Summer of Surrender

Zara Stoneley

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Zara Stoneley

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013

Copyright © Zara Stoneley

Cover Images © Shutterstock.com

Zara Stoneley asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © November 2013

ISBN: 9780007556571

Version 2014-09-26

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

To my family, who have always encouraged me to follow my dreams, and my very own sexy hero who has provided the inspiration and support to turn them into reality.

Chapter 1

‘Shit.’ Whoever said climbing gates in a maxi dress was possible had got it wrong. Seriously wrong. Or maybe no one had been stupid enough to say it.

Kezia Martin clung on to the top of the wobbling timber and considered her options. Rolling off was a definite possibility, except that the driveway looked like it had a high ‘ouch’ factor. Although she was a million miles from sophisticated, even she knew that a gravelled face was not a good look. But there didn’t seem to be an option B. Apart from the ‘split your dress at the seams’ one, and she did actually like this dress quite a lot. And as it made up fifty per cent of her going-out wardrobe, she wasn’t ready to sacrifice it, and neither did she want expose her thighs – or worse – to the world.

Not that there was much of the world here to see anyway. The monosyllabic taxi driver had dropped her off by a five-bar gate in the middle of nowhere, and scarpered before she had the chance to say she’d changed her mind. Not that she really wanted to face another trip in his car.

She’d actually been feeling pretty positive, if knackered, when she’d staggered out of the train station. And even the one battered taxi that was parked in the otherwise deserted rank didn’t deflate her too much. The driver had taken her bag without a great deal of enthusiasm, shoved his newspaper onto the passenger seat and raised an eyebrow when she’d read out the address, which seemed a bit rude. He’d muttered something that she could have sworn sounded like ‘you don’t look like one of them,’ but she could have got that bit wrong. Then he’d stoically ignored her and driven further and further into the countryside before unceremoniously dumping her, grabbing his fare and driving off in his belching car. Which was doubly rude.

She would have been more worried, but the back of beyond was probably a good place to be right now. A good place to start again. And anyway, she was too darned tired to really think about anything, apart from the comfy bed that just had to be waiting for her. It had to be.

Or maybe not. There wasn’t an intercom, not even a bell, just the gate, firmly fastened with a chain that wouldn’t have looked out of place attached to an anchor. She’d tried hollering and she’d tried waiting, though not for that long since patience wasn’t her greatest virtue. Then she’d decided that there obviously wasn’t a guard dog, and she was too tired to sit in the road any longer. At least on the other side she might find somewhere to sit down and wait. It had to be better than staying on the outside. So she’d thrown her rucksack and guitar over the gate and planned on following them. Which involved hitching up the dress to just over her knees and taking advantage of the generous slit down one side. The problem was there was no slit on the other side, so once she was astride the gate, things got tricky. Whichever way she tried to move there was the tell-tale sound of the snapping of stitches. Bugger.

She would ring for help, but her mobile was in her rucksack. On the ground, right where she was heading. Which left two options: praying to God for help, or making an even bigger fool of herself. She shut her eyes, which always helped with thinking. And praying.

‘What-’ there was a God, with a wicked sense of humour seeing as she just about fell off the precarious perch, ‘-are you doing?’ Well, maybe not a God. She turned as far as she could, cricking her neck in the process, and could just about make out a tall, lean figure. The low sun behind him made everything but his outline pretty much indiscernible, so she screwed up her eyes to try and focus on him. Which didn’t help.

‘Are you going to give me a hand, or just stand there?’

‘No to the first, yes to the second.’ He didn’t just stand there, though. He took a couple of steps nearer, so that she could make out quite clearly that this wasn’t some mysterious God, just a mysterious mortal. With a soft voice, which had an undertone that was making her skin prickle.

‘Very helpful, not.’ It was muttered under her breath, but she had the distinct feeling, from the look on his face, that he’d heard. Kezia didn’t believe in love at first sight, or hate either. But right now this guy was making her think that the second was maybe an option. He stood, arms folded, feet astride and just looked through narrowed eyes while she clung to his gate. Well, she assumed it was his gate, seeing as he was on the other side.

Black t-shirt, black pasted-on jeans, black hair, black face. Or at least a not-very-pleased face. Inscrutable was probably the word, inscrutable in quite a brooding way, which made her feel even more of a dishevelled mess.

‘This is private property.’ His tone was mild, but he was obviously used to people taking notice of it. Which riled her. She’d been invited here, for fuck’s sake.

‘What do you think I am? Stupid? I did actually realise that, for a start the bloody big padlock’s a bit of a giveaway. But, I was told to come here, today, by Marie.’ And I feel bloody silly having a conversation while I’m wobbling on a gate. ‘You know? Marie, who runs the place?’ Okay, sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, but right now it worked for her.

‘We’re shut.’

‘Well that’s bloody obvious by the mega-duty chain. But I. Have. Got. An. Appointment.’ She spoke slowly, hoping it would help.

‘Sorry, there are no appointments until September.’ He took a step back, arms still folded across his body and looked like he was about to go.

‘You have got to be joking!’ Kezia couldn’t believe it. He stood there and replied, calmly ‘we’re shut’. Just like you would say a shop is shut. And she’d just travelled over a thousand bloody miles for this! He didn’t look like the kidding type, though. Closer up he looked like the strong, silent, ‘I’m sexy and I know it’ type. Except the corner of his mouth had tipped slightly into a shape that looked vaguely promising; almost a smile. All she had to do was work out how to humour him, and still get in. ‘You can’t be shut, buster. I might not be sure I want to be here and you sure as hell don’t look like you want me to be. But I am. And I’m going to do this if it kills us both. So do me a favour and either help me down or shut your eyes, because me climbing over isn’t going to be a pretty sight.’

‘Is that your stuff?’ He nodded his head towards her well-worn rucksack and battered guitar case.

She nodded. Two long strides and he’d laid his hand on the guitar case, and she just knew what he was going to do. Throw it back over, and then probably her with it. ‘Don’t you dare.’ Nobody touched her guitar. The rucksack, yeah, but not the guitar. She made a grab to stop him, forgetting she needed to hang on, heard the unmistakeable sound of tearing fabric and fell. Shit, torn dress and face. Shit, shit, shit. Except she didn’t hit the ground.

How anyone could move that fast she didn’t know. But his warm hands were on her waist, which meant her feet hit the ground before her body. ‘Oo.’ She was inches from him, and his hands were still on her body and it didn’t feel like any touch she could remember. It was a lulling touch, a warmth that held a kind of promise that she didn’t quite recognise.

And she still had her mouth open. She snapped it shut. He let go, in his own time, but didn’t move away.

‘Are you okay?’

She nodded. Her tongue didn’t work. It was stuck to the roof of her mouth because this man was pure unadulterated sex. He was surrounded by an aura that was screaming out ‘touch me, want me.’ She reached out tentatively without thinking. And then he moved. One step away. Out of arms’ reach.

‘I’m…’ Well, she was red hot for one. All over. The first flush was down to the way he held her, the second was please-earth-swallow-me-up embarrassment.

‘You are?’

‘I’m Kezia Martin, how do you do? I do have an appointment, and please don’t throw me back over the gate. You see I talked to Maria when we were in Capri and she said that if I came here now, well as soon as I’d finished in Italy, which she knew was two days ago, she said she’d be able to—’

He held up a hand. ‘Whoa. Do you always go at that speed? Slow down, you’re giving me a headache.’

She was babbling, she knew she was babbling. It was a bad habit she had when she felt stupid or embarrassed. She would always talk too much to cover for herself.

‘So…’ He paused. Studying her with eyes that appeared black in the dimming light, he looked her over with a lazy smile that brought out a rash of goose bumps over her arms. No, it couldn’t be his smile; smiles didn’t do that. It had to be the fact that it was getting cooler. She wrapped her arms across her chest and tried to ignore the prickle of her nipples through the fine silk of her dress. His gaze drifted briefly over her body and she shivered involuntarily. Her hair had to be a mess, her dress had a rip somewhere – she wasn’t quite sure where yet, and she daren’t look. Her body was on full alert, as though any moment now she expected him to pounce.

‘You’re cold.’

If it’s the nipples you’ve spotted, that’s nothing to do with the temperature. ‘I’m fine.’ There was a slight tremble in the words and she swallowed, trying to clear her throat, get back to normality and break the spell that he’d woven.

He ignored the words. Looked her over slowly again and seemed to come to an abrupt decision.

‘Seeing as you seem to be on the wrong side of the gate now…’ He paused. Wrong side, right side, depends on whose saying the words, mate. ‘You might as well come and explain in the house.’ He picked her rucksack up, swung it over one shoulder as though it was feather-light (which she knew for a fact it wasn’t as she’d hauled it across half of Europe, frequently cursing the fact that it was crammed full with most of her worldly goods) and she made a grab for her guitar, which he seemed to know was off limits. Then he walked off with an effortless stride that ate up the ground silently.

She felt like a dog scampering after him, trying to keep up, across a yard she barely had time to take in, except for the fact that it had to be the cleanest yard she’d ever seen. Down a path between immaculate flowerbeds that led to a slightly faded, but obviously once-imposing, farmhouse.

He slowed briefly, to push the large oak door open wider, and had marched across the worn flagstones, dropped the rucksack and was pouring coffee before she’d even had chance to get her bearings. Or catch her breath.

‘So?’ He passed her a mug, then placed his own on the table between them and waited. For an explanation. She opened her mouth, then closed it. Thing was, why did she have to explain at all? He obviously lived here, and he obviously, from his reaction, knew Marie. But now she had her hands wrapped around a warm mug and her heart rate had returned to normal she was beginning to feel that hate, well, dislike, again. Who did he think he was? At least at this distance, with a table between them, the intensity had dwindled to a gentle simmer.

‘I run the business with Dan and Marie.’

Ah, he was a mind-reader. His long, slim finger stroked around the rim of the mug. She took a moment to look at him properly. He was lean, toned rather than muscled-up, and every part of him seemed to be essential, nothing wasted, nothing extra. His arms were defined, as an artist would define their model. He seemed to possess a quiet strength, holding back, contained and yet on the edge, as though a single command could unleash his power. His hair was dark to the point of black, as were his eyes – it hadn’t been a trick of the failing light, even here under the artificial glare there was an almost unnatural depth to the colour. His features were aquiline. Enigmatic, hidden. She felt that shudder again and decided to stop examining him so closely.

‘Marie offered me a job.’ She took a sip, concentrating on the steam rising from the liquid. ‘So, I’m here.’

‘And she’s not.’ His voice was gentle, as though he didn’t want to frighten her.

‘She’s not?’

‘Nope.’ He leaned back, and she was aware of him stretching his legs out under the table, closer to her own. She crossed her ankles under the chair, scrunching up into a smaller space.

He smiled. ‘Marie and Dan are away, everyone is away. I’m here looking after the horses, and we’re shut for the summer, so I’m afraid there isn’t a job.’

‘But, she said, she promised.’ Kezia reached for her rucksack. She needed this job, needed money, more to the point. She was stuck here in the middle of nowhere, down to her last few pounds and with nowhere else to go. ‘Look, I’ll ring her if you don’t believe me.’ When she could find her phone, why the hell could she never find things? It was in the side pocket, it was always…. No, it was in the top.

‘Don’t worry. Leave it. You can stay here tonight and then in the morning…’

‘No, I’m staying here. You’ve got to give me a job.’

His eyes narrowed a touch. Ignore it. ‘Marie promised. Here.’ She grabbed at her phone triumphantly and pulled up the list of contacts.

His hand came down over hers before she could search.

‘I said, leave it.’ The voice was still as soft, but there was that edge again. The edge that made her stomach clench with strange anticipation. She dragged her fingers away from the heat of his touch. Put her hands under the table.

‘No.’ Whatever spell he was used to casting over women, it wasn’t going to work on her. She’d met loads of weirdos over the years; you always did when you led the nomadic kind of lifestyle her family had enjoyed. Not that ‘enjoyed’ was always the most appropriate word. But she’d learned how to deal with them. Look them in the eye, be firm. Or if that failed, you keep your eyes down and scarper.

‘Yes.’ His tone was even, firm, his gaze met hers and it was her that broke the contact first, looking down to stare into the murky depths of her coffee. ‘You’re tired. I’ll show you to one of the guest rooms and we’ll sort this in the morning. I’ll talk to Marie, work out what we owe you.’

‘I don’t want to be owed something, I want a job.’ She needed a job. This was supposed to be the start of a new life, of moving on. She was on her own now, and the time for crying was over. Now she was going to take control of her life, make something of herself. Stop running. Achieve something she could be proud of. And it was meant to start here. It was meant to start now.

When she’d met Marie at the yoga retreat in Italy, something had immediately drawn her to the older woman. Marie might have been the rich client, and she, Kezia, might have been tasked with the most menial jobs, but there was some recognition between the two women. A recognition of something shared that made them stop and talk, something that told Kezia it was okay to unburden herself. She’d told Marie things she’d never told anyone about her life, things that she never imagined she could trust a stranger with, but she’d known she wouldn’t be judged by her. And before Marie left she gave Kezia her details, making her promise to come to England when her work ran out at the start of the summer and the Italians went away. She assured her that there would be a job, a place she could settle in. A future.

Kezia suddenly realised that he had picked up her bag and was walking towards the staircase. She followed, suddenly tired. Tomorrow she’d feel better. Tomorrow the jetlag would be gone, along with the desperate feeling of loneliness, and she’d give this guy hell. Give her what she was owed, sod that.

He pushed open a door, grinning a teasing grin that made her heart jump. ‘I’m James, by the way.’ And then he was gone so quickly she wondered if she had imagined him even being in the room.

She sat down on the bed. Bounced once or twice. Comfy. Not like some of the beds she’d slept in over the last few years. The curtains were drawn, but she went over to the window and pulled them open, dimly making out the outlines of trees, fences, the ghostly shadow-like horses on the horizon. Maybe the middle of nowhere was a good place for her to be right now. Well, it would be perfect if it wasn’t for him. Why did there always have to be someone intent on spoiling things?

Her fingers were drawn to the battered guitar case and she hesitated for a moment before unzipping it, pulling out the instrument and running her fingers over the polished wood. The one thing of any value that she had, the one thing that had the power to nourish her soul. The one constant left in her life, her companion. The corners of her mouth twitched, she sounded like a soppy, sorry-for-herself idiot. A good job it was all in her head and not out loud for macho-man James to hear.

She perched on the corner of the bed, then slowly started plucking at the strings, watching her reflection in the dressing-table mirror as her fingers moved. She did look a mess. He must have thought she was a right drop-out. Which she was in a way. She’d been called hippy chick, weirdo, gyppo and worse in her time. That’s what being brought up by parents with different attitudes and beliefs did to your reputation. But she did miss them. And she missed Simon, even though she knew she had to leave him.

Was it only yesterday that she’d been in his arms? Yesterday when he’d cupped her face in his hands. ‘You’re leaving aren’t you?’

She’d nodded.

‘Why? We’re okay.’

Yeah, okay. Just okay. And they were, they fitted easily together. He held her when she needed him to, kissed her gently when he wanted to make love, took her with an infinite care that made her heart ache.

They’d made love just before she’d left for the airport. Deep inside she knew he was hoping she’d change her mind, that he could change her mind. But neither of them said it. And deep inside she knew that it was time to say goodbye, to move on, that changing her mind would be a mistake she wasn’t prepared to make. They’d lain naked on an old soft blanket that he always had in the back of the car, under the shade of a tree so that the warmth of the air bathed them, not the heat of the sun.

‘I love you, Kez.’ His blue gaze locked with hers. Trusting, open honest.

She linked her fingers through his. ‘I love you too, Simon.’ And she did. In her own way. The way that said she trusted him, she liked to be in his arms, he made her laugh….

‘You don’t have to go, or I can come with you.’

And the burning tears caught at the back of her throat as his soft, full lips took hers. He always made love to her gently, almost reverentially, but this time there had been an edge of desperation, too, and it made her sadder than any tears or pleas could have done.

She’d held him as he kissed her neck, cradled his head as his mouth had taken her nipple, teasing until her body started a gentle buzz. He’d burned a damp trail down her stomach with his tongue and then he’d sought out her nub, flicking it gently until lazy desire edged its way into her limbs and just as she’d teetered on the edge, just as the cry got caught in her throat he’d covered her body with his and thrust inside. They’d rocked together, their bodies perfectly matched, their rhythm a well-practised beat and each time he pushed deep inside she’d felt sadder. She’d wrapped her legs around him as the ache inside grew, pulling him deeper until she could feel his balls against her. She desperately wanted to bury him so far inside that he’d reach the bit of her that needed more. She’d tangled her fingers in his hair as he’d gazed at her. And his mouth had covered hers and as the feeling grew to that unbearable point, he’d sucked gently on her tongue, drew it into his own mouth and she could smell his desire, taste his pain as they came together. Her body quivered around his, clinging desperately to every last inch, every last drop. Then, still entwined, he’d dropped his head on her shoulder and closed his eyes. And all she could think was she didn’t have to go, didn’t have to change everything. But she did. She had to sort herself out, become the person she knew she could be. Not the one that her past had forced her to become.

Kezia put the guitar gently down in the corner of the room, opened the curtains even wider so that the view would be there when she woke in the morning, and pulled the dress over her head.

The damage wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. She had a slit up the other side now. Granted, not quite straight, but it stopped short of her knicker elastic. Which was good. It had pulled open at the seam, fraying the fabric, with one small jagged tear, but she could probably mend it. The green-blue fabric shimmered as she laid it over the back of the chair and she shoved her espadrilles underneath. The top sheet of the bed was crisp and fresh under her fingertips as she dragged it back, then rummaged in her rucksack for a t-shirt.

She was pooped. Well and truly done in. Tired from the journey, and that edge of uncertainty when you don’t know where you were going and who you are going to meet. It could be good, she was used to it, but since her parents had gone it had been harder. There was nothing to comfort her at the end of the day. Well, there had been Simon, but she’d fucked that one up hadn’t she?

But she had needed to. It was right to move on, it had to be. Exhaustion hit her as she lay back, pulled the cool cotton sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes. All she had to do was think of Simon, imagine him holding her and everything would be fine. But it was a dark, enigmatic stranger that jumped into her head, two black eyes burning into her as though he could read every thought.

‘No.’ She growled and rolled onto her stomach, burying her head under her arms. She really, really did not want to think about him anymore. He was a domineering, bossy know-it-all who thought he could dismiss her with a wave of his hand.

She could still feel the warmth of his skin burning through her dress. She screwed up her eyes. No, no, no. She did not, definitely, one hundred per cent did not want to think about that. He’d held her for two seconds flat, then jumped away before she could make the mistake of touching him back. Bastard. What made him think he could touch her, then not let her do it back? What was he? Too fragile to touch? Handle with care?

Except, she didn’t want to touch him, anyway. Why the hell she’d been about to do that she didn’t know. He was a weirdo. A weirdo who crept up on you and disappeared into the shadows. A weirdo who was all controlling and thought everyone would jump at his command. Well, he’s got another thing coming. She was here now and she was going to stay. He worked for Marie, didn’t he? Not the other way round. So he couldn’t make her go. Not unless Marie said so. And she wouldn’t, would she?

She thumped the pillows into submission and rolled back over. He couldn’t make her do anything. Oh, God, how had he turned her on like that, making her stomach curl, her nipples prickle, made her burn hotly one minute and go goose-bump cold the next? Simon didn’t do that.

Damn the man, Simon did do that. Well, kind of that. When they’d made love it was nice, relaxing. He’d made her come. A nice rolling orgasm that unknotted the tension and sent her to sleep like a good bath would.

Just like a warm bath. Not like a hot-blooded, rampant shag that left her panting for more and begging for a rest.

Bugger. Where, the hell had that thought come from?

Had she ever had that? Most of her lovers had been like Simon, which she’d always thought made her the lucky one. She hadn’t encountered any of the shits that a lot of girls she’d known had. The ones who only ‘wanted it’ when they were half cut, the ones who called tweaking a nipple foreplay. No, most of the sex she’d had was with men she could call friends. Well, the closest she got to friends. A life on the move had left her with no one really close, no girlfriends she could chat to and confide in. Marie had come close to that, though in the short time she’d known her. Being nomadic left you able to strike up acquaintances quickly – yeah ‘acquaintance’ was the word – it made you open because you didn’t have time to be coy. You had to get on with it, then move on, and on, until one day…. you wanted to stop.

Hell, why had she thought this would be easy? Maybe it would be better in the morning, when she wasn’t tired. When she wasn’t thinking of James and how he seemed to turn her on one minute and scare her with that intense look the next. Yeah, it would be better. And she had no choice anyway. No car, no money to speak of and no one she could think of that would offer her a bed. And buried deep in the countryside with a man who didn’t seem to welcome people seemed as safe a place as anywhere.

He was hot though, very hot.

Her hand snaked down between her thighs, rested on a pussy that was damp from something that wasn’t perspiration. She groaned. Stroked gently with her fingertips. She hated him. She rolled over onto her side, her fingers still resting against the warmth, stroking absentmindedly, an automatic caress.

How the fuck was she going to sort out her life when there was a man like him lurking in the background, with his seductive voice, his lulling touch, just waiting to pounce?

Chapter 2

There was a subtle shift in the air, a delicate scent that cut through the fresh hay and horse feed, and the bay mare shifted her body slightly as a shadow fell across her.

‘You’re up early.’ James glanced briefly over towards the stable door as he finished securing the hay net.

She grinned self-consciously as though she half expected him to tell her off and a brief tang of guilt threaded its way through him.

‘The sun wakes me up.’ She shrugged as though he might think it was a stupid thing to say.

The sun always woke him up too. He didn’t understand people who blocked out all daylight, confused the natural rhythm of their bodies and then relied on the jarring noise of an alarm. Well, he didn’t understand it these days. Once he had been one of those people; one of the crowd who dodged nature in the search for something better.

‘Did you sleep okay?’

Something flickered across her face that could have been guilt or embarrassment and she traced her finger along the top of the door, avoiding his gaze. ‘Quite well.’

The mare gave him a nudge and he grinned. ‘You want me to move out of the way of your breakfast, you bossy mare?’

‘Who are you to call anyone bossy?’ She’d got one dark eyebrow raised and a cheeky grin on her impish face.

Leaning against the stable wall, away from the shower of hay that the horse was creating with each greedy tug, he took a proper look at his interloper.

Last night he’d not been quite sure what had landed on his doorstep, apart from the fact that it was tired, angry and determined. Her shapely thighs had been on show when she’d been perched on the gate, along with slim bronzed arms and delicate wrists that looked like they would snap under the weight of her rucksack, but he could take or leave a good body. He’d seen and touched more naked skin in the last few years than was good for him.

But he’d not been able to ignore the heart-shaped face that was pale with something more than tiredness. And the overall image had left him wondering whether he should lock her out or take her in. And then she’d fallen into his arms like a spitting kitten and made his mind up for him.

Now, her dark hair hung straight around her face, big hazel eyes stared at him openly without rancour, eyes that last night had flashed tawny before darkening to the colour of moss. She was small, slim and yesterday’s clinging blue dress had been replaced by faded worn denim shorts, heavy doc martens that he knew hid slender ankles, and a bright-green, skimpy vest that shouldn’t have been allowed to be worn.

And he still didn’t know what he was supposed to do with her for the five weeks before everyone else got back and the business re-opened. He didn’t want company; he especially didn’t want female company. He one hundred and one per cent didn’t want female company that ‘needed help’. What the hell had Marie been thinking when she’d sent the girl?

‘You’ll scare the horses wearing that.’ The outline of small, perfectly round breasts drew his eye, her nipples hardening as he watched.

‘Really? Will I?’ Her eyes had widened, for a moment the doubt creeping back.

‘Well they are part-way to colour blind, but I don’t think even a horse could miss that.’

She laughed, genuine humour flooding a face of innocence and hope, which for a moment made him feel jaded. ‘I could take it off.’

‘You could.’

She coloured slightly, just enough to make her seem a tease, but not a temptress. ‘So you’ve spoken to Marie?’

There was a note of challenge in her voice and he tried to stop the curve of his lips. Nothing like a direct approach, attack mode. ‘I have.’ He unlatched the stable door and she backed off, a nervous filly, unsure whether flight or fight was the preferred option.

‘And?’ It was slightly belligerent, like she was building herself up for a fight if he said the wrong thing.

‘She forgot to tell me you were coming.’ He gave a wry smile. Marie was a great boss, brilliant at her job and loving and giving, but she was scatter-brained. Except this time, he had a feeling she’d forgotten on purpose. She’d just been a touch evasive when he’d rung her last night. And when he’d put the phone down all he could hear was the soft strum of Kezia’s guitar; a haunting, melancholy sound that pricked at the conscience he didn’t want to have and made him wonder if his summer solitude was about to get well and truly gate-crashed. ‘So you met at the yoga place?’ Marie had told him the story, but he wanted to hear the other side of it to see if he could persuade her to change her mind. Or at least go away and come back in five weeks.

She seemed a nice enough girl, although he wouldn’t say harmless. But this summer was about time on his own. He liked time on his own. There was always an air of peace and other worldliness here, even when the business was up and running, but it wasn’t enough.

They’d all agreed that closing for the summer was the best tactic. Business was slack. No one needed lessons in sex in the summer, they were too busy doing it. Sun-drenched bodies on beaches, booze by the bucket-load, inhibitions thrown out along with long work days and stress. When you’re feeling good about your newly toned, slimmed, buffed and tanned body you don’t need a helping hand to orgasm. So Marie and Dan had buggered off to Barcelona, or wherever it was they hid out, and even Saul and Roisin had hung up their boots. And he was happy to be stuck here. Alone. With a big sign on the gate saying ‘No entry’.

Until someone decided to ignore it.

Someone who could talk for Britain.

Kezia was waiting for him to look at her again. He moved along to the next stable and flung open the door. He’d already fed and turned out the horse, and now he was looking forward to the physical side, building up a sweat as he mucked out. In peace. ‘Yoga? Italy?’

‘Yes.’ It was hesitant. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’

‘Nothing personal, I expected to be here on my own, that’s all.’

‘Diplomatic.’ She stood in the doorway, watching as he picked up a pitchfork. ‘She was in Capri a couple of months ago, at the retreat and I was working there. We got on, that’s all. I didn’t ask for a job you know.’ She sounded defensive.

‘Nothing wrong in asking.’

‘But I didn’t. She asked how long I was working there, and I told her that they were about to shut down for their holidays. So she said had I thought about coming back to the UK.’ She paused, not filling in the gap that he knew existed. Marie had said the girl needed a base, was upset and needed friends who cared. ‘She told me to come here and work the summer, then if I liked it I might be able to make it more permanent. I’m not really used to permanent.’ She gnawed at her lip and he dumped a fork-load of muck in the barrow and paused.

‘You get sacked a lot?’

She grinned and her whole face lifted and lightened, including the large sad eyes. ‘Don’t be daft. No, we-I’ve, always travelled, done different things in different places, you know.’ She was looking down again and he wondered who the ‘we’ was. Not that it was any of his business. He was stuck here for the summer and he didn’t need company. And definitely not the kind of company that needed a friend.

‘So you don’t plan on hanging around long then?’

‘Maybe.’ She shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts and watched him through long eyelashes. ‘Can’t I help?’

‘Suppose. Have you mucked out a stable before?’

She shook her head and the light caught her dark hair, glancing off the red and blue streaks. ‘But it can’t be difficult can it? I mean, it’s only shovelling shit.’

He held his pitchfork out. ‘There you go then, lady, start some shit-shovelling.’ She flinched slightly at the weight and then stuck the fork deep into the bed.

‘Christ almighty it’s heavy. How the fuck…?’

‘For a traveller you’re clueless.’

‘I’m not a traveller, or a gypsy.’ She looked like she was trying to give him a haughty look, and not succeeding. ‘I’m a free spirit.’ Then she giggled as she tried to move the fork and failed.

He smiled. She was tiny, and she’d just tried to dig up half the bed. ‘This stable’s got a deep bed. Just take it off the top, here.’ He stood behind her, put his hands over hers, skimming the muck off the top of the bed.

Her back was warm, pressed against the front of him, her tiny hands disappearing beneath his and a tremor of awareness ran through her as he swung to the side to empty the fork in the barrow. She glanced up at him then, dark hair framing the delicate features, a tinge of blush along her cheekbones and she was all trust and innocence, like she’d been when she’d first appeared this morning.

He bent his head and kissed her. Just one light kiss on those cute rosebud lips, and it drenched his senses with her smell and her need. He didn’t mean to do it. He shouldn’t have done it. But there was something in her, and James didn’t know what the hell it was, but it had just dragged him right in where he didn’t want to go.

He’d not had a sweet kiss for a long time. Not since Chloe had gone. And he hadn’t intended on having it again.

She eased her grip on the fork just like he knew she would, half-turned in his arms, stared at him with need, and moved her hands up to his chest.

Fuck. He let go of the pitchfork like it was molten metal and took a step back. Why the hell had he done that? He hadn’t exactly banned kisses from his life when he moved out here, but he’d firmly limited them. The platonic kiss on the cheek and the passionate kiss during sex. He liked the taste of a woman just before she came, her kiss told him far more than her words ever did.

This was neither.

She was still in the same spot, swaying slightly, a quizzical expression on the face that had been clear.

‘That didn’t happen. I’ll get another fork.’

‘Sure.’ Her tone was light, but more confused than hurt.

There was a fork across the yard, but he didn’t pick it up. He gritted his teeth and walked to the bottom of the row of stables, took a breath and wondered why the hell he had a raging hard-on and why the hell he’d let himself touch her. More than that, kiss her.

It was that look of innocence, probably, a look he found hard to resist. She was a mixture of tease and doubt, of the unconventional and a need to fit the norm. But he wasn’t here to reassure her, to teach her. He picked up the heaviest pitchfork he could see and strode back, wielding it like a weapon. A harder workout might help. This girl was not staying around, she was going before they’d got to the end of the day if he had anything to do with it.

As he reached the open stable door, his mobile buzzed in his pocket. He glanced at the display. Dan. Took a step back so that he could watch Kezia and have some level of privacy.

‘What the fuck are you two playing at?’

‘Hi to you too, mate. And we’re having a good break, thanks for asking.’

‘We don’t need anyone to help out.’ He leaned back against the wall and twirled the fork.

‘Aw, come on Mr Grumpy. Marie said you’d probably have a hissy fit.’

‘Then why did you send her?’ He wasn’t exactly angry; now his body was back under control it was more an annoyance. There had been a plan, which suited him fine. They went and had fun. He stayed behind to look after the place, not babysit.

‘She needs something, someone.’

‘I’m not a someone.’

Dan laughed. ‘You’re not wrong, but you do okay as a something. Here, talk to Marie.’ He was handed over to the pacifier. Not that any of them was exactly fiery; they all knew how to defuse a situation, how not to rise to the bait. But they knew this was his weak spot; they knew that being stuck here with a woman depending on him was supposed to be out of the equation.

‘You’re not playing fair.’ He got a word in before she did.

‘Sorry.’ She sighed. ‘She’s had a tough time, but she’s nice. The clients will like her, they loved her in Capri. She’s got a gentle touch, she’s natural, no artifice, open.’

‘You don’t need to spell it out, I can read—’

‘I know, you’re better than me at understanding people, but I’m just trying to explain. I couldn’t leave her, James.’ Her voice was soft. ‘Help me to help her, please? Look after her, once she was out of that job she needed something straight away, trust me.’ Oh, great, someone desperate, one of Marie’s fallen angels who needed rescuing, putting back together again. Except she didn’t look like she was falling apart. She had guts, was prepared to fight her battles and stand her ground. Even if she was tiny and had great big eyes that shone out with a naivety and purity you didn’t often see these days. Especially not here.

‘So, why didn’t you tell me? And why didn’t you come back to sort it yourself?’

She laughed. ‘She needs someone like you, and she needs time to understand the place before we get clients back in. And,’ she paused, laughed, ‘I forgot.’

‘You haven’t given her a job description, have you?’

‘She’ll be fine. We’ll find her something to do.’

‘Marie.’ It was his turn to sigh. So he was trapped here for the summer with a girl, except nobody had told her what the job was. Once she knew what went on she’d probably go, like Roisin nearly had. But go where? Either way he’d look the bastard. Whether he cornered her into staying or chased her away. ‘And how do you know she’ll be any use?’

‘We’ll find something for her to do. She’s sweet, she’ll put people at ease.’ Another pause. ‘She’s got nowhere to go James, no money, nothing.’

And no one from the sound of it.

The sigh travelled across the miles. ‘Do you want me to come back?’

Great, that would mean two of them here to bother him. ‘I know you don’t mean that Marie, so I’m not even going to say no. You’ve got a soft spot for her for her haven’t you?’

‘You might get one too if you give her a chance.’

‘You know I haven’t got any spot to appeal to, so why are you trying? I don’t do waifs and strays.’

‘She’s neither. She’s sad, broke and needs a job. Go on, be nice to her.’

She had an air of melancholy to her that was for sure, from the way she’d played her guitar last night, like it really meant something to her. But sad? ‘I’m not a babysitting service.’ And she’s not a baby, far, far from a baby.

‘Will you at least be nice and find her something to do? Pretty please?’ He heard the chink of glasses in the background. ‘See what she thinks? And even if she’s not interested in staying long term, she can help out with the horses until we get back, which will give her a bit of cash.’

‘I was quite happy sorting the horses on my own, thanks.’

‘Roisin might even take her on as a stable hand. I bet she’s good with animals.’

He laughed. ‘You should see her with a pitchfork. I’ll catch you later.’ He flicked the phone off before she got a chance to say anything else, and took the handful of strides to the other side of the yard. And the girl, no, woman, who he seemed to be lumbered with.

‘Were you hoping I’d finish it before you got back?’ Her voice was soft, a question that went beyond the stable duties.

‘At the rate you work? No chance.’ He smiled, hoping it looked at least halfway to good-natured, swung the fork off his shoulder and stripped his shirt over his head.

She wolf-whistled.

‘You watch what you’re getting into, girl.’ He waved an admonishing finger at her and she gave him the Vs. ‘You watch it yourself, Mister.’

Hmm, any minute now and he’d be tempted to put her over his knee if she carried on the teasing. ‘Let’s move on to the next box. You’re getting better.’

‘Couldn’t get much worse you mean?’

‘Something like that.’ He watched as she got into the swing of it, lifting her fork more easily and with a steady rhythm now she knew what she was doing and every now and then she’d catch him looking and stick her tongue out or just grin.

For a lost and lonely girl she had a self-confidence that surprised him, and she worked hard, not pausing to chat or flirt like the other girls did.

‘So, what do you do here?’ They’d emptied the wheelbarrow for the last time and were putting the beds back down. ‘It isn’t just horses, is it?’

‘What did Marie tell you?’

She tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear and pursed her lips. ‘Well.’ She put her head on one side as though waiting for inspiration.

‘I’ll take that as not a lot then. So you came all this way for a job you know jack all about?’

‘I trusted Marie.’ She looked straight at him. ‘Are you saying I shouldn’t have?’

‘No, not exactly. Do you trust everyone you meet, then?’

‘Unless they give me a reason not to, Mr Cynical. And, anyhow, I hadn’t got anything else lined up, I’ve got to do something, so why not this?’ Her small shoulders went up in a shrug.

‘But what’s “this?” Stable hand?’

‘Well, what do you do?’

‘I’m a sex therapist.’

She laughed, carried on tossing straw in the air. ‘You’re a sex therapist?’

‘Yup, that’s what I do here, what we all do.’

The straw lost her attention. ‘You are kidding, right?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘You’re not. Wow.’ She leaned on the fork and eyed him up like she hadn’t seen him before. ‘But you’re a man.’

‘Well-spotted. Does that mean I don’t qualify to know about sex?’

‘Well, no, but… So, if you’re a sex therapist what does that make me?’

‘Good question. Chief shit shoveller?

‘I can do other things as well, you know.’ The glare she gave him was steelier than he expected. ‘So, you get wackos here who are sexaholics? Or can’t get it up and stuff?’

‘We get normal people like you and me who want better sex lives.’

She looked directly at him, her eyes slightly wider and gave a short, incredulous snort. ‘You don’t need to teach people about sex, you just do it, right? Sex is just sex.’

‘Not necessarily.’ He tucked his hands into his pockets and leaned back against the wall. ‘People don’t always know what good sex is, or how to ask someone to please them.’

She’d coloured up a bit, but wasn’t backing down. ‘Bollocks. I mean I wouldn’t go to a sex therapist. I mean if you like someone enough to sleep with them, then it’s just going to happen isn’t it.’

‘Is it? Is sex always the same for you, whoever you do it with?’

Her colour shifted another notch up the scale towards red hot. ‘Yes, well no. Well, it just works better sometimes than other times.’ She shrugged. ‘Depends how much you fancy someone I suppose.’

‘Have you never been left high and dry, wanting more?’

‘I’m fine with a cuddle, I don’t have to, you know…’

‘Come?’ God, how he would just love to take her here and now, to show her what passion was really about. He pushed off from the wall and took a step towards her, and she flinched, but didn’t move away.

‘I could make you come.’

‘I can make myself come thanks, no big deal there.’

‘I can make you come,’ He took another step closer. Stroked along her lip with one finger, ‘without touching you where you want me to most.’

‘Slightly bigger deal, but if I get in the zone, think the right things…..’ Her voice tailed off as eased his thumb between her teeth.

He shouldn’t, he should keep his distance. But she was turning him on something rotten. She was all feisty and sassy, but there was also a streak of the submissive about her. A streak he didn’t want to ignore. He’d forgotten what ‘pure’ meant after he’d walked out on his home, his job, his wife. And every woman since had been just there for the sex. And every woman in the future would be. And he wasn’t going to start anything with Kezia, he just wanted to show her. No, he just wanted her. To see her surrender, for him. To him.

‘All you have to do, is say please.’ James paused. There was hesitation in her eyes, but she’d stilled, gone quiet. Was waiting. And it was making his balls tingle in a way he’d almost forgotten existed.

He traced along the top edge of her teeth with his salty thumb and Kezia wanted to say please. Well, more like shout it out. Not to any arty-farty sex therapist crap, but to a good, hard shag. His hard-on was straining against his jeans and she could smell him; pure sex. Yes, he scared her, he was so friggin’ intense, but he turned her on as well. Like she’d been turned on when she was a teenager and thought her Mum was just about to walk in on her and a guy and find out they weren’t just listening to music. Like she was turned on when she imagined being pinned down, helpless, as the man she’d always loved forced her to submit to his every desire. Or something like that. Shit, books and films had a lot to answer for. She touched his finger with the tip of her tongue. He was staring straight into her eyes, his own so dark she couldn’t tell where his pupils ended and the colour began.

‘Do you want me?’ He eased his thumb from her mouth, squeezed her lower lip between thumb and finger, gently tugging and by the way it was affecting her swollen breasts he could well have been tugging her nipples. He let his hand drift down to rest lightly on her chin.

‘I don’t know you.’ Her throat had tightened with anticipation for what would come next, her shoulders tense.

‘But you want me, in the same way I want you.’

He slid his hand under her hair, ran one finger from the base of her neck up to where it met her skull, pressing gently into the soft indent and she couldn’t stop the shudder that travelled down her spine pooling at the base. That was good. His thumb circled, small persistent needy circles that sent a pulse between her legs. She gasped. Now could be the time to say please, or thank you. Oh that was very good, he seemed to have found the spot that channelled right down to orgasm central and if he stopped now she might have to scream.

‘Have you ever had sex with a stranger?’ And that husky voice was the icing on the cake, or should that be the cherry?

He’d said something. What was it? Oh, yeah. Sex, stranger. ‘I make love, not have sex.’ She could barely hear her own whisper, she swayed slightly into the pressure of his hand. ‘And nobody I’d call strange.’ Slightly wacky, yes, but not strange. She wanted to reach out and hold him, but she just knew it would break the spell. He’d stop. She didn’t want him to stop.

‘Just having sex can be good.’

She shivered under his touch as his thumb ran along the side of her neck, resting over her pulse point. His large, warm hand cradled her head, her jaw in the palm of his hand. If this was sex then fine, bring it on.

‘But it’s not—’

‘You’ve made love to people you’re not in love with.’

It didn’t seem to be a question, and right now her vocal chords didn’t want to play anyway.

‘That’s comfort, not a real connection, and what happens when you can’t be bothered to be a comfort blanket any longer?’ His fingers were still doing their thing and her brain seemed to be slowly melting, which gave him an unfair advantage.

‘But I—’

‘Close your eyes.’ It must have been surprise, no way would she have just shut them otherwise. His fingers slowly moved down to her throat, with the lightest of touch. ‘Clasp your hands behind your back.’ Hell, she did that too. But if she didn’t she couldn’t find out what came next, and all of a sudden she wanted to know.

His breath was warm against her skin, he must be close, so close. She had to touch him, she mustn’t touch him. The nip of his teeth on her neck made her jump, then whimper. His finger was tracing down her chest, down towards her breasts and her nipples started to prickle. She just had to reach out, hold him, or something.

‘Don’t move.’ Shit, all she’d done was think about it, unclasped her hands just a touch, but that liquid chocolate voice in her ear made her freeze and her stomach tighten.

His finger traced a path around her breast, slowly, tantalisingly moving in with each circle, then outwards, never touching the hard nub. She needed him to touch her nipples, or suck them, or anything… Any second now she really was going to scream. He moved on to the other breast and she could hear her breath coming in short gasps, feel her heart pounding so heavily her whole body seemed to be shaking with it. She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to beg.

His warm hands moved down, circling her waist, firm fingers pressing down over her stomach, lower, lower. He was holding her hips now, and those probing thumbs were circling her stomach just above her mound. Firm, tantalising. She moaned as she felt her juices pool in her knickers whimpering as she clenched her thighs together, feeling the slow pulsing in her pussy build. Oh, God she was going to come. She couldn’t stop now, she couldn’t. Her knees were trembling, she tightened her stomach muscles, felt the delicious throb intensify.

And he stopped. Let go. Cold air replaced where his hands had been.

‘Wha–?’ For a split second she was dazed, still numbed by the soft, sensual throbbing that had been bubbling its way through her body. She stared at him, confused, and he stared straight back, from a safe distance.

‘Demonstration over.’

‘Demonstration?’ The calm words hit her hard, her muscles contracting for a far different reason from a few minutes ago. The bastard. He’d shoved his hands back in his pockets, partly to hide his hard-on, and his face was devoid of expression. So, he hadn’t been pulled to her like she had to him, this wasn’t about the way her body reacted when he came within ten yards of her. This was business, pure and simple, showing her what a fucking clever sex quack he was. And she’d just started thinking he was nice. So much for her being a good judge of character.

‘Yup. That’s what we do here, Kezia.’

She shook her head slowly, fighting the burn of tears that was building up in her eyes. Sexual frustration and emotions warred in her body. ‘You sad bastard.’ She took a step backwards, back against the wall, her sweating palms against the cold plaster. He’d got under her skin, made her give up control, just to prove his point that love and lust were a million miles apart.

He didn’t move as she stared at him, didn’t flinch, but the empty look in his eyes made her want to grab him, shake him, scream at him until he snapped out of it. It had felt real, he’d felt real, warm, like he wanted to create something between them.

An illusion and a control freak.

One tear spilled and she could feel the damp heat trickle down her cheek, taste the salt in her mouth. Not bothering to wipe the tear or say a word she finally found the power to move her feet, push past him.

‘Kezia.’ But she didn’t pause, didn’t turn, she just kept on at the same steady pace across the yard, forcing herself not to run, until she couldn’t hear him or the horses any more.

Kezia kicked off her boots in the kitchen, hardly pausing, then marched straight up the stairs, banging the door shut and falling on to the bed.

What the hell was wrong with her? Why had she let him get under her skin? Some stupid fantasy about domineering men and wild passionate sex that a stupid corner of her mind had decided was about to come true. Except she didn’t want a domineering man. And definitely not one who wouldn’t even let her touch him.

She stared up at the ceiling. He’d barely touched her breasts and he definitely hadn’t touched the place she wanted him to most. He hadn’t kissed her, he hadn’t talked dirty to her and he hadn’t fucked her. He’d just breathed in her ear and stroked her. And she’d just had what she was pretty sure could have turned into one hell of an orgasm, if he hadn’t stopped it before it had barely begun. That feeling in her belly, the gentle pulsing between her thighs had been slowly unravelling something deep inside, and she’d wanted the tremble spreading through her body to go on forever. And now, she was just left with a dull ache that needed satisfying.

She shouldn’t have let him touch her. He was an attention-seeking, arrogant, domineering twat with a chip on his shoulder the size of a small skyscraper. Getting off on being able to turn women on. And, oh my God, right now she wanted more of the idiot.

Leaning over she grabbed her rucksack and pulled a battered notepad out of the back, ignoring her mobile, which was beeping with yet another incoming text. There was only one person who it could be from; Simon. Simon, who had agreed she needed space, who had agreed that they didn’t have a future together as lovers, but should stay in touch as friends. Simon, who was starting to become a pain in the arse. Yeah, his ‘hope you got there okay’ texts were fine, but then the follow-ups, along the lines of ‘I need you, when are you heading back?’ and ‘you need me, I know you do’ had sounded desperate and had unnerved her. And they were starting to get irritating. He hadn’t been like that when they were together, he’d been laid back and casual, they’d taken things one day at a time. No expectations, no demands, no needs. What was going to come next? ‘I can’t live without you?’

Simon had been fun, the brother she’d never had, more friend than lover. They’d had a few weeks of laughs, cuddles and getting to know you shags, but never once had there been the slightest hint that he was expecting more out of the relationship than she was. Saying goodbye had been hard, because she did care, but in her heart she’d always known that they were happy for now, not forever. And she’d thought he’d felt the same.

Until she’d shown him the plane ticket. Then he’d flipped a bit, which had shocked her, almost cried, which had shocked her even more and now was bugging her. Staying friends would have been great, but this wasn’t. He seemed to have turned overnight from casual dude without a care in the world to someone bordering on obsessive. Stalker material.

She pushed the phone further into the rucksack and fished out a pen. She was crap at spelling, and even worse at long words, but she’d started scribbling down what she was up to after they had gone. Her parents. At first she’d just told them, spoken out loud each night when she was lying in bed, telling them what she’d done, thought, hoped. And then it seemed easier to write it down, when she was sharing digs with people who already thought she was bonkers. And muttering to herself labelled her as completely deranged.

This time it wasn’t for them, though, this was for her. It looked like she was stuck with this guy for the summer, just the two of them. Which could have been cool, but it looked like it was heading for hell, probably because of the sizzle every time she went near him. But she wasn’t in the habit of hating people. She took them as she found them and accepted people’s differences. It was what she’d been brought up to do, he can be an earl or a tramp darling, her mother had always drummed into her, but it’s what’s inside that counts. We’re all human, even if we’re trying our damnedest not to be. And if we are, then there’s a reason, and we’re not always going to know it or understand it. But we can accept it.

Yeah. Easy for her to say. Kezia liked to know, though, not just accept. And right now she wanted to know how the heck she was going to survive the summer with Mr Moody, without either wanting to kill him or jump him.

The last bit could be tricky, but he didn’t want jumping. Obviously. The last thing on his mind was a fun fling that involved cuddles and kisses. The man just wanted sex, and preferably without his cock being involved in the party. Wacky.

So, she needed a plan. Step one; write down all the positives, ignore the negatives because she’d end up with a whole book full of them and as she couldn’t run away yet. There wasn’t any point going there.

Positives (she underlined it for good measure) – nice place, in the middle of nowhere, Marie back soon (oh, God five more weeks of him), comfy bed, sweet horses, money (essential), food (essential), he’s sexy (very), he’s hot.

Plan – admire the scenery (him included, note to self – handy for fantasies), learn how to ride, muck out the stables (and anything else he says), try to ignore the way he looks at me, DON’T let him touch me (she underlined the DON’T as well for extra good measure), find a job with horses.

Another note to self (v. important) – make sure never to go near a sex therapist again (Marie is OK).

Her list covered the finding a job part of her goal, the making something out of her life part, but not the settling down. It didn’t look like this was the place for that, but it was a start.

She let her arm fall back onto the bed and felt calmer. She had a plan.

And now she really must finish off what he’d started, or she was going to feel frustrated, randy and rampant when she saw him again. The last thing she wanted to feel was sex-starved, especially if she was going to stick to the plan.

Closing her eyes she pulled down the zipper on her jeans, and kerpow, he was there in her head like the magic genie. Standing up against her in the stable. She eased her hand into her panties, let her fingers rest against the damp, swollen lips.

‘Turn around.’ She turned to face the wall without question. ‘Take your top off.’ For a second she hesitated. ‘Now.’

‘Yes, sir.’ She peeled the damp top over her head, let it dangle from one hand, unsure what to do. ‘Move your legs apart.’ Slowly she edged her heavy boots apart until they were hip-width, wide enough for him to touch her if he chose to.

Kezia let the tip of her finger ease its way inside herself.

‘Hold your hands behind your back.’ Before she could object he’d bound her wrists with her t-shirt. He moved closer until she could feel the heat of his body only centimetres away. All he needed to do was sway his body and he would cover the gap between them so that skin met skin. But he didn’t. ‘Don’t worry, trust me, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.’ Oh, but she wanted, wanted so much.

He swept her hair up in one hand, twisted it so that her neck was exposed and then he kissed her. He smelled of soap, of herbal shampoo, clean and inviting, and of salt, of need and lust. Slowly he ran his tongue down her spine, her shoulder blades tightened and a shiver ran all the way from top to bottom. ‘You can say stop, but I want to show you what you’ve never let yourself have, what you’ve never let someone give you.’

‘I want—’

‘Shh. Don’t move and don’t speak unless you want me to stop.’ He let her hair fall, tucked it over her shoulder so that it left her back uncovered, exposed. She heard him strip his top off, and she wanted to look at him, but the second she tilted her head he took hold of her hair. ‘I said don’t move, unless you want me to stop. Do you want me to stop?’

‘No, no don’t stop.’ His firm thumbs stroked down either side of her spine, a slow, steady pressure that made her gasp and her buttocks clench, he was already finding the spots that made her want him, need him. This time he circled his thumb as he went, his splayed fingers curling around her rib cage. As he got lower, ever lower towards the base of her spine she tightened her thighs.

‘Don’t.’ He stopped, waiting until she’d relaxed. ‘Accept it, let your body ask for it.’ He bent down, slowly licked her linked fingers, then took each thumb in turn into his mouth, teasing with his teeth, sucking, taking each finger in turn and letting her rock her hips. She shifted back towards him.

She stroked her fingers inside a pussy that was already tensing.

‘Naughty girl. Rest your forehead on the wall and shift your feet back a bit.’ Her weight was forward now, her thighs tight and trembling as he ran first his finger, and then his tongue, up each toned inner thigh. And then he tasted her thighs properly, circled the softness of her skin, just inside her shorts, with his tongue, kissing, sucking, nibbling as his thumbs traced ever firmer circles over her buttocks, the very base of her spine and she knew that she was going to come. She could smell her own scent, feel the tremble that was under his hands, spreading upwards, mingling with the anticipation and want. ‘Let go.’ He rested his hand between her legs, felt the heat and dampness through her shorts, pressed against her, let her rock against him.

‘Oh, shit.’ Her thighs tightened around his hand and she was coming.

Kezia gasped as her body hit the high it had been aiming for. Her pussy tightened greedily around her fingers. Gradually the tremors died down, her body fizzled back down from its peak, leaving just a gentle buzz of warmth. Then she rolled over on to her side and crashed.

Chapter 3

‘You’re going?’

‘No, what gave you that idea?’ She filled the kettle and put it down with a heavy clatter, hoping that it hid the sound of her heart hammering away sixty to the dozen. Feeling light-headed could be put down to the orgasm he’d inadvertently given her last night. Feeling hot and bothered was definitely down to him just being there. He was dressed in jeans that hugged his hips like they were never going to let go, and an open-necked shirt with rolled-up sleeves that declared ‘man alert.’

‘I just thought…’

‘Ah, it can be a dangerous thing, thinking.’