Christy McKellen - After Hours...

‘Huh. You make it sound so easy.’

He grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Try again.’

Picking up a good-looking candidate, she positioned the stone between her finger and thumb and was just about to throw it when Max said, ‘Stop!’

Glancing round at him with a grimace of frustration, she saw he was frowning and shaking his head.

‘You need to swing your arm at a lower angle. Like this.’

Before she could react, he’d moved to stand directly behind her, putting his left hand on her hip and wrapping his right hand around the hand she was holding the stone in. Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest at the firmness of his touch and started hammering away, forcing the blood through her body at a much higher rate than was reasonable for such low-level exercise.

As he drew their arms backwards the movement made her shoulder press against the hard wall of his chest and she was mightily glad that he couldn’t see her face at that precise moment. She was pretty sure it must look a real picture.

‘Okay, on three we’ll throw it together.’ His mouth was so close to her ear she felt his breath tickle the downy little hairs on the outer whorl.

‘One...two...three!’

They moved their linked hands in a sweeping arc, Cara feeling the power of Max’s body push against her as the momentum of the move forced them forwards. She was so distracted by being engulfed in his arms she nearly didn’t see the stone bounce a couple of times before it sank beneath the water.

‘Woo-hoo!’ Max shouted, releasing her to take a step back and raise his hand, waiting for her to give him a high five.

The sudden loss of his touch left her feeling strangely light and disorientated—but now was not the time to go to pieces. Mentally pulling herself together, she swung her hand up to meet his, their palms slapping loudly as they connected, then bent down straight away, pretending to search the ground for another missile.

‘Who taught you to skim stones? A brother?’ she asked casually, grimacing at the quaver in her voice, before grabbing another good-looking pebble and righting herself.

He’d stooped to pick up his own stone and glanced round at her as he straightened up. ‘No. I’m an only child. I think once my mother realised how much hard work it was raising me she was determined not to have any more kids.’ He raised a disparaging eyebrow then turned away to fling the stone across the lake, managing five bounces this time. He nodded with satisfaction. ‘I used to mountain bike over to a nearby reservoir with a friend from boarding school at the weekends and we’d have competitions to see who could get their stone the furthest,’ he said, already searching the ground for another likely skimmer, his movements surprisingly lithe considering the size of his powerful body.

A sudden need to get this right overwhelmed her.

She wasn’t usually a superstitious person, but she imagined she could sense the power in this one simple challenge. If she got this stone to bounce by herself, maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

She was throwing this for her pride and the return of her strength. To prove to Max—but mostly to herself—that she was resilient and capable and—dare she even suggest it?—brave enough to try something new, even if there was a good chance she’d fail spectacularly and end up looking foolish again.

Harnessing the power of positive thought, she drew back her hand, took a second to centre herself, then flung the stone hard across the water, snapping her finger like he’d taught her and holding her breath as she watched it sail through the air.

It dropped low about fifteen feet out and for a second she thought she’d messed it up, but her spirits soared as she saw it bounce twice before disappearing.

Spinning round to make a celebratory face at Max, she was gratified to see him nod in exaggerated approval, a smile playing about his lips.

‘Good job! You’re a quick study; but then we already knew that about you.’

The compliment made her insides flare with warmth and she let out a laugh of delight, elation twisting through her as she saw him grin back.

Their gazes snagged and held, his pupils dilating till his eyes looked nearly black in the bright afternoon light.

A wave of electric heat spread through her at the sight of it, but the laughter died in her throat as he turned abruptly away and stared off towards the house instead, folding his arms so tightly against his chest she could make out the shape of his muscles under his shirt.

He cleared his throat. ‘You know, this place is just like the venue where Jemima and I got married,’ he said, so casually she wondered how much emotion he’d had to rein in, in order to say it.

Ugh. What a selfish dolt she was. Here she’d been worrying about what he thought of her and her tales of woe, when he was doing battle with his own demons.

It had occurred to her earlier that morning, as she’d struggled to do up her dress, that attending a wedding could be problematic for him, but she’d forgotten all about it after the incident in the kitchen, her thoughts distracted by the unnerving tension that had crackled between them ever since.

Or what she’d thought was tension.

Perhaps it had been apprehension on his part.

And then, when he’d mentioned how transient and lonely his youth had been over drinks earlier, it had brought it home to her why Jemima’s death had hit him so hard. It sounded as if she’d been the person anchoring his life after years of feeling adrift and insecure. And this place reminded him of everything he’d lost.

No wonder he seemed so unsettled.

He’d still come here to help her out, though, despite his discomfort at being at this kind of event, which was a decent and kind thing for him to do and way beyond the call of duty as her boss. Her heart did a slow flip in her chest as she realised exactly what it must have cost him to agree to come.

‘I’m sorry for dragging you here today. I didn’t think about how hard it would be for you. After losing Jemima.’

He put his hand on her arm and waited for her to look at him before speaking. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. Nothing. I wanted to come here to support you because you’ve done nothing but support me for the last few weeks. It’s my turn to look after you today.’ He was looking directly at her now and the fierce intensity in his eyes made a delicious shiver zip down her spine.

‘Honestly, I thought it would be awful coming here,’ he said, casting his gaze back towards the house again, ‘but it’s not been the trial I thought it’d be. In fact—’ he ran a hand over his hair and let out a low breath ‘—it’s been good for me to confront a situation like this. I’ve been missing out on so much life since Jem died and it’s time I pulled my head out of the sand and faced the world again.’

Cara swallowed hard, ensnared in the emotion of the moment, her heart thudding against her chest and her breath rasping in her dry throat. Looking at Max now, she realised that the ever-present frown was nowhere to be seen for once. Instead, there was light in his eyes and something else...

They stood, frozen in the moment, as the gentle spring wind wrapped around them and the birds sang enthusiastically above their heads.

It would be so easy to push up onto tiptoe and slide her hands around his neck. To press her lips against his and feel the heat and masculine strength of him, to slide her tongue into his mouth and taste him. She ached to feel his breath against her skin and his hands in her hair, her whole body tingling with the sensory expectation of it.

She wanted to be the one to remind him what living could be like, if only he’d let her.

To her disappointment, Max broke eye contact with her and nodded towards the marquee behind them. ‘We should probably get back before they send out a search party. We don’t want to find ourselves in trouble for messing with Amber’s schedule of events and being frogmarched to our seats,’ he said lightly, though his voice sounded gruffer than normal.