Off Limits

‘But so close to everything. And might I point out that you live there, too?’

‘I moved to Hampstead because you live there,’ I say sensibly, and then stop moving, looking up at him with obvious embarrassment. ‘Because my job is there,’ I correct, but my cheeks are pink and my eyes can’t quite meet his. ‘You know...with the long hours it just made sense.’

‘I know what you meant,’ he says, his smile sending fire through my body. ‘Where did you live before that?’

I let my breath out slowly, glad he’s giving me a pass. ‘Elephant and Castle.’

He laughs—a gravelled sound. ‘Your parents must have loved that!’

They hated it. His insight shakes me. ‘Why do you say that?’

‘You had three nannies growing up, and a tree house big enough to sleep in. My guess would be they felt it was a bit of a fall from grace for you.’

I hide my smile by dipping my head forward. He lifts my hand and twirls me in his arms, as though we are dancing to a song that only he can hear.

‘It wasn’t their idea of sensible, no. But it was easy to get into work from there, and I had good friends in the area. Plus, I loved spending my Saturday mornings at Borough Market and it was an easy walk.’

‘A closet foodie?’ he prompts.

‘No. I’m too busy to cook. But I’m a sucker for fresh flowers.’ I exhale. ‘And cheese. I would go from stall to stall buying whichever cheese took my fancy, savouring it that afternoon with a matched glass of wine.’

‘Sounds pretty damned good.’ He grins.

‘Yep.’

‘And you gave all that up to work for me, huh?’

‘Not all of it,’ I say with a wink. ‘There’s a pretty amazing cheese shop on the high street, you know.’

‘And flowers?’

‘Always.’ I tilt my head up to his and then immediately look past him, to the glittering view of Sydney by night. There is something in his face that calls to me, and I know it would be foolish to answer it.

‘Let me guess. You like white Oriental lilies?’

I’m surprised that he even knows a variety of flower, let alone is hazarding a guess as to which would be my favourite.

‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘I love peonies and ranunculus. There’s something so wildly chaotic about them that it makes my heart sing.’

‘So poetic!’ he teases, curling me against him and holding me tight.

I can feel his hard edges and planes, so familiar to me, but my heart is racing as though it’s the first time we’ve touched.

‘I think they’re naughty,’ I say with a grin. ‘As though someone has said to them, “We’re going to make you the most beautiful, chubby little flowers in the world, but only if you grow straight up towards the sky.” And then they looked at each other and said, “Nah.” Have you ever really paid attention to their stems? The way they wind round and round as though they’re dancing in a thunderstorm?’

His smile is mysterious. Enigmatic. He is, at times, impossible to read.

‘No.’

‘No? You don’t agree?’

‘No, I’ve never looked at their stems to the degree you have. Nor have I anthropomorphised them.’

‘Then you’ve led a very deprived life, sir.’

I feel his laugh rather than hear it: a rumble from deep in his body. ‘Apparently. Do you want some dessert?’

‘I can think of other things I want more.’