then heading straight to the bathroom to peel off her sweaty clothes and get into the welcome coolness of the shower.
The same peculiar feeling of disappointment gripped Lawrie as she lathered shampoo into her hair and over her body. What did it matter if he was dropping her off in passing or making the journey especially? Either way she ended up where she needed to be. Her trip to New York would be short—just a few days—but it meant time away from Cornwall, from the festival, from Jonas. Which was good, because their lives were already re-entangling, boundaries were being crossed. This interview was a much needed reminder that there was an end date looming and neither of them could or should forget that.
* * *
It had been a sweet kind of torture, watching her Lycra-clad bottom disappear around the corner. Jonas had to hold onto every ounce of his self-control to stay in the car and not follow her right into the shower, where he would be more than happy to help her take off those very tight and very distracting shorts.
He grabbed his coffee and took a long gulp.
This was temporary. They had always had an undeniable chemistry, even when nothing else between them had worked. And now they were both single, available, it was silly to deny themselves just because of a little bit of history.
Besides, they both knew what this was. No messy emotions, no need to prove anything. No need for words. It was the perfect summer fling.
It was all under control.
She’d said five minutes so he settled in for a half-hour wait, roof down, coffee in hand, paper folded to the business pages. But in less than fifteen minutes she reappeared, wheeling a small suitcase, laptop bag and handbag slung over her shoulder. She looked clean, fresh, so smooth he wanted nothing more than to drag her back inside and rumple her up a little—or a lot.
His hands clenched on the steering wheel as his pulse began to hammer, his blood heating up.
Damn that chemistry.
He dragged his eyes down from freshly washed, still-wet hair, combed back, to creamy skin—lots of it. Bare arms and shoulders, with just a hint of cleavage exposed by the halter-necked sundress, skirting her waist to fall mid-thigh.
He stifled a groan. He had a couple of hours’ driving ahead of him and it was going to be hard to concentrate with so much skin nestled next to him.
‘Is that suitable for flying? You’ll need a cardigan,’ he bit out, wrenching his gaze from the satisfied smile she gave him as she pulled a wispy wrap from the bag hung over her shoulder. ‘Hurry up and get in. There’s bound to be a lot of traffic.’
* * *
The powerful sports car purred along the narrow, winding lanes connecting Trengarth to the rest of the county. Lawrie leant back in the low leather seat, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair and watching the hedges and fields flash by. The blue glint of the sea was still visible in the distance, but soon the road would take them through the outskirts of Bodmin Moor, its rolling heathland and dramatic granite tors a startling contrast to her coastal home.
Home? She felt that pang again. Home was a dangerous concept.
‘Lawrie?’
She jumped as Jonas repeated her name.
‘Sorry, I was just daydreaming.’
‘I know. I recognised that faraway look in your eyes,’ he said wryly. ‘Where were you? Round some boardroom table in New York?’
‘Actually, I was thinking how beautiful it is round here.’ That felt uncomfortably like a confession. ‘No moors in New York.’
‘No.’
Now it was his turn to stay silent, a brooding look on his face, as he navigated through open countryside and small villages until they met the main road. Suddenly the silence didn’t feel quite so companionable, and after one uncomfortable minute that seemed to stretch out for at least five Lawrie began to search desperately for a topic of conversation.
It felt like a step backwards. Things had been so easy between them for the last few days—since the road trip, since that last night in the van. They had fallen into a pattern of colleagues by day, lovers by night—professional and focused at work, equally focused in the long, hot evenings.
Now she suddenly had no idea what to say.
‘Will you be visiting your parents when you’re in Dorset?’
Whatever had made her say that? Of all the topics in the world.
His face darkened. ‘I doubt I’ll have time.’
‘You’ll pass by their village, though, won’t you? You should just pop in for a cup of tea.’
He didn’t say anything, but she could see the tanned hands whiten as he gripped the steering wheel. She tried again, despite the inner voice telling her to back off, that it was none of her business. ‘They must know the areas you’re looking into. It might be interesting to hear their thoughts. Seems silly not to canvas local opinion, even if you don’t take them into account.’
He was silent again. Lawrie sneaked a quick glance over, expecting to see anger, irritation in his expression. But he wasn’t showing any emotion at all. She hated it—the way he could close himself off at will.
‘I just think it’s worth one more chance,’ she said hesitantly. Why did she feel compelled to keep going with this? Because maybe this was one relationship she could fix for him? ‘If they understood why you work the way you do—understood that you love Coombe End, that your changes are an evolution of their work, not a betrayal—maybe things would be better.’
He finally answered, his face forbidding. ‘What makes you think I want things to be better?’
Lawrie opened her mouth, then shut it again. How could she tell him that where his parents were concerned she understood him better than he understood himself? That she knew how much he was shaped by his parents’ indifference, how much he craved their respect?
‘You’re going to be in the area,’ she said at last. ‘Is popping in to see your parents such a big deal?’
He didn’t answer and they continued the drive in silence. Lawrie stared unseeingly out at the trees and valleys as they flashed past, relieved when Jonas finally turned into the airport car park and pulled up at the dropping-off point.
‘That’s great—thank you.’
He didn’t answer. Instead he got out of the car and walked round to the boot, retrieved her bag and laptop case as she smoothed her dress over her thighs and pushed herself out of the low seat.
It was hard to be dignified, getting out of a sports car.
‘What time is your connection?’
She stared at him, wrenching her mind away from her thoughts to her surroundings. Back to her plans, her flight, her interview, her future. ‘Oh, two hours after I get to Heathrow—which is plenty of time for Security, I hope.’
‘Should be. Let me know if there are any changes with your flight back, otherwise I’ll see you here.’
He
