“Maybe you should walk on over and see if they need a pianist fit for the Sydney Conservatorium of Music.” Surprised, Kate turned to see Tilly standing in the doorway in her nightgown, arms folded across her chest.

Forcing a smile, Kate turned back to the cupboard. “I didn’t get in—I was only waitlisted, you know that. I wasn’t good enough,” she said softly.

As though Tilly could sense her sorrow, she slinked up behind Kate and linked her bare arms around her waist. Gingerly, through the thin cotton of Kate’s T-shirt, she pressed warm lips against her shoulder. “You were plenty good enough.”

She scoffed. “Maybe for Sunday mass at St. Gerard’s.”

A sigh. Tilly’s hot breath and the whisper of her name. “You tried, Kate. You went to Sydney and auditioned.” She paused, her forehead rolling across the ridge of Kate’s spine. “We were all so proud of you,” she said. “So proud. I never wanted to pressure you into going, but I was so glad you did that for yourself. That you gave it a shot…”

Kate lowered the calico bag to the tiles and spun in Tilly’s arms.

Their gazes locked. “I was serious,” Kate said.

“You were serious?” Tilly repeated, confused.

“In the cabin. When I said I would wait for you if you weren’t ready. I was so serious.”

Tilly licked her lips. “I know.”

Kate’s chest tightened. Do you? “I meant I’d marry you if that’s what you needed—”

They didn’t make it to the bedroom. Instead, they ended up on the lounge, surrendering to an urgency they hadn’t met until now.

It was desperate, nothing like the tender, excruciatingly slow sex they’d been having. It was hot, her hand beneath the hem of Tilly’s nightgown, nestled between soft thighs, working her to the brink of insanity, Tilly’s fingers clutching at her back, hips canting up into Kate’s as she pressed her into the cushions. It was also risky—the front door was unlocked and while the sisters were across the street with their choir guests, it wasn’t uncommon for Sister Ruth to enter the cottage without knocking. Tilly had to be thinking it too.

Lips curved over Tilly’s throat, Kate’s tongue flattened to feel the vibrato of Tilly’s moan as her fingers sought the undoing of Tilly’s pleasure. And then, suddenly, Tilly’s hand was slipping below the waistband of Kate’s shorts, into her underwear, and together they were working each other to a high, Tilly’s head tipped back in frustration as the ache for each other escalated and escalated, beating loudly like a drum.

This was worship. Tilly arched restlessly, eyes fluttering open and locking on Kate’s, pleading.

Before Kate could give Tilly what she so desperately craved, her own orgasm caught her off guard, hard and fast. She gripped the back of the lounge, trying to gather herself as Tilly writhed beneath her, so close. Swallowing harshly, she focused on Tilly. Her mind, however, was elsewhere.

It hadn’t been Tilly’s gasps, or the pull of Tilly at her fingers that had taken her to the edge. No. She’d been thinking about Tilly at Mornington that afternoon, dipping her feet in Port Phillip Bay and calling out that the water was freezing. At the memory, Kate’s body had snapped.