His eyes fluttered open, the confusion and pain replaced by something else—something quieter and gentle. His arms tightened around me as he smiled. A genuine smile that made my chest ache with its beauty. His voice was rough when he spoke.
“I want to take you home now. I need to be with you.” He placed a long, warm kiss to my mouth. “Can I Megan? Will you let me have you, right now?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “Please.”
He swept me into his arms, calling for the dogs and striding toward the house. He didn’t look back to see if they were following. He knew they would.
We would all follow him if he asked.
My head rested on his chest, listening to his strong heartbeat as he carried me to where he wanted to take me.
Sadly, I wondered if we would ever get to the point where he would ask.12MeganLaughing, I covered my face and turned away from Zachary. “Stop it!”
His answering chuckle warmed my heart. “No, the light is perfect. Look at me, Megan. I just want a couple more pictures.”
Pivoting on the sand, I glared at him. “You’ve taken about a thousand of them. How many more could you possibly need?”
The constant click of the shutter made me roll my eyes and huff in exasperation. Zachary’s grin told me he wouldn’t be stopping soon.
He’d been at it all day. I woke up to him taking my picture. He snapped more while I was sipping my coffee, trying to wake up. While I read a book from his vast collection, the clicking happened. I was sure he’d stop while we were outside with the dogs, but I was wrong. Slamming my hands on my hips, I narrowed my eyes at him. “Enough!”
Four more snaps of the shutter and he lowered the camera. “You looked positively pissed off in the last one, sweetheart. Perfect.”
My heart thumped at his use of that endearment. I loved it when he called me sweetheart. I loved it when he said my name. I loved hearing him talk with his soft British lilt. His laugh made my chest expand with happiness knowing I had made him feel that way. A giggle broke through my lips as I realized how much I sounded like a love-struck teenager, and I covered my mouth to stifle the sound.
The shutter snapping again made me glower back at Zachary. He shrugged. “Sorry. You were too adorable right then not to capture it.” He stepped closer, letting the camera hang around his neck, as he tugged my hand away from my mouth. He kissed the palm, his mouth gentle on my skin. “Don’t cover up your laughter, Megan. It’s become one of my favorite sounds.”
“Oh?”
His broad hand cupped my cheek. “I love hearing it fill the house. I never realized how empty it was before you were there.”
My breath caught in my throat. The past two days we had spent in peaceful seclusion at his house. We’d been together almost every moment, other than his walks with Elliott or when he was hidden behind one of his canvases. I learned Zachary was a quiet man, surrounding himself with music and books when he wasn’t painting or playing with Elliott. The two of them would disappear into the woods each day for a couple of hours, emerging cold and windblown, both happy to find refuge by the warm fire. Elliott usually curled up with Dixie close to the fireplace, while a freshly showered Zachary sipped coffee, wearing one of his long-sleeved loose shirts and warm pants, close to me on the sofa. I enjoyed the quiet rhythm of their life, pleased Dixie and I were able to slip into it without disturbing the pattern they had.
The first evening I was there, he showed me his huge selection of movies, telling me to pick one to watch. As I was going through the shelves, I discovered several unopened board games shoved onto the bottom shelf—dust-covered and ignored. When I questioned him, he admitted to having bought them when he first moved here, thinking when people were visiting, if the weather was bad, they’d be a good way to pass the time. “I loved board games as a kid,” he told me pensively. My heart ached knowing the reason they were still unopened was there had been no visitors. I lifted both the Monopoly and Scrabble boxes up in my hands. “Your choice.”
We spent hours laughing at each other while we played and tracked scores on tiny sheets of paper. He was, as I discovered, very competitive. I enjoyed watching him strategize as he moved his boot around the board, or tried to make as many triple-word scores as possible. He beat me in every game other than Scrabble. He chuckled and shrugged, saying it was only fair the writer should win that game. He admitted to also loving chess; occasionally when Chris was at the house, they would play a game or two—but only when Chris came alone. At my quizzical look, he shrugged and admitted he and Karen didn’t get on very well. When I expressed my surprise, he also confessed to being rude to her the first day they met, when he ran into her in the forest.