“I guess.” Celeste grew silent, and Roarke returned his attention to the black water. It rolled up to the seashore, the lulling sound almost hypnotic. “I couldn’t sleep,” he heard her say, “so I came out here to get my feet wet.”
He held up his bare foot and showed jeans rolled up to his calves. “Same here.” That was only half the truth. Yes, he couldn’t sleep, but he’d come outside because inside the house, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, knowing she slept but a few feet away.
A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth, and he smiled back. Easy. He knew better than to get too relaxed. The minute he let his guard down, he’d be doing something foolish and impulsive. And hypocritical.
He should have let her walk back into the house as she’d intended. Avoidance would be the best way to keep the wild attraction at bay, but he didn’t want to avoid her. He’d watched her descend the stairs and stretch her arms above her head to ease her tense muscles.
At the same time, taunting thoughts dared him to step behind her and remove the oversized shirt, which didn’t hide anything, only tempted. They encouraged him to push her down on the grass and quench his thirst for her. A thirst so deeply ingrained in him, it seemed to be part of his DNA. The day spent in her company had only been bearable because being in public created a buffer, forcing him to behave with a grain of common decency.
Celeste lifted her eyes heavenward and showed off the graceful line of her neck. “I hope this isn’t a stupid question,” she said, lowering her gaze back to him, “but I’ve always wondered, why does it seem as if there are more stars in places like this? In Atlanta, I hardly ever see them. Someone told me once it’s because of the lights in the city. Is that true?”
“It’s not a stupid question, and yes, it’s true. The reason we can’t see the stars in cities is because of light pollution. Light pollution happens when naturally occurring light levels are altered by artificial light. The light from signs, streetlights, et cetera shine directly upward and obscure the stars, making them difficult to see in larger cities. It’s also a pain for astronomers, because it limits our ability to make good observations.”
She listened with rapt attention. “I can see how much you love what you do.”
“I can’t deny it. I do.” He hooked his thumb in a loop of his jeans. “Being able to escape into my own world, into the stars, helped me through some difficult periods in my life.”
“Derrick told me about your parents.” She appeared hesitant, as if she wanted to gauge if she’d said too much.
“So now you know the whole sordid story. Did he tell you my mother died soon after our father did? Supposedly of a heart attack, but . . . well, we think her heart was broken from losing my father and finding out he was with his mistress when he died. The actions of two people hurt a lot of other people.”
“How did you handle all of it?” she asked quietly.
“To be honest, I didn’t think about it much. I grieved, but not for long. I had to take care of my brother and sister, and my first semester at MIT was about to start. I couldn’t let what happened to our parents keep us from moving forward. The pain of my parents’ deaths and the chaos afterward slowed me down for a bit, but we were alive, and our whole lives stretched ahead of us. Our only option was to move forward.”