It Was Only a Kiss

‘My father...all my life.’ Luke shoved his hand into his hair. ‘It was his standard way of ending a conversation—No wonder your mother left you... Fill in the blanks. Can’t catch a ball, make the swim team, come first in class.’

Jess’s mouth fell open in shock, and anger sparked in her eyes. ‘That’s...diabolical.’

‘That was my father.’

Jess’s eyes flashed. ‘That’s child abuse.’

Luke felt sparks jump in his stomach at her defence.

‘How did you manage to become so successful, so together, so strong after having that constantly fed to you?’

Because he’d been too damn stubborn and too proud to let his father win.

‘And, I’m sorry. I don’t believe your mother left you. I saw that photo of you and her in your bedroom—the look on her face as she looked at you. Nope, I don’t buy it,’ Jess said, her voice saturated with conviction. ‘She loved you...there has to be another explanation.’

Luke wished there was. But his mother was long dead and, as much as he appreciated Jess taking up the cudgels on his behalf, he knew that to think about his mother was useless and self-defeating. If he considered other scenarios he risked reopening old wounds.

He’d tried marriage. It had been a failure. Losing his dream of having a family of his own had hurt a lot more than losing his wife, but he’d come to terms with the idea that St Sylve would not be home to dirty kids running wild.

Knowing his mother’s motives wouldn’t change that. It was in the past and he couldn’t change what had happened.

‘What happened to your mom’s things?’ Jess leaned forward, her arms on the table.

‘According to my father she’d moved quite a lot of stuff out. The rest he tossed.’ Luke stifled a yawn. Suddenly he felt physically and mentally exhausted. ‘I remember someone saying that she took all her paintings for an upcoming exhibition. They’ve never been found. Somewhere, if they haven’t been burnt or tossed, there are about thirty Katelyn Kirby paintings floating around.’

‘Where did you find those two paintings?’

He didn’t speak but Jess read the answer on his face.

‘You bought them? Oh, Luke.’

At an enormous price, from a canny dealer who’d known exactly what he had.

Jess seemed immediately to understand that he’d needed a connection to her—something of hers that held something of her soul. Luke drained his glass. ‘Yep.’

Jess pursed her lips. ‘Dead or not, I really don’t like your father, Luke.’

He saw pity flash in her eyes and his spine stiffened. Of all the things he wanted from Jess, pity wasn’t one of them. He glared at her. ‘Don’t pity me, Sherwood.’

Jess jumped to her feet and shook her head. ‘I don’t pity you. I think you are one of the strongest, most together people I’ve ever encountered. I think you’re smart and resourceful and mentally tough.’ She cocked her head and listened to the music. ‘I love this song—dance with me?’

Luke blinked at the change of subject and looked at the empty dance floor. ‘Now?’

Jess nodded and held out her hand. ‘Yeah, now. What? Are you chicken?’

Luke grinned as he took her hand and led her to the dance floor. He placed his hands on her hips and rested his chin against her temple. Moody, romantic music brushed over them and Luke’s voice was threaded with laughter when he spoke. ‘You remember what happened the last time you called me chicken?’

‘I ended up against a wall, halfway to naked,’ Jess whispered back.

Luke’s heart picked up an extra beat at her soft, promise-soaked voice. ‘Willing to risk that happening again?’ he asked, holding his breath.

‘Cluck, cluck, cluck.’

Even he didn’t need more of a clue.

* * *

Luke pulled her across the dance floor towards the door, stopping briefly to throw some money on the table to cover their bill and to pick up Jess’s bag. As soon as they stepped out of the bar and into the frigid air he started to kiss her, and within a minute he had her up against the building, kissing her in the shadows of the doorway. His wonderful hands burrowed beneath her coat and slipped between her jeans and the skin of her back—touching, demanding, insisting that she match her passion to his.

She wanted this, Jess told herself. She needed this. If she was going to do this then she had to surrender to the moment, to stop thinking and enjoy this hard-bodied, hard-eyed man who had the ability to make her skin hum. For the first time in her adult life Jess switched off her brain and surrendered herself to the physical.