by Romy Sommer
She bobbed her head up and down. She just couldn’t form a simple ‘yes’.
Warmth exploded in his eyes. He tugged her hard against him and buried his face in the curve of her neck. His body was a taut mass of hard muscles against hers. It was heaven, it was hell and it was exactly where she wanted to be. “God, Annie, I don’t deserve it.”
She had a suspicion he was trying to recover his composure.
She ran her hands over his back, finding a strange exhilaration in the truth. How could she have held back from this for so long?
Just this moment with Marcus, his breath mingling with hers, the tenderness in his gaze was worth so much.
She pressed her lips to his strong jaw and kissed him. “It’s always been you, Marcus. And how could I not love you? Any moment of joy in my life, any moment worth remembering, you brought it into my life. How could I not fall in love with you?”
His blue gaze was filled with such tenderness that her heart overflowed with love.
“Will you forgive me for being a thickheaded idiot?”
He didn’t wait for an answer.
He dipped his head and kissed her. A whimper tearing out of her throat, Annie felt the heat of his kiss flare out all over her skin in tiny, infinite tingles. His mouth nipped at her lips, his tongue swiping over her with an erotic mastery that had her craving for more.
It was a long, drugging kiss that had her pulling the hem of his shirt over his head. She whistled in appreciation, her gaze devouring the hard muscles. She wanted to touch him everywhere, she wanted to lick him…
He laughed loudly and she realized she had spoken her thoughts aloud. He locked her hands with his. “You are cutting off the speech I prepared,” he teased her.
“So the choice is your words or your body?”
She eyed the man’s rippling torso. A smile splitting her mouth, she scrunched her nose. “God, Marcus. I’ve had erotic dreams about what I would do with your body just as much as I’ve dreamed of hearing you say those words. Not a fair choice then, is it?”
In answer, he pulled the covers back from her in a swift move. And tugged the hem of her spaghetti-strapped top down. “Then how about I alternate kissing and talking?”
He pressed an open mouthed kiss to her shoulder. “I love you, Annie.”
She laughed and cried.
He pulled the top down a little more, baring her breast. Color bled into his cheeks, hunger stamped onto his features. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
He dragged his face down the side of her breast.
Annie shuddered as pleasure zoomed across her skin.
“I want you to marry me so that I can kiss you and tell you how much I love you every single day.”
His gaze still on her, he opened his mouth and closed it over a nipple.
She screamed and bucked off the bed.
“Is that a yes?” he asked and she nodded, giving herself over to a lifetime of pleasure and love.
About the author:
Tara Pammi had her nose stuck in a romance novel for as long as she could remember. Until one day, she decided to write one herself and hasn't looked back. Tara lives in Colorado, USA with her very own hero, two daughters and dreams of kicking the dayjob to the curb one of these days. You can connect with her on twitter @Sri_Tara.
A Kindling Romance
Lorraine Wilson
Kindle Edition. Copyright © 2012 Lorraine Wilson
All rights reserved. No part of this e-book may be reproduced in any form other than that in which it was purchased and without the written permission of the author.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Amazon.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
http://lorraine-wilson.blogspot.com/
Chapter One
This. Was. Not. Happening.
“Oh dear, what can the matter be? Polly and puss are stuck up the chimney.”
Polly Minton couldn't get the rhyme out of her head. It was official. She was going loopy.
She braced her back against the cold Lakeland stone and stroked the tiny tabby kitten curled up in a ball against her chest, in an attempt to ward off the rising hysteria.
The kitten's tiny razor claws hooked into her very sooty towelling dressing gown. With luck, the stroking would calm herself as well as the cat. She desperately needed distraction from the claustrophobia lurking at the corners of her mind, just waiting to strike.
So this was where being neighbourly got you.
She took a deep breath, attempting to relax the muscles in her rigid chest. This couldn't be happening. She should be next door slipping into her silky Ghost dress and making her way to the New Year’s dinner at Coombethwaite Hotel, not stuck up Mrs Cromaty’s chimney.
The partners at Morris and Marshall would not be impressed if she turned up late. Tonight was about schmoozing potential clients for the firm, earning her stripes. Proving that hiring a city girl had been a good idea.
“I've called the fire brigade, dear.” Mrs Cromaty's voice sounded oddly distorted through the chimney shaft. The Lakeland stone was thick, muffling chunks of solid rock—No, she couldn't let herself think about that...
“Okay, thanks,” Polly tried to sound if not cheerful then at least brave, as though she didn't mind a bit being covered with soot and scraped by the rough stone.
Not to mention being well and truly stuck.
How would they get her out? Panic rose in her chest and she gulped it down, practicing her yoga breathing.
Breathe in. One, two, three, four. Hold. One, two, three, four...
If she'd come up she should, in theory, be able to get back down again.
Breathe out. One, two, three, four.
Her head swam and she struggled to keep her balance on the ledge. Perhaps she'd overdone the deep breathing.
“Is Tabitha okay?” Mrs Cromaty asked.
“Yes, I think I've calmed her down a bit. How long has she been up here? She feels a bit thin.”
“Three days. She went up the chimney when I bought her home from the rescue centre, so I've had no chance to feed her up. The RSPCA man said to put food down at the grate and she'd come down when she was good and ready.” Her voice took on an indignant tone. “It's alright for them with their central heating. Don't they realise I've only the open fire to keep me warm?”
“It's okay, Mrs Cromaty, I'm sure I'll be out of your chimney soon and we can light your fire,” Polly shouted back. Then she bit her lip, she wasn't sure at all. Why oh why had she answered the knock at the door instead of staying in her nice warm bath?
She felt the fragility of the little warm bundle cuddled into her chest and sighed; she couldn't have left the kitten up here. The little tabby must have been Mrs C's fifth or was it sixth rescue cat? Very commendable, but it would be tonight of all nights that her neighbour needed help.
Polly should have considered all the extra mince pies she'd eaten over Christmas before trying to squeeze up the crooked, ancient chimney.
How would they get her out? When her sister was eight years old she’d trapped her finger in a wrought iron bench and the fire brigade had greased her finger with butter... They didn't still do that, did they? Oh the indignity.
Shifting her position on the rocky ledge, Polly tried to get more comfortable. Grade II listed chimneys were all very well but whoever built this one must have been drunk on medieval ale. How would she ever live this down? She might be a Londoner but she knew how small communities worked—her adventure would be all over the village before the week was out, spread from the post office by the very talkative postman.
Some fresh start this was turning out to be!
Groa
ning, she squeezed her eyes tight shut. Maybe I can just play dead, open my eyes when it’s all over and have a convenient memory blank...
Perhaps she should go back to London, join the trail of dissatisfied ‘Escape to the Country’ refugees now returning to their natural habitat of concrete and traffic jams.
No, not that!
She was surprised by the strength of her instant reaction, but knew the instinct was right. She was done with London and the pressurised city lawyer jobs that squeezed out every drop of life from her. She liked being able to see the skyline and loved inhaling fresh air in the mornings as she gazed across the estuary to Coombe Mountain. She was still getting over the shock of complete strangers stopping her in the street just to say hello...
Polly lowered her head to the tabby, nuzzling her nose against the soft fur. The cat clearly needed a bath, well didn't they both! But the contact was comforting, a link to a living being, something that needed her. Maybe she should get a cat? Perhaps Mrs C might let her take Tabitha home. Despite struggling when Polly had first grabbed her, the kitten barely stirred now as they waited.
“Are you playing dead too, little tabby Tabitha?” she whispered. The walls of the chimneybreast seemed to be closing in, squeezing out her breath. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes and she blinked them away.
Get a grip Polly, brave face and all that.
“The fire brigade are here now, dear,” Mrs Cromaty called up the chimney.
Hope and dread simultaneously flooded Polly. She fought the urge to bang her head against the cold Lakeland stone. There was the sound of heavy footsteps below.
“Hi there,” Polly called out, forcing a smile into her voice.
Chapter Two
Drew Reynolds frowned and stopped in his tracks, scratching at his stubble. Was that a voice coming from the chimney? He’d definitely only had the one drink at the pub. Even though it was New Year, he was on call and was always very careful to stay below the limit.
“Er, Enid.” He turned to see the old lady stroking a black and white cat. “You did say you had a cat up the chimney, didn't you?”
“Of course.” She stared as though he were a bit simple.
“Only I could have sworn I just heard a voice up there.”
“Oh, that'll be the girl who's moved in next door. She tried to help but,” she lowered her tone to a whisper, “the daft lass has gone and got herself stuck.”
Drew's heart plummeted to the bottom of his boots. “It's just if you'd told me it wasn't only a cat that was stuck I would have brought the crew—made the call official.”
“They'll all be in the King’s Head, no doubt.” Enid pursed her lips.
Drew ignored the jibe. The crew needed to relax tonight but he wasn't about to start justifying anything to Enid. He knew they would all stay under the limit until midnight when they were technically no longer on call. “All I've got is this.” He pulled the packet of smoked salmon out of his deep coat pocket and rolled his eyes.
The scorn in Enid's eyes made him feel like the small boy he'd been when he first met her at the village show.
The Cromaty Cat Callouts had become so frequent in recent years it hardly seemed fair to ruin the crew's New Year's Eve. There'd been a particularly gruesome call out last week and they'd had to cut someone they knew out of the wreckage caused by a drunk driver. They needed to unwind tonight. Personally, Drew hated New Year's Eve. He preferred to keep busy and he'd always had the knack when it came to extracting cats from odd hiding places. He'd even earned the jokey nickname of The Cat Whisperer. As for women, they were a different breed and he was out of practice.
Enid wrinkled her nose at the smoked salmon. “I don't think that will get the lass down, do you?”
Drew bit back a retort and took a deep breath. It was time to take charge of the situation. He moved over to the wide chimneybreast and crouched, sticking his head up into the darkness. “Hi there, what's your name?”
“Polly,” she called down, a catch in her voice betraying her anxiety.
“Okay Polly, my name's Drew. Are you stuck?”
"Of course I'm bloody stuck." Indignation overcame fear. “Do you think I do this for a hobby?”
Drew knew how to deal with panic. She needed distracting. On reflection, it had been a daft question to ask, but experience on the job had taught him never to make assumptions. Sometimes human beings did very odd things when they were ill or under pressure.
He crouched, feeling the wall for any loose stones, analysing the width of the shaft. “You know, if you're delivering presents you're about a week late.”
He peered up and could just about make out a dim figure, feet wedged on either side above the hole, cradling something to her chest.
“Ha, ha. Look, are you sure you're a real fireman? I don't mean to be picky but how are you going to get me out?” A slight quaver at the end of the question gave her away.
She was terrified.
“Don't worry Polly, I'll get you out, I promise. And yes, I am a real fireman, a retained firefighter from Coombethwaite station.”
Drew rubbed the back of his neck. Mrs Cromaty’s house was a grade II listed property and there would be hell to pay if he tried anything structural. But if Polly had gone up she could come down, he would just have to coax her. Perhaps it wasn't that different from a cat rescue after all.
Polly’s quiet voice came from the chimney. “What's your plan?”
“Pass the cat down.”
Drew reached up through the hole and a soft, wriggly bundle was placed into his hands. It was light, little more than a kitten. Sharp claws punctured his hands but he didn't flinch, just gently carried the cat to Enid whose sharp composure softened at the sight of the cat.
“Take the cat into the kitchen so it can't dart back up the chimney." He crouched down in the hearth.
“So Polly, if you managed to squeeze up there in the first place then you know logically you can come back down, right?”
“I s'pose,” she sniffed.
“Lower your legs first,” he spoke more gently, “but stop before your hips reach the narrowest part of the shaft.”
A slim pair of bare, shapely ankles slid out of the hole.
Oh boy, it was going to take every ounce of self-control to stay professional on this job.
“I'm going to take your weight for a moment, okay?”
Her reply was inaudible but he firmly grabbed her calves anyway. She stopped dead.
“Keep coming and when we get to your hips I'll tell you how to control your breath. You're going to need to take a deep breath in and then expel all the air from your body.”
She didn't respond and didn't move.
“What's wrong?”
“My dressing gown will get stuck.”
She was wearing a dressing gown?
“I was getting ready to go out when Mrs Cromaty knocked on my door,” a small voice said, as though Polly had heard his thoughts.
“Well, you'll have to leave it up there and we can bring it down afterwards. It will give you a bit more room,” he responded, remarkably patiently considering his thighs were beginning to strain in their unnatural position in the hearth.
“Couldn't you just make the hole wider?” she pleaded. “Haven't you brought cutting equipment?”
“Destroy a grade II listed, five-hundred-year-old chimney just to spare your modesty? No, I'm afraid not. So unless you plan on seeing in the New Year up Enid's chimney, you're going to have to do what's necessary.”
He added more kindly, “Don't worry, it's just me and Enid down here.”
Polly sighed and wriggled above him, as if releasing herself from the dressing gown. She lowered her weight down into his arms. As predicted, he struggled to keep his thoughts professional as her thighs appeared through the hole. Then suddenly she stopped, resisting his gentle but persuasive tug, jerking swiftly back upwards.
“I can't, I just don't fit. I've already tried.” Her words were a panicked staccato. “I'm t
errified of getting stuck in the hole.”
“Like Winnie the Pooh?” He remembered the story he read to his nephews.
A snort of jerky laughter told him he was succeeding in pulling her back from the edge of fear. Phobias were funny things to anyone not actually experiencing them. Odd, but horribly powerful and they took careful handling.
“Enid could always use your legs as a clothes horse,” he joked.
“I think she'd rather have her fire back.”
“Listen, Polly. Trust me. Ease yourself down gently. There's no rush, I'm here for as long as it takes.”
“I'm claustrophobic.”
“I guessed,” he replied gently. “I will get you out, I promise.”
Chapter Three
Polly swallowed down the hysteria and tried to control her breathing again. Drew's voice was having an oddly calming effect. He sounded so sure of himself, assuredly in control, his voice so incredibly deep and...sexy.
Where did that come from? It must just be the surge in adrenalin. Still, the knowledge she was about to slide into his arms wearing nothing but her underwear made her feel rather odd.
Best undies and a whole pile of soot, really attractive, Polly!
“I'm sorry, have I ruined your night out?” She tried to buy herself some more time.
“Not at all. I'm not a great fan of New Year’s Eve to be honest.”
Was he just being polite? He certainly sounded sincere, a down-to-earth guy. When had she last met one of those?
“Me neither.” Her fears escaped in quickly blurted words. “Promise me something, Drew.”
“What?”
“Promise you're not filming me on your mobile and this isn’t going to be all over YouTube in the morning?” Polly was dimly aware her question was insulting. This guy was a professional and rules were rules, even out here in the sticks.
