LITMIR.BIZ

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would be inappropriate.

      ‘Let them,’ he replied nonchalantly, that annoying eyebrow still quirked.

      She wanted to reach out and smooth it down, caress the stubble on the strong jaw, run her fingers across the sensual lips. She clenched her hands harder. She wouldn’t give him or the curious onlookers openly watching them the satisfaction.

      Jonas leant closer, his breath warm and sweet on her cheek. ‘They all think they know anyway.’

      ‘Let them think. There’s no need to confirm it.’ She was painfully aware of people watching them—many openly. How many times had she seen neighbours, parents at the school gates, people in the local shop watch her mother in the same way as her latest relationship began to disintegrate? ‘I hate gossip, and I really hate being the focus of it.’

      ‘Just a boss having a chat with his festival-organiser—nothing to see...move it along,’ he said, an unrepentant grin curving the kissable mouth.

      She bit her lip. She was not going to kiss him in public, no matter how tempted she was. But how she wanted to.

      Her eyes held his, hypnotised by the heat she saw in the blue depths. The street, the curious onlookers faded away for one long moment. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when he leant back, the grin replaced with a purposeful businesslike expression.

      ‘I was on my way up to collect you—thought you might appreciate a lift to the airport. Yet here you are.’ He ran his eyes appreciatively over her and she fought the urge to tug her running top down over her shorts. ‘You’re not really dressed for flying, though. And I don’t mean to be offensive, but...’

      Lawrie snorted. ‘That will be a first,’ she muttered.

      ‘But I’m not sure eighties aerobics is really the right look for business class or an interview. You might want to get changed,’ he continued, ignoring her interruption. ‘I could give you a lift up—or, if you really want to finish your run, I can pick you up in ten minutes.’

      ‘If you’re in such a hurry I’d better take the lift,’ Lawrie said, opening the door and sliding in, her pride refusing to admit to him that she’d had no intention of running up the hill. ‘I was planning to drive myself, though. I do appreciate the offer, but can you spare the time?’

      She sounded cool enough—shame about her hair, pulled high into a sweaty bun, the Lycra shorts, the sheen of sweat on her arms and chest.

      ‘Actually, it’s on my way—that’s why I’m offering. I’m heading over to Dorset to look at some potential sites. I’ll be passing Plymouth so I might as well drop you off.’

      ‘Oh.’ He wasn’t making the journey especially. Of course he wouldn’t—why would he? Her sudden sharp jolt of disappointment was ridiculous. ‘Well, it’s very kind of you.’

      There was a long silence. She sneaked a look over to see him pushing his hair out of his eyes, his face expressionless.

      ‘It’s nothing,’ he said. ‘As I said, I was passing the airport anyway.’

      Neither of them spoke for the two minutes it took to drive back to the cottage, and as soon as the car pulled up in the driveway Lawrie was ready to leap out. The atmosphere was suddenly tense, expectant.

      ‘I’ll be five minutes,’ she called as she hurried over the lawn and round to the back door. ‘Make yourself at home.’

      She fumbled with the key, breathing a sigh of relief as she finally pushed the door open, almost collapsing into the sanctuary of the kitchen, then heading straight to the bathroom to peel off her sweaty clothes and get into the welcome coolness of the shower.

      The same peculiar feeling of disappointment gripped Lawrie as she lathered shampoo into her hair and over her body. What did it matter if he was dropping her off in passing or making the journey especially? Either way she ended up where she needed to be. Her trip to New York would be short—just a few days—but it meant time away from Cornwall, from the festival, from Jonas. Which was good, because their lives were already re-entangling, boundaries were being crossed. This interview was a much needed reminder that there was an end date looming and neither of them could or should forget that.

      * * *

      It had been a sweet kind of torture, watching her Lycra-clad bottom disappear around the corner. Jonas had to hold onto every ounce of his self-control to stay in the car and not follow her right into the shower, where he would be more than happy to help her take off those very tight and very distracting shorts.

      He grabbed his coffee and took a long gulp.

      This was temporary. They had always had an undeniable chemistry, even when nothing else between them had worked. And now they were both single, available, it was silly to deny themselves just because of a little bit of history.

      Besides, they both knew what this was. No messy emotions, no need to prove anything. No need for words. It was the perfect summer fling.

      It was all under control.

      She’d said five minutes so he settled in for a half-hour wait, roof down, coffee in hand, paper folded to the business pages. But in less than fifteen minutes she reappeared, wheeling a small suitcase, laptop bag and handbag slung over her shoulder. She looked clean, fresh, so smooth he wanted nothing more than to drag her back inside and rumple her up a little—or a lot.

      His hands clenched on the steering wheel as his pulse began to hammer, his blood heating up.

      Damn that chemistry.

      He dragged his eyes down from freshly washed, still-wet hair, combed back, to creamy skin—lots of it. Bare arms and shoulders, with just a hint of cleavage exposed by the halter-necked sundress, skirting her waist to fall mid-thigh.

      He stifled a groan. He had a couple of hours’ driving ahead of him and it was going to be hard to concentrate with so much skin nestled next to him.

      ‘Is that suitable for flying? You’ll need a cardigan,’ he bit out, wrenching his gaze from the satisfied smile she gave him as she pulled a wispy wrap from the bag hung over her shoulder. ‘Hurry up and get in. There’s bound to be a lot of traffic.’

      * * *

      The powerful sports car purred along the narrow, winding lanes connecting Trengarth to the rest of the county. Lawrie leant back in the low leather seat, feeling the breeze ruffle her hair and watching the hedges and fields flash by. The blue glint of the sea was still visible in the distance, but soon the road would take them through the outskirts of Bodmin Moor, its rolling heathland and dramatic granite tors a startling contrast to her coastal home.

      Home? She felt that pang again. Home was a dangerous concept.

      ‘Lawrie?’

      She jumped as Jonas repeated her name.

      ‘Sorry, I was just daydreaming.’

      ‘I know. I recognised that faraway look in your eyes,’ he said wryly. ‘Where were you? Round some boardroom table in New York?’

      ‘Actually, I was thinking how beautiful it is round here.’ That felt uncomfortably like a confession. ‘No moors in New York.’

      ‘No.’

      Now it was his turn to stay silent, a brooding look on his face, as he navigated through open countryside and small villages until they met the main road. Suddenly the silence didn’t feel quite so companionable, and after one uncomfortable minute that seemed to stretch out for at least five Lawrie began to search desperately for a topic of conversation.

      It felt like a step backwards. Things had been so easy between them for the last few days—since the road trip, since that last night in the van. They had fallen into a pattern of colleagues by day, lovers by night—professional and focused at work, equally focused in the long, hot evenings.

      Now she suddenly had no idea what to say.

      ‘Will

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