Dylan shook his head. “See. I think you need to sober up.”
“I do not.”
“Ia, you do.” He entwined his fingers in hers and dragged her into the beer garden where she’d escaped to earlier for alone time.
He pushed the door open and swung her out into the cold air. The brisk night sent shudders through her, and her nipples tightened.
Freeing herself from his grip, she crossed her arms over her chest and hollered, “What do you think you’re doing?”
He perched on a nearby table and turned a patio heater on. “Come stand over here. It’s cold tonight.”
She shook her head.
“Love, don’t bite your nose off to spite your face. Come hither.”
Hesitant, she inched forward.
“I said, come here,” he growled, pulling on her hand.
“Dylan, what has gotten into you?”
“You. You and your sexy, sassy attitude and your blonde hair and pale blue eyes and your husky voice and those fucking dance moves of yours. I didn’t think I would last the song.”
“Me? You’re the one with the magic hips.”
He tightened his grip on her and pulled her between his legs, his thick thighs enveloping her. “I dunno what I’m doing, dunno what you’re doing to me.”
He smacked a kiss on her lips, fast and surprising.
She hooked her hands around his neck and parted his mouth with her tongue, daring him to kiss her good and kiss her hard. Instead, he let out a moan so deep, so guttural that his sound echoed through her and settled deep into her soul. Drenched in desire, she gave in to him with a reckless abandonment. Goose bumps rippled across her chest and tingled at her hardened nubs, and her sex swelled.
His hardness pressed against her, making her crave him all the more.
He peeled her off of him and sighed. “You wanna know why I’m so happy tonight, why I’m not the Dylan Mostyn you thought you knew? The rude farmer you love to hate?”
“It’s because you’ve had a drink or two or five. And to be honest, you’re a better man for it. And darn can you move.”
“We’re both a little drunk, but on lust not booze.”
“Perhaps.”
“I don’t even think I like you.”
“I know, right?” She squeezed her eyes tight shut. Blubbering something about her own confusion, she crumpled into him and wrapped her arms around his neck and nuzzling into him. “We really do love to hate each other, don’t we?”
“You’re upset?” He eased his fingers between her locks and combed through her hair. “Shh. You don’t need to speak, Chantilly. But know I’m here for you.” He kissed the crown of her head once and then again.
How sweet he was, which didn’t help clear her head a darn diddly bit.
Thunder sounded ahead, and the lights flickered.
She quivered. “We should go inside.”
“Ia, we should.” He swept a finger across her cheek, wiping away her tears and trailing his touch down to her lips, lingering. Wanton.
“I want to kiss you again, so bad,” she whispered.
He tugged at his collar and undid a button, revealing a hint of dark chest hair. “Damned if I don’t wanna kiss you, too. There’s something drawing me to you, pulling me in and making me wanna touch you, to imagine what it’d be like to be inside you.”
“Dyl.” She dragged a finger over the top button and flipped through the opening, exposing more of his manliness. Maybe to torture herself or to prolong their twisted game of foreplay, she twirled her touch into his curls and moved to the next button, toying with the plastic closure. “The sexual tension between us has been palpable since the get-go.”
He grabbed her hand and stilled her finger, his grasp tight, commanding. “We should shag,” he declared and used his free arm to pull her in closer so his chest pressed against hers. His heartbeat thrummed hard and vibrated against her palm. “I need to think straight again.”
“Best. Idea. Ever,” she said, her voice breathy and her hands shaking.
He pressed his mouth against her forehead and cupped her face. “So we’re doing this?”
Lust raced through her and caused her to tremble. She tried to speak, but instead she stammered, “Y-y-yes.”
He curled his hand around hers and stood. “Not here, though.”
Head whirling with hope, she leaned into him. “Dyl, I’ll burst if you’re not inside me soon.”
The door opened and the din of the pub spilled into their private moment. Dylan stepped back and released his hold, slipping his hands into his pockets.
Zoe zoomed her gaze in on who had caught them.
Betty.
She stood in the doorway, hands on hips and nostrils flaring. “Hey, Sandy and Danny, the people are waiting.” Her pitch rose with every word. “Time to sing.” The woman glance from Zoe to Dylan and back again. “This won’t do. This won’t do at all.”
Chapter Nine
Thunder boomed overhead, and a crack of lightning split open the sky.
Another clap of thunder echoed through the pub. Everyone gasped then cheered about a lock-in and carried on drinking.
“What’s a lock-in?” she whispered to Dylan.
He grinned. “It’s when they lock the doors, and the pub stays open well after closing hours.”
“Is that legal?”
“Sure, the bar just can’t ‘charge’ for drinks.”
“Ah.”
“We have one more song to sing, then we can go make use of the free bar. Are you ready for the closing act?”
She nodded. “Yes. Ready.”
Getting all cutesy with the man she had almost “shagged” outside in the beer garden before his aunt had walked in on them, well, it all seemed a bit high school-esque. But there they were, singing “You’re The One That I Want” with fake smiles and daft dance moves.
And, boy, could that man move, and he crack-a-lacked it Danny style with a coolness she admired.
A crack of lightning hit nearby, so close it vibrated through the floor of the pub. Zoe glanced at Dylan, who shrugged and carried on singing. Yeah, he was having a hella time and funning it up too hard to be bothered by the beginnings of a thunderstorm.
A tree branch smashed against a window, and it pounded again and again until it fell through and sent tiny shards of glass everywhere.
He stilled.
Women screamed, and men howled with laughter and pointed their fingers.
Zoe yelped and bounced into Dylan’s arms.
“Don’t worry, Chantilly. Just a bit of noise, be over in a tick.” He put the microphone to his mouth and asked, “Anyone hurt?”
He was met with a resounding no, and requests for him to carry on singing.
“Screw that. It’s time for me to leave,” Zoe announced.
“You’re not driving anywhere, Miss America.”
“And why’s that?”
“Had one too many for the road, love.”
“Nuh-uh,” she quipped. “I’ve only had two beers.”
“And the couple of shots you knocked back earlier.”
“Oh, yeah.”
He snickered.
“You, it’s your fault, Dylan Mostyn. I was meant to stay sober to drive Betty home.”
“She’s already left, pissed off she was.”
“Left? Without me?”
“Yup, she left with the Rev.” He whispered, “I think she’s mad at us.”
“Yes, she is, and it turns me on to think we’re forbidden.”
He raised a brow. “Oh?”
“I feel like a kid in high school sneaking out at night to see my forbidden boyfriend.”
“And you did that a lot, did you?” He jabbed her in the ribs. “Did you?”
Shivers trickled down her spine, and her stomach whirled.
“Speechless, I see. That means I’m right.” He shoved his hand out, palm facing up. “Now, hand m
e your keys then and we’ll get a move on.”
“You’ve been drinking, too. You can’t drive.”
“I had two whiskeys and a light beer hours ago, and most recently a coffee and a packet of crisps. I’m sure I’m fine now. Let me be your hero and drive you home.”
“I like this side of you.”
“Which side? This side?” He turned so his left side faced her. “Or this side?” He pivoted to face the opposite direction.
“Ha ha. You know what I mean. The nice side. All heroic and stuff.”
“I only offered to drive you home.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chantilly.”
“But, wait, I must say goodbye to Steven and David first. And Flo.”
“No, no you don’t.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the exit.
They climbed into the rented Mini.
She giggled at how large he seemed in the little car. “So much for us sexing it up in the backseat.”
“Yeah, not likely. I barely fit in the front of this thing.”
He zipped that vehicle around the country roads with a speed and ease that impressed her, and she was quite sure she was gawking at him. She didn’t care. Seemed to her that foreplay was over. Now came the real play.
“It’s my beard, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“The reason you’re staring at me?”
“No, I’m thinking is all.” She cocked her head, unable to steer her gaze from him—the slight lines around his eyes, his full lips, and his thick hair. Oh, how she’d like to rake her fingers through that mop of his while he claimed her.
“About?”
“You.” She shifted in her seat. “You’re so raw.”
“Raw? Piece of meat, am I? I see. Not that I mind. Use me, Chantilly.”
She sighed. “Raw and honest. Real. Yes, real is the right word. You’re so real.”
“Well, I think you’re real, too. Wait, you are real, right?” He pinched her arm.
“Hey. Keep your eyes on the road.”
“Only checking, but I’m still not convinced you’re real.” He poked her. “Are you real?”
“There’s only one way to find out,” she cooed, and she reached over to kiss him.
He turned to meet her lips. He lost his grip of the wheel and the car swerved, but he quickly regained control.
“So we’re clear? No-strings shag? We’re just getting it out of the way, cutting the tension so we can carry on as normal?”
He growled, “No strings.”
“Well, there will be one string. A G-string.”
Mouth agape and eyes wide, he craned his neck to face her.
Lightning struck a nearby tree and sent it tumbling toward them.
Dylan snapped his attention to the road and twisted the wheel, skidding away from disaster.
“Bloody dry storms, cause so much damage. We should’ve stayed at the pub.”
Trembles took hold, so she gripped the seatbelt to focus her energy on something other than the chaos outside.
“You okay?”
“If you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m not a fan of storms. Never have been.”
“Let’s get you home.” He shifted into reverse, but the wheels skidded beneath. The more he revved, the more they squealed. The Mini wasn’t going anywhere.
He tried again. The engine spluttered, then died.
“Crap, we’re stuck.”
Gingerly, she unbuckled. “It’s what, two miles from here?”
He nodded. “We could make a run for it.”
“But it’s raining and I’m wearing heels.”
“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He swung his door open and leapt out. “I know where we can go that’s closer.”
He moved to the passenger side of the car and opened her door. “Come on, trust me.” He unzipped his coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “We better move if we wanna make it before the rain really comes down.”
“It’s already raining pretty bad.”
“It will get much worse, trust me.”
She side-eyed him. “Why, because you’re a farmer?”
“Ia.”
What a night this was turning out to be.
Chapter Ten
Rain beat down on them, and the sky was alive with booming thunder.
“Where are we headed?” Zoe asked.
“Aunty Betty’s place.” Dylan hopped over a knee-high fence with ease, then turned and held out his hand to help her over. “I’m sure she’ll love that we made good use of her abandoned home to play out our evil plan.”
She took his offer of help and quit cursing herself for wearing girlie shoes. “What plan is that then?”
“You know.” He dipped his gaze then continued. “It’s much closer than Rose Farm. Just across this field about half a mile.”
“Good, I’m soaked.”
“And you’re the one with a coat.” He clasped his fingers around hers and hurried to an almost sprint before he ordered, “Stay with me.”
“My shoes,” she moaned. “They’re sinking into the mud.” She struggled to keep pace, her flimsy pumps digging into the soft, sodden ground.
“We’re there.” He pointed ahead. “It’s past the farm fence you can see yonder.”
“Will I have to climb?”
“No, no. There’s a gate.”
Thank goodness.
Glancing across the darkened scenery, she spotted their destination about a quarter-mile ahead at a guess. Barely visible through the rain and darkness, but it seemed the stone cottage had a roof. And a chimney towering high.
“Hope the fireplace works.”
“Ia, the outside is a little rundown, but I do believe Aunty Betty spends the odd afternoon out here with the pretense of upkeep. I think she likes the timeout.”
“Yes, I bet she does.”
Her grasp slipped, and the ground sank beneath her like wet sand. Her left foot got jammed, and then her right.
Splat.
Knee down in the mud, she said, “I’ve gotten stuck.”
He bent and wrapped his hands firmly around her ankle and tried wedging her free, his touch like tiny electrical pulses tingling her all over.
“Woman, why’d you wear six-inch heels out here?”
“Well, how in tarnation was I to know trekking through a field at midnight during a darn thunderstorm was a part of the night?”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“What we’ll go through to be alone.” He yanked her feet free of her shoes, her very expensive, very pretty shoes. “Look at us? Who needs a cold shower when you live in Wales?”
“Never mind that, can you save the shoes? Please say you can save the shoes.”
“Not a chance.”
“But—”
“But nothing. We’ll get sick if we’re out here any longer.”
She rose and put one foot forward, her toes squelching in the watery mud. She lifted the other foot and slowly pressed it to the ground. A shudder shot down her spine, and goose bumps prickled. “I can’t do it. I can’t. Don’t make me.” She turned, eased her hand into the ground, and grabbed the heel of her left shoe. She pulled. Her grip slipped, and she fell back on her ass.
Her hair clung tight against her face. No doubt her eyeliner was running a nice The Crow makeup effect down her cheeks. “Look at me. I’m a mess.”
“Woman!” He swept her into his arms and held her snug. “You never looked prettier.”
Heat radiated through her and rose to her cheeks, and her mouth dried. Tension dissipated, and she allowed herself to feel safe in his strong hold. Storm? The only storm happening now was the one jabbing at her heart.
“Put those arms around my neck and hold on tight.”
“With pleasure.” With pleasure? Did I really say that?
Pressed against his side, she curled into his embrace and rested her head upon
his chest. His thundering heart pounded in her ears and warmed her through. And although rain beat on her head and trickled down her face, she sizzled with burning desire.
His strength was impressive and his speed even more so.
Chapter Eleven
The beaten and weathered property would have been handsome once upon a time. The ornate double doors that were now tarnished, and the pretty sash windows with paint peeling from the frames, told a sad story of neglect. The garden was a sodden mess from the torrential rain, and the flowerbeds she imagined Betty had worked hard on were squelched and ruined.
“It’s sad,” she sighed.
“What is?” He curled a hand around hers and squeezed, pulling her beneath the porch framing the entrance and out of the rain.
“This beautiful house reminds me of myself.”
“How so?”
“Neglected and left to ruin.”
He quirked his mouth into a smile. “This beauty has life in her yet.”
“Yes, indeed.” She eyed him up and down. “Dyl, you’re very perceptive.”
With his free hand, he rubbed his nape and frowned.
Clueless.
Adorable.
Sexy.
For sure he was unkempt, but, darn it, he was hella good looking, and, as she was discovering, he had kindness and an undeniable magnetism.
“Yes, indeed.” He felt around the top of the doorjamb. “That’s odd.”
“What?”
“The key Betty usually keeps here isn’t in its place.”
She scanned the area for another good hiding spot. “How about under one of those rocks in the flowerbed?”
“Maybe. But she’s always kept it taped to the top of the door.” He searched under rocks. “You were right. Found it.” He jabbed the key into the lock then eased the door open. “After you, me lady.”
She scooted inside but paused as she reached his side and peered into his soft gaze. “Thank you, sir.”
Her teeth chattered and her toes were frozen, but her desires were fired up.
She flicked the light switch at the door. Nothing happened. “No electricity?”
“Nope.”
Scanning the living room with only the moonlight streaming in through the two small front-facing windows, she noted a couple of old sofas, a coffee table, and a huge fireplace. Cozy. But not rundown. “Besides not having electric, this place seems, well, lived-in.”
Before the Rain Page 7
