trying to be.”
Was she? Or was she actually being more reckless than she’d ever been in her life? She didn’t know the answer to that yet.
“One step at a time,” her grandma Tremayne always used to say. “You’ll get there that way.”
Edie supposed it was true. But it would have helped if she’d known where she was going.
“Here we are.” They had reached a heavy wooden door. Nick reached around her and pushed open, then drew her up and out onto the narrow walkway.
“Oh!” Edie stopped stock-still and simply stared at the sparkling kingdom spread at her feet.
If the evening had felt like something out of a Cinderella fairy tale before, now, with the tiny lights of Mont Chamion’s formal gardens spread out below her, Edie felt herself swept ever more fully into a sense of enchantment.
“Not exactly what it would have looked like in the thirteenth century,” Nick said wryly.
“But beautiful,” Edie murmured, putting her hands on the rough stone wall and leaning out to look down. “It’s amazing. We have gardens back at home in Santa Barbara. But nothing like these.”
“There aren’t any like these. They’re one of a kind.” Nick’s voice was quiet, almost reverent, as he came to stand beside her and together they stared out at the wonderland below. Neither of them spoke.
There were a few wedding guests outside in the gardens, and Edie could hear an occasional murmur of a voice or crack of laughter. From an open window came the lilting sounds of the orchestra playing a waltz. But as magical as it was, it was less enthralling than the man next to her.
He stood very close, but not touching her as he leaned forward, his elbows on the wall, the pristine white of his shirt cuffs peeking out from beneath his dark suit coat. His fingers were loosely knotted together. In the light of a three-quarter moon, she could, glancing sideways, see the light and shadow on the hard angles and planes of his face.
Her sister Rhiannon had casually and flirtatiously stroked his cheek. Edie’s fingers curled into a fist so she wasn’t tempted to do likewise. She turned her gaze away, too, tried to focus on the tableau below.
What Nick was actually thinking she didn’t know. While moments ago in the stairwell she would have said he was as aware of her as she was of him, now he seemed so remote she doubted he was thinking about her at all. So she turned her head to risk another look.
He turned at the same time. Their gazes locked. The heat flared. And Edie’s breath caught in her throat.
Nick cleared his. Then, deliberately he straightened. “It’s getting cool up here. Shall we go down?” His voice was perfectlypolite, but Edie thought she detected a hint of raggedness in his tone. The raggedness of desire?
Did she even know what that sounded like anymore?
“I’ll go first on the way down,” Nick decreed.
“So I can crash into you and knock us both all the way to the bottom?” Edie joked.
“Hang on to my shoulder if you want. I’ll go slow.”
He did go slow, but she didn’t reach for him. She might have liked a hand, but clutching at him unnecessarily was something Rhiannon would have done, so Edie deliberately didn’t do it. She just kept one hand on the wall as she made her way carefully down the steps behind him and tried not to stumble and crash into him. It was a relief to reach the hallway again and to have Nick turn and secure the door.
“That was lovely. Thank you,” she said, slipping the flipflops off and holding them out to him, smiling up at him at the same time.
Nick didn’t smile back. His features were taut; there was almost a grim line to his mouth which, after a moment, he managed to curve into something resembling a smile. Then he stepped back and said briskly, “Well, there you have it. Nick Savas’s two-bit architectural tour.” He flashed her a quick glib sort of smile.
Edie’s smile didn’t flash. It remained firmly in place. But her heart was galloping and
Was she? Or was she actually being more reckless than she’d ever been in her life? She didn’t know the answer to that yet.
“One step at a time,” her grandma Tremayne always used to say. “You’ll get there that way.”
Edie supposed it was true. But it would have helped if she’d known where she was going.
“Here we are.” They had reached a heavy wooden door. Nick reached around her and pushed open, then drew her up and out onto the narrow walkway.
“Oh!” Edie stopped stock-still and simply stared at the sparkling kingdom spread at her feet.
If the evening had felt like something out of a Cinderella fairy tale before, now, with the tiny lights of Mont Chamion’s formal gardens spread out below her, Edie felt herself swept ever more fully into a sense of enchantment.
“Not exactly what it would have looked like in the thirteenth century,” Nick said wryly.
“But beautiful,” Edie murmured, putting her hands on the rough stone wall and leaning out to look down. “It’s amazing. We have gardens back at home in Santa Barbara. But nothing like these.”
“There aren’t any like these. They’re one of a kind.” Nick’s voice was quiet, almost reverent, as he came to stand beside her and together they stared out at the wonderland below. Neither of them spoke.
There were a few wedding guests outside in the gardens, and Edie could hear an occasional murmur of a voice or crack of laughter. From an open window came the lilting sounds of the orchestra playing a waltz. But as magical as it was, it was less enthralling than the man next to her.
He stood very close, but not touching her as he leaned forward, his elbows on the wall, the pristine white of his shirt cuffs peeking out from beneath his dark suit coat. His fingers were loosely knotted together. In the light of a three-quarter moon, she could, glancing sideways, see the light and shadow on the hard angles and planes of his face.
Her sister Rhiannon had casually and flirtatiously stroked his cheek. Edie’s fingers curled into a fist so she wasn’t tempted to do likewise. She turned her gaze away, too, tried to focus on the tableau below.
What Nick was actually thinking she didn’t know. While moments ago in the stairwell she would have said he was as aware of her as she was of him, now he seemed so remote she doubted he was thinking about her at all. So she turned her head to risk another look.
He turned at the same time. Their gazes locked. The heat flared. And Edie’s breath caught in her throat.
Nick cleared his. Then, deliberately he straightened. “It’s getting cool up here. Shall we go down?” His voice was perfectlypolite, but Edie thought she detected a hint of raggedness in his tone. The raggedness of desire?
Did she even know what that sounded like anymore?
“I’ll go first on the way down,” Nick decreed.
“So I can crash into you and knock us both all the way to the bottom?” Edie joked.
“Hang on to my shoulder if you want. I’ll go slow.”
He did go slow, but she didn’t reach for him. She might have liked a hand, but clutching at him unnecessarily was something Rhiannon would have done, so Edie deliberately didn’t do it. She just kept one hand on the wall as she made her way carefully down the steps behind him and tried not to stumble and crash into him. It was a relief to reach the hallway again and to have Nick turn and secure the door.
“That was lovely. Thank you,” she said, slipping the flipflops off and holding them out to him, smiling up at him at the same time.
Nick didn’t smile back. His features were taut; there was almost a grim line to his mouth which, after a moment, he managed to curve into something resembling a smile. Then he stepped back and said briskly, “Well, there you have it. Nick Savas’s two-bit architectural tour.” He flashed her a quick glib sort of smile.
Edie’s smile didn’t flash. It remained firmly in place. But her heart was galloping and
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