by Sasha Morgan
‘I hear what you’re saying,’ he answered.
‘Good. Shall we go inside and seal the deal?’
‘Let’s,’ he smiled back.
He followed her back inside. She took him upstairs into her bedroom, where French doors opened out onto the balcony. A hot tub was bubbling away outside on the decking. Next to it was a table with champagne in an ice bucket and two accompanying glasses. She’d orchestrated the whole thing, Dylan realised.
‘When is your husband back?’ he asked.
‘Not till tonight,’ she replied. Dylan’s shoulders relaxed. ‘Let’s celebrate with a drink.’ She poured them each a glass of champagne. Dylan joined her out on the balcony and admired the view. Green velvet fields of all shades lay out before him. It was stunning.
‘It’s a beautiful place you’ve got here,’ he remarked, turning to take his glass off her.
‘Yes. My husband designed it. He’s an architect.’ And a very successful one concluded, Dylan.
She threw her head back and downed her champagne. Her eyes levelled with his, challenging. Dylan took a sip of his drink, his gaze never leaving her face. She pushed both straps down over her shoulders and slowly pulled her dress fully down to rest on her ankles. She was totally naked, her bronze, silken body was there for the taking.
‘Now your turn, Dylan.’
Dylan gulped and swiftly undressed. Her eyes devoured his muscular, toned torso and jutting erection. She walked to the hot tub and lowered herself onto the ledge of the water. Dylan followed and slid in beside her. Immediately she sat astride him, her breasts pushed hard against his chest. Dylan stroked his hands along her thighs, as her lips plunged onto his. There was no tenderness, just a hard, urgent need. He suspected that middle-aged husband of hers wasn’t meeting the necessary requirements. She crushed her hips impatiently against him. He sunk his swollen shaft into her, making her cry out and ride him up and down in a slow motion. His mouth moved to her nipples grazing his face, and she cried out again as he ran his tongue over them, sucking and tugging each one. Her hands ran through his black curls as he suckled her, then her hips moved backwards and forwards with urgency, and he could feel her tighten against his cock.
‘I’ve fantasised about this,’ she whispered. Dylan jolted his pelvis up, deeper into her, she dug her nails into his shoulders making him wince in pain. Then he released himself fully into her and she gave a gasp of relief. ‘I knew it would be this good,’ she said into his ear, delving her tongue inside.
Then there was a loud bang. They both froze.
‘Sam! I’m home, sweetheart!’ called a voice from downstairs.
‘I thought you said he wasn’t back till tonight,’ rasped Dylan.
‘He wasn’t supposed to be!’ she hissed back. Panic-stricken, she jumped out of the hot tub, gathered his clothes and flung them at Dylan, who had leapt out of the water to catch them. ‘Turn left down the hall, take the stairs and go out the back. We’ll meet you at the stables.’ Dylan shot off. He heard Samantha shout down the hallway, ‘Just upstairs, darling. Won’t be long!’
Dylan dashed down the stairs, dressed and ran. Catching his breath, he went back into the stables. My God, that was a close shave. He cursed himself for very nearly losing a good client, not to mention risking the wrath of her husband.
A few minutes later they both arrived. The transformation in Samantha was unbelievable. Gone was the sexy sundress; now she wore jeans and a white shirt. Her hair was pinned up in a bun.
‘Hello, pleased to meet you, Dylan.’
‘And you, too, Mr Tait.’ They both shook hands. ‘These are beautiful horses you have here.’ Dylan avoided Samantha and concentrated on her husband, who looked even older than his photograph in the flesh.
‘Yes. I believe you have come to some arrangement with my wife?’
Dylan looked him in the eye and replied with a charming smile, ‘Yes, I think we’re both happy with the terms and conditions.’
Chapter 48
Tobias drove the rented Citroën 2CV through the country lanes of France. He could see the views of the wild, dramatic coastline and the bay with anchored boats. He was driving to a farmhouse situated near the shores of the Southern Coast of Brittany, where Carrie’s parents lived. He had contacted them a few days ago and they had been delighted by his suggested visit. It had been a long time since they had seen him. Carrie’s parents had moved to Brittany after the tragedy of losing their elder daughter. Desperate to make a new start, without the constant reminder of her in Treweham village, they had decided to sever all ties and relocate to another country. Lucy, their other daughter, was young enough to adapt and had craved the move as much as her parents had. Looking at the small, rocky shoreline, golden sand and turquoise sea, Tobias could see just why Carrie’s mum and dad had chosen this area. The air was warm and salty rushing in through the car window. Tobias remembered the way to the farmhouse.
He’d visited them once before, when they had first moved here. Driving further down the coast, he longed to swim in the shimmering sea and wash away the pent-up anxiety that had been gradually building inside him. Flashbacks of Megan’s bewildered face stung him. He hated having to be so secretive, but he had to stay focused and couldn’t be distracted. He was doing the honourable thing, what any decent man would do. Once he had explained himself to her she would understand. His mind wandered to the previous night, which they’d spent together at Treweham Hall. It felt so right, having her there, her body entwined with his in his four-poster bed. It was empty without her soft skin touching his; he was empty without her.
It bothered him how she had reacted to his going away. He could see the betrayal in her eyes. But it wasn’t disloyalty, it was a necessity, his coming here. He needed closure. Real closure. Tobias didn’t want his future wedding being plastered all over the newspapers for Carrie’s parents to read about. He needed to tell them first of his intention to marry. They deserved to hear it from him.
He had his welcome first sight of the farmhouse, its stone walls covered with wisteria, the pretty property surrounded by criss-crossing coastal paths. He parked the Citroën on the dusty driveway. Immediately Carrie’s parents, Anna and Mark, came to greet him. ‘Tobias! How lovely to see you.’ Anna stretched her arms out to embrace him. Despite the cruel knock life had blown her, she was looking well, thought Tobias. The French country lifestyle clearly suited her, giving her a glowing honeyed complexion and highlights in her hair.
Mark shook his hand firmly. ‘Good to see you, son.’ He’d always called him that, and it comforted Tobias that he still did.
‘Thanks for having me.’
‘Not at all! Thank you for making the trip,’ replied Anna, fussing him inside. Mark took out his suitcase and followed them into the house.
Tobias looked around him. It was just as he remembered: high ceilings and pebbled walls. A wood burner stood in the centre of the open-plan room and a balcony above led to the bedrooms. The kitchen was large, and a typical farmhouse table stood in the middle surrounded by mismatched wooden chairs.
‘Take a seat, Tobias. I’ll put the kettle on.’
Tobias noticed a framed photograph of Carrie standing on the sideboard. It had been taken a few days before the accident. He absorbed her smile, her long, dark hair, her brown eyes and button nose. Then the face in the picture transformed into Megan. He quickly shut his eyes.
‘I thought I’d cook dinner tonight. There’s a wonderful market town nearby that sells the most delicious seafood.’
‘That sounds great, thanks, Anna.’
‘You must be tired after all that travelling.’ She passed him a cup of tea. ‘I’ll show you to your room.’
That evening, after an exquisite supper of truite au vin jaune and crêpes Suzette, which he learnt was one of Brittany’s traditional meals – trout cooked in wine, and pancakes with orange and liqueur – Tobias decided now was the time. They had drunk two bottles of local red wine and were feeling relaxed.
‘I
’ve something to tell you both.’ Anna and Mark looked at him smiling, encouraging him to continue. ‘I’ve met someone. Her name’s Megan and I intend to marry her.’ There, he’d said it. Waiting for their response was torture.
Anna was the first to speak. ‘Well, I’m very pleased for you, Tobias. It’s about time.’
‘Yes, we both want you to be happy, always have,’ Mark added.
Tobias let out a sigh. The relief was enormous. Anna got up from the table and took two photographs from the kitchen windowsill. She gave one to Tobias to look at. He took it and smiled. It was of Lucy, Carrie’s sister. She made a striking bride, joined by a handsome, dark-haired groom.
‘She’s grown into a beauty, hasn’t she? When did she get married?’
‘A year ago, married a local boy.’ Then Anna passed him the second photograph. It was of a newborn baby, looking the image of the dark-haired groom. ‘This is François, our grandson.’
Tobias beamed. ‘Congratulations, you must be very proud,’ he said, looking to Anna, then Mark.
Mark nodded. ‘We are.’
Then Anna added, putting her hand over Tobias’, ‘It’s time to move on, Tobias. Even we’ve carved out a life for ourselves. Being here, in France, with Lucy, Jean-Pierre and François. We’ve all to live our lives the best way we can.’
Tobias’ eyes filled, he swallowed and looked down.
‘Never feel guilty for finding happiness, son,’ Mark spoke quietly.
‘Thank you,’ gulped Tobias.
Chapter 49
‘Flora, the order’s arrived.’ Dylan was swamped with all the equipment they’d purchased. ‘I could do with a hand shifting some of it.’ He intended to move as much of it as possible to the new stable yard. Half of the stables were built now, plus his office, so he planned to store most of it there.
‘OK. I’m out at the moment. I’ll be at yours for six-ish.’
Out where? He felt compelled to demand, and who with? Instead he bit his tongue.
‘Right, see you then.’ Probably off gallivanting with bloody Ben, he fumed. He kicked a water bucket down his drive in frustration. He’d received two text messages from Samantha. One asking for a date to move the horses, the other wanting to know when they would be meeting up. He was beginning to imagine he’d have his hands full with Samantha, quite literally. The woman was blatantly starved of action and craved as good a ride as her horses. Dylan had started to have second thoughts about the whole thing, but then he remembered just how much her husband was prepared to pay him for training his two thoroughbreds. It wasn’t to be sniffed at, plus he was eager to get his stables fully occupied. He’d arranged a provisional date to collect the horses and avoided the second question. Luckily she hadn’t pressed him.
Flora had gone into town to the chemists. She had a banging headache and was in dire need of some tablets. Bending over to pick up the packet of paracetamol she saw blackness closing in and came over a little dizzy. Blinking, she steadied herself and paid for them. As she drove home the bright light of the sun shining in her face made her wince in pain. She managed to make it back, just. Once inside, she rushed to the kitchen to pour a glass of water and swallow two tablets. After half an hour she felt marginally better, although a fine film of sweat covered her body. Deciding to skip supper, she went to have a quick shower to freshen up. In the shower her headache came back with vengeance. A nauseating sensation overcame her. She got out of the pounding water that had been battering her head and wrapped herself in a towel. Slowly making her way into the kitchen for another paracetamol, lights started flashing across her eyes. Flora dashed to the sink and only just made it, vomiting the entire contents of her stomach. She was now perspiring and shaking badly. Reaching for her phone on the kitchen table, she managed to press Dylan’s number before passing out.
‘Flora? Flora, are you there?’
There was no answer. Dylan frowned. Where was she? He looked at his watch. She was late. He picked up his car keys and drove to her house. He rang the front doorbell. No reply. He went round the back and hammered on the back door. Still nothing. He looked through the kitchen window and saw Flora slumped over the table in a towel. ‘Flora!’ he shouted, rushing back to the door. Turning the handle he realised it was locked. With adrenaline pumping through his veins he pushed hard again and again at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. In the end he elbowed the glass partition and put his hand through to unlock the door from inside. He cut his palm slightly turning the key. His heart was thumping wildly. ‘Flora!’ he cried again rushing to her. He picked her body up from the table. She started to rouse slightly. He manoeuvred her onto the kitchen chair, holding her shoulders.
‘Flora, talk to me, it’s Dylan,’ he spoke urgently. Her skin was red hot. She half opened her eyes. ‘Flora, can you hear me?’
‘Sick,’ she murmured. Dylan hastily fetched the washing up bowl from the sink and placed it before her. She bent her head into it and vomited again. Dylan tried to think straight. His immediate reaction was to ring an ambulance, but as Flora finished throwing up, she seemed to be gaining consciousness. He stood behind her, holding her forehead and shoulders. Slowly she eased herself back into an upright position. ‘I… I think I fainted.’
‘You did. I saw you out cold over the kitchen table.’ Dylan put his arm round her. ‘Let’s get you into bed, you’re shivering.’ He carried her up the stairs. Flora was oblivious to the towel slipping further down her body, exposing most of her chest. Dylan tried to concentrate and averted his eyes. ‘Which one’s your bedroom?’
‘First on the left,’ she answered faintly. He placed her gently on the unmade bed and carefully covered her with the duvet, again at pains not to run his gaze over her now bare body. He plumped up the two pillows and rested them behind her head.
‘How are you feeling now, Flora?’ His face was etched with concern.
‘Better for throwing up, I think.’ She looked so utterly vulnerable, almost like a child. Dylan swallowed hard. He so wanted to look after her.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘A drink of water, please.’
‘Will do.’ He shot off downstairs into the kitchen and hurried back. ‘Here, let me help you.’ He held the glass to her lips and watched her gulp it back. ‘I think you’re dehydrated. Drink some more.’ She did as she was told, then rested back onto the pillows, bleary eyed. ‘Flora, I’m staying here with you tonight.’
Expecting her to object, he was startled when her eyes filled.
‘I want…’ Her chin wobbled slightly. He stopped and stared at her. If she said Ben he’d be gutted.
‘Who do you want, Flora?’ he asked quietly.
‘My mum,’ she whimpered. Kneeling down next to her he stroked back her hair.
‘Shall I ring her for you?’
‘No,’ she finally replied, ‘they’d only worry.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. I just need to rest.’ Her eyes started to close.
‘I’ll be right here.’ Dylan went into the next bedroom to collect pillows and a duvet. He was going to sleep on the floor next to her. Entering the room he saw a single bed with blue football bedding. Various posters hung from the walls: a New York City skyline, Oasis and Red Hot Chili Peppers. There was a notice board displaying a collage of photographs of a teenage boy with long hair, sporting a hoody, sticking two fingers up at the camera with his mates. Dylan also clocked the sign on the door: ‘Ben’s Room’. Hmm, interesting, he thought wryly.
He entered Flora’s bedroom and laid the pillows and duvet on the floor next to her bed. She was fast asleep. He looked down at her, so pale and angelic, ethereal like. His chest tightened with the image of her slumped over the kitchen table. For a moment he had thought she was dead. The thought made him cold. He bent down to hear her breathing faintly and watched her chest slightly rising and falling. Flora, his feisty, stubborn, angelic creature.
He turned out the light and settled down on the floor. Unable to sleep, his eyes adj
usted to the dark and flicked round the room. It was full of horsy paraphernalia: pictures, photos, rosettes, trophies, certificates, all documenting her achievements and love of horses. His room had been the same years ago, when he was her age. The age gap once again troubled him. Was he being selfish wanting someone so young? Would she be better enjoying herself with other twenty-year-olds, instead of holding a responsible position with a thirty-year-old lusting after her?
His phone bleeped in his pocket. Digging it out of his jeans, he saw Samantha’s name flash up. Oh no. His eyes widened at the text message.
Hungry for cock.
Jesus, what had he started? He had to think of some way to deter her. Flora stirred.
‘Dylan? Is that your phone?’ she croaked.
‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘just some random message from my brother. I think he’s pissed.’ Two can play at that game, he thought.
‘Dylan?’
‘Yes?’
‘I need the loo.’
‘Oh. Right.’
‘My nightie’s in the top drawer.’ He got up and put the bedside light on. Dylan took out her nightshirt and placed it over her head, then helped her to put it on. His hands touched her skin. She had cooled down, thank God. He carried her to the bathroom and assisted her. ‘Sorry, I feel so useless,’ she spoke weakly. He hoped she wasn’t embarrassed.
‘Don’t be silly, Flora. You’re unwell. I’m ringing for the doctor in the morning.’
Flora didn’t argue, she was just so glad he was there.
The next morning the doctor examined her. He recommended plenty of fluids and rest, suspecting she had picked up a virus that had been prevalent in the village. Dylan was reassured to hear it, fearing it may have been a far worse scenario, which got him thinking. He was going to set up private medical insurance for Flora. He’d cover the cost – he was her employer now and he ought to make sure she was covered. He watched her again, on the sofa now, tucked up with a hot-water bottle and blanket. Her hair was greasy and ruffled, her complexion translucent white, black shadows surrounded her eyes and Dylan realised at that moment he’d never cared for anyone more.
