by Karen Kincy
He drones on. “...culturally significant as well as a monetary boon to Upper Dicker.”
My phone buzzes again. Another text from Grace. What’s your excuse?
I text back under the table. Out late last night. Not awake yet.
Drinking?
Mam clears her throat. “Bram, what is your opinion on the potential revenue streams?”
Damn. Should have been paying attention.
I do what I did as a schoolboy and concoct some clever tripe. “The future projections are sure to have a positive derivative.”
Mr. Dibble squints and nods. Better give him some time to digest that.
“And the gardens?” Grace asks sweetly. She’s better at multitasking than me, which means she must have been listening.
“Actually,” I say, “I’ve given the gardens more thought.”
Mam sips from her teacup and looks at me over the rim. “Have you?”
“Wouldn’t it be more efficient to keep the yew labyrinth?”
Her cup doesn’t even clatter when she sets it in the saucer. “I would hardly call a winding maze of shrubbery efficient.”
“The cost of installing the golf course isn’t insignificant.” The more I talk, the more it sounds right. “The labyrinth would pay for itself if we leased it for weddings and other events. That’s also true of the rose garden.”
Mam sniffs. “Bram, I suggest you review the blueprints. We aren’t in the business of growing yews and roses.”
Her crisp rebuttal stings. “Would you rather destroy the history of Wolfenwold Hall?”
“Yes.” Mam checks the watch at her wrist. “Mr. Dibble, it’s been a pleasure, but I’m afraid I have another appointment.”
When she stands, everyone does. I haven’t even ordered anything. We shake hands with Mr. Dibble and watch him leave.
“Bram.” Mam fixes me with a cool stare. “Don’t faff about.”
My ears blaze. “I beg your pardon?”
“We wouldn’t want a repeat of Oxford.”
Mam strides from the restaurant, her heels rapping a staccato beat.
I stand silently, my jaw clenched. That’s not even what happened at Oxford, and she bloody well knows it.
“That was harsh,” Grace says. “Even for Mam.”
I run my hand through my hair. “I should have stayed in bed.”
20
Cassia
Roses burst from their orderly ranks, rebellious soldiers, and drip petals on the lawn. Sunshine yellow roses bob in the breeze; cool lavender blue roses peek from the shadows. Perfume saturates the summer heat.
Bram never told me about the rose garden. I found it hidden behind the yews of the labyrinth, like a formal gentleman escorting a flamboyant lady. I wander down the path, bees humming and bumbling among blossoms.
A shrill whistle splits the air.
I look over my shoulder. Workmen haul a ladder to Wolfenwold Hall. They prop it against the climbing roses and start hacking at the brambles with what can only be box cutters. Red petals rain onto the men.
Anger flares inside me as I march to the manor house. “Excuse me!”
A man glances at me, swearing when a rose pricks him through his leather gloves.
“Can’t you hear me?” I stand with my hands on my hips. “You’re ruining the roses.”
A sweaty bald man blocks me. “Miss, step back. Wouldn’t want you to scratch your pretty face.” He smiles like this is flattering.
I glare at him. “I’m the gardener around here. Who told you to mangle the roses?”
“I did.” Bram startles me.
I jump and try to pretend like I didn’t. “Tell them to stop.”
A crease appears between his eyebrows. “The men need to repair the windows. That involves pruning overgrown roses.”
“For fuck’s sake, at least prune them properly.”
Bram grips my arm, glowering, and hauls me away. “Cassia.” He lowers his voice. “You aren’t helping the situation.”
I yank my arm free. “You mean I’m not helping you.”
“Are you quitting?” His eyes smolder. “Was one day at Wolfenwold Hall enough?”
“No.” I suck in a slow breath. “But shit, I’m not standing here twiddling my thumbs while you destroy these gardens.”
“That wasn’t my intent.” How can he be so maddeningly calm?
“I should check with English Heritage, see if this is even legal—”
“I spoke with them this morning. They approved the plans a year in advance.”
“You’re an asshole.” Choked up, I retreat into the labyrinth.
“Cassia.” He follows me through the maze. “Wait.”
“Why did you even ask me here? This feels like bait and switch.”
“I never lied to you.”
Damn it, he’s right. The path twists and turns until it dead-ends at a stone bench. My teeth clenched, I sit and dig my shoes into the dirt. It’s hard to stay angry at Bram while he stares at me with quiet hurt in his blue eyes.
He stands with his hands in his pockets. “We may be able to save the gardens.”
“Why do you even care?”
“I didn’t. Until I met you.”
My anger ebbs. “Fuck you,” I say, in a bantering way.
“Will you?”
He stands close enough to touch, staring into my eyes. He’s in my space the way he’s been in my mind since we last met.
My thoughts aren’t up to speed. “Will I what?”
“Fuck me,” he rasps.
It’s less of a question and more of a request. I plant my hand on his chest and push him back a step. “You wish.”
His smile almost looks sad. “You said this was more than a one night stand.”
“You promised me gardens, not your penis.”
“Haven’t I given you a little of both?”
“Unfortunately.”
He winces. “Jesus.”
Roses fall from Wolfenwold Hall and tumble to the ground. I know they will grow back, but it hurts to see them butchered.
“You’re fucking this up,” I say.
“The gardens?”
“Everything.”
He clutches my shoulders and tugs me to my feet. “Let me make things right.”
“How?”
“We can work together to monetize the gardens.”
“How romantic.” When I pretend to swoon, he catches my hand and kisses my knuckles. “You’re not a prince, are you?”
Bram smiles, his eyes alive with light. “Not even a drop of noble blood. The Winterbournes are nouveau riche.”
I snort. “Good thing I’m not a gold digger.”
He laughs before kissing me, his hand cradling my cheek. I breathe out into his mouth. His lips are soft, his stubble sharp. Tension rushes from my muscles. I melt against him and surrender myself to his strength.
He draws back. “Are you still angry at me?”
“Not as much.”
He lowers his gaze, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks. I kiss him again and grip the front of his shirt to drag him closer. He’s tense beneath me, his shoulders taut, his thighs hard. They aren’t the only thing that’s hard.
“You wanted me to fuck you?” I whisper.
“Yes,” he says, his eyes halfway closed. “Not here.”
“Why not?” I look around the labyrinth. “We’re hidden by hedges.”
He sucks in an unsteady breath and tugs me down the path. “My bedroom is better.”
“I like it here.”
He grabs my ass in both hands before backing away. His eyes darken with what can only be guilt. “We shouldn’t.”
“You owe me an apology.”
Dropping to my knees, I unbuckle his belt. Bram furrows his brow but makes no move to stop me as I stroke his hard cock through his boxers. He sucks in his breath with a hiss, his hands fisting, his ass flexing. “Cassia.” He’s clearly uncomfortable, staring at me like I’m an evil temptresses seducing him into
sin.
My stomach clenches. “What is it?”
“You don’t have to do this.” He looks away from my face.
I stare at him before choking out a laugh. “You think I’m giving you a blowjob because I want to manipulate you?”
Flushed, he lifts one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “I wasn’t sure why you would.”
I stand and look straight into his eyes. “Because I want to make you come. Because you have an amazing cock.”
“You’re flattering me.” His smile looks like a wince. “That’s what we call blarney.”
“Bram.” I wait for him to meet my gaze. “I don’t want your money. I don’t give a shit about your connections.”
“What do you want, then?”
“You.”
His face softens into a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before. He looks at me with questions in his beautiful blue eyes.
My words escape as a whisper. “Do you want me?”
He backs me toward the bench. I sink onto the stone. Kneeling, he yanks my shirt over my head. “Take off your clothes.”
His intensity excites me. I’m already wet for him.
I lift my hips to tug off my jeans. Bram struggles to unclasp my bra. I help him and toss it away. When my bra snags on the yews, I laugh. He bends to lick my nipple, and my laughter turns into a gasp. Bending lower, he drags down my underwear with his teeth. I start to stand, but his hands on my thighs hold me down.
“God damn.” I struggle to breathe. “You took the initiative.”
“Initiative?” He glances into my eyes with a smirk. “That’s a fancy word.”
I roll my eyes. “I do have a vocabulary, thank—”
Oh, God. He circles my clit with his fingertip. “I want you to be wordless.” I moan and arch against him. “Breathless.”
I match his stare. “Challenge accepted.”
His grin could beat the devil’s smile. “How’s this?” He slides a finger inside me.
I keep teasing him. “If you have to ask...”
He slides another finger into my wet heat and strokes deeper. His touch sparks little shudders in my thighs. My bare ass presses against the stone of the bench. He’s completely clothed in front of me, kneeling in the grass in a pair of khaki slacks. I lean away from him, aching from the loss of his fingers.
“I want to see you shirtless, at the bare minimum. Pun intended.”
He stands, his smile hard and unyielding. “We don’t always get what we want.”
A breeze rustles the yews and tightens my nipples. Bram takes his wallet from his pocket and finds a condom. The wrapper drifts by my toes as the whir of his zipper cuts the air. He rolls the condom over his cock.
I’m clenching my thighs like I have any hope of holding back the wetness in my pussy.
He drops to his knees between my legs. My hands grip the bench. He grabs me by the hips and drags me to him.
“Hold on,” he says, his voice rougher than the stone on my skin.
I hook my legs around his hips. Slowly, I sink onto his cock.
“God.” He cups my ass under his hands. “You feel so good.”
I tighten my legs and take him even deeper. He thrusts into me, and again, and doesn’t stop. I cling to his shoulders, my breasts bouncing against his chest. I’m tight with tension, not any closer to my own release.
“Slow down,” I say.
He halts after one more thrust and looks into my eyes. He’s breathing through his mouth. A bead of sweat rolls down his brow.
“Let me ride you,” I say. “I can’t come like this.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Can’t?”
“Just listen to me. Please.”
He lowers me to the bench, giving my ass one last squeeze. When he slides out of me, I bite back a whimper of protest.
He stands, his cock at eye level. I yank his slacks over his hips. “Lie down.”
“On the grass?”
“You like to be in control, don’t you?”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
I hook my hands behind his neck and drag him down. He doesn’t resist, but his eyes smolder with rebellion. He lounges on the grass almost insolently. I straddle him, my hands on his chest, and sink onto his cock.
He’s so hard I have to take him one inch at a time. God, he’s all mine.
He groans, throbbing, and grabs my waist. I circle my hips, teasing him, and his fingernails bite into my skin. “Close your eyes.”
He smirks. “But then I’ll miss the view.”
I grind against him and reach down to touch myself. He lets out a tortured noise, like I’ve gone too far, and thrusts into me.
I gasp at the size of him. “Gently.”
He slows down. The friction of his thick cock feels fucking divine. My fingers quicken, tension building inside. “Harder.”
He raises an eyebrow. “You said gently.”
“There’s a sweet spot.”
“I think I found the sweet spot.”
I pinch his ass as punishment, but that just turns him on. He pumps into me with smooth savagery. My toes curl in the grass.
“Fuck me,” I beg. “Bram—”
He arches up to kiss me, his lips slanting against mine. He swallows my moan. Ecstasy shudders through me. I come so hard I black out. When I can see again, I’m gasping, my muscles weak. His hand braces my back.
“Fuck me more,” I manage to pant.
Bram flips me onto the grass and holds himself over me. He closes his eyes as he thrusts, his face blank with blissful abandon. He moans as he comes, throbbing hard, and feeling him orgasm makes me come again.
Afterward, he falls down beside me. We stare at the sky together.
“Bram?” I say. He grunts and ties a knot in the condom. “Apologize like that more often.”
He rolls over and flashes a grin at me. Then something knocks the smile off his face.
“What?”
“Jesus Christ.” He scrambles to his feet and yanks on his slacks. I flip onto my stomach.
A woman in a business suit stares down at the two of us. Her eyebrows rise until they vanish under her auburn bangs.
“Grace,” Bram says. “Why the hell are you here?”
The woman’s nostrils flare. “Why the hell are you screwing in the shrubbery?”
21
Bram
My hands shake so violently I can’t manage the zipper on my fly. The used condom lies crumpled by my foot. I kick it under the yews while Grace watches me do it, her face so white her freckles have vanished.
“It’s not what you think,” I say.
Cassia crouches in the grass, struggling with her shirt. I untangle her bra from the hedge, but she glares at me in return.
“Pardon me,” Grace says, “but who the hell are you?”
“Nobody.” Cassia steps into her jeans and yanks them over her hips.
Grace looks to me. “Does she work for you?” I look away to hide the guilt in my eyes. “This is what you have been doing?”
My stomach writhes like a jar of worms. “Of course not.”
Cassia laughs bitterly. “He’s been doing me, sweetheart. That’s pretty obvious. Why are your panties in such a twist?”
“I can’t believe you, Bram.” Grace’s earrings quiver. “Rolling in the grass with a whore.”
“Correction, bitch. Nobody around here has paid me a dime.”
I step between them. Sadly, there’s nothing I can do to salvage first impressions. “Grace. This isn’t your business.”
Her eyes narrow to slits. “Tell that to Mam.” She strides from the labyrinth.
“That bitch was your sister?” Cassia says, loudly enough that Grace can hear.
I glare at her. “Yes.”
“Sorry.”
I swallow, my mouth dry, my tongue sour. “We shouldn’t have done this.”
“I’ll admit, that was shitty timing.” She answers with considerable sarcasm. “Though the sex was worth it, wasn’t it?�
�
I look her in the eye. “I can’t do this again.”
Before she can question me, I stride from the labyrinth and leave her lost in the yews.
I stalk off the grounds of Wolfenwold Hall, across the property line, into the wild meadow. I wade through the weeds and tall grass. When my boot snags on a root, I yank myself free and kick the offending bush.
“Mary, mother of God!”
A startled robin bursts from the meadow and peeps away.
I stand with my hands empty, feeling like a right fool. My face still burns with shame. My skin still smells like Cassia.
What does she want from me? We can’t keep fucking indefinitely.
I’m one mistake away from disgracing my family already, after what happened in Oxford.
I drop into the grass and rub my face with my hands. My phone buzzes in my pocket. I flinch and check who’s calling.
My father.
I flip it open. “Dad.”
“Bram! How are you? Have you applied to the culinary academy yet?”
I sigh. He thinks I would make an excellent chef, just like him. “I haven’t.”
“Why not? Time’s running out. Tick tock.”
I’m silent for a moment. “I made a mistake, Dad.”
“So you changed your mind?”
“That’s not what I mean. This has nothing to do with culinary academy.”
Dad exhales into the phone. “You didn’t fuck with the finances, did you?”
“No!” I’ll never live down cheating. “The other kind of fucking. Outside in the garden. And Grace walked in on us.”
He whistles. “Thank God, you aren’t gay.”
I groan. “I’m not joking.”
“You love linguistics so much, we worried you would never lose your virginity.”
“Jesus Christ! Dad, I haven’t been a virgin for years.”
He’s laughing now. “Was she worth the trouble?”
“I’m not sure.”
“She was ugly?”
“No, she was gorgeous.”
Dad makes an appreciative noise. “Not bad for a bookworm.”
I yank a piece of grass up by its roots and toss it away restlessly. “Grace was furious.”
“And?” He snorts. “She shouldn’t have been watching.”
“You don’t think it was a bloody stupid idea?”
“Banging a beautiful woman never is.”
