The Secret Path by Karen Swan (summer beach reads TXT) 📕

‘Well,’ she said finally. ‘That’s good to know. Remind me not to fall out with you,’ she teased, her arm brushing over him in long, languid strokes. She loved the feeling of their skin-on-skin.

‘It’s not looking especially likely at the moment.’

‘I’m hoping for a lot longer than a moment,’ she said, hoisting herself up onto her elbows so that she was able to look at him clearly, at the beautiful face that had captured her even before their first hello. She felt the attraction zip between them, his fingertips pressing a little more firmly against her flesh. She tapped her index finger against his chest, one of her nervous tics he found endearing. ‘So. Don’t you want to ask me if I’ve got a secret too?’

He looked back at her, a flicker of bemusement in his eyes. ‘I don’t know. Do I?’

‘Well, I thought you would. Now I’m not sure.’ Her tone sounded tart in the face of his seeming indifference. What if he wasn’t as curious about her as she was about him? Did he feel the same need to possess her – body, soul, every last memory?

‘So, you’re not sure if I’m sure I want to hear your secret,’ he murmured drily, sinking back into quietness again.

The silence in the room deepened. ‘What are you thinking?’ she whispered, when he offered nothing further. No curiosity, no wonderings.

‘I’m thinking I’m not sure we should be having this conversation.’

She pulled away, stung by the comment, but his hands clasped her and held her firmly. ‘I’m teasing,’ he grinned. ‘Of course I want to hear your secret.’

‘I don’t think you do,’ she mumbled, feeling thrown.

He flipped her onto her back in a fluid motion. ‘Twig, I do,’ he said, leaning on his elbows and kissing her lightly on the tip of her nose. ‘I do. Tell me your most secret secret. The one thing you’ve never told anyone else.’

She stared up into those green eyes, her mouth parted for the words to come. But the moment had gone, and her big secret with them. ‘. . . I hate mushrooms.’

He deflated, looking visibly underwhelmed. ‘That’s it? You hate mushrooms?’

‘Mm-hmm. Detest them,’ she nodded. ‘But I’ve never told anyone. So I always eat them when they’re served up. To be polite.’

‘You Brits and your politeness,’ he tutted, looking baffled. ‘Why can’t you just say when you don’t like something?’

‘Well, as you just pertinently pointed out, it’s a British thing. We apologize when other people walk into us. We wait for permission to leave when we’ve paid for something with the correct change. I’ll probably end up marrying the first guy who asks me, just to be polite.’

He arched an eyebrow. ‘Twig, will you marry me?’

‘Absolutely. Thank you so much for asking. How kind.’

They both laughed, Alex burying his face in her neck, his silky dark hair tickling her cheek. She felt his teeth graze her skin lightly, mock-biting her and sending a flush of goosebumps up her body. He sank back again, lying on his side, resting his head in one hand as he began tracing swirls on her stomach. ‘Baby, you have got to learn the power of “no”. I’m going to Americanize you. Repeat after me. No.’

‘No.’

‘Bit stronger. No.’

‘No.’

He frowned.

She tried again. ‘No!’

‘Okay, it’s passable. You’re a quick learner,’ he shrugged. ‘Now let’s apply it to some real-life scenarios. Twig, would you like a puppy for your birthday?’

She laughed. ‘No.’

He nodded, looking impressed. ‘Twig, let’s go to Kabul for Christmas.’

‘No!’

‘Excellent. Most excellent . . . Twig, you should definitely wear the red shoes in bed, with nothing else.’

She laughed louder, her body arching off the sheets. ‘No!’

‘Damn. Own goal.’ He pulled a face, but his eyes were dancing with merriment. ‘Twig, would you like some garlic mushrooms with your steak?’

‘No!’

He held an arm out in amazement. ‘I believe my work here is done.’

‘You’re a truly great teacher, Alex Carter. What a magnificent professor you’re going to be.’

‘Thank you. But there’s still one final test.’ He took a slow, deep breath and pinned her with a stare that could have made the stars leap down from the sky. ‘Twig, will you marry me?’

‘Absolutely. Thanks so much for asking. How kind.’

‘No!’ he wailed, pressing his face into the crook of her neck again, shaking his head as she laughed beneath him, feeling especially ticklish, the midnight hysterics beginning to get her. ‘You were so close. So close.’ He looked back at her. ‘But now look – instead you’re going to be stuck with me for eternity, all because you’re a polite Brit who couldn’t say no. I’m really sorry, baby. That’s some hard cheese right there.’

Her laughter faded as she looked up at him, seeing past the jokes. ‘. . . Huh?’

‘You didn’t say no.’

‘No.’

The eyebrow went up. ‘No, you agree you didn’t say no? Or no, you don’t want to marry me?’

He was bamboozling her. ‘No, I . . . agree I didn’t say no.’

His smile widened as he pulled her towards him. ‘So at least now you’ll have the rest of your life to learn.’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, feeling her heart begin to quicken.

‘Yes,’ he echoed, his gaze locking with hers. ‘I like that word better.’

‘Yes.’

‘Twig, will you marry me?’

‘Yes—’ His mouth was upon hers, his body weight pushing her deeper into the mattress, all jokes forgotten as they submitted to the chemistry that had shocked them both at their very first meeting, only four months earlier. Glued to their phones during the morning rush, she had inadvertently picked up his soy filter and he had chased her halfway down Queen’s Gate with her caramel macchiato. So much of it had slopped over the sides as he ran that it was half empty by the time he caught up with her and as their eyes had met over his breathless explanations, he’d insisted on buying her another. She’d ended up missing her lecture on pharmacodynamics that morning and he’d missed a meeting with his PhD supervisor. Coffee had become lunch, then they’d met up that evening for dinner and they’d not spent a