Forever Be Mine: Love in London- Book 4 Read online

  She focused on his face again, banishing, at least for now, images of them having sex in the bathroom of a restaurant built in an ancient Italian grotto.

  God, he looked so handsome. How could a man be this…gorgeous? Why had she denied herself this for so long? Had duty and family responsibilities really kept her from him? She felt as though her problems in England were melting away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s just…” She paused. “This is like a date.”

  He blinked, as though startled by her statement, but then he leaned forward to cup her chin. “This is most definitely a date.”

  “We’ve never been on a date.”

  His wickedly sweet smile made her knees weak. “No. We haven’t. But we’re going to make sure we enjoy it. Right?” He was the only man who ever made her forget where she was. When he looked at her like that, she couldn’t help but picture him sweeping everything off the table and feasting on her instead. She wanted that so much she didn’t realize the waiter had been standing beside her for at least a minute.

  “Ahem.”

  She flinched as she looked up to the patient waiter. “Sorry.”

  “What would you like?”

  They ordered an antipasto of bruschetta and a primo piatto of carbonara, followed by a secondo piatto of steak to share.

  Carter reached for a piece of bruschetta once it arrived. “So, tell me about your new job. We haven’t had a chance to look at any of your designs yet.”

  The casual way he asked the question put her at ease, and she found herself excited to talk about her new project. “Oh! I’m actually working on a proposal while we’re here.”

  Carter’s forehead suddenly crinkled. “You’re what? You’re working? Now? On vacation?”

  Celia smiled. “I’ve never been someone who leaves her job completely at home. I’m sure you can relate.”

  “I suppose I can,” Carter said. “So, what are you working on?”

  She couldn’t rein in her enthusiasm. “A Scottish lord wants to have his fifteenth-century castle restored back to a fully functioning residence. Mr. Ridings is giving his junior architects a chance to submit a proposal. I really think I could win this—I have so many ideas.”

  “That sounds fantastic. What would you do for the restoration?” Carter offered her the plate of bruschetta, and she took a few bites before replying.

  “Restoration isn’t just about building a place back the way it was. You also need to modernize it in some ways.” She spoke confidently now. This was a world she was comfortable with, one she felt she understood. “The challenge is to rebuild an old castle in a way that would feel new with updated functionality.”

  Carter leaned in. “Such as?”

  “Well, let’s say you re-panel the interior state rooms, and you match the mahogany base and silk wallpaper, but you can also add a speaker system and update the doors to have keyless entry locks, proper insulation against drafts, that sort of thing. But the key is…”

  “To maintain the integrity of the original structure and its natural design,” Carter guessed.

  “Exactly.”

  “I guess the last thing you’d want is to overdo it and make it look like some shoddy luxury hotel that confuses glitz with elegance.”

  She grinned. Carter had always understood her. “And you and Tristan—you’re still trying to get movie producers interested in the estate, right?”

  He nodded and leaned back as the waiter delivered their carbonara and steak. “Yes. I actually have some work to do on that as well.”

  Celia feigned shock. “What? You’re working on vacation?”

  Carter chuckled. “I just wanted to adjust some of the language in the package we’ve been sending out. The pitch needs more of a punch to be effective.”

  “Sounds like we both should plan to work a little tonight when we get back.” There were other kinds of “work” she’d like to indulge in, but perhaps focusing on work for a few hours would make her miss him and hunger for him all the more. It would make being with him tonight that much sweeter.

  They enjoyed a long, companionable silence as they finished their dinner. Despite the occasional attack of nerves, she felt entirely at ease around Carter, but maybe that came from having known him all her life. He’d had the chance to spend time around her because Tristan’s father, seemed to have a soft spot for him and had let him grow up alongside Tristan with little concern about station or birth, at least until they were teenagers.

  “Celia…,” Carter began. “Did you know that your uncle knew my mother? I mean, not just knew her in the way a man knows the names of his staff, but…more so.”

  There was a troubled look on Carter’s face, and she wondered why. Having her uncle on his side was a good thing. Lord Pembroke could be a powerful ally.

  Celia tilted her head. That was news to her. “How do you mean?”

  “I’m not sure. Before we left, I asked his permission for vacation time, and he mentioned how like my mother I am…even down to the color of my eyes.”

  Celia stilled in sipping her wine. A man only remembered a woman’s eyes if he had been in love with her. At least, that seemed to be why most men did.

  “Do you think he was in love with her?” she asked quietly.

  “In love? No…that…no. Given the way he felt about Tristan dating Kat, I can’t picture him being in love with the wife of a steward.”

  “But she wasn’t just the wife of his steward. Your mother grew up on the estate and was close in age to my uncle. They might have known each other for years before your father came to work there.”

  Now that she thought about it, she could picture her uncle, a young man driven by duty who could never marry the daughter of a butler. Something like that would have caused a devastating scandal to the family, especially back then. In a split second, she came to a realization.

  Her uncle and Carter’s mother may have faced a situation almost identical to their own. Two people who grew up together, who perhaps fell in love, but circumstances kept them worlds apart. And every time her uncle looked at Carter, he saw the woman he’d loved and lost. It made sense, but she was afraid to share this with Carter. She didn’t want to upset him with the idea that his mother had loved someone other than his father.

  Carter toyed with the stem of his wineglass, his gaze downcast. “I wish…” He drew in a heavy breath. “I wish she was still alive. Sometimes I worry that I’ll forget her, you know?” There was such pain in his voice that she had to comfort him.

  Celia reached across the table, curling her fingers around his wrist and squeezing gently. Carter had been only ten when his mother had succumbed to cancer.

  “I wish I’d had a chance to know her better.” Celia’s heart fluttered as Carter turned his hand over and held his palm up to hold her hand, squeezing it back.

  “She liked you—I remember that,” Carter assured her with a wry smile.

  After they finished their meal and paid the bill, they climbed the stairs hewn into the rock and exited into the cool night air.

  “I smell rain,” Celia said.

  “So do I. We had better head back to the car.” Carter took her hand, and they strolled down the meandering streets. Carter pointed out the visible constellations in the blanket of bright stars that peeped through the heavy storm clouds rolling in.

  When they passed through the Piazza del Campo, Celia noticed the tourist crowds were thinning out, and the younger men and women were out dancing in the square to music.

  “Well, we don’t have to head straight to the car,” Carter said with a smile, gesturing toward the festivities. “Shall we?”

  Carter pulled Celia into the square to join the other couples, holding her close as they danced. The music was slow and sweet, yet seductive in the way that only Italian music could be. Celia tucked herself against his body, feeling his heartbeat against her cheek. The other couples moved around them, the sounds of their conversations blending with the music. Carter
and Celia didn’t speak; they simply danced, their breaths coming a little hotter, a little faster than normal as they pressed tighter together.

  There was nothing more perfect than this. How could there be? The sounds of the string quartet echoing against the ancient stone of the medieval Italian square, the perfect movement between them, even the hint of coming rain upon the breeze. Celia wished she could trap this moment in a jar and keep it forever.

  As the first few drops began to fall, the music ended and she and Carter broke apart, lingering for a moment longer while the magic of the night seemed to suspend itself in the air between them. She shivered a little. The longing she felt for more was so deep, so earnest that it rippled beneath her skin. Soon, she promised herself.

  They began to walk back to the car and had another few streets to go when the rain clouds unleashed a torrent. They broke into a run, but Celia slipped on the cobblestones, crying out as her ankle twisted. She stopped and bent over, biting back a cry of pain as she tried to put pressure on it.

  Carter knelt down in front of her and lifted her ankle up. “Let me see.” She braced her hands on his shoulders while he looked her over.

  The pain wasn’t as intense as before. At least it wasn’t broken. Carter’s fingers explored her skin, and she wiped her face of rain as she tried to put weight on her foot again. She could, but she would have to walk far more slowly.

  “I think I can walk, but—” She gasped as Carter scooped her up into his arms and carried her down the street. She wrapped her arms around his neck, delighted at being carried but also frustrated that she had tripped and was now playing the part of a distressed damsel—the last thing she’d ever wanted to be.

  “Sorry.”

  Carter chuckled. “For giving me a chance to hold you like this? I’m not.” He grinned at her.

  By the time they reached the car, they were soaked to the bone. Carter opened her door and helped her inside. Then he got in and turned on the seat warmers. She was already starting to shiver.

  “I wish I had a coat to give you,” he said. It had been so warm today that neither of them had come prepared.

  “I’m fine,” she promised. Once they got home, she planned to warm up in his arms for as long as possible. They left the hilltop city far behind them, like a glowing jewel nestled atop the dark Italian landscape.

  Celia decided that tonight was the night. They had only twenty-nine days left, and she didn’t want to waste any more time.

  9

  Carter held his breath as he and Celia slipped quietly into the dark villa. Celia’s aunt was probably asleep. It was after ten, and they didn’t want to wake her. Anthony stirred in his cage, his gray feathers rustling as he whistled softly.

  “Hello there… Hello there.” The eerie human-sounding words echoed in the living room.

  “Shhhh,” Celia whispered.

  “Hush, Anthony, hush now,” the bird whispered back and raised one foot up to his beak like he was telling them to be quiet instead. He shuffled along one of the bars, making soft clicking sounds as they passed by him. She and Carter paused in front of their separate bedroom doors, before Carter turned around and held out his other hand to her.

  His heart raced. If she took his hand, he would make love to her tonight. Was it too soon? Was it time? How could he think that? Time was the one thing they no longer had in abundance. Celia gazed at his open palm for a long moment, then placed her hand in his. Without a word, he tugged her into his room and closed the door. No turning back now.

  She stood there, her blonde hair in loose wet bands of gold down her shoulders, shaking as her wet clothes gave her a fresh chill.

  “Why don’t you take a hot shower?” Where he found the strength to suggest that instead of simply pulling her into his bed he would never know.

  She nodded and placed a foot on his bed to remove her strappy gold sandals. Everything about her bewitched him, from those delicate pretty feet to the small scar above her collarbone she’d gotten from a fall out of a tree when she was twelve. They had been racing Tristan to the top of the tree. She was a few inches shorter, and when she’d lunged for a branch, she’d missed and plummeted to the ground.

  Despite the sheen of tears he’d glimpsed in her eyes when he’d come to her rescue, she hadn’t cry. She’d sniffed, picked herself up off the moss-covered ground, brushed her hands down her sweater, and smoothed out her pleated skirt. Even the cut on her collarbone was brushed off with quiet strength. It might have been then that he’d fallen in love with her—not that he could ever pinpoint the exact moment. It felt like he’d always loved her, as though it had been years in the making.

  Celia set her sandals against the wall out of the way, and then removed her light-blue sweater. Beneath it she wore a floral-print dress that flared out at the hips into a full skirt, stopping just above her knees. She turned away from him and pulled her hair to one side of her neck, baring her back.

  “Can you unzip my dress?” she asked him so sweetly, so innocently that it was going to kill him.

  His hands almost shook as he reached for the zipper. The sound of the metal teeth unfastening was the only noise he could hear, aside from the patter of rain against the window. His hand stopped at her lower back, just above her bottom. She let the wet dress drop to the floor. Underneath, she wore only a pair of white lace panties and a matching lace bra.

  Fuck, she was beautiful. So sexy, and she wasn’t even trying.

  She walked into the bathroom, disappearing from view. When he heard the shower turn on, he let out a slow, controlled breath. This was going to kill him. She had gotten her dress zipped up just fine this morning without help, yet tonight she needed help getting out of it? Not likely. Women knew how to torture men. He would wait right where he was all night if that was what she wanted, but he hoped she’d call for him to join her. He’d told her that she could set the pace, but he wouldn’t go too fast, unless he was certain that’s what she wanted.

  Suddenly a pair of panties and a bra flew through the bathroom doorway to land at his feet. He couldn’t resist bending over to pick up the bra. The delicate lace cups were still warm. He wondered what to do next. Was this an invitation? With any other woman, he would have been certain it was, but Celia was different. She might have simply wanted—

  “Shall I send you a written invitation?” Celia’s voice echoed from the bathroom.

  His lips curved up in a wicked grin. Carter let her bra fall back to the floor and started stripping out of his clothes. He nearly tripped in his desperate attempt to get his jeans off. Taking his boots off first probably would have been the smarter move. By the time he stumbled into the bathroom, he had on only a pair of black briefs. The room was already steaming, and he saw only a hint of Celia’s body through the opaque shower glass.

  He removed his briefs, heart pounding and blood roaring in his ears as he opened the shower door. None of his fantasies over the years could have matched the reality of seeing Celia naked.

  “Christ,” he muttered, completely at a loss for words.

  He marveled at how small and delicate she seemed. She wasn’t fragile, but a strong, brave, and loving woman, yet the surge of protectiveness inside him was overwhelming.

  Her gaze swept down his body, shyly at first, uncertain, then bolder as she moved back up, lingering on his groin before her lashes fanned up and she met his hungry stare.

  He placed his hands on her shoulders and turned her to face away from him so he could massage her tense muscles. She moaned in appreciation. The sound made his body hard, but he kept himself in control. He pushed away a golden lock of wet hair and bent his head to place a tender kiss on her skin between her neck and shoulder. She unfolded her arms from her chest and placed them on the wall to steady herself as he slid an arm around her waist. He could have stared at her forever, memorizing the way her body’s curves flowed with the water in an endless waterfall of temptation. He was so close to the thing he wanted most…her. And now he would finally have the
chance to take her, to show her how much he adored her without words.

  Carter wanted to hold her, to feel their skin connect while the hot water flowed like a river between them. The sacred feeling of holding her, feeling her pulse beneath his lips as he kissed her throat—he wanted it to last forever, yet he felt like he might lose his mind if he had to let her go. She would never know how much he loved her, never know how the beat of his heart was for her and no one else. Celia knew he cared about her, but if she knew just how much…

  He pictured himself with her on a bench in a garden, watching the sunset in her eyes as they shared another day together. A life together. A life that would never be. His throat closed as he thought of the children they would never have, sunny-faced phantoms running through the melancholic corners of his mind. The pain of it all threatened to kill the mood, but he turned that pain into resolve. Each time he made love to her, he would honor and cherish her as a tribute to the life he wished they could have together.

  Celia turned in his arms and curled her arms around his neck. The mounds of her breasts pressed against his chest, and his breath caught as he saw her eyes, sleepy and seductive. Lust and love burned through him. He wanted to spend hours exploring her body, to find the places that made her shiver and cry out. She tilted her face back, offering her mouth in a bold, unashamed way that he had no intention of resisting.

  Their shared breath mingled in the intimate space seconds before they kissed. He took her lips with his own, exploring her as her tongue moved against his in a way that sent bolts of arousal through him. He cupped the back of her head and ravished her mouth, unable to control himself any longer. Celia matched his desire in equal measure, raking the back of his neck with her nails, sending his body into overdrive. It felt as though this was their first kiss and their thousandth, like he had always known how to hold her, how she would feel against him, and how it would fill him with happiness.