Nancy Warren - British Bad Boys

So she turned.

His muted tie flapped as he ran, his polished shoes were getting dusty, but he still looked aristocratic, elegant, and yet sexy. His long-legged stride was athletic, and he ran like a guy who’d run a lot of miles in his time, whether on the tennis court, the soccer field, or-like now-running after women.

“You scarpered off awfully fast.”

“I did.”

They walked on in silence. She was aware of him looking at her face, but she kept her gaze resolutely forward. “You’re a natural on camera, you know.”

“I wasn’t thinking about the camera. When she asked me those questions, I was thinking about you.”

Max looked out at the acres of land and the lines of ancient trees. There was the tree he’d dragged her underneath when he first kissed her, only a week ago, and it seemed like years. If she’d known that she’d wind up falling in love with him, would she ever have let him kiss her? Would she have kissed him back? Made love with him?

She snuck a glance at him and knew the answer. Of course she would have.

“It’s all so complicated.”

“God, yes, and bloody inconvenient,” he complained, so she had to smile. “I worry that you couldn’t bear to live here, that you’d hate it as much as Mother did, but I have to try. I love you, you know.” There it was.

So simply said. Such a simple emotion, really.

“I know,” she whispered.

“I didn’t intend to spout all that rubbish during the interview, but I could see you standing there, and it seemed right, somehow, to announce my intentions to the world. We’ve been so discreet, I don’t think anyone knows about us. But I’m sorry if I upset you.”

She turned to him, wanting to throw herself into his arms and say, Yes, yes, to everything. But she couldn’t.

“I was just thinking about that first night in the pub, your birthday. It was raining and you pulled me under that tree there, do you remember?”

“Of course I do. I remember everything about that night,” he said softly.

She nodded. It was the first time they’d made love. She’d never forget it either.

“I was thinking, if we’d only known that our crazy little fling would turn serious, maybe we would have thought about it more carefully.”

“Would you have acted any differently?”

She made a weird sound between a sigh and a laugh. “I asked myself that same question and the answer’s no. This has been…amazing.”

“Maxine. I don’t want to lose you.”

“I don’t want to lose you either.”

“I want you to marry me.”

“Oh, please don’t say that,” she wailed.

“Why not? I love you. Why shouldn’t I want to marry you?”

“Because I live in L.A. And when I’m not there, which is a lot of the time, I’m all over the world. I don’t stay still. I’m restless. I love the next adventure, the next story, the next interview, the next show, the next series.”

“And I’m stuck here.”

“You’re not stuck. This is your home, and your life, and your heritage.”

“And you hate it. You miss palm trees, and Rodeo Drive, and those frightfully muscular fellows on the beach in Speedos.”

She laughed. “No. I don’t hate it here. I love it. I love that this land is virtually unchanged over centuries, and I love that you know who your great-great-great-grandmother was and that she loved to needlepoint, and, in fact, her needlepoint and her portrait are in your house. I love this village and the slow pace of life.” She drew in a tremulous breath. “And I love you, George. I only realized it today. Bang. It hit me on the way to the interview, so it was a double shock to hear you saying those things only a few minutes later.” She rubbed a hand over her hair, pulling slightly on the ends, as she only did when she was nervous or preoccupied. “I…What does a countess do exactly?”

“Well, you’d give out the prizes at the local fête, be the hostess for several public events, but mainly we’d live like normal people.”

“Except for the title and the huge estate.”

“Apart, of course, from those.” He took her hand. “I can’t leave, you’re right. I can’t even manage a job in London. Even once I’ve hired another manager for the property, I’ll still have to spend a good deal of time here.”

She nodded. “I know.”

“But I’m not stuck here all the time. We could go on holidays and visit America. But”-he looked back at the great house looming over them-“this will have to be my home, I’m afraid. And, if you agreed to have me, I couldn’t put up with what my father did, or have my children miss their mother half the year.”

“I have to keep working, George.”

“Of course. And often you’ll be away. I understand that. But if you can’t face England, or the estate, then don’t have me.”

“When a girl thinks of living in an honest-to-God castle, that’s usually a good thing. But all those fairy tales never mention the costs of heating, and that you have to live in a house with servants-which is weird when you’re not used to it-and you can’t someday decide to give it all up and move to Morocco.”

“No. Those are decided drawbacks, you’re quite right.”

“But then I think about walking away from you, and I’m not sure I can do that, either.”

He took her face in his hands and she could see that he understood. “Well, that’s something. Because I can’t bear to think of it.” And he kissed her, slow and sweet and tender, so that for a minute L.A. and her home, friends, career, itchy feet, none of it mattered.

Except that it did matter, and when the kiss ended, everything she’d made of herself, all the choices and hard work and guts that made her a successful producer at thirty-one were still there. “I feel like you’re giving me the most precious gift, and I’m acting like I don’t want it, but I do.” She leaned her head against his chest, breathing him in, loving the feel of him, so solid against her.

“I do understand, you know. I want so badly for you to say yes, but I do understand.”

“Can I have some time to think about things?”

“As long as you need.”

She hesitated. “We’ll be finished shooting tomorrow.”

He turned to her, alarm clear in his expression. “You’re not leaving? Surely. I understood you’d be staying on for a few months.”

“I’m not leaving the country, but once the shooting’s done here, we move to our other locations. Then I’ll have to go back to L.A. to finish the scripts and edit the series.”

“So after tomorrow you’re done here.”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know it would be so soon.”

She chuckled. “Admit it. When we first arrived you couldn’t wait to be rid of us.”

“That was before I came to know you,” he said with dignity.

Oh, she thought, how could she ever leave him?

And how could she ever stay?

The final scene to shoot was the pub. Maxine and the cameraman started outside with the establishing shots. “Pan of outside of the pub, close in on the sign, and then the door,” she said.

“Sure. Do you want the street?”

She wrinkled her nose. “Maybe just this section, from the newsagent’s to that gift shop.”

“You got it.”

She left him to it and walked inside, where the rest of the crew were setting up under the curious gazes of the pub patrons. They didn’t seem bothered one way or another. She’d dreaded finding the pub packed to overflowing with the curious and those who wanted their faces on TV, and she had a crowd control plan all ready, but it seemed she wouldn’t need it.

The pub was about as crowded as it had been the first time she’d stormed in, irritated and looking for George. How different her feelings were now. She saw him not as a slacker trying to evade his responsibilities, but the very opposite. A man who took his responsibilities so seriously that he’d threaten his own happiness.