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There were photos of the two Devereux children, accompanied by nannies, arriving at the hospital to say goodbye.
How awful, Merida thought, but how riveting!
So engrossed was she that she barely looked up when the gallery door opened.
‘We’re actually closed,’ Merida said—and then promptly wanted to die when she turned. Because there were few things more embarrassing than looking up to see the object of your desire at the very same time you were looking him up online.
He now had on a long dark coat, worn open over his suit. There was an emergency button under the desk and Merida was rather tempted to push it. Not because she felt threatened—not in the least. Just because every cell in her body had moved to high alert.
‘Hi,’ Merida said, and probably undid all the changes she had made to the website as she frantically clicked the mouse in an attempt to delete him from the screen. ‘Did you forget something?’
‘You know I did.’
Merida swallowed, and though she could have cast her eyes around for his keys, or a forgotten tablet, or anything else that might have forced his return, deep down she knew what he was about to ask.
And he didn’t disappoint. ‘How about dinner?’
There were many reasons that she should say no to his offer. Merida had been warned about his reputation—not just by his terrible press, but also by Reece. And possibly the hairs that stood up on her bare arms should have served as another reason to decline.
Yet that shiver was borne of awareness rather than nervousness, Merida was certain.
He made her aware of her own body.
Ethan Devereux reminded her, without a word or even a gaze in that direction, that she was not wearing a bra, because suddenly her small breasts felt tight and heavy, and her legs, even though she was sitting, felt weak.
He made her want to throw caution to the wind and say yes.
‘I have to close up first.’
‘Of course.’
Her legs felt as if they might give way as she stepped down from the stool.
Everything that she usually did so easily suddenly felt new and unfamiliar.
From walking to breathing, she had to focus anew over and over again.
She tidied up the gallery as he wandered around, looking again at the exhibitions.
‘I’ll go and get changed,’ Merida said, but he gave a brief shake of his head.
‘No need.’
In the tiny staffroom Merida wondered if Gemma would mind if the little black dress and pearls were taken out for the night. Surely any woman would understand?
Merida re-tied her hair and then topped up her lipstick. She placed her kilt, jumper and boots in her bag and slipped on her trench coat. When she came out of the staffroom he had given up on the exhibits and was scrolling through his phone.
She did her usual walk-around, and Ethan said he’d wait outside as she finished up.
In fact, aware that she was somewhat distracted by the six feet two of testosterone waiting for her, Merida took extra care, turning off the computer and lights and then setting the alarm and locking up with diligence.
When the gallery was secured, she stepped onto the chilly street and turned—and there he was.
Merida wished there was a code that might secure her heart.
She stood watching the most beautiful man on the most beautiful street lounging against the wall, and then he turned to walk towards her, his long coat flapping behind him in the breeze.
‘There’s something else that I forgot,’ Ethan said.
‘Oh?’
She cast her mind again to keys and laptops, whatever it was that she might have locked up in the gallery, and it took a second for her to register to what he was referring.
It wasn’t just asking her to dinner that he’d forgotten. Ethan had omitted a kiss.
On a night that was turning a bit chilly, and under a sky that was being painted a dusky rose, the setting was photo-perfect.
Merida wanted to capture the dusk of the park, the yellow of the taxis—how the world appeared in the seconds before he kissed her. She would be kissed here, Merida realised, and this moment would be seared in her memory for life.
He cupped her face in her hands and she stared deep into his eyes. While there was not a fleck of colour that she could perceive in his gaze, there was depth and complexity and hues from another realm.
He was perfect.
And so was his kiss.
His lips were firm, yet with traces of tenderness. She wanted to keep her eyes open, just to capture each second, yet there was no chance of that, for his kiss was so exquisite that her eyes closed, so that she could fully sink into its measured bliss.
He pulled her closer, and she was wrapped in the warmth of his arms as the cool spring air between them evaporated. His tongue was warm, and tasted like a cocktail designed solely for her. She felt dizzy, yet steady in the capture of his embrace, and when he kissed her harder the roughness of his jaw and the smoky notes of his cologne inflamed her.
She kissed him back with an ardour that had been missing in every other kiss and in her every imagining to date.
And then—cruelly, but necessarily—before they edged towards the indecent, he tore his mouth away.
He had started their date with a kiss.
CHAPTER FOUR (#uf7033259-0a1a-5a8e-9f9b-2a541cab7f40)
‘GOOD EVENING, MR DEVEREUX,’ the doorman greeted him. ‘Madam.’
They walked through the sumptuous foyer of a luxurious hotel that was filled with columns of flowers and beautiful people milling about.
He was greeted everywhere by name, and clearly that name did not require a prior booking.
Merida was relieved of her coat and bag at the restaurant, and the maître d’ led them to a table, beautifully set for two.
The restaurant was stunning, with an old-fashioned New York elegance, subtle music and a dance floor. Beside the windows there were candelabras, taller than Ethan, and even with the huge chandelier that sparkled above the dance floor the lighting was subdued enough that there was a shroud of intimacy as they took their seats.
Merida was nervous. Far more nervous than she dared to let on. So she breathed her way through their seating, and then the pouring of champagne, and pretended she was seated at a table onstage, because it was easier than the reality of sitting opposite him.
The first thing he did was switch off his phone, and that small gesture told her they would not be interrupted.
‘Well, here we are,’ Ethan said and they clinked glasses. ‘It’s good to be back.’
‘Back?’ Merida checked. ‘D you come here a lot, then?’
‘I meant back in New York. I’ve been away for a few weeks.’
‘On holiday?’ Merida asked, but he gave a small shake of his head.
‘Work,’ Ethan said. It always was.
The food was delectable, but it wasn’t the hors d’oeuvres Merida had consumed that killed her appetite, it was the overwhelming presence of him. He didn’t put her at instant ease; instead he kept her on a delicious edge.
Merida chose a burnt butter and sage ravioli, and Ethan ordered steak. She noted that the waiter didn’t ask how he would like it done. He already knew.
It was the tiniest detail, yet it served as a reminder for Merida that this was not new to him as it was to her.
‘So you’ve been at the gallery for nearly a year?’ Ethan prompted, as if their earlier conversation was still left unfinished.
‘For ten months,’ Merida said. ‘As I said, I’m just there part-time. I’m actually an actress.’
Ethan looked over, his dark eyes narrowing a fraction. He had dated more than a few actresses in his time, and was generally suspicious of them. Most wanted to hook their rising star into his or milk their fifteen minutes of fame when things ended between them.
As they inevitably did.
‘It’s all I’ve ever wanted to be,’ Merida admitted. ‘I wasn’t getting very far back home, so I decided to try my luck here.’
‘Home being England?’ he checked.
‘Yes.’ Merida nodded. ‘London. Although, as my father pointed out, if I can’t get work in London then why should New York be any different?’
Ethan raised an eyebrow. Her father didn’t sound particularly encouraging, but he made no comment, just listened.
‘Still, it’s the dream. Right now I’ve got a small part in an even smaller production.’
‘What’s it called?’
‘Near Miss.’
He gave a shake of his head, to indicate that he’d never heard of it. ‘And what part do you play?’
‘Arrow,’ Merida said, and then clarified a touch. ‘I’m an arrow. And I keep missing my mark.’
‘Are you dressed as an arrow?’
‘No. I’m dressed from head to toe in black. I wear a black leotard and tights and a long black wig.’
He looked at her lovely red hair and, although he knew little about acting or costumes, he was an expert at opinions. ‘I think they might have missed an opportunity there.’
‘Meaning?’
‘I’d have thought that a red-headed arrow would be more telling.’
‘The lead wears a red wig.’ Merida smiled. ‘The arrow is more like her shadow self. A smaller part.’
‘But a very important one,’ Ethan said. ‘Though of course I may be somewhat biased.’
Merida’s hand shook a little as she took a sip of water. He was so subtle, so sparing with his words, that his suggestion of bias towards her had come from left field.
Ethan made her his sole focus, and that was rare. He made it clear there was nowhere else he wanted to be, Merida thought as their meals arrived. There was no feeling that he would soon have to dash, as her parents often did when she called. Reece too, come to that. And there was no looking over his shoulder to check who might appear, as so many in the acting world did.
‘Do you miss your family?’
‘Sometimes.’ Merida nodded again. ‘My parents are divorced, and both have remarried...’ Her voice trailed off and she didn’t elaborate.
Ethan wanted her to. It was rare that he wanted to know more about any woman he would soon bed.
And bed her he would.
That decision had been made when he had dismissed his driver and walked back towards the gallery.
At first he had thought he had left it too late, as the gallery had appeared closed, but on looking in he had seen her sitting at the high desk.
She was beautiful.
Nothing like the coiffed, sophisticated beauties he usually dated. Her riot of hair and that full mouth entranced him almost as much as those bewitching green eyes. Yes, he wanted to know more about her—but it was not just for that reason alone he decided to share a part of himself.
He wanted to talk.
Tonight he would kill for normality, to be able to admit to another person from where he had just come. To speak, as anyone else would, when they were worried about a family member.
But that type of conversation was off-limits when you were a Devereux.
And so he spoke of the past—of things that were more freely known.
‘I know all about divorce,’ he said. ‘My father’s been married a few times. Once before my mother died and twice since.’
‘Do you ever see your stepmothers?’
‘God, no,’ Ethan said, and gave a little shudder at the thought. ‘All those marriages, apart from my parents’, were pretty short-lived.’
‘So you didn’t get close to any of them?’
‘Not at all.’ Ethan shook his head and gave a small mirthless laugh. ‘I don’t think they were ever love-matches. It was more financial bliss those women were seeking. Mind you, I can hardly blame them. My father just wanted a wife on his arm for functions. He was never home.’
‘Who brought you up, then?’
‘Draconian nannies,’ Ethan said, and then he halted, realising he had said far more than he usually would. He turned the conversation back to Merida. ‘How old were you when your parents divorced?’
