She shivered. Of course everything familiar looked a little different in the shadows.
Ragnar was standing at the edge of the room. He looked like a monochrome portrait, his black jeans and sweater contrasting with the bleached gold of his hair and stubble, and she felt her body loosen with desire as he walked slowly towards her.
‘Are you hungry?’
She stared at him, dry-mouthed, her unspoken hunger for him blocking out the ache in her stomach, and then she nodded. ‘Starving.’
His eyes met hers, the pupils black and the irises blue like bruises. ‘Then let’s eat.’
The meal was simple but delicious.
Mussels with butter and birch, lamb with caramelised potatoes, and a burnt bay leaf ice-cream. She wasn’t usually bothered about wine, but Ragnar’s wine was exceptionally drinkable.
They both made an effort to avoid conversational pitfalls, so that despite her earlier reservations she found herself relaxing. Ragnar really wasn’t like any other man she’d ever met. In her experience men either had no small talk at all, or pet subjects which they returned to again and again like homing pigeons. But, although his responses were brief, Ragnar was happy to talk about anything.
Mostly, though, he wanted to talk about their daughter.
As Signy cleared away the plates, he leaned back against his chair, his blue eyes resting on her face. ‘It must have been hard, bringing up a baby on your own and being a professional artist at the same time. But I want you to know that you’re not alone any more. I’m here to support you in whatever way I can.’
Trying to ignore the prickle of heat spreading across her skin, she met his gaze. An hour ago she had been feeling threatened by how easily Ragnar had been accepted by their daughter, but now it felt good to know that he would be there beside her.
‘Thank you. But please don’t think it was all bad. Like I said before, my family have been great, and Sóley’s very easy going. She’s more like Lucas than me in that way.’
His face stiffened, and her stomach clenched as briefly she wondered why, but before she had a chance to speculate he said softly, ‘So how is she like you?’
She felt her face tighten. It was a question that had never occurred to her. Raising Sóley as a single parent, she’d never thought about her own genetic input. It had been a given. Now, though, she could feel that ce
rtainty slipping away. How was her daughter like her? Physically Sóley looked just like Ragnar, and character-wise she seemed to have Lucas’s sunny, open temperament.
‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly, flattening her hands against the table to stop them from shaking.
Her heart was beating too fast, and she felt a slippery sense of panic, as though she was looking through the wrong end of a telescope, watching herself shrink.
‘I do.’
She glanced up, Ragnar was staring at her steadily.
‘She has your focus. She even has the same little crease here...’ reaching across the table, he touched her forehead lightly ‘...when she’s concentrating.’
Her heart was still beating too fast, only this time not in panic but in a kind of stunned happiness. Ragnar was right. She did screw up her face when she was concentrating. And the fact that he’d made the connection made her breath catch in her throat.
‘She doesn’t just look at things, or people, she really gives them her whole attention. It’s like she’s already realised that there’s something else there—some kind of “other” that she can’t see.’
His fingers moved gently through her hair, then lower to her face, and his touch felt so warm and solid and irresistible that suddenly she was pressing her cheek against his hand.
She felt his hand tremble and, looking up into his face, she saw herself in the black of his pupils, saw her need and want reflected in his eyes and the same desire reflected back into hers, so that it was impossible to separate her hunger from his.
Her pulse scudded forward.
Behind her and around her the lights seemed to be spinning like a carousel, and she felt both warm and shivery. She must have drunk too much wine. But, glancing down, she saw that her glass was full. And then she looked up at Ragnar and felt her breathing change tempo as she realised that he was the source of her intoxication.
She reached shakily for the carafe of water but he was too fast.
‘Here let me.’
He handed her a glass and she took it, being careful not to let her fingers touch his.
‘I’m sorry... I think I must be tired.’