The Austen Playbook (London Celebrities #4)(63)

His scent and his warmth were clouding her mind, and she turned her head to catch his mouth. The kiss was hard and searching, his hair damp between her fingers as she slipped her arms around his neck, his hands making her shiver as he stroked the small of her back through the thin fabric of her short dress.

Someone wolf-whistled nearby. They broke the kiss, but their faces were still close together, Griff’s nose touching hers. She shifted her hand to trace the high bridge of it, his profile bringing back the memory of Billy Gotham’s painting, and the things she needed to share with him. Even if she was wrong. “I wasn’t exactly nice to you on Friday, either.”

Releasing her, Griff leaned against the railing, his eyes intent. “You’ve been acting strangely ever since we went to Mallowren, and I doubt very much that it’s just because we’re spectacularly good together in bed. What was the inciting incident in your case?”

Habit kicked in long enough that Freddy tossed him a look between her lashes. “It was spectacular, and I’m sure your impressive skills in the sack are enough to make anyone come over all peculiar.”

The faint lines at the corners of his dark eyes deepened in amusement, but he was waiting. She sobered. “It was a two-for-one breakdown. Thanks to Sadie Foster and one of my many and worst past mistakes coming back to bite me on the arse.” Actually, from what she remembered of that time with Drew Townseville and his own style in the sack, that was an unfortunately apt choice of phrase. She took a deep breath. “And the letters.”

His gaze sharpened, and she could almost see the jaguar pricking up his ears. “One of which you nicked and then almost did a swan-dive into the patio trying to retrieve.”

Freddy paused. “Just for future reference, I’m not sure I rate eagle eyes as an attractive quality in a man.”

It was his turn to leave a barely perceptible gap in the volley of words then, before he said, “Does that imply that I feature in your current vision of the future?” So restrained and unemotional, but his hand closed on the rail, hard.

It was all-cards-on-the-table day. And it would be quite easy to start wheezing again, from nerves this time. Just to add a real note of sexiness. “My vision of the future has been swamped in mist, like our friend the Littlebourne Fog, but...” Freddy reached out and touched him again, spreading her fingers over his ribs. “The brightest light I see right now is you.” He was very still. “I don’t know how you feel—and what I have to say might change things—but whatever happens, I feel very...blessed to have this.” She smiled faintly. “To experience this myself, for real, and not just pretend to know what it’s like by reading scripted words.” Her fingers curled into a loose fist against his shirt. “I don’t know what comes next, but I know it physically hurt this weekend to feel like I’d just found you, just found...it—” the only way Freddy could put it, rather helplessly “—and then be wrenched away from you. I know I pushed you away, but—”

His mouth was on hers again, his hands in her hair, holding her head so he could kiss her deeply, with the passion that flared between them so quickly, so easily. It was such a shell shock to go from the life she’d been living for years to this complete upheaval of everything she thought she’d known, that she was a bit afraid. But pressed against him, smelling the scent of his cologne, tasting his mouth, feeling his hair against her neck, she couldn’t imagine not having this. Not wanting this.

If anyone whistled at them this time, neither of them heard it. They were both short of breath when Griff lifted his head, his eyes still full of heat and something else that made her chest skip and flutter.

He ran his thumbs over her cheeks again. “You’re so beautiful.” As he had after the first time they’d kissed, he called her that so matter-of-factly.

Freddy’s instinctive, snorting disclaimer went unsaid, because he so obviously meant it. Stroking her lips, which felt plumped up and tingly—like the rest of her—she sought for the right words in response. Meaningful words.

“I fancy you like mad, too,” she said, because why be romantic when you could be tremendously anticlimactic.

His mouth twitched, and that amused light sprang back into his eyes. “I did get the impression you might when you started trying to climb my body in public like you were shinning up a fireman’s pole.”

If he wanted her to look around in mortification, he was out of luck. She managed to keep this blush internal. “Let’s hope some of your TV viewers were watching. It’ll do wonders for your reputation. According to reviews of your programmes, people find you sexy but stiff-necked.”

The amusement deepened. “Well, who listens to critics, anyway?”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Freddy looped her arms back around his neck. “Every so often, they say very lovely things.”

“True things.” He ran his hand over the top of her head, smoothing her curls. It was such a spontaneously affectionate gesture that it affected her even more than being found beautiful.

The way she felt about him...

Enough was enough. It felt utterly wrong to hug her fears to herself when she trusted him so implicitly.

“Griff.” At the renewed seriousness in her tone, he lifted his head. “Your film on Henrietta...”

“I appreciate your encouragement on the subject,” Griff said, with surprising patience, faced with what he obviously feared was another burst of optimism, “but as we don’t have the funding, I think I’ve exhausted all current avenues where that project is concerned.”