by Sasha Morgan
‘We’re heading back to Treweham now. You coming with us?’ one of the grooms asked.
‘Sure, let’s go.’ Dylan collected his gear and followed him, glad to be sharing a lift home with the stable team, rather than Sean Fox.
The journey was a pleasant one. They’d tossed a coin to nominate a driver, leaving the rest to pass round hip flasks of whisky. Raucous laughter bellowed from the Land Rover, and they were in high spirits by the time they arrived at The Templar.
It was early evening, and the pub was still packed when Dylan walked through the door. He was greeted by loud whistles and cheers. Finula raised and clapped her hands, her face rapt with joy for him. Dylan came straight over to her and leant over the bar. ‘Now surely that deserves a kiss, Finula?’
She threw her head back with a laugh but Dermot intervened in the nick of time.
‘No it doesn’t, Delany.’ Everybody chuckled. Except Flora, who was sitting quietly in a corner, out of sight.
People shook Dylan’s hand, slapped his back and bought him drinks, then more drinks. Everyone wanted to speak to him, to be a part of the celebration. Tracy asked for his autograph. He paused, looked straight down her top and said he’d be delighted. Where did she want him to sign? Still Flora sat in the corner. Her friends had left long ago. She had wanted to stay to wait for Dylan to return. Patiently she looked to catch his eye, for him to notice her and come dashing over with open arms. But nobody was aware of her; it was all so busy.
Dylan, however, was aware of a woman with long, blonde hair looking over. Now and then he would glance across to find her staring at him. As the drinks continued to flow his spirits lifted higher. He clocked her again and took in her cleavage, which was spilling out of her low-cut tight red dress. He smiled in her direction, but then a local man distracted him, eager to shake hands with him. A few moments later the blonde made her way over.
‘Fancy a drink, Dylan?’
He turned, swaying slightly. Blinking to focus properly, he saw that the tight red dress complimented her curves and showcased her long, shapely legs. He homed in on her chest again. That switch turned on. Suddenly Dylan wanted his bed. He was tired of celebrating; he wanted to lie down.
‘I’ve had enough to drink, thanks,’ he replied. ‘It’s time for bed.’ The woman gave a sexy grin.
‘Is it really?’
Dylan stared into her face. She had pouting, red lips and inviting eyes.
‘Follow me,’ he ordered, then took the stairs to his room. The woman tottered on stilettos behind him. Within moments they were both outside room four.
Meanwhile, Flora had witnessed it all. Shaking, she got up and walked straight out of The Templar.
Dylan pulled his conquest inside and locked the door behind him. He grabbed her to him and began to unzip the back of her dress. She feverishly unbuttoned his shirt. The feel of the bare skin of his broad shoulders and back beneath her palms was breath-taking. Dylan yanked off the red dress, leaving her standing in nothing but a lace thong. He took her hands impatiently, pulling them down to his enormous erection. She groped him slowly, then felt for his button and pulled down his jeans and boxer shorts. Unable to hold out any longer, Dylan guided her to the bed. His powerful legs and chest bearing down on her was wildly exciting. When he tore off her underwear and launched himself inside her, she cried out in pleasure, arching her back against him. A raw urge overcame Dylan. He moved his mouth to her breasts, taking each nipple between his teeth and tongue, increasing the pace of his thrusts. She dug her fingers into his buttocks, pulling him further inside her slick heat. Dylan couldn’t control himself any longer. He let out a guttural moan and exploded inside her. They both lay panting for several minutes.
Finally Dylan rolled onto his back and stretched out his arms. He was tired, so tired. The room started to spin from the drink and exhaustion. As he closed his eyes he felt a cold, hard grip on his wrist. Then he was out: sleep had taken over.
The next morning Finula was waiting to cook Dylan’s breakfast. All the other guests had had theirs and his was the only one left. She’d expected him to be up late after last night’s partying, but she needed to get on with preparing the lunches soon. Looking at the clock and frowning, she decided to go up to his room and see if he wanted breakfast in bed.
Tapping at the door she tentatively called, ‘Dylan, are you there?’ There was a ruffling noise, then a cough.
‘Finula, is that you?’ he hissed back.
‘Yeah, is everything all right?’
‘No. Are you alone?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Come in,’ he said in hushed tones. Turning the door handle and poking her head round the door, she fought hard not to laugh. There on the bed lay a naked Dylan, covered only by a crumpled linen sheet, handcuffed to the brass headboard. ‘It’s not funny! The bitch’s fastened me to the bloody bed!’
‘Oh, Dylan.’ Finula doubled over in hysterics. ‘Who was it?’
‘I dunno! Some woman who I can’t remember came on to me.’
Finula wagged a finger at him. ‘Well, let this be a lesson to you, Dylan Delany.’ Then she started to laugh again.
‘Finula, this isn’t funny. Please, get me out of this thing,’ he whispered urgently. She came to inspect the handcuff, which held Dylan’s wrist in a steel grip.
‘Where’s the key?’
‘How the fuck should I know?’
‘Wait, hold still.’ Finula reached into her hair and took out a hairpin that was helping to hold up a messy bun. An auburn tendril of hair fell across her forehead.
‘God, you’re sexy,’ Dylan’s eyes drank in her pretty, freckled face.
‘For goodness’ sake, Dylan, don’t you ever let up?’ she asked in exasperation, as she carefully picked the handcuff lock. After a few moments she had managed to unlock it. Rubbing his wrist, he sat up.
‘Thanks. Where did you learn that?’ he asked with a sly smile.
‘Girl Guides, actually, very resourceful. Now, probably best not to mention this to my dad.’ The look on his face made her giggle again.
‘Definitely not,’ he agreed.
Chapter 22
As promised, Tobias was knocking on Megan’s cottage door the next evening. Wearing a fitted black open-neck shirt and black jeans, he looked devilishly handsome.
‘Hi!’ Megan tried to sound breezy, as her heart started to thump at seeing him.
‘Hello there.’ He handed her a bottle of red wine. It looked extremely expensive to her. Probably came straight from his cellar, she thought. What did the likes of him want with her? Was she a novel distraction? Or did she very conveniently remind him of his lost love? She watched him glancing round the kitchen, taking in the alterations she’d made. The cupboards had been painted with a country-cream chalk paint and she had sewn a pair of floral curtains, which hung prettily in the leaded window. The open shelves on the walls housed multicoloured crockery, giving it a lovely twee, cottage look. Megan had bought an old brass lantern from a car-boot sale, which shone on the Welsh dresser, giving the room a warm, cosy glow. A new rag rug lay on the freshly scrubbed stone floor and she had pulled the small dining table into the centre of the room and lit the candles on it. She hesitated: did it look too romantic? Suddenly she lost her nerve.
As if reading her mind Tobias turned to face her.
‘How beautifully snug this is, Megan,’ he smiled. ‘Let’s open the wine.’ She handed him a corkscrew and with expertise he extracted the cork. Pouring two generous glasses, he lifted his to propose a toast. ‘To your new home.’
Megan grinned and clinked her glass with his. Taking a sip, she was surprised at how delicious she found it. Ripe, juicy plums and cinnamon hit the back of her tongue. It was so smooth and rich she took another sip immediately. Tobias gazed at her. ‘You like?’
‘Hmm,’ she nodded, ‘it’s lovely.’
‘It was the first one I came across in the cellar.’ Megan’s lips twitched. He really did belong to a different world. �
��Something smells good.’ Tobias nodded towards the oven.
‘Beef casserole with baked potatoes.’ Basically something she could just leave in the oven, not being too much of a cook. ‘It should be ready. Take a seat.’ She couldn’t help but notice again how he dwarfed the little kitchen. He must feel cramped in here, she thought, being used to so much space in Treweham Hall.
As Megan busied herself dishing out the meal, Tobias sat at the table observing her. She wore skinny jeans, which showed off her slim legs and perfect, round bottom, and an off-the-shoulder blouse. He admired her graceful neck and noticed a strawberry-shaped birthmark on the dip above her collarbone. He felt a compulsion to lick and taste it. He found her so elegant, so quietly self-assured, qualities he respected in a woman. But he sensed a cool, distant side to her, too, as if she lacked trust in herself, or maybe others. He was experienced enough to know that she enjoyed his company – why else would he be here? He was certain she wouldn’t be painting the Hall if she didn’t like him, but there was just something missing, a reluctance he couldn’t put his finger on. The other day, riding, there was no mistaking the chemistry between them. He’d so wanted to kiss her, but had backed off. He had felt her tense when he touched her and whispered in her ear whilst looking at his portrait. Was that because she didn’t trust him, or herself? He didn’t want to rush and ruin things, but watching her now, at ease in her own surroundings, he was finding it very difficult.
She turned with the two plates of steaming casserole and put them on the table. ‘There you go.’
‘This looks lovely. Thanks, Megan.’
After a couple of glasses of wine, they both relaxed into each other’s company. They exchanged stories of their childhoods and youth, making each other giggle. Tobias mentioned his younger brother, Sebastian, and how he used Treweham Hall as a base, when not touring with his travelling theatre company as an actor.
‘I’ve seen him in The Templar. He’s a friend of Nick’s, isn’t he, the one with blond hair?’
‘Hmm, I’m afraid he is.’ Clearly Tobias didn’t approve of this friendship.
Changing the subject, Megan commented on an article she had once read about him being a wild child.
He shook his head. ‘Don’t believe everything you read in the paper. I wasn’t half as bad as they made out.’ This was actually true; he was worse.
They had soon got through the bottle of wine.
‘I’ve another bottle, but it won’t be to your standard,’ Megan said over her shoulder, as she stretched up to the shelf to get it. He caught a glimpse of flesh as her blouse rode up and felt something stir inside. After a few more glasses of wine, he reached his hand out to cover hers on the table. There it was again: she’d tensed. Suddenly a dark thought hovered over him like a thunder cloud and made his stomach clench.
‘Megan, can I ask you a question?’ He looked so grave, she wondered what it was.
‘Yes.’
‘Has anyone ever physically hurt you?’ Just one name, that’s all he needed and he’d break the bastard’s legs.
‘No! Of course not,’ she answered immediately, shocked that he should think such a thing. He appeared to lighten up. ‘I know I might appear… a little cool at times—’
‘Subzero,’ he cut in, making her throw her head back and chuckle.
‘You’re funny, Tobias. You make me laugh,’ she smiled.
‘You’re beautiful, Megan. You make me horny,’ he replied with a wicked grin.
Megan’s eyes widened, ‘Tobias!’
‘I’m teasing you,’ he lied; he’d never been so aroused. ‘I’m sorry, please, carry on,’ he smoothed over.
‘Well, if I’m subzero it’s because I’ve been hurt in the past, but not physically, emotionally.’ There was a poignant pause.
‘What happened?’ Tobias asked softly. His eyes were burning into hers. The wine had loosened her tongue and she told him everything about Adam and his secretary. He sat in silence, taking it all in. When she’d finished, she took a gulp of wine and looked directly at him. ‘So now you know.’
‘We’re not all like him.’
She gave a hard laugh. A spark of uncertainty stung her. It was the comment Nick had made last night in the pub. With Dutch courage she looked straight at him again, almost accusingly.
‘Can I ask you a question?’
‘Of course.’
‘Is it me you find beautiful, or the fact I look like your late fiancée?’ The question floored him.
He sat rigid. Narrowing his eyes he asked in a quiet, controlled voice, ‘What exactly is that supposed to mean?’
‘It’s something Nick said, about you kissing me yesterday in The Templar.’
‘Did I offend you?’ His tone remained stilted.
‘No, of course not,’ she quickly replied, beginning to feel uneasy. ‘He said you kissed me because of who I reminded you of, not for me.’ She stood up, wanting to put some distance between them. Why had she opened her mouth? He stood up too, staring into her face. She moved backwards, towards the corner of the kitchen and he stood in front of her, blocking her in.
‘So that’s what the bastard’s been saying, is it?’ he rasped with fury.
Megan swiftly tried to calm him. ‘I’m sorry, Tobias. I’ve made you angry.’
‘It’s not you who’s made me angry. Yes, you do look like Carrie did, but you’re not her. She was taller than you, had a different voice, she was a damn sight warmer than you,’ she flinched, ‘and she didn’t have a strawberry-shaped birthmark above her collar-bone.’
Oh, to hell with it, he couldn’t resist any longer. He plunged his mouth down and kissed and licked it. Megan gasped, tension was at fever pitch, but she didn’t want his lips to stop. She nuzzled her face into his glossy dark hair, loving the fresh pine smell of him. He ran frenzied kisses up her neck and she responded by pulling him closer. Her hands reached inside his shirt and ran over his toned back.
‘Megan,’ he groaned as his mouth found hers, his tongue explored her lips, then gently probed inside.
Megan’s legs buckled as she felt faint with desire. Her body had never responded this way ever. Tobias held her tightly, his lips plundering hers deeply, intensely, taking her breath away. She wanted more of him and her hands cupped the sides of his face, then ran through his dark hair, which felt like silk.
He thrust his pelvis into her, making his erection evident. Then, with an almighty will, he forced himself to stop. His chest was heaving. ‘Megan, unless you want me to take you right now over the kitchen table, this must stop.’
Blushing furiously, Megan also calmed herself, ‘I’m… sorry… I…’
He dipped his head to face her. ‘Don’t ever apologise for touching me,’ he smiled, still shaking slightly. They hugged each other closely for a moment, drinking in the smell of each other.
Finally Megan spoke. ‘Fancy a coffee?’ She was desperate to return to the previous light-hearted atmosphere.
‘That would be lovely,’ Tobias answered with a grin.
Chapter 23
The walk home cleared Tobias’ head. Under a moonlit sky, dotted with stars, his mind buzzed with mixed emotions. Megan had awoken something deep within him. Something that had been lying dormant for years. Never had he believed the sensation pounding through his veins would ever return. It both shocked and satisfied him. It was as though he had been whisked back in time to when he was younger and at his happiest. It wasn’t disloyalty to Carrie’s memory – he’d got over that feeling a long time ago. He always knew at some stage he would have to produce an heir, so hadn’t envisaged being alone, but he assumed any future relationship would rate second-best. Tonight he’d been proved very wrong. Now he knew he could build a future with the right person, for the right reason. Adrenaline had coursed through him when she’d asked about Carrie.
He was outraged by Nick Fletcher’s meddling. When he’d seen him touch Megan yesterday behind the bar, not once but twice, he’d wanted to tear him apart, especially
seeing how uncomfortable she appeared. And just why was Nick snooping at her garden gate the other day when he’d strode past him? How dare he cast aspersions about him? Especially after the way he had acted towards his brother, Sebastian. That thought left a very bitter taste in his mouth. It also strengthened his resolve to protect Megan from any unwanted attention from Fletcher. His need to safeguard her made him understand his father for the first time, and how he must have felt towards his wife. Then it suddenly became clear. In a moment he realised just how he could be close by, watching over Megan. He gave a slow smile and felt a warm, comforting glow inside.
From her bedroom window Megan watched him strolling home down the lane. Tonight had unnerved her. She’d been stunned at her response to his touch; her body still tingled. Pulling the curtains shut, she lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to make some sense of it all. Think logically, she told herself. He was attractive, charming and he made her laugh. So far, so good. But he was also from another world, lived in a grand house, had a disreputable past, plus a string of glamorous girlfriends. Was she just a novel distraction? Could he be trusted? More to the point, could she trust herself? Tomorrow she planned to work on the painting. Had she made the right decision to work so close to Tobias?
*
Flora had learnt a hard lesson in who to trust. The newspaper in front of her told her, in no uncertain terms, just what a love rat Dylan Delany was. A picture of him stared up at her, with his dark curls, twinkling blue eyes and confident smile. The caption read:
Champion Jockey Celebrates
and it was followed by a kiss-and-tell story of how Sadie Stringfellow had been ravaged by the rampant jockey. Tears stung Flora’s eyes. What a complete fool she’d been, with her crush on Dylan allowing him use her. The complete bastard!
