Much Ado About You(67)

My perfume clung to his skin.

A shiver of possession rolled through me.

“We’re doing this then, Evie? We’re giving this thing between us a real go?”

I nodded, my hair rustling against his skin with the movement. Beginning a relationship with Roane was just asking for confusion and complication. I knew that. Yet I refused to panic. We had time. We still had two months to figure out if what we had was worth upending my whole life. No decisions had to be made right away. “We are. But . . . let’s not overthink it or make definitive plans. Let’s just enjoy each other and see where this leads us.”

He took an expansive breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

He didn’t sound so sure. “Roane?” I lifted my head to meet his gaze.

His gaze was searching. “What does that mean exactly? That no matter what happens you’re planning to leave in two months?”

“No.” I shook my head. “No, it means I don’t want to screw this up”—I gestured between us—“by panicking about what it means. There’s no point worrying about getting deep into this with each other because there’s an expiration date. Let’s not think of there being an expiration date. I leave in two months or . . . I don’t. But if I said right now, ‘Roane, I’m not leaving because of you,’ that would put all of this pressure on us. I don’t want that. I just want us to see where this goes without some clock ticking or not ticking above our heads.”

Nodding, he slid his hand to the nape of my neck and gave it a comforting squeeze. “That makes sense, angel.”

Settling my head on his chest again, I traced little patterns on his abdomen, and we lay there in perfect silence. Then I had a thought. “Do you think Bobby came back?”

“He must have. He would have called if he hadn’t found the sheep.”

“Do . . . do you think he heard anything?” Neither of us had exactly been quiet.

Roane shook with laughter. “I could give a shit, angel.”

“Maybe I care.” But I really didn’t.

“You don’t. You enjoyed yourself too much to care.”

“Cocky.”

“I have every right to be. No woman has come as hard around me as you just did.”

At the mention of other women, I thought of the last couple of months I’d spent getting to know this man. Although it felt like he knew almost everything about me, I didn’t know as much about him. I knew who he was as a person, but his past was made up of vague information he’d dispensed every now and then. Roane Robson was more of a listener than a talker. But I wanted to know more.

“You said before you’ve only had a few relationships. Tell me about them.”

He tensed beneath me. “You . . . you want to hear about other women while you’re naked in bed with me?”

I chuckled at his incredulous tone. “Roane, you never talk about yourself. I just want to know more. If you don’t want to tell me about the other women, then tell me about your parents. What was it like growing up here? Because in my mind it must have been idyllic.”

Little goose bumps prickled along my arm as he began to trace lazy circles on my skin. “I have a wonderful mum and dad. Like Milly and Dex, they struggled to conceive, but I eventually came along five years into their marriage. They tried again but it just never happened. Despite the farm, Dad’s family had a long tradition of sending their sons off to boarding school. Dad went, and my grandfather, who died when I was two, made it clear that’s what he wanted for me too. But Mum put her foot down and instead I went to school in Alnster and then to the high school in Alnwick, spent my summers learning about the farm.

“Dad wanted me to run things when he retired, but Mum wanted me to have choices. I took her advice and graduated from Durham University with a bachelor’s degree in business and finance. Mum and Dad’s graduation gift was money to travel. I did that for six months, backpacking through Europe and Asia. And I was glad for it. I met some amazing people, tried new and wonderful food, and had my eyes opened to the world beyond my own borders. But ultimately, I missed Alnster. I missed the farm.

“Three months after I came home, my mum and dad told me they were retiring, moving to Greece, and the farm was mine if I wanted it.”

“Wow.” I pressed my palm flat to his stomach. “That was a lot of responsibility all of a sudden.”

“It was.” He gave me a squeeze. “But it meant something to me that they believed I could handle it.”

“How many years ago was that?”

Roane seemed to stop breathing at the question, and then his voice was gruff as he replied, “Oh, it was a long time ago. You hungry?”

I blinked at the abrupt subject change. “Um, the heat kind of kills my appetite. Are you hungry?”

“I can wait if you just want to lie for a while.”

“I do.” I launched back into questioning him. “Do you see your parents often?”

“Every year. They usually come home around July or August for a few months, but they’re traveling this year. They’ll be home at Christmas instead.”

Depending on how things progressed between us, I might not even get to meet Roane’s parents. The thought sobered me. No, it more than sobered me. It upset me.

“Have you . . . have you talked to your mum since you got that voice mail?” His voice was gentle, like he didn’t want to spook me with a question I might not want to answer.