a constellation. ‘I can see the Southern Cross but that’s about it.’
‘Well, Ruben, if you look up there to the left, you’ll see a bigger one, then three more in an almost circle around it,’ she directed him. ‘Do you see?’
‘I think so,’ he lied and heard her snort of disbelief. No fooling her, then.
But lying side by side staring up at the massive expanse of sky was nice. So was the way she played up the over-use of his name.
‘Ruben, to the left.’
‘Did your father teach you these?’ he asked.
‘Honestly, Ruben, he was more into the conquer-the-mountain thing. I learnt them myself. It was my personal reward for getting through the day’s climb. Ruben, I’d lie there and look up at them and give thanks I made it through another day.’
‘It really doesn’t sound like fun.’
‘It wasn’t so bad, Ruben. At least I had him to myself for a bit, whereas Mum was always on the phone or something.’
Poor Ellie. Well, the least he could give her was his undivided, utterly focused attention—tonight.
He bit back the laughter at her repeat, repeat, repeat of his name. In the dark, lying sideways across the bed together, they looked at the stars. Somehow the conversation drifted. She joked her way through her assortment of odd jobs in the movie industry, then the focus turned to him—with her prompting he talked through the long, slow battle that had been the chateau. Ironic to think it had started with him begging any kind of work he could to get funds to develop it. He’d worked like a dog. Then all of a sudden success had snowballed. The acquisitions in recent years had him running faster than a hamster on speed—more hours than ever before. A week or so from one business to the next—he was driven to personally ensure each was on track. She listened in the dark, asked questions about the early years and commented, constantly beginning each utterance with his name.
And then she turned the clock back a year or so more and asked about his father—about the cancer. That dark period in his life when he’d lost his father and a few months later his mother had left.
Ruben rolled away but she wrapped her soft body around his and didn’t let go.
‘It’s not something I can talk about,’ he muttered beneath his breath.
She heard him. Softly whispered his name as she embraced him, refusing to let him shut off from her completely.
But he never ever discussed those days—had never admitted to anyone the heartbreak of nursing his terminally ill parent when his mother had been too tired and distraught to cope any more. He’d never unloaded the desolate loss, the helplessness, the hopelessness.
The kind of pain he never wanted to endure again. That unbearable loneliness.
‘Ruben.’ She whispered his name softly. Her voice, like her body, a caress—soothing and so very, very sweet. Somehow it was as if she understood and absorbed that deep, private hurt. And for the first time in his adult life Ruben relaxed into a loving embrace. She held him and he let her—until the melancholy moment suddenly passed and he could stand her quiet comfort no longer. It was something else he wanted from her, only that one thing—right?
‘What are—? Oh!’ Breathless, she forgot to say his name at the beginning of a sentence.
‘Yeah.’ He chuckled as she squealed again.
‘What are you doing?’ She managed to finish the sentence that time. Still sans his name.
‘Turning the lantern back on.’ He moved away quickly to do it.
‘Why?’
He grabbed her by the legs and hauled her towards him. ‘Because by the time I’ve done with you, you won’t remember your own name, let alone mine.’ It was that mindless pleasure he wanted. That beautiful, intense ecstasy.
Her star-filled eyes gleamed. ‘Sounds fantastic.’
TOO few hours later Ellie woke. Blinking to banish the sleepy feeling, she frowned at the dull grey light. ‘We’ve really fogged up the window.’
Ruben leaned across her to examine the glass. ‘No, the fog is outside.’
‘Really?’ She sat up and swiped a finger across it. The grey remained. Clouds had descended, encompassing their tower. They couldn’t see a thing.
‘We can’t fly out in this.’ He sighed sleepily.
‘But we can’t stay here another night.’ Panic threatened to drown her relaxed state as consciousness brought thought with it. One night she could manage. More was a definite no.
‘We don’t have a choice,’ he replied. ‘It’s not safe to leave here until the fog lifts.’
Not safe physically perhaps, but this was her heart on the line. She’d let him in and more intimate time together would have her in trouble. She’d always known that. ‘But—’
‘Stop looking so worried.’ He laughed roughly. ‘We can’t anyway. We’re all out of condoms.’
‘You’re kidding.’ Her jaw dropped.
He shook his head. ‘It was only a three pack.’
How stupid had she been not to have any on her? How stupid had he been not to buy in bulk? And had they really only had sex the three times? It felt like so much more. Mind you, there’d been other kinds of orgasms too.
‘It’s probably a good thing.’ She closed her eyes and shook her head. ‘This was enough.’ Both her body and her heart were worn out. Now that fog just had to burn off super quick so she could keep as whole as possible and not leave that vital beating part of herself behind with him.
She felt him fall back on the pillows beside her. ‘You’re right.’
‘I’m sorry?’ She laughed, working up some humour to cover the sudden sense of devastation. She was learning tricks off him. ‘Can you repeat that, please?’
‘You’re right,’ he mumble grumbled.
‘A little louder.’
He pulled the pillow out from under his head and threw it at her.
‘Wow, a man who can admit when someone else—a woman—is right,’ she teased, determined to jolly away the disappointment when she’d realised he couldn’t come inside her again. And that for him this one night had truly been enough. ‘Why haven’t you been snapped up already?’
‘Because I turn into a werewolf at full moon,’ he teased back, reminding her of her old joke back that first morning after.
‘Even more reason for you to have the ball and chain already. Women love a man in touch with his animal side,’ she purred.
His
