Just Come Over by James Rosalind

Author:James, Rosalind
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bellbird Publishing
Published: 2019-01-13T16:00:00+00:00

She was floating along, except that wasn’t the right word. Floating was something you did on clouds, and she wasn’t on a cloud. She was in the bath, the warm water pouring over her, stretching out luxuriously and letting it come. Or, possibly, drowning in Rhys’s eyes, which, if they’d ever been hard or cold, weren’t that way now.

He was looking at her across the piano, that was what it was. She felt it. She knew it. The cool touch of the wine on her tongue, the layers of it, the rich taste in her mouth . . . she knew it. She said, “Kiss me. That’s what the song means.”

He blinked those dark-lashed, green-gold eyes. Slowly. “Pardon?”

“It’s Latin. Song of Solomon.”

“Ah. ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for your love is sweeter than wine.’” When she must have looked gobsmacked, he said, “I looked it up. No excuses, eh. You said it was sexy, so I looked it up. I know another part as well. ‘Behold, thou art fair, my love; behold thou art fair, thou hast doves’ eyes.’”

She shuddered. She couldn’t help it. He saw, and she knew he recognized it for what it was: a hot rush that had gone straight down her body and settled in her core. The buzz had become a hum, insistent and too warm. A smoke alarm was going off, somewhere in the back of her mind, and she wasn’t listening. She wanted to burn.

His eyes got hotter, and he lost the smile. “My beloved is mine,” she said, letting the words fall out and lie there, exposed, “and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies.” She tried to smile herself, but wasn’t sure it was working. “That one got me thinking, when I was fourteen or so. Rebellious even in church, eh.”

“There’s so much more to you,” he said, “than a mum.”

Her hand was on his, somehow. “And there’s so much more to you than rugby. Could be most people never look deeper.”

He looked down at his plate like he wasn’t seeing it, then up at her again. “Right,” he said, then sat up, pulled out his phone, and texted something, and she thought, What? He put the phone away and began working his way through the lamb, and she thought, All righty, then. That’s told me. She tried not to look at the breadth of his shoulders in the open suit coat, at the way his blue shirt lay over his deep chest, and failed.

She’d had too much to drink. She might have embarrassed herself forever with him. The smoke alarm was louder now, more insistent.

Then don’t ask me out, boy, she thought, and tell me I should’ve worn the red dress, and drank a little more wine. This is me, and if you don’t like it? That’s not my problem.

Another drunken thought. But her own.

Five minutes later, the waiter took away the lamb and the glasses, and Rhys asked her, “How much do you want the sweet courses?”

“Uh .

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