nothing as the man in front of her was brought into sharp relief.
His face hadn’t aged at all. Not one jot. No grey hairs. No fine lines. Sickeningly, everything was exactly as she remembered it. His dark hair was swept back in the very same style. His fringe, over which he’d never had any control, flopped forward. The jewel-blue eyes still twinkled with laughter when he smiled. It was as if the years had fallen away.
Her heart knew him instantly too. It quickened and tightened as she looked at him. The colour, so carefully applied, drained from her face and it felt as if the ground was disappearing beneath her feet. The urge to reach up and touch him, to make sure that he was real and not just a mirage, gripped her. She clenched her hands into fists to stop herself.
Kirsten cleared her throat to make sure her voice knew that it was required to speak.
‘Simon Conway,’ she breathed, squeezing the words out of the dustbowl that had previously been her throat. ‘Well, well, well.’
He smiled, and a warmth that had been missing for too long flooded through her.
‘It’s been a long time.’ His voice, as it had always been, was as gentle as a lover’s caress.
Ten years and six months. That was
exactly
how long. Absolutely nothing that had happened in the intervening years had made her forget. If she was pushed, she could probably even count the days.
She tried to be sparkling, though her palms had grown clammy and damp. ‘Wow.’ She struggled to steady herself. ‘This
is
a surprise. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m back in England,’ he said nonchalantly.
Was he feeling remotely like she was? He looked as cool as a cucumber. Only the intensity of his gaze gave anything away. He was pleased to see her – more than that – she could tell.
‘Really?’ Keep it light. Keep it light. ‘For a visit, or on a permanent basis?’
‘I’m here to stay,’ Simon said. ‘At least, I hope so.’
‘That’s nice.’
He cocked his head to one side and gave her an easy smile. ‘Is it?’
So he was back. After so long. She thought she might hyperventilate, and wished someone would bring her a chair that she could swoon into, some ice for her forehead. Simon Conway, when she had least expected it, when she thought he was out of her life for good, when she thought she’d never lay eyes on him again, was back.
He was standing there, looking so casual, so assured. Clearly, this wasn’t doing to him what it was doing to her. In fact, her heart was now banging so loudly, she was marvelling that she’d managed not to have a heart attack on the spot.
‘A delighted and spontaneous kiss for an old friend might be welcome,’ he teased.
An old friend? Was that how he saw himself?
Simon proffered his cheek.
The very last thing she wanted to do was get close enough to brush her lips against his skin. Oh, how the memories came flooding back. A tsunami of them. Yet what else could she do? Her traitorous lips tingled in anticipation.
In spite of her reluctance, she leaned towards him and pecked him lightly on the cheek. There was a hint of stubble and it grazed her skin so softly, so exquisitely, that she wanted to press her face against it. She wanted to feel his flesh against her flesh. Kirsten tried to ignore the several essential beats her heart decided to miss, and the familiar spark of electricity that flashed between them. Time might have passed, they might have changed as people, but that raw chemistry was still very much there.
When she pulled away, there was a trace of lipstick left on his smooth, tanned cheek and nothing on God’s earth would have persuaded her to revisit that cheek with her thumb to rub it away.
Simon made no comment on the brevity or impact of their contact, but then perhaps he hadn’t felt it quite the way she had. However, when she looked into his face again she was sure he seemed distinctly more ruffled than he had a few moments ago.
‘You look well,’ he said.
His face hadn’t aged at all. Not one jot. No grey hairs. No fine lines. Sickeningly, everything was exactly as she remembered it. His dark hair was swept back in the very same style. His fringe, over which he’d never had any control, flopped forward. The jewel-blue eyes still twinkled with laughter when he smiled. It was as if the years had fallen away.
Her heart knew him instantly too. It quickened and tightened as she looked at him. The colour, so carefully applied, drained from her face and it felt as if the ground was disappearing beneath her feet. The urge to reach up and touch him, to make sure that he was real and not just a mirage, gripped her. She clenched her hands into fists to stop herself.
Kirsten cleared her throat to make sure her voice knew that it was required to speak.
‘Simon Conway,’ she breathed, squeezing the words out of the dustbowl that had previously been her throat. ‘Well, well, well.’
He smiled, and a warmth that had been missing for too long flooded through her.
‘It’s been a long time.’ His voice, as it had always been, was as gentle as a lover’s caress.
Ten years and six months. That was
exactly
how long. Absolutely nothing that had happened in the intervening years had made her forget. If she was pushed, she could probably even count the days.
She tried to be sparkling, though her palms had grown clammy and damp. ‘Wow.’ She struggled to steady herself. ‘This
is
a surprise. What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I’m back in England,’ he said nonchalantly.
Was he feeling remotely like she was? He looked as cool as a cucumber. Only the intensity of his gaze gave anything away. He was pleased to see her – more than that – she could tell.
‘Really?’ Keep it light. Keep it light. ‘For a visit, or on a permanent basis?’
‘I’m here to stay,’ Simon said. ‘At least, I hope so.’
‘That’s nice.’
He cocked his head to one side and gave her an easy smile. ‘Is it?’
So he was back. After so long. She thought she might hyperventilate, and wished someone would bring her a chair that she could swoon into, some ice for her forehead. Simon Conway, when she had least expected it, when she thought he was out of her life for good, when she thought she’d never lay eyes on him again, was back.
He was standing there, looking so casual, so assured. Clearly, this wasn’t doing to him what it was doing to her. In fact, her heart was now banging so loudly, she was marvelling that she’d managed not to have a heart attack on the spot.
‘A delighted and spontaneous kiss for an old friend might be welcome,’ he teased.
An old friend? Was that how he saw himself?
Simon proffered his cheek.
The very last thing she wanted to do was get close enough to brush her lips against his skin. Oh, how the memories came flooding back. A tsunami of them. Yet what else could she do? Her traitorous lips tingled in anticipation.
In spite of her reluctance, she leaned towards him and pecked him lightly on the cheek. There was a hint of stubble and it grazed her skin so softly, so exquisitely, that she wanted to press her face against it. She wanted to feel his flesh against her flesh. Kirsten tried to ignore the several essential beats her heart decided to miss, and the familiar spark of electricity that flashed between them. Time might have passed, they might have changed as people, but that raw chemistry was still very much there.
When she pulled away, there was a trace of lipstick left on his smooth, tanned cheek and nothing on God’s earth would have persuaded her to revisit that cheek with her thumb to rub it away.
Simon made no comment on the brevity or impact of their contact, but then perhaps he hadn’t felt it quite the way she had. However, when she looked into his face again she was sure he seemed distinctly more ruffled than he had a few moments ago.
‘You look well,’ he said.
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