Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [131]
Jago came out of the bedroom, his eyes filled with concern. “I won’t ask for forgiveness. I don’t deserve it. But you do understand, don’t you, Asha?”
She gave him a small smile, staring at him, drinking in his physical beauty. Loving him. Oh, yes, she understood. Too much.
She nodded. “Please don’t worry. Things will sort themselves out.”
“How about taking today off and we go to the river house? It’s always so peaceful there. We can talk more,” he suggested hopefully.
“Sounds like just the ticket,” she lied.
“Good. Let me shower and then we can be on our way.”
Jago hesitated, as if not sure she was all right. Then he gave a nod and entered the bathroom, closing the door. Shortly afterward, the shower started.
Heart breaking, she crossed the room and picked up his cell phone, wallet and key ring, then reached for her purse. She wouldn’t take time to pack; she was heading straight to England and Raven.
Clint staring up at her was almost her undoing. She cupped his sweet face, looking into his orange eyes. “You be a good lad. Delbert, Oo-it and Sam will feed you.” On impulse she leaned down and kissed him between the ears. “Everything will be all right, so don’t you worry.” She just wished she believed that.
After one last look at Clint, she closed the patio door and rushed to her car. The stupid antique Triumph TR 6 cranked and whined and belched, refusing to start. She ground the starter once, making a horrid noise and was afraid she flooded it. She glanced to the bungalow, fearful. Sure enough, the door jerked open and Jago rushed out in just his gray sweatpants.
“Come on, come on, you piece of British Leyland junk,” she begged and cursed in the same breath.
Jago paused and put his hands on his hips. His black hair wet, his chest beaded with water from the shower he hadn’t had time to towel off, the blasted man looked so damn sexy. She loved him more than life, but if he tried to stop her she might run him down.
The motor finally caught and she released the clutch and eased forward. He’d been content to stand and glare at her while the starter was grinding away, only now it was running, so he moved to block her. Rushing up, he put both hands on the hood and made it clear he wasn’t getting out of the way. She smiled, seeing his car keys, cell phone and his wallet sitting on the seat by her pocketbook.
“Hmm . . . might as well give him something in return.”
Locking the door so he couldn’t yank it open, she reached into her purse for the pink napkin, then rolled down the window. Seeing her do that, he came around to the driver’s side.
“Cut the motor, Asha.”
“Here, Mr. Mershan.” She poked her arm out the window to hand him the napkin.
He looked confused, but finally took it. As he started to open it up, her foot punched the gas and the car lurched forward, leaving him standing flatfooted. Slowing to pull onto the lane, she glanced in the rearview mirror and watched him open the napkin that contained her Early Pregnancy Test with the pretty little plus sign.
He gaped for a minute, then his head snapped up.
“Buh bye, Mr. Mershan.” She laughed and floored the gas, leaving him to watch her speed away.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Jago glanced at his watch, then checked the departure time of the plane. Bloody hell, Asha was one-step ahead of him the whole way. At first, he assumed she’d finally return to The Windmill, if for nothing but to kick him out. However, Netta came to say Asha had called, and asked her to handle the restaurant while she was away, that she was going to England for a stay. The damn plane had taken off less than an hour before he reached the airport.
Exhaling his impatience, he punched the number to Falgannon, hoping to catch Des again. He wasn’t pleased with their last conversation. Des still couldn’t let go of the past, and it was slowly destroying him. Instead, Asha’s sister picked up the phone. He almost