She sighed as their lips parted. “A greeting like that makes it all worthwhile. I thought we’d go to the park, get you out into the sunshine.”
“You’re sure you wouldn’t rather stay here?” he asked huskily, holding her gaze with a suggestive quirk of one eyebrow.
“Tempting, but I’m starving, and these sandwiches won’t stay fresh forever. Let’s go.” After another quick kiss she eased out of his arms and retrieved the basket. She knew he was frustrated, but he’d been admirably patient, not pushing her toward further intimacy beyond the occasional playful hint. Though they spent a good deal of time in each other’s arms, they hadn’t come close to making love since the night of the fireworks, when she’d cast off her reservations and allowed her desire for Ian to guide her. But she was grateful they’d been interrupted before it could happen; she couldn’t give herself to him fully, body and soul, while still holding onto the secret she’d kept from him all these years.
The spot they selected couldn’t have been more perfect; they spread the blanket near the three-tier fluted fountain at the centre of the park, where the sun warmed the soft, thick grass.
In the distance, sunlight glinted off the sailboats bobbing on the water, and a warm breeze stirred around them, catching the edges of the blanket.
Setting down his sandwich, Ian shifted closer to Brooke and captured her hand, teasing her fingers with delicate kisses that made her smile.
“Your hands smell like lemons,” he said.
“I made lemon squares this morning.”
He straightened his back in interest. “They are in the basket, I hope.”
“Yes, but no dessert until you finish your sandwich and try these berries.”
“How can I possibly concentrate on this food when you look so enticing?” Leaning in, he touched his lips to hers, his hand rising to caress the back of her neck with feather-soft strokes. Brooke let the kiss linger, welcoming the warm stirring of awareness blooming within her, and smoothed her hand over his shoulder. He had left his jacket and tie at home, and through the light fabric of his shirt she molded her palm to the appealing contours of his lean, athletic physique. It was getting so very hard to maintain the limits she’d imposed on their intimacy—even out in the open like this.
Drawing back, Ian studied her face intently for a moment. The tenderness in his deep-green eyes seeped through her, warming her heart.
“Don’t leave,” he said.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“I mean stay here in Eastport. I know I said I wouldn’t press you, but I honestly don’t know what I’d do if you were suddenly gone from my life.”
Brooke sat back on her heels, her shoulders sagging. She wanted so badly to assure him she’d stay—if the decision were only as simple as following her heart. “What would I do here, Ian? All I know is banking. And I don’t especially want to work at the local branch. In fact, I don’t think I want to do anything connected to the financial world again.”
He shrugged off her protests. “You can find something else to do.”
“I don’t know what that would be. Do I even belong here anymore?” She thought of Faith, and wondered whether their fractured relationship could ever truly be repaired. But mainly she thought of Ian, whom she adored, making the strain of her secret too much to bear—and how he might not want her once he knew the truth. Her stomach tightened at the thought.
“We could run away together,” he suggested playfully, “maybe rent that little villa in Tuscany that you always dreamed of.” Bending his head, he trailed tantalizing kisses along her neck, sending a delicious shiver down her spine. He couldn’t be serious, but the idea sounded so perfect—too perfect to be possible.
“That was just a fantasy,” she said somberly. “An escape.”
“From what?”
Brooke hesitated. She could tell him now; she only needed to say the words she’d rehearsed a thousand times in her head:
Ian, I need to tell you something important. It’s about the night your mother died.
Pulling in a long breath, she held his gaze, hoping to find strength there to draw the words to her lips. But first she wanted to savour this moment, with the sun warm on her back, its radiance gleaming in the depths of his eyes. He looked so contented just to be there with her, each kiss and touch drawing their hearts into closer accord. Brooke let her gaze drift over him, studying the soft, sensual mouth and warm green eyes that met hers with absolute trust, and the strong hands that caressed her with exquisite tenderness. Her heart pounded heavily as she took in every feature of this man, beautiful in body and spirit, who just might be growing to love her.
When she opened her mouth to speak, the words caught in her throat; she simply couldn’t find the resolve to say them, knowing it would sever their deepening connection, perhaps irrevocably. She couldn’t bear to hurt him. Maybe it was better, after all, not to open up old wounds—maybe it was better to keep what she knew to herself and live with her guilt, as she had been all these years.
Finally she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Good.” Ian smiled softly. “It’s best to look forward rather than dwell on the past. That’s what I intend to do. I know you feel like an outsider here; I felt the same way, growing up. But now all that simply doesn’t matter. I’ve never felt so at home, now that you’re back, and you’re finally mine.”
Brooke couldn’t help the grin that spread across her face. “You
are
trying to influence me.”
Ian lifted one shoulder in admission. “Maybe a little.”
There was one question she had to ask, to assure herself that she’d made the right decision. “Do you remember that evening when I came over to your house with the apple strudel?”
His smile widened into a mischievous grin. “How could I forget that kiss?”
“Before that. You told me you’ve accepted that you’ll probably never know who killed your mother. But do you think you can ever really put it behind you, without ever knowing?”
Loosening his hold on her, Ian rested on one elbow as he considered her question. A troubled look flickered through his features, though only briefly. “I can’t drive myself crazy for the rest of my life, Brooke. By the looks of things, the bastard who ran her down will never be brought to account. My only hope for justice is that the knowledge of what he’s done might eat him up inside every day for the rest of his life.”
Dropping her gaze, Brooke caught her lip between her teeth. She had no idea whether the guilt of what he did had tormented Ross Kinley until his dying day—but she did know that it would remain with her until she took her last breath.
“I thought we weren’t going to dwell on the past,” Ian reminded her.
Brooke forced a smile. “You’re right.”
Sliding his arm around her waist, he drew her closer to him. “If I didn’t have an appointment in fifteen minutes, I’d take you back inside and—”
With a quick kiss she cut off his next words. “Another time,” she assured him—wondering, as she made her promise, whether she could make love to him with her secret still wedged between them.
Ian sighed. “I know, you’ll let me know when you’re ready. But you can’t fault a guy for trying.”
Chapter Seven
“Don’t peek yet.” Ian kept his hands wrapped firmly over Brooke’s eyelids. “We’re almost there.”
“I’m not peeking, I swear.” Her lips stretching into a grin, she giggled in nervous anticipation as he guided her step-by-step along the sidewalk. He’d taken pains to ensure she had no idea what to expect, and he couldn’t wait to see her reaction.
When he finally lifted his hands from her face, Brooke blinked several times at the empty storefront in front of them—then stared for a long moment at the hand-written sign taped to the window that read
Brooke’s Baked Goods
.
She turned to Ian, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. “What’s this?”
“You don’t have to use that name. It’s just to spark your imagination.”
Her gaze drifted along the papered-over window, then paused to examine the
For Lease
sign on the door. She swiveled her head to look up and down the block, discerning that they stood on the west side of Church Street, among a cluster of charming boutiques that drew tourists in droves during the summer months.
“Wasn’t this the old tea room?” she asked, remembering the location, although the sign had been taken down and the gingham curtains removed from the windows.
Ian nodded, excitement still fluttering in his chest. “I called the landlord, and he’s willing to give you a fantastic deal on this location.”
“For what?” she wondered, still baffled.
“A bakery, of course. Brooke, it’s perfect. You don’t want to go back into finance, so why not try something completely different, something you’re passionate about?”
She stared at him, wide-eyed, as his intention finally sank in. “Open my own bakery?”
“Why not? Eastport doesn’t have a bakery; your stuff will sell like hotcakes—or like black forest cakes and fruit pies and pumpernickel bread, or anything else that strikes your fancy.”
Ian watched her expression, willing her to envision the place as he did—though it needed new furnishings and fixtures, and some decorative touches, he could already imagine it as an old-fashioned country bakery, with the aroma of baked goods drifting out through the door to draw customers in from the street.
He could just as readily picture Brooke coming home to him at the end of the day and sinking into his arms, tired but contented
, her hair suffused with the scent of fresh-baked bread.
Over the past weeks, as they grew closer, he’d allowed himself to believe her mind was turning toward a decision to stay in Eastport.
But first things first. She didn’t look as taken by the idea of the bakery as he’d hoped.
“I don’t know, Ian. I love baking as a hobby, but would I enjoy it as much full time? Besides, I’ve never run a business. It’s hard work.”
“It can’t be any more stressful or time consuming than what you were doing in Toronto,” he pointed out. “Come on, think about it. You know I’m biased; I want you to stay. But I really think you’d be happy here. This town may not be flashy or exciting, but it’s peaceful, and people around here think the world of you. Especially one particular individual.” Enfolding her in his arms, he dropped a soft kiss on her temple. “What more could you ask for?”
Brooke tilted her face up to him, a small smile curving her mouth. “All right, I’ll think about it.”
“Great. Now come sit with me.” Releasing her from his arms, he took her hand and drew her down next to him on a nearby slatted bench affixed to the sidewalk. “I have something else for you.”
“Oh?”
Ian reached into his pocket, his hand closing over the small velvet box he’d stashed there before leaving the house. The slight tremour in his hand as he withdrew it caught him by surprise; he hadn’t expected the emotion of this gesture to overwhelm him, or his heart to batter quite so heavily against his ribcage as he held the box out to her.
Brooke’s cheeks glowed pink as her gaze fell on the box. “What’s this?”
“Open it.”
She hesitated, unsure of what life-altering proposition to expect after his last surprise.
“Don’t look so worried—it’s not an engagement ring,” he told her lightly.
“I didn’t think it was,” she said, though her shoulders relaxed as she took the box from his hand, her lips twitching upward at the edges.
Lifting the lid, she stared down at the contents, her expression bemused at first. Then her jaw sagged and she darted him a wide-eyed glance. Carefully she lifted out the roped silver chain holding a teardrop pendant, its Celtic-knot design identical to the one on her bracelet.
“How in the
world
did you find a necklace that matches the bracelet you bought me
twelve
years ago?” she asked, inspecting it as though she couldn’t quite believe what she held in her hands.
“I’ve had it all along,” Ian confessed. “It was my mother’s.”
Brooke’s slim brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“The bracelet was my mother’s, as well,” he explained, locking his gaze on the necklace as he relayed the memory. “You see, I couldn’t afford to buy you a nice present for your sixteenth birthday, so I went through her jewellery box and picked out the piece I thought you’d like the most. I was too embarrassed to tell you at the time.”
Hearing Brooke draw a shaky breath, Ian glanced up, the abrupt shift in her expression startling him. The colour had drained from her face, and her dark eyes shimmered with moisture. “Oh, Ian, you shouldn’t have done that. You should’ve kept it to remember her by. You should keep this, too.”
Coiling the chain back into the box, she tried thrusting it into his hands, but he pushed it back toward her.
“I wanted you to have the bracelet then, and I want you to have the necklace now.” Maintaining a steady tone as he struggled to make her understand, he grasped her free hand, threading his fingers through hers in reassurance. “I know my mother would’ve approved of you wearing them. She never got the chance to follow her dream, but maybe these items will inspire you to find yours.”