by K. A. Hobbs
“Pfft. Please. You think I kept all those photos Mum took of your ugly tush for all these years only to allow my chance to humiliate you with them slip by? No. Go make tea, baby brother. We’ll be in the living room… bonding.”
I decide not to argue against the notion of his ‘tush’ being anything but the perfect specimen that it is, instead opting for a teasing smile in his direction before allowing myself to be steered through to a crisply modern living room with a black leather couch and polished white surfaces everywhere. It couldn’t be more different to Seb’s disastrous cottage with its mismatched furniture and stacks of books and papers everywhere.
“So, you and my little brother, huh?” she questions as she drops lazily into the couch, which turns out to be way more comfortable than it looks.
“Apparently so.” I smile a little nervously.
“I always kind of assumed he’d be forever married to his work. I can’t remember the last time he had a girlfriend.”
I can hear Seb busily clanking cups and cannisters around in the kitchen while Charlotte regales me with tales of the little boy he used to be, full of mischief and always in trouble of one sort or another. I laugh, recognising so much of the man he is now in her stories. We chat easily, and it feels strange to me after spending so much time pushing everybody away from me, to fall so easily into feeling so comfortable with somebody I’ve not only just met but desperately want the approval of.
“Tea, your ladyship,” Seb announces, walking back into the room with a tray stacked with cups, a teapot, milk and, of course, cookies.
“No need to be formal,” she says. “Just your highness will do.”
“You wish,” he throws back, taking a bite out of a cookie and very deliberately brushing crumbs all over her immaculate floor.
“You’re an arse,” she grumbles, jumping up and instantly grabbing a handheld vacuum cleaner to suck up the crumbs.
“And yet you love me.”
“Less and less by the minute.”
“Says the one holding the album full of baby photos.”
They go back and forth at each other like this for several minutes, and I watch on with amusement, feeling like I’m watching a tennis match at Wimbledon the way my eyes follow the insults back and forth.
The simple family banter leaves a stabbing pang of longing behind that has me lost in thought as we say goodbye to Charlotte and begin to walk an excited Libby back towards my beach.
“Everything okay?” Seb asks after the silence stretches out uncomfortably. “She didn’t upset you, did she? She’s about as subtle as an anvil sometimes.”
“Huh? Oh, no,” I mumble, my lips curling into a smile when his hand wraps around mine and squeezes tightly. “Just thinking.”
“Does it hurt?” he asks playfully, dancing away when I reach to slap his arm, his hand never dropping mine.
“She was right. You are an arse.”
He wiggles his rear at me, laughing. “You love my arse. What you thinking about?”
I smile, delving my hand into his back pocket and keeping it there as his arm swings over my shoulder. “My mum.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah… Seeing you with your sister reminded me of how we used to be. It made me miss her is all.”
He looks sideway at me, not saying anything but giving me that look that tells me to go on.
“I should call her,” I add, biting my lip.
“You should,” he agrees. “I’d like to meet her.”
I blink and stare at him in surprise, but he doesn’t seem to think he’s said anything out of the ordinary. Like guys ask to meet my mother every day. Happiness swells in my belly and I smile and nod, cuddling into his side while Libby scampers around us excitedly.
It isn’t long before my house comes into view, the sunlight twinkling off the waves on the beach and reflecting off the windows, making it sparkle cheerfully. It all feels so normal, so comfortable, as though we’ve done this a thousand times before. We could almost be a family, any family, not the slightly broken and bruised remnants of a past that didn’t want us to be together.
On the doorstep, he stops and cuts in with a searing kiss that has my knees shaking and my hands gripping his arms merely to stay upright. “You wait out here with the Libster, and I’ll go get George and the troublemaker.”
Nodding and dipping to fuss over Libby as she coaxes me into petting her, I watch after him as he disappears inside my house that is already beginning to feel more like a home with every second that he spends inside it.
Why did I bloody go and say that?
I don’t want to go to the beach.
I never want to go to the beach again.
But I don’t want to be apart from Molly right now either, and she’s going to be there, so that means I have to put my big girl pants on and face my stupid fear of the water.
I continue to stand there in the doorway, almost frozen to the spot. I feel him before he says anything, standing behind me, waiting for me to turn around. When I do, he looks at me like he’s trying to work out what I’m feeling, and why I volunteered to go to the one place sure to cause me to have a meltdown.
He reaches for my hand and smiles softly, then indicates with his head I should follow him back into the kitchen.
I do. I’d follow that man anywhere.
When we’re in the quiet of the kitchen, he stops by the counter and waits for me to speak. He’s doing what he always does and leaving a silence for me to fill.
“I don’t want to leave Molly,” I tell him by way of a pathetic explanation.
“I can tell,” he says simply, leaning back against the counter and crossing his ankles in a position of absolute calm and control.
“I just haven’t seen her for so long. I want to spend time with her. Is that… okay?” I ask, leaning back against the counter and dropping my head.
He’s in front of me in seconds, lifting my head and resting his hands either side of me on the counter. “Of course it’s okay. I’m just concerned for you. You’re petrified of the water. The reason you haven’t seen Molly in so long is because of an unplanned trip to the beach. I can’t have you hurting yourself for her sake. She would not want that either, Imogen. I have to protect you. I need you to be safe.”
He drops his forehead to mine and breathes in. I breathe in, too, but because I need to inhale him, not because I need to steady myself like he seems to need to.
“I’m going to be okay. I can do it. This time is different,” I tell him, leaning in to him.
“Different how?”
“This time I have you with me.”
His eyes blaze, and the look he gives me… it could burn cities to the ground.
I reach for him, pulling him closer, and press my lips to his. I focus on him—his heat and his strength—and for a second I think I don’t want to be anywhere else in the world. That as long as I can stay with him, I’ll be happy.
Two strong, warm arms wrap around me and I snuggle deeper into his embrace.
“I’d like to talk about this, Imogen,” he breathes softly.
“Do we have to?” I sigh. I don’t want to think about it too much. If I think about it, I won’t do it. If I think about it I’ll get stuck in my own head and what happened before will happen again.
It can’t happen again.
I won’t let it.
He sighs and kisses my neck. “Yes. Because I know what happened last time, remember? I felt the frantic tapping. I felt the panic and the urgency with which you needed me. That can’t happen again.”
I turn in his arms and look up into his worried eyes. “I’ll have you there. I’ll be okay.”
“And if you’re not? What then?”
“I… I don’t know.” I frown. “I haven’t got that far.”
“Come down onto the beach with me now. Let me help you through this. Please?”
I nod. I can’t say no to him, and I know what he says makes sense. Last time I had a panic attack so bad I passed out. I can’t
have that happening again. It’s time I confront my fear. It’s time I remind myself that I’m in control here, not my past.
It’s time to be strong.
It takes a full ten minutes to get me out of the house and another ten to step onto the sand. But once I do, something changes. With George’s hand in mine and his otherworldly heat, he becomes a protective shield against the onslaught of memories, emotions and feelings that threaten to consume me.
“You’re doing so well,” he whispers from beside me. “Let’s go a little closer.”
“You’re my patronus,” I tell him, squeezing his hand.
“I’m… what?”
“Harry Potter. It’s one of the most complicated spells to master, but when you do, it protects you. George…” I stop, turning to face him. “Don’t tell me you don’t know Harry Potter.”
“I know what it is. I’ve heard a lot about it. I just haven’t got around to reading them yet.”
“But you have a horse called Albus.”
He shrugs and smiles. “I didn’t name him.”
“Bump them to the top of your list. I can’t possibly share my life with someone who hasn’t read the best books ever written.”
He leans closer and smiles, right before he kisses me, effectively calming my panicked mind. “Perhaps we can read them together?”
I nod, then take a deep breath and continue to move forwards.
Slowly.
My feet take me closer to the water, to the vast cold ocean that holds certain death for those who brave her depths. Waves crash over the sand, and with each step I take, they threaten to pull me under, to drown me in their icy depths.
“It can’t hurt you. It’s no more dangerous than the sand we’re standing on,” George reminds me.
“I know.”
I swallow down the panic and close my eyes against the onslaught of fear I feel being this close to so much water. George continues to soothe me, running his thumb back and forth over my hand, leaning in and kissing the top of my head.
Without realising it, he’s giving me a new memory, a new emotion to associate with water other than fear. He’s taking the memories I have and obliterating them with happy ones. He’s creating a world of safety and love, and forcing me right into the middle of it. And I go willingly because I desperately want to be free from the chains of my past. I want to be able to properly live this new life I have.
It happens suddenly and with such clarity I feel that I must always have known it. I just needed to believe it.
I realise it wasn’t the water that killed me: it was the monster controlling it.
A strange sense of calm understanding washes over me.
I’m in control.
This is my life.
Not anyone else’s.
I take a deep breath and lean down, letting the water run over my fingers. It’s cold, so cold it takes mere seconds for them to feel numb. I close my eyes and for the first time since that awful night, I don’t feel afraid.
I feel alive.
George’s gentle hand on the top of my head brings me comfort, and in that moment I know everything will be okay.
We spend a while down on the beach before heading back to wait for Molly and Seb to come back with his dog.
I’m in the middle of making a coffee when two strong, warm arms wrap themselves around me from behind and spin me. I turn to face George and gasp when he kisses me.
“I’m so proud of you,” he tells me, backing me against the counter and kissing me again. “So, so proud of you.”
I grin and turn my face up to his for another kiss. “I need to remember to make you proud of me more often.
“Uh,” a voice says from behind me. “I guess these counters have the same effect on everyone.”
I burst out laughing and George stands straight, a gorgeous blush creeping across his cheeks.
“Apparently… I wonder where she got them. I think I might need some.” I smile at Seb.
“We’re back, by the way.” He grins at me. “Ready?”
I look back at George who smiles, the kind of smile that encourages, the kind of smile that tells me I can face whatever is about to be thrust at me.
“Ready.”
We’ve had a long day, a long but strangely perfect day.
Spending the day doing normal things—things that every other couple does—with friends has been wonderful. My cheeks ache from smiling so much and my feet hurt from so much walking, but I can’t find even an ounce of regret. How can I regret something that has been one of the best days of my existence.
When we arrive back at the house, I don’t go back to my room but follow George back to his. I kick off my boots and throw my coat aside before settling into the comfiest sofa I have ever sat on. I watch him as he gets a fire going quickly, knowing exactly what to do, before coming to sit next to me and taking my feet into his lap and rubbing the soles.
“Oh good God, keep doing that,” I groan, throwing my head back in pleasure.
“Why do you make that sound?” he questions, shifting in his seat.
“What sound?”
“The sound you make when we’re… when we make love.”
I sit up and look at him. “Because, young George, your foot rubs are bordering on orgasmic, that’s why.”
“They are?”
“They are.” I grin.
I allow him to caress my aching feet for another half an hour. He doesn’t complain and his talented fingers never cease what they’re doing.
After making us both a cup of coffee, I settle on the sofa once again while he sits at his grand piano, playing some melodies I know and some I don’t. Each note floats around the room and some even feel like they settle on my skin and heat my blood.
I gaze at the clock and notice we only have an hour before we’re expected at the elders’ dinner. Knowing I really need to go and get changed, I stand and head over to the piano to tell him I’ll meet him there, but he takes me by surprise, pulling me onto his lap and kissing me.
“George…” I practically pant.
“Yes?” he breathes right back.
“We shouldn’t …”
My voice sounds pathetic even to my own ears. I can practically hear my arousal coating it.
“What shouldn’t we do, Imogen?” He brings his face closer to me and, pulling the material of my polo neck away from my skin, skims his nose down the column of my neck.
He doesn’t stop there though; he traces back up the path his nose just took, this time allowing his lips and tongue the same delight.
I lean back, handing myself over to this beautiful, gorgeous, sexy man. I angle my neck so he can kiss more of my skin, I push my chest out as my breasts swell in arousal and I unabashedly push my groin into his, needing to feel him, needing some friction to relieve the ache that threatens to consume me.
“Imogen,” he taunts. “Your body and your mouth are at war with each other. Your brain can’t keep up.
“Touch me,” I pant, forgetting all the reasons why we shouldn’t do this and only remembering why we should.
“Where?” he asks.
“Everywhere.”
“I’m a gentleman.” I feel his smirk against my neck. “I need the specifics.”
I groan in frustration, pulling his mouth to my breasts. I gasp as I feel his hot breath on my oversensitive flesh. Even through the polo neck I opted to wear with my skirt this morning, I can feel him.
“I need skin on skin, George. Stop teasing. Touch me.”
He lets out a pained groan and reaches for the hem of my top, pushing it up over my stomach and higher still until it bunches across the top of my chest, exposing my breasts encased in silk and lace.
His eyes devour me while he sits perfectly still, not touching me.
“Goodness, you’re beautiful.”
I don’t speak. I just pull him back to me and he drops his lips to the top swell of my breasts, placing gentle, delicate, and dare I say it, gentlemanly kisses to
them. But I need more.
Much, much more.
“I’m not made of glass. I won’t break if you put a little pressure on me,” I tell him.
“Forgive me. I’m… I’ve been taught to respect and cherish, not manhandle and devour.”
“I’m not asking you to manhandle me, but I want to feel you, and I need you to show me you want this.”
He leans closer still and lifts me, sitting me on top of the closed piano lid. “I want this. I want you, Imogen. I’m just not used to… You have no idea how long it’s been since I’ve felt these things—felt this way about anyone.”
“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. It only matters that you feel it now.”
He pushes between my legs, my skirt rising up my thighs as he positions himself where he wants to be.
“I’m not used to being this forward with a young lady, nor am I sure I know how to be.”
“Then lucky for you, I know how to get what I want. I’m a modern woman, Mr. Bennett, and I’ll take for both of us.”
I pull him closer by his tie which gets me a deep throaty growl and a hard, almost biting squeeze to my thighs.
“Trust me,” I tell him.
“I do,” he says back.
I lift my top, throwing it to the floor and pushing my skirt higher up my thighs. The lace tops of my stockings get his attention.
“I thought…” His eyes flick down to my thighs and back to my eyes. “Modern women wear ghastly undergarments. I have no understanding as to why they dress so blandly most days.”
“We need to dress practically. Life changes and so do people’s wardrobes.”
“I like these,” he tells me, skimming his fingers along the lace and the flash of pale, creamy skin above it. “I like these very much.”
I grin and pull him to my lips. The moment they connect, fireworks go off around us. I forget everything else in the world and just remember this. I live in the moment, not questioning anything, not thinking about what will happen a day from now. I just feel.
And so does George.
For someone so refined, he puts his all into the kiss. He caresses my tongue gently at first, and then with much more passion as the urgency to be closer to one another takes over.
