‘That I think is being achieved. Anything else?’
‘To go back to Italy and find my father’s family. We lost touch when he died.’
‘Nothing exciting or different? What about something for you? Something you’d like to do that would change you or your life?’ His words were velvety smooth and she couldn’t look at him, knowing how close he was to the truth that he could be on the list.
‘I’d like to go to America and ride a cowboy trail, and do something spontaneous.’ She couldn’t say that something was to have a romantic fling or that she was seriously considering it right now.
He nodded in approval and the pounding of her heart and the wail of the wind seemed louder. She couldn’t help herself but look into the darkness of Xavier’s eyes, the sizzle of something powerful sparking between them. He’d admitted to pushing his girlfriend away after the accident and she knew he’d had a constant string of women in his life since he’d arrived in London. He was worse than Jason, discarding a woman without a second thought.
The question was on the tip of her tongue when the lights went out. No warning flickers this time. Thank goodness for the candles. She didn’t think she could tolerate darkness now, not when her past had been dragged up for inspection.
‘I’ll go and check the fuses,’ he said as he stood up, the candlelight softening the usually hard angle of his face. ‘But I suspect the storm is responsible.’
‘How long will you be?’ The little girl in her surfaced and she fought to keep the tremor from her voice.
‘Not long.’ He picked his phone up from the table, turned on its torch and looked at her, concern in his eyes. Was that for her or the situation? ‘Stay here.’
Tilly had no intention of venturing away from the candlelight and listened to his footsteps as he crossed the wooden floor of the hallway, feeling more alone than she ever had. The old house wasn’t warm and welcoming any more and the pain of last New Year’s Eve lurked in all the dark corners.
She moved from the sofa and sat down on the rug in front of the fire, needing the warmth of the leaping flames, wanting to feel the heat on her face, needing it to stop herself from thinking too much.
* * *
Xavier pushed open the door to find Tilly sitting on the floor, one arm pulling her knees tight against her body as she sat in front of the fire. She looked gorgeous. An innocent vulnerability radiated from her and the urge to protect her, to keep her safe from whatever fears she was hiding from him, welled up in him.
She looked up at him as he closed the door. ‘The power is definitely off,’ he offered, as he made his way to the fire, throwing on another few logs. ‘The blizzard must have brought down power lines.’
‘Is it that bad out there?’ She shivered and he reached for the faux fur throw that was draped over the sofa.
Her eyes widened as he moved towards her, vulnerability on full display in their blue depths. Every barrier she’d erected against him was down. This was the real Tilly.
‘This will keep you warm.’ He put the throw around her and couldn’t help but inhale her perfume. Light and floral, not at all like the seductive scent of last night, but it was just as alluring.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, the husky sound testing him, reminding him again how she’d tasted last night, how her body had felt against his. The frustration of last night not having reached the conclusion he’d wanted raged inside him, but he pushed it back. He had no right to want more from her.
He sat down next to her, ignoring the pain in his legs, wanting to be close to her. The usually bubbly Tilly had disappeared. She was fearful and he was convinced it was more than just the storm she feared.
‘You’re in pain,’ she said softly, concern all over her face.
‘A constant reminder of the accident.’ He couldn’t keep the sternness from his voice as he tried not to remember his split-second lack of concentration that had caused the crash.
‘Sorry.’ She looked up at him from beneath lowered lashes, her blue eyes soft and inviting. He curled his hands into fists to stop himself from reaching for her. He needed the pain to remind him that his actions had caused Paulo’s death, leaving a widow and young children. He didn’t need her misplaced sympathy.
He sat next to her, the heat of the fire seeping into him as if he were on a sun-drenched beach. He stretched out his legs and leant his back against the sofa. Beside him, Tilly moved, drawing herself closer, as if seeking protection and safety from the darkness. She rested her head on his shoulder and he put his arm around her, drawing her close. It felt so right, as if he’d come home.
‘How did the accident happen?’ Her voice was a whisper, stirring his senses as well as soothing his pain.
He didn’t want her to know what he’d done, but for the first time ever he needed to tell someone, needed to talk. ‘It was a wet race,’ he began, sliding back into the horror of that day. ‘The track was slick and like most riders I’d had my tyres changed. The team wanted to make other adjustments but I wouldn’t allow it, not when all the other riders were out there. Part of the excitement is being in the starting line-up, engines revving and adrenalin flowing.’
She didn’t speak or look at him, as if knowing he didn’t want that. Instead she relaxed against his chest and focused her gaze on the fire. He lowered his face into her hair and inhaled the fresh smell of shampoo. But even that couldn’t hold him in the present, stop him from hurtling back to that nightmare day.
He was there at the track, the noise of bikes, the smell of fuel and the rush of adrenalin so clear. The usual exchanges between teammates filled the air and in the pit lane he waited for those adjustments to his bike. He wanted to get out into the line-up, but the mechanics were still working and he became impatient. His competitors revved their bikes, the sound a challenge. He told his team to hurry.
‘I rushed the pit team to hurry the wet-weather modifications just so I could get out onto the track. There was no way I was missing the race, not when the championship was at stake.’
Tilly moved slightly, picked up her glass of wine and took a sip, shattering the image of the track in his mind. She looked up at him, her lovely face slightly flushed from the heat of the fire. What would she say when she knew it was his fault a rider had died, because of him and his insistence the bike be ready to race?
She was so close he could see the darker flecks within the summer sky blue of her eyes, which had sparked with passion last night. He could feel the warmth of her legs against his as she curled up inside the throw, snuggling closer, unwittingly testing him.
He wanted to keep her against him, needing the comfort of her body and so much more.
‘Aren’t things like that strictly timed?’ she asked, her brows raised in question, genuine curiosity in her voice. ‘I was always under the impression the pit teams were trained to be fast.’
‘Do I detect a little bit of interest in motorcycle racing?’ He smiled at her, despite the heavy cloud of memories which hung over him.
‘Not really, sorry.’ Her smile was apologetic as she looked up at him, but it shone in her eyes briefly before it was gone. ‘Jason used to follow all kinds of motorsport.’
Jason again. Damn the man.
‘I’m sorry.’ She placed her glass on the hearth and touched his arms, which were tightly folded across his chest. Was that to avoid touching her or to keep her at bay—emotionally? ‘Talking about the accident must be hard.’
‘It is.’ He seized on the deviation in the conversation. ‘My career ended that day and my life changed—for ever.’
‘But you are doing so much good with the scholarship programme.’ She looked into his face, drawing him from the blackness