
Turning away from him, she lowered her head, and he obediently pulled the zip to the top. Staring down at her neck, at the smooth, flawless skin and the tiny, fine down at the hairline, he felt his
shoulders tense.