Lord. He could have walked straight across the moors. He was Heathcliff incarnate.
She snatched her hand back, freeing it from his hold.
A furrow passed through his brow, and then he dropped his hand. “You’re welcome to join us at the fire. It’s just the town party, winding down. Nothing private.” He paused and looked past her down the beach from whence she’d come. “Your husband, too. All comers.”
“It’s only me.” She thought. She should thank him and decline, then turn and head back to the solitude of her house, solitude about which she’d been ecstatic only minutes before, before she’d come upon the bonfire and suddenly and rather ironically gotten melancholy about the absence of friendship or connection in her life.
But she was melancholy about it. Moreover, standing here, she’d realized that her feet hurt. She’d walked quite a long way in her well-tended bare feet, feet which were not allowed to become calloused. The salt in the incoming tidewater stung, even as the cold numbed. And her knees ached.
Perhaps a short rest by a warm fire was a good idea. “Yes, thank you. I’d like that. For a minute or two only. Then I should go back.”
Again, he smiled and held out his hand. She returned the smile but walked past his hand, heading up toward the fire on her own, ignoring the sting on the soles of her feet. She was quite adept at ignoring pain. When she reached the circle of people and flame, though, she was at a loss. This was not an event for which she understood the protocol, and there wasn’t an obvious place for her to sit that she could see.
Then she felt a hand on her lower back, and she flinched a little and turned. Carlo stood behind her, his hand out oddly, as if he’d just pulled it away—which, in fact, he had. With his other hand, he gestured to a long log, where an enormous animal...a dog? Was that a dog?...lay, its head up, watching her with interest. That interest didn’t seem hungry, so Sabina allowed Carlo to lead her to the log, and she sat.
“Can I get you a drink? There’s some beer left, some bottled water…a couple of bottles of booze are going around, but I don’t guess…”
“Water would be nice, thank you.” He went off with a nod, and Sabina sat and looked around the bonfire. No one had taken much notice of her, except the dog, which had risen to sit and was now staring at her imploringly. When Sabina met its eyes, it pushed its nose toward her and shifted. The giant, furry beast wanted her to pet it. Hoping that she would not lose a limb in the effort, she brushed her hand over its wide head covered in soft, silky fur, and the dog immediately dropped that massive melon into her lap.
“Elsa, down.” Carlo was back and holding out a bottle of water to her. At his command, the dog slithered sadly from her lap to lie again on the sand.
Sabina took the bottle, and Carlo sat next to her. “Elsa. It’s—she’s a girl?”
“Yes.”
“She seems very sweet. She’s enormous, though. Like a bear. What kind of dog is she?”
“Leonberger. She is sweet. They’re known as gentle giants.”
Sabina nodded and sipped from her bottle. Having exhausted all the things she could think of to say about dogs—pets were not part of her experience with James, and thus not part of her experience at all—she fell silent and let her eyes trail over the people around her. They were mostly clustered in small groups—couples, families with sleeping children, friends—and yet the atmosphere, full of music, was very much of togetherness. It made her feel peace and tumult all at once. Perhaps she’d been better off without this taste of life out from under James’s thumb. The past few hours had been all about things she could not have.
But if he was going to kill her, at least she could first take a little taste of what life was for other people.
She turned; Carlo was looking at the fire. He was handsome, in that brooding, dark romance way. Wearing mismatched clothes—camouflage shorts and an unbuttoned plaid flannel shirt—he looked more relaxed than she was used to people being. With his attention away from her, she let herself indulge further in her critique. Strong, long, solid legs, with a moderate coverage of dark hair. His forearms, too, what was visible beyond the cuffs of his shirt, were long and visibly muscled. The loose lay of his open shirt didn’t afford much of a view of his chest, but what she saw was nice.
Yes, he was handsome. And she was absolutely insane for even indulging her eyes. She felt as if somehow James would be able to tell, as if at this moment in Providence, wherever he was, at the office, at home, in another woman’s bed, wherever, he could see her seeing this man here.