Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  Oswald nodded at the man heading for a phone. “Tell them it’s the girl with the bee sting. They have the box number and promised to be here quickly if called.”

  “On it,” the man said.

  Although Mrs. Robinson hovered, Oswald managed to get Courtney into a seat next to him, her head on his shoulder as her eyes drooped.

  “So tired,” she sighed against him, her voice barely a whisper.

  “I know, darling. I’ve got you. Just rest. Everyone will think you’re a little drunk, but that’s not unusual here on big weekends.”

  “I don’t, not really, get drunk. A little tipsy from time to time, but never shhh-tinking drunk. And, and, I dinna drink shenough even for slightly buzzed.”

  “I know, love. Just rest. We’re marshalling the forces and will have you out of here soon. Your grandmother is right; I think a stop in hospital would be a good idea.”

  “Don’t tell…” She sighed and seemed to fall asleep.

  Don’t tell who? Her parents? Her brother? Too bad, he was going to spill the beans just as soon as he knew she’d be okay.

  “All right?” One of Mrs. Robinsons friends sat down on Courtney’s other side. She put out a motherly hand and brushed Courtney’s forehead. “Not feverish. The medics treated the sting?” She took the cold pack from Courtney’s limp hand and gently held it over the plaster.

  “Got the stinger out. Said it came from a common honey bee.”

  “Poor dear. First that awful bath at the refugee event, and now this. I’m sure the bee isn’t part of a conspiracy, but if someone tried to slip her roofies…” Her voice trailed off as she shook her head, lips pressed in a hard line. “What is it with young people these days? Not that a few girls in my class hadn’t been slipped mickeys back in the day, but this seems just so much…more. More malicious.”

  Yes, the incident had a very dark overtone to it. And he didn’t like it one bit. Like Hammond, Whetmore had been after Oswald for a matchup. Unlike Hammond, Whetmore had some experience in the fighting cage. Had this been a gauntlet thrown down? Or was the arsewipe really after Drew’s sister?

  Chapter 20

  Birdie woke with a headache, a throbbing, itching neck, and a male arm draped over her waist, complete with a large hand cupped around one breast. Light beyond the curtains made her think it was morning.

  She was on her side with a wall of warmth at her back. Warm puffs of air caressed her neck. At least she recognized the scent. Ozzie. What she didn’t recognize, didn’t remember, was how they came to be in her bed. Because it was her room. That much she did recognize. And it was nearly ten in the morning according to her alarm clock.

  Still, other than a great need for the bathroom, she was quite comfortable, and wearing something other than a sheet and a man’s arm. She looked down at herself and recognized her nightshirt. The oversized green one she sometimes used as a pool cover-up. Experimentally she shifted her legs and discovered they were bare and entwined with a harder, hairier male leg. And she seemed to be wearing panties, but not a bra. Had she undressed herself, or had someone done it for her?

  Ozzie started to stir behind her. His hand flexed, lightly pinching her nipple, and she felt something very male begin to stir against her rear. Suddenly the hairy legs molded behind hers seemed to bring out goose bumps all down her legs. This was almost sexier than his lips touching her bare skin that night in San Francisco. And much more wicked, since it was in her bed, in her parents’ flat.

  The hand on her breast started to move, and she slapped hers over it to keep it right where it was. Behind her the sleepy body stiffened.

  “Courtney?” His sleep rough voice vibrated right through her. “Are you all right?”

  “Ozzie, what happened? I remember getting stung, I remember walking toward the elevators, but I seem to be missing a whole bunch of hours.”

  His big exhale tickled the fine hairs on the side of her neck. “In case you’re wondering, we didn’t have sex.”

  “I never said we did.” Although she had wondered and it was too damn bad they didn’t, although she would have liked to remember it. “But I’m wondering about a few other things.”

  “We made a stop by hospital on the way home from Ascot, which was before lunch could be served. Blood tests proved you’d been roofied, but mildly so. The combination of the drug with the antihistamine for the bee sting mixed with however much wine you’d had, really knocked you out. However, after a couple hours of observation they set you free with the promise we wouldn’t leave you alone over night.”

  “Was I asleep this whole time?”

  “With help, you walked out of the clinic and managed to get into your night clothes and crawl into bed mostly under your own power. Sort of like a drunken sailor.”

  “Oh there’s a lovely picture.”

  “Actually, it was. You make the world’s prettiest drunken sailor, and had it been only play acting, I might have taken you up on your very blatant offers.” Teasing touched Ozzie’s tone, something she hadn’t ever heard before from him.

  A hot flush rushed to every nerve ending she had. “I propositioned you?”

  Ozzie’s chuckle vibrated against her back. “It was very flattering, but I wouldn’t take advantage of a woman so obviously under the influence.” She tried to wiggle away, but his arm held her secure. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  “Of course I’m embarrassed.” She wrapped a hand around his wrist and tried to pull his arm away.

  “Steady on, darling. I’m not awake enough to wrestle.”

  Birdie groaned. Yes, she’d wondered about waking up in Ozzie’s arms, but this wasn’t how she’d imagined it all.

  “I need to…um…get up.”

  “Of course. Forgive me. I’ll meet you in the kitchen. What you need now is plenty of water, and probably a cup or two of tea.”

  “I want coffee,” she said just to be contrary.

  Ozzie slowly removed his hand from her breast, sliding it down her stomach, around to her waist, and landing on her hip.

  “Got to admit, I don’t want to move from here,” Ozzie whispered against her ear. “You’re soft and smell very sweet. And you’re oh so warm.”

  “And if it weren’t for calls of nature, I wouldn’t dream of leaving this bed,” she assured him. His lips tugging on her earlobe melted whatever remaining resistance she had. If she’d ever had any to begin with. For the life of her she couldn’t remember why she’d ever disliked this man.

  “Go on, then. I’ll make breakfast.”

  Reluctantly, Birdie rolled from the bed and bee-lined for the bathroom.

  “And don’t change out of your nighty,” Ozzie called after her. “It’s back to bed after sustenance for you. Grandmother’s orders.”

  The door slammed on her groan. She was twenty-four. Would she ever escape orders from well-meaning family members? Maybe she should go ahead with finding her own flat. As much as she enjoyed the luxury of this one, especially all to herself, it was still too accessible to family members. Hell, if Drew and Meilin flew into London tomorrow, they’d be staying in the flat right alongside her. For now, she freshened up, brushed both teeth and hair. A long look in the mirror confirmed wrinkles from the pillowcase pressed into her cheek and shadows under her eyes. If she calculated right, she’d slept the better part of eighteen hours. Damnit. She was horribly late for work.

  Reaching for the shower knob, she jumped when the door from Drew’s side of the bathroom opened and Ozzie came through with a mug in his hand.

  “Unless you really want a shower, there’s no hurry. You’ve been excused from work for the day.” His gaze traveled over her body, from bare feet to bare thighs, then up the baggy shirt she wore for sleeping, to her face. “You need more sleep after you eat and get some liquids in you. Still need to flush the last of the chemicals from your system.” He set the mug on the vanity, gave her one last, long head to toe visual scan, then turned on his bare heel and left the ba
throom. It was only then she realized he’d only been wearing a pair of what were probably Drew’s basketball shorts.

  She leaned against the counter, hand over her wildly beating heart. The man hit her like a hurricane, then disappeared like a wisp of smoke. Then his words hit her. Excused from work for the day. Well, she wouldn’t miss the filing room. Did that mean he was spending the day with her? Maybe she could talk to him about some of her budding ideas…or seduce him.

  Twenty minutes later she sauntered out to the kitchen, freshly showered and wearing a summer set of pajamas. The set was made up of shorts and a camisole, blue with little anchors printed on the fabric. Perfect for lounging around the flat on a warm sunny day. Rare for London after a sunny weekend, but according to the news, Londoners were taking advantage and thronging the streets instead of tending to their jobs.

  Ozzie took in her look, then turned to open the oven and pull out a steaming dish. “Frittata,” he answered her unspoken question. He set the pan on the stove as he shut the oven door. With a smooth movement he pushed down the handle on the large toaster Mom bought last year, the one that toasted four slices of bread at once.

  “Get the butter and jam, would you? Everything else is on the table.”

  “Smells wonderful.” She wandered right up to his side and leaned over the bubbling egg casserole. “Mmm.”

  Ozzie looked at her as she straightened. “You seem to be feeling chipper.”

  “Actually, all things considered, I do feel pretty good. Other than the hideous welt on my throat.”

  Using a gentle hand, he brushed her damp hair back and took a good long look at the site of her sting. “It’s already shrinking, the welt fading, but it wouldn’t hurt to use the cream and cover it again. After we eat I’ll help you with that.” The light brush of his fingers against her neck made her want to forget food, but the delicious scents reminded her she hadn’t eaten lunch or dinner yesterday. Or had she?

  “Did we eat last night?”

  “You had a few sips of soup and tea, but mostly you were too out of it for more than that. I spent several hours trying to rouse you to get water into you.”

  She frowned. “I don’t remember. I have vague dream-like impressions of sitting on very exposed toilets, like being on a market street with several stalls, but only with half-height walls. No privacy at all.”

  Her embarrassment flared when he chuckled and reached beyond her head to get two plates from the cabinet. “Grab the butter and jam. I set the table on the terrace. A little sun and fresh air will do us both good.”

  Birdie carried out her job and sat at the table. Oswald had set their places side by side so they could both appreciate the view. It was a rare day with no clouds and a soft breeze. Not too hot, not cool. Sunlight sparkled on the surface of the Thames, and boats moved up and down the river. Working barges, sightseeing cruisers, even a couple speedboats pulling skiers. Walkers filled the footpaths that traveled along the riverbanks and crossed the many bridges, stopping to pose or take photos, or merely to admire the flow of the river.

  A plate appeared in her line of sight, then was set in front of her. “Smells wonderful.”

  “Eat while it’s hot.” Oswald settled into the chair beside her. “I hope you feel special, brunch on the terrace on a perfect day. This happens rarely more than once in a lifetime in London.”

  “I’m appreciating it.”

  They ate with little conversation. Birdie was too busy shoveling in the food to talk. And far too aware of a nearly naked Ozzie beside her. Without a shirt on, all his impressive muscles were on display. Each one flexing under smooth skin as he quietly ate his food, as proper as always. The man had more inborn grace than anyone she’d ever met, including her very proper father and brother. The only thing he lacked was the golden tan the other two had acquired in California. But give him a summer over there and he’d be a bronzed god.

  At last she put the last forkful of eggs, cheese, and fresh vegetables into her mouth and moaned. Drew had proven he could cook a time or two while they’d shared their apartment, but Ozzie did more than cook. He created manna from heaven. Setting down her fork, she leaned back and savored the last bite before swallowing. “That was delicious.”

  “Thank you. Nothing more than a fancy omelet.”

  “Still fabulous.” She patted her stomach. “Do we really have the day off?” She slapped a hand over the yawn that surprised her.

  “Yes. Your grandmother made me swear I wouldn’t leave your side all day. Not until you could string two coherent sentences together.” He shifted in his chair and sat back with his hands wrapped around a large coffee mug resting on his flat stomach.

  “Well, I’m feeling coherent, but I don’t feel much like moving from this spot.”

  “I’m not much in favor of moving myself. Haven’t taken a day to sit on a sunny terrace in longer than I can remember.” She caught him turning his head to look at her. “You should lie down again. I’d say you’re maybe seventy-five percent recovered. You should be good to go by morning.”

  “Just fifteen minutes in the sun. After, I’ll find shade, but I’m short on natural vitamin D. Wouldn’t hurt you, either.”

  Ozzie laughed. “Me lying about in the sun. I’ll burn to a crisp.”

  “Fifteen minutes won’t burn you. It will give you a light touch of color. And if you’re really worried about it, I’m sure I can dig up a tube of sunscreen and rub it into your back.”

  Ozzie’s eyes heated behind the lenses of his glasses. Hair normally neatly combed was a little disheveled, partly from the breeze, and partly from sleep. Only he didn’t look sleepy.

  “I’ll pass. Help me get the dishes cleared; then you can nap outside under the umbrella if you wish.” His gaze slid down her body again, surely taking in the way her nipples tightened under the soft cotton of her camisole. She hadn’t put on a bra or panties, and the short bottoms were almost as revealing as short boy-cut panties. Rubbing her thighs together didn’t relieve the ache building there. The fact he noticed the movement and swallowed deeply, his Adam’s apple moving beneath his unshaved skin, only made her restlessness worse.

  “Sure. Let’s clean up.” She either had to do something mundane or jump into his lap.

  Swinging her hips, she carried her load into the kitchen, set it in the sink, then opened the dishwasher. When she heard Ozzie behind her, she bent over to get the detergent from beneath the sink and took her time filling the cup. Ozzie’s hip bumped her bottom as he set his load beside hers in the sink. Shifting her weight, she rubbed against him, sure her invitation was unmistakable. When Ozzie’s big hand cupped her bottom, she was positive.

  “You’re sending out signals you can’t possibly understand, Courtney,” he said gruffly.

  “I understand.” She straightened and leaned back against his chest. It was probably an automatic move on his part, but his hand slide around to her front, fingers splayed over her lower abdomen, and pulled her tighter against his body. This time she was sober enough to fully recognize his body’s reaction to hers. “Please,” she whispered.

  “No, Courtney. Not like this.”

  “Exactly like this. I don’t need silk sheets and rose petals.”

  “It’s what you deserve.”

  “I don’t. We have a day and a night to ourselves. If we take it.”

  Ozzie groaned and dropped his lips to her neck, a tender spot behind her ear she never knew existed. It was like an instant touch point that made her weak and her blood boil in an instant. “Please,” she begged. “I want to know. I want it to be you.”

  The groan against her neck was one of surrender.

  “Ever since you first touched me…” She gasped as his teeth lightly bit her earlobe, then nibbled down the side of her neck. His right hand claimed its hold on her mons, his fingers slipping between her legs. His left hand cupped her chin, tilting her head and turning it so his lips could tease the edge of hers.

  “E
ver since I touched you, what?”

  Birdie twisted her hips, wanting more from his hand. “Ever since you made me come, with your hands, your mouth, I wanted to do the same for you.”

  Ozzie’s intake of air was sudden and harsh. “There are so many reasons this isn’t a good idea.”

  “I don’t care. I get to choose my first, and I want it to be you.”

  “Bloody hell. It should be someone else, Courtney.”

  She also noticed that didn’t stop his hand from delving deeper between her thighs, or his lips from traveling down her neck.

  “Ozichu, I choose you.” She reached behind her and grasped his hips, pulling him closer yet.

  “Ozichu? Is that like Pikachu?” He chuckled at his new nickname.

  “Because your touch is electrifying. I don’t want anyone else. Just you.”

  And how could a man argue with that? He couldn’t; she smugly answered her own question.

  “And what princess wants, princess gets.” Although the words could be considered sarcastic, the groan in his throat, the rasping of his breath over her skin, turned the meaning around.

  “Don’t forget it.” The tender nip of his teeth against her neck brought out a gasp.

  “I never do.” A second later she was off the ground, cradled in his arms. “But we’re going to do this right. I won’t take you bent over the kitchen bench.”

  Chapter 21

  Exquisite excitement coursed through Oswald’s veins like a flash flood. Although this was a monumentally bad idea, he could no longer deny himself. Her. Them. The need to touch her had been clawing at him for weeks now. Ever since he’d given in the night of the wedding. He’d tried to be honorable, but screw that. He merely pretended to be a gentleman. That time was over when it came to being near her.

  Especially since she’d made it clear. She knew exactly what she asked of him. His only fear was living up to her romanticized expectations. This girl-woman was so very different from the usual ingénues he paired off with. All of them knew the score going in. He was there for their pleasure, and only if they were satisfactorily pleased was he requested again. Beyond inviting Courtney to Ascot, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d initiated a date. That time was over. No more playing stud to any socialite who wanted to dabble on the dark side.