“I’m not feeling very shy at all,” she said, pressing her body against his and making all coherent thoughts fall out of his head.
“Wait,” he said breathlessly. “We were going to talk.”
“True.” She kissed his jaw and then his neck. “But now I’d like to suggest we save the talking for later… or tomorrow. It’s Christmas, and I can think of much better things to do than talk about your earlier life of crime.”
He chuckled. “I already told you I was never a criminal.”
“Good.” She rubbed her nose against his. “That means whatever it is can wait.”
With her hands creeping under his jumper and her fingers trailing up his back, he didn’t feel as though he had much choice in the matter.
She pulled back, weaving her fingers with his. “Would you like to see my tattoo now?”
“Yeah.” Beaming, he followed her into the bedroom. “I’d like that a lot.”
Chapter Forty-Eight
Waking on Boxing Day with Warren’s arms wrapped around her, Anna felt a deep sense of joy. She gazed at his features while her stomach turned somersaults at the memory of their night together.
She’d purposely distracted him from telling her whatever it was he’d been hiding. She should probably have heard him out, but at the time she’d been too hyped up on wine and Christmas cheer for any deep conversations.
If she was honest, she hadn’t wanted anything to ruin the mood.
Now, she wondered what had got him so wound up. Presumably, she’d find out soon enough.
He didn’t stir as she ran her fingers over the tattoos on his bicep, or when she eased herself out of his embrace.
Pulling on his T-shirt, she headed for the kitchen.
She made coffee for Warren in his favourite mug and used her new mug for herself.
Impatiently, she took a scalding sip before setting it back down and drifting into the living room, which wasn’t as tidy as the last time she’d visited. Books lay strewn on the table, and onewas open and draped over the arm of the couch. Picking it up, her eyes skimmed the content. Then she sank onto the couch and turned it over to read the title.
“Snooping again?”
Her head snapped up to Warren, who stood in the kitchen in a pair of boxer shorts.
“I don’t think it’s snooping if things are lying around. Also, it’s not exactly private. It’s only books.” Once again, her gaze roamed over the titles of the non-fiction collection. “Why are you reading books about staff management?”
Warren pulled out a chair at the kitchen table, turning it to face her before taking a seat. “Because Lewis had a go at me for the way I run the kitchen. He doesn’t like the way I manage the staff.”
“And you didn’t just tell him where to go?”
“No.”
She caught the vulnerability in his eyes but couldn’t figure out why he looked so defeated. “Why not?” she asked quietly.
“Because he was right – I don’t know how to manage the kitchen.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “I don’t know what I’m doing in that kitchen most of the time.”
“Well, that’s not true.” She smiled through her confusion. “I’ve seen you in the kitchen. You absolutely know what you’re doing. I’ve also eaten your food. Of course, you know what you’re doing.”
“What I’m doing,” he said slowly. “Is winging it. Every single day.”
She stared at him, waiting for him to crack a smile and make a joke, but his posture was rigid.
“Is it like an imposter syndrome thing?” she asked eventually. “Sometimes I feel like that when I’m doing a workshop or something… like I’m not really qualified to teach people anything.”
He shook his head. “I’m genuinely not qualified. I told you I studied economics…”
