She gasped and swept a touch across his cheek. “So smooth.”
“Ia.” He grinned, revealing adorable dimples and a striking strong jawline.
“But I could get used to this, too,” she said, brushing his smooth skin with her palms.
“Good, Miss America approves.” He winked. “Shall we go?”
“Let’s. So, where are we going?”
“Barmouth for a complete beach, food, and shopping experience. And if you’re a good girl….”
“Yes?”
“We can play the penny slots, too.”
“Not what I was hoping for, but okay. Penny slots it is.”
Chapter Thirteen
They strolled white sands, admired glorious mountainous views, and shopped for shoes. He’d been patient the whole time. Barmouth was the most darling seaside town.
The day had been the sort of day she’d enjoy with her girlfriends. Not once had she paused to remember she was with a Welshman whom she loved to hate and who’d made her toes curl as she came two nights earlier.
They had breakfast at the Carousal Café; the C was missing from the name on the sign, making it Arousal. Their special for the day was sizzling banger sandwiches, which Zoe took pictures of. She knew Rachel would get a kick out of the double entendre.
When they’d eaten, Dylan drove them to the top of a hill with views of the beach and the entire village. Whitewashed homes dotted the ocean-side hills, and little fishing boats floated. Hues of yellow and greens intertwined and made distant grassy fields surreal, like something from a painting. And the watercolor blues of the sky and ocean were a melting pot of shimmering reflections of the bright summer sun.
“How about a glass of wine?” He pulled a bottle from the trunk, and a picnic basket and blanket.
“Is there anything you haven’t thought of Dyl?”
“Dunno. But I thought your writer mind would appreciate the simple, isolated scene and simple romantic gesture.”
“Sounds lovely, but let’s not use the R word.”
“Ia, okay.” He spread out the red-checkered blanket and patted the material. “Come join me on the romance-free zone. Sit. Relax. Enjoy.”
“That I can do.”
He uncorked the bottle and poured the deep red fluid into a plastic wine glass. “I’ve got cheese and crackers, too.”
“You know me so well already.”
He grinned and handed her the drink. “I try.”
They ate and drank, and an awkward silence settled between them. She didn’t know where to look or what to say. Without sex on the table, their conversation was stilted.
“So, Dyl, a farmer by day and a dancer and singer by night? An unusual mix,” she threw out.
“When Rhiannon wanted to take up dancing, she wouldn’t go alone. Same with the voice training. Yeah, big brother learned a lot in her earlier years.”
“That’s so sweet. Do you both still go to class together?”
“She quit dance after six weeks. Just like she quit karate, soccer, and film club.”
“Ah, she’s an interest hopper?”
He nodded, his ruggedly handsome features wrinkling with a grin. “Ia. The only thing she ever stuck with was the voice training. She’ll be a big opera star one day.” A tendril bounced over her face, and he twirled it around his finger before brushing it to the side. “So what about you, Miss America? How’d you get into the astrology game?”
“You don’t need to hear about that.” Silence hit them again. She quickly added, “Dyl, is this a popular spot?”
“Not really.” He leaned back on the blanket, his hands resting behind his head. “The drive is too steep for most, but the view makes it worthwhile, don’t you think?”
Nodding, she shuffled beside him and circled a finger around the dimple on his left cheek while admiring his wide jaw line and plump lips. It was as if she saw him for the first time.
“You know, this look is good on you. Before, it felt like you were hiding from the world, from me.”
“Oh, love, I shaved for one reason and one reason only.”
“Oh?”
“I felt bad for grazing your lips.” He brushed a finger over her mouth.
She coiled her lips and flicked her tongue over his digit. “Dyl, if you were a gentleman, you’d kiss me better.”
“Who said I was a gentleman?” He grinned, showing those sexy dimples of his. “You know, I have condoms with me.”
“What could you be proposing, Mr. Mostyn?”
“A spot of fun.” He rested on his elbows and settled a hand on her lap. “You game?”
“Why do you think I wore a dress?” She hitched the material over her thighs and slid his hand beneath. “I hoped the opportunity would arise.”
“Oh, it’s risen.” He grabbed her hand and moved it to his hard-on.
“If I sat on your dick and spread my skirt around, no one would ever know if a passerby happened upon us.”
“I like the way you think, Chantilly.”
Her little man-free vacation in Wales had taken a turn.
She liked it. She liked it a lot.
Chapter Fourteen
Snug in her cottage with the fire blazing and her sofa being kept warm by a sexy man who also knew his way around the bedroom—and the kitchen, Zoe had put aside her novel and finished proofreading her article on her laptop. A smile curled her mouth. She was darn proud of her piece. It had warmth and was lighthearted with a feel-good vibe. She knew in the deepest depths of her soul that Rachel was going to love it.
“My zing is back, and it’s all thanks to your dick,” she called to her lover, who’d spent the night as he often had since their little day trip. He didn’t even seem to mind she was hard at work typing. He encouraged her, made coffees when she seemed tired, and had nipped out to the fish ‘n’ chip shop for takeout for two. And when she’d rather play than work, he encouraged that, too.
“Glad my crotch has been of great help to you.” He tousled his thick, uncombed hair and lounged on the sofa in sweats. Kicking his white-sock-adorned feet up on the coffee table, he switched channels to the news.
“Look at you, all swag.”
“Full of it.” He grabbed his crotch and readjusted himself.
“You are darn irresistible, Dylan Mostyn.”
“You love it. Now get back to work so you can find more zing.”
She actually did love it. She loved how comfy he was around her, how natural it seemed simply having him around.
She glanced at the TV. The weather was on. “What’s in store today, then?”
“Cloudy with a chance of rain, of course.” He grinned.
“Does it ever not rain in Wales?”
He tipped his head to the side and lifted a brow. “Once in a while.”
“I’ll be finished soon. We should do something to celebrate.”
“You could do me?”
She chuckled and turned her attention back to the task at hand. She’d spent the last week banging out “An American in Wales and in Love…with Wales,” her article for Rachel. A simple, lighthearted piece about the village with some fun shots from Karaoke night: David grabbing his package, Flo boobs-over-ass, Steve with his belly out—belly button fluff and all—and Dylan singing his solo and looking all kinds of sexy and oddly wholesome in his white shirt and black pants.
She put her proposal together and attached all her images, including one of Rose Farm for Rachel to see.
She added the Carousal Café pic last minute and hit send. “There. Done.”
The all-annoying preparing-to-send circle popped up and spiraled around.
Stupid dial-up internet.
Dylan trundled into the kitchen, poured a mug of coffee, and brought it over to where she sat at the table. He glanced over her shoulder. “You finished already?”
She nodded and took the drink. “Hmm, thanks.”
He leaned in closer and studied the screen. “You’re sen
ding her pages from your book, too?”
“No.”
“You are.” He pointed at the attachments listed in the email as the dial up struggled to send it out. “Before the Rain, that’s your book, right?”
“Darn it. Oh well, Rachel will either ignore the pages or read them and get a good kick out of being the first.”
He kissed her nape and ran a hand down her arm. “When do I get to read?”
Leaning back and pressed against him, she sighed. “I’ll send you a signed copy when it’s published.”
“Better send one for Aunty Betty, too.”
“I’m not so sure she’ll appreciate anything from me. How is she? I miss our yoga and morning tea.”
“She’s on the warpath, as it happens. She knows we’re together.” He curled his hands around her shoulders and gave a squeeze.
“Oh, my stars, we’re not together…not together-together.”
“That’s hard to explain when I’m with you more than I’m home.”
“True.”
“Rhiannon thinks it’s great, though. I haven’t been on at her to feed the sheep or to clean out the horses. I haven’t needed to, because she’s been doing it all on her own steam. She said at breakfast yesterday that she wishes I could be this happy all the time.”
Nuzzling her head against him, she teased, “Aw, I make you happy?”
He nodded. “Trust me, it’s better Aunty Betty thinks we’re in love. It’s quite nice, so it goes. I’m usually getting nagged about getting over Nessa and getting on with my life. I haven’t heard her name since karaoke night.”
“I can’t help but feel bad, though. Betty obviously didn’t want us together. I’m not good enough for you.”
“Is that what you think?”
She nodded.
“She just doesn’t want either of us to get hurt. She’s a total forward thinker, and she’s focused on the day you leave rather than seeing me happy today.”
“I can understand that.”
“And she thinks your career choice is, and I quote, ‘artsy-fartsy and unrealistic.’”
“Seriously? Not once did she say any of that to me.”
“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.”
Standing, she rounded her shoulders. “You think it, too.”
“Not even. Following your dream is a brave thing to do, Zoe. Don’t you let anyone tell you otherwise.”
Aw.
The laptop alerted her to mail sent status.
“Well, wish me luck.” She took a gulp of coffee.
He yanked her in close and planted his mouth to hers. “No luck needed.”
Kisses so deep, so raw, she gave herself over to him with full abandonment. Foreplay had become an unnecessary game they didn’t need to play, and they’d both become talented at speed-stripping. Random sex seemed to be their thing. One minute they were friends, and the next they were like starved lovers who’d been kept apart for months. And the thrill of it suited her fine.
After he’d brought her to release and had come, he disposed of the condom then wrapped the blanket over them and snuggled around her. Spooning wasn’t something she saw them ever doing. It seemed relationship-esque, but she couldn’t pull herself away from his embrace.
He pulled his arms around her tighter and nuzzled into her.
“How could anyone leave you, Dyl? You’re the kindest man I know.”
“Kind? Is that meant to be a compliment?”
“Okay, kind and sexy. Better?”
“It’ll do. And apparently it’s quite easy to walk out on me.” He rolled to his back and pulled her with him so she rested her head on his chest. “Nessa, Vanessa, left me days before our wedding when I told her I wouldn’t kick Rhiannon and Aunty Betty out of Rose Farm.” He brushed her arm with the back of his hand and sighed. “We’d been together for two years. Before that, I’d had girlfriends but nothing ever serious because, well, because I see every new person in my life as someone who could quite as easily leave me like my parents did.”
“I’m sorry you had to experience that, Dyl.”
“It’s hard to find a right fit, someone you can confide in, that you can be yourself around.”
“Yes, it really is.” She gulped, afraid of where the conversation was headed, of where they were headed.
“Being with you has reminded me taking that risk is worth it. My God, Chantilly, I’ll miss you when you’re gone.”
“You won’t. I see wedding bells for you and Flo.”
He let out a deep laugh then just as quickly stilled. “I’m thinking of selling Rose Farm.”
She gasped. “Oh, no, you can’t.”
“Rhiannon is off to college next year with a full Prince of Wales scholarship, and, honestly, I’m tired. I only kept the farm up to save for her college, and now that’s paid for. Hell, you are the first fun I’ve had in so long. I need more of that.”
“Do you know what you’d do if you didn’t have the farm to worry about?”
“I wanted to go to university and study computer science, but my dreams flew out the window when my parents disappeared. I had to do what was right for Rhiannon and Aunty Betty.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that, Dylan. Maybe you’re right. You should put yourself first and follow your dreams.”
“Ia.” He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. “I just dunno how I’d break the news to Aunty Betty.”
Her mobile sang.
“I should get that.”
“Sure.” He pouted. “If you’ve got to.”
“No, really. I should. Don’t make me feel bad. I’ll be back. With coffee?”
“Ia, coffee.”
She strode through the cottage and retrieved her phone. It occurred to her that she’d paraded naked and hadn’t cared. None of her previous boyfriends had witnessed such a brazen, confident act from her.
And now she and Dylan were having “those talks,” the ones couples had when things had gotten serious and their histories were discussed. Failings and all.
They were getting too close.
She reached for the phone and answered, “Helo.”
“Oh, listen to you, all Welsh. I see this village is having quite the effect on you.”
“Rachel.” She sat on the sofa and pulled on the blanket hanging over the armrest. She wrapped herself up. “Hi, Rachel.”
“Yeah, I loved your article.”
“You read it already?”
“Absolutely. We’re running it.”
Zoe rose, the blanket falling to the floor, and squealed.
“But we can’t offer you a full-time gig. You’re always welcome to bring us stories, but as a freelancer.”
Zoe slumped. “Really?”
“Trust me when I say I’m doing you a favor.”
“I’m having trouble swallowing that, Rachel. Are you sure there’s no position for me?”
“Shush, a writer like you shouldn’t be wasting away on human interest articles. Your book is funny and darling and my gosh, so good.”
“Great.” Zoe sighed. No job and all her hopes were pinned on a book she never thought would be good enough to get published that she’d still be sitting on had she not sent out pages by accident. “You’re just being kind, Rachel. You’re a good friend.”
“Seriously. I sent it to a friend at Browney Book in New York. She loved it. Wants to see the whole story. I’m emailing you the details.”
“Say what? So you’re not just being kind? You actually did like the pages?”
“Like them? Haven’t you been listening? I loved them.”
Zoe hung up, agape and naked.
“I’m going to be an author.” She ran to the bedroom and jumped on the bed.
“What’s all this now?”
“I’m going to be an author.” It was then she realized what she’d done. She’d raced to tell Dylan her good news. She’d wanted him to be the first to know. She’
d never raced to tell anyone when she’d had good news before. Ever. It was the darn compassionate Leo in him, she knew he’d smother her in congratulations and make her feel good about herself.
He spelled trouble for her heart.
Chapter Fifteen
Her legs ached, and her feet screamed for a rest. But heck if she cared. Lifting her knees, she trekked up the hill toward Rose Farm, arm hooked in Dylan’s.
“Betty and Rhiannon are gone all weekend?” she asked, nudging against him. “All weekend?”
“Ia. Some shopping and show trip to Bangor with the Rev and his son.”
“A family outing?”
“Ia, seems that way. Betty wanted the four of them to bond.”
“Oh?”
“Since I told her I was thinking of selling up, she’s been super stinky. Now got it in her head that she and the Rev are going to buy the farm. Live here and run it like some country escape.”
“Sweet.”
“You think so? I don’t like it. Not at all. She’s practically telling me I should give it to her. She has nowhere else, and she’s spent all those years caring for us. I kinda guess she has a right.”
“But, Dylan, you worked hard. That farm is yours. Get it evaluated before you make any decisions, and not by anyone in the village, to make sure it’s an unbiased price they suggest. And don’t forget she has that empty bungalow just sitting there. You won’t be making her homeless at all.”
He raked a hand through his hair and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m twenty-eight, and all I’ve ever done is worry about keeping the farm running to pay for Rhiannon. Putting the farm in my name was the only decent thing my parents have ever done, but I’m not sure it’s what I want anymore.”
“Dyl.” She grabbed his shoulders and dug her fingers into his hard flesh. “You control your own life. Do with it what you want. If you sold up, you could go to University like you talked about. Or you could even open your own inn at the farm instead of slaving away all day. You could do so much, anything at all really.”
He knocked her hands away. “And live where?”
She cleared her throat. “If you really want it, Dylan, you’ll figure it out.”
Before the Rain Page 9
