Harlequin Romance March 2021 Box Set Cara Colter (the mitten read aloud TXT) 📖

up or any of those other less intimate terms. Because what they’d done had felt intimate—not casual or temporary.

‘I just thought I might wake worried about the future and wondering if we’d made a mistake or feeling as if we’d rushed into this.’

‘But you don’t?’

‘I just feel…happy.’

It was enough for now.

He forced himself out of bed and reached for his jeans, though he almost launched himself back into bed at the heat in her gaze as it roved over his naked body. Instead he concentrated on drawing his jeans up over his hips without doing himself an injury.

‘Do you have plans for the day?’

She shook her head.

‘Hungry?’

‘Starving.’

‘Then let me take you to brunch. Frankie’s is the best deli in New York. They do blueberry pancakes that will have you thinking you’ve died and gone to heaven.’

‘Sounds fab.’

‘I’ll head downstairs for a shower.’ He pressed a kiss to her lips. ‘Why don’t you head on down when—?’

His gaze caught on the stack of letters on Callie’s bedside table. Callie’s letters from Frances. Unopened.

He glanced back at her and she bit her lip, some of the light leaving her eyes. ‘I just…’ Her fingers pleated the sheet. ‘I just haven’t been able to.’

A burn started up deep in his chest. She’d had so much to come to terms with in the last few weeks.

‘Owen, just for today, can we not talk about it?’

He reached out to touch her face. ‘Deal. Today is just about you and me.’

‘Thank you.’

Her smile was the only reward he needed. ‘I’ll see you downstairs whenever you’re ready?’

She nodded, her eyes sparkling again.

He hummed all the way down to his basement apartment. And if he sensed his progress being noted by several residents in the block, it didn’t perturb him in the slightest.

CHAPTER TEN

‘YOU’RE SURE ABOUT THIS?’

Callie glanced across the serving of hot chips lying on greaseproof paper between her and Owen and forced herself to nod. She mightn’t have much enthusiasm for this upcoming appointment, but she had every intention of going through with it and meeting Frances’s second husband, Richard Bateman.

The last four days had passed in a bubble of exhilaration and bliss. She and Owen had spent most of that time laughing and making love. And he’d shown her all his favourite haunts in Greenwich and the West Village. It had been perfect—as if she’d suddenly remembered how to have fun again after a hundred years of misery and gloom. Which didn’t make sense. So little of her life had been either miserable or gloomy.

She stole a glance at him. She couldn’t shake a sense of unease—as if this thing between them was too perfect and couldn’t possibly last.

Don’t be daft! How can anything be too perfect?

She tried to calm the sudden pounding of her heart. She hadn’t embarked on this relationship either too quickly or with too little forethought. Why should she have hesitated? Owen was ten times the man Dominic was. She loved spending time with him.

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked. ‘You’re very quiet.’

She forced herself to smile. ‘I’m fine. Just…taking it all in.’

They’d arrived in Larchmont ninety minutes ago, and Owen had driven her around the pretty harbour. They’d walked down the main street, with its assortment of boutiques, bakeries and delis. They’d taken some video footage—just in case. And now they’d settled on the grass in the park with a view of the beach to eat their lunch of what she called chips and he called fries.

The town was lovely—really pretty. The company was great. In fact, the company was the best ever. The sun shone and the air was warmer and more fragrant than she’d so far experienced while she’d been in America. But her appetite had deserted her. And, although he smiled, Owen couldn’t hide the concern in his eyes.

An answering anxiety churned in her stomach. ‘Look,’ she started, ‘neither of us is expecting to like Richard, but I can’t see what harm he can do us. Besides, what happened between him and Frances took place a long time ago.’

‘He could try to charm money out of you.’

‘I mean to try to charm information out of him.’

‘You think he has any?’

‘Probably not.’ She pressed her hands together. ‘It just feels as if this is my last lead.’

You still have Frances’s letters.

She pushed that thought aside. She hadn’t been able to overcome her reluctance to read them yet.

‘So I have to follow it through.’

‘For the job?’

‘And my own peace of mind.’

He nodded, and she knew he understood. But questions continued to plague her, and she couldn’t help but wonder what would happen when she found out the answers. She wanted to know the identity of her father, and she wouldn’t rest now until she discovered it. But just as importantly she wanted to find out what had happened between her mother and her grandmother all those years ago.

If Richard couldn’t shed any light on that she’d resolved to ask her mother. How else would she be able to decide whether or not to keep the inheritance Frances had left her?

But… She glanced at Owen. If she didn’t keep it, how would he react? He wouldn’t be happy—that much was certain. But would it bring their perfect love affair crashing down around their ears? Would he make it a condition—accept Frances’s legacy or else he’d break things off between them?

She rubbed a hand across her heart. Surely not. He’d never be that unreasonable. But, no matter how severely she told herself that, a part of her remained unconvinced. Owen had loved Frances as if she’d been his own flesh and blood. Callie couldn’t compete with that.

‘What if he does know something and you don’t like what he has to say? What if he tells you your father is a nasty piece of work?’ Owen asked.

They were questions she’d repeatedly asked herself. ‘I fully expect my father to be wholly unlikable. Why else would my mother keep his existence a secret? But I’m no longer a child that needs