Tears of Glass by Anna Bloom

Author:Anna Bloom [Bloom, Anna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: contemporary romance, womens fiction, steamy romance
Publisher: Anna Bloom
Published: 2018-12-27T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

“God, I’m so full.” I have to undo the button on my trousers as we walk down the street.

“I told you not to have the chocolate torte as well.” Elijah is clinking two bottles of wine in one hand, his fingers looped around their necks. Apparently, we need the nuclear wine in our room later.

“You were supposed to share.”

“I was worried you were going to attack me with your fork if I tried.”

We chuckle and I link my arm through his as his lips brush my hair. “Where are we going now? I think I need a lie down after all that food.”

Eli wriggles his eyebrows and I giggle, an irrepressible blast of mirth I can’t keep inside. I can’t stop and spend too long thinking about being here with him. If I do my brain pounds like it’s going to explode.

We’ve just eaten the most wonderful food and drunk a bottle of wine each. My capacity for clear thinking is long gone.

“I want to show you something.” He kisses my hair again. I could happily let him kiss me forever.

Can I?

Can I go from never having a boyfriend to allowing one man into my life forever?

We walk down a road towards the town walls. Everything is beautiful with an abundance of flowers. “You know how I hate painting?” I say.

“Yes.”

“I would love to paint this. Everything is so bright and fresh.” The sun is setting on the warm stones of the town walls. “I think this must be the most beautiful place in the world.”

He’s staring at me, his eyes bright and intense. “I love it here, too. The walls are medieval you know. It’s one of the only medieval towns in the world not to spill outside of the original fortifications.”

“Thank you, Professor Fairclough.”

“Hey, don’t tease. I actually like history.”

I pretend to stifle a yawn and I’m so busy giggling at my infantile humour, I’m not watching what he’s doing at first. It’s only when he stops outside a peeling white painted door and slides a key from his pocket into the lock that I notice he’s doing anything other than kissing me and holding my hand.

“What are you doing? This isn’t the hotel.”

“Nope.” He flashes me a super wide smile.

The door creaks open and Elijah pulls me by the hand into a huge hallway and places the bottles on a dusty bureau top. Slanted rays of sunlight filter through shutters and the air is musty, swirling with dust motes unsettled by our entrance. A wide curving staircase spirals down from a mezzanine. It’s a typical French town house, but unused and by the looks of it unloved.

“What is this place?” I turn on the spot taking it all in again.

“I inherited it when Pops died. It’s been sitting around for a very long time.”

I’d say. The dust is about two inches thick.

I shake my head a little trying to make sense of it all. “Firstly, who is Pops? And secondly, you own a house in Carcassonne?”

He smiles slowly and grasps my hand as he leads us further into the derelict building.

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