Lacybourne Manor (Ghosts and Reincarnation #3)(48)

Her mouth parted slightly in surprise and she hesitated a moment as mutiny played about her face and the hazel started to shift to the warning shade of green. Then she leaned forward and brushed her lips against his.

Before she could pull away, the devil that was controlling him made him say, “I know you can do better than that.”

Her head came up with a snap and he watched in grim fascination as her eyes, in the soft illumination from the lamps lit in the house, lost all hint of hazel and became blazing green.

Something about that pleased and irritated him at the same time.

She moved into him, her body touching his slightly then more as one hand came up to rest on his chest and the other hand slid into the hair at his nape. She tipped her head back and pressed her lips against his, he felt them open and he opened his in response. Then the tip of her tongue came out softly and touched his own.

He felt heat sweep through him at the touch of her tongue but before his arms could close around her, she ended the kiss and moved her head away.

Her hands still on him, her voice managing to be both warm and cold, she asked, “Is that better?”

In answer, he ordered, “Get your coat.”

She blinked at his sudden change, her hands falling away. “What?”

“Your coat,” he repeated.

He hadn’t even crossed the threshold. Nevertheless, she stepped away and grabbed a scarlet-coloured trench coat from a peg by the door and pulled it on. As she did, Colin turned on his heel and walked to his car.

He heard the dull thud of the heels of her cowboy boots as she rushed to catch up to him.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

He didn’t stop as he strode purposefully to the car and jerked open the passenger side door to help her inside.

“Dinner,” he answered curtly.

They didn’t say another word until after they were seated at the seafront restaurant in Clevedon and he ordered a gin and tonic. She ordered the extraordinary drink of vodka lemonade with a dash of lime cordial, a maraschino cherry and ended this litany with the instruction, “And lots of ice.”

Then she smiled at the waiter and Colin felt his chest seize.

She’d never, not once, smiled at him, except that very first moment where their eyes met in the storm while she was acting out Beatrice’s portrait.

Her smile, he noted in a vaguely dazed way, was arresting, sensational and the waiter nearly tripped over himself in a rush to do her bidding.

When her gaze slid to Colin’s he glared at her and didn’t know why. He knew he was still furious but why her smile would cause such a spectacular reaction made no sense to him.

Then he realised in that moment that he didn’t know a lot of things when it came to Sibyl, and his reaction to her, and he found that supremely annoying.

They studied their menus in silence and they ordered their meals after the drinks were brought to the table.

She spent a great deal of time pretending he wasn’t there and looking out the windows at the sea.

He spent that time watching her.

The waiter brought Colin’s steak and the bottle of wine Colin ordered. He also set some dish down in front of Sibyl that looked entirely concocted out of mushrooms.

Colin made no comment and Sibyl did the same.

They ate in silence.

When he was finished, he sat back in his chair, stretched his legs out in front of him, crossing them at the ankles, and continued to watch her while drinking his wine.

She valiantly attempted to finish her meal but then set her fork down and sat back herself, sipping her wine nervously, her eyes darting anywhere but to him.

“Do you want dessert?” he asked politely and she jumped in surprise at the sound of his voice.

She looked at him. The restaurant was illuminated with a romantic, candlelit ambiance so the lighting in the room was dim and therefore Colin couldn’t see the colour of her eyes.

She shook her head.

He took his money clip from the breast pocket of his suit jacket, peeled off enough notes to pay for dinner and tossed them on the table.

He stood and Sibyl stood too.

He moved behind her, took her coat from her chair and helped her put it on. He felt her body was stiff under his hands.

This annoyed him even further.

The waiter scurried to their table looking alarmed.

“Is there anything wrong?” he asked (Colin noticed, with still growing irritation, the waiter asked Sibyl, staring at her like a lovesick puppy).

“We’re leaving,” Colin answered in clipped tones.

“Everything was lovely, thank you,” Sibyl assured the waiter and smiled at him again.

Colin’s irritation grew even more at her smile, another smile not directed at him. Without another word, he grabbed her arm and pulled her out of the restaurant.

Once outside, she yanked her arm away and quickened her step in an attempt to avoid him, something that some force inside him was driving him not to allow. As they hit the pavement, Colin’s fingers curled around her upper arm just as he saw a flash from the headlamps of a car parked not two car lengths away. Without warning, the engine revved and the car shot forward.

Sibyl was a step ahead of him, ready to cross the road to get to the Mercedes, when the car came directly at her like it was aiming. Instinctively and swiftly, Colin dropped his hold of her but hooked his arm around her waist and snatched her from the street, pulling her into his body with such strength that her head crashed against his chin. He ignored the jolt of pain and at the same time took two deep steps backward. This meant the car narrowly missed them both as it flew passed, two of its tires up on the pavement, and kept going without braking.