Summer At Willow Tree Farm: the perfect romantic escape for your summer holiday

by Heidi Rice

  Correction: Did not want to do.

  Of course, it would have been a whole lot easier to convince herself of that, if Art hadn’t started popping up all over the place since that moment of insanity in the workshop.

  After weeks and weeks of hardly crossing paths with him, now he seemed to be constantly in her face.

  Had he always looked at her like that? The way he’d stared at her that night at the millpond? Why hadn’t she noticed it before now? Or was she just imagining it? Maybe it was all in her sex-starved, sleep-deprived head? She flopped onto her stomach, and shoved her head under the pillow. But the maddening memory of those dark chocolate eyes on her, refused to piss off.

  He’d shown up to dinner on both Saturday and Sunday, his conversation as monosyllabic as usual, but she’d caught him staring at her. His arm had brushed hers as he reached past her for the salt yesterday and it felt as if she’d touched a power line. Was he getting in her face deliberately? Why would he? To what purpose? Was he trying to drive her insane?

  They’d agreed, hadn’t they? That they weren’t going to take this thing further? Or rather she’d said it and he hadn’t disagreed. There were so many reasons why them having a sexual relationship had the potential for catastrophe. It would be madness to jeopardise everything she’d found at Willow Tree this summer, for the sake of an endorphin fix…

  She’d always been so good at ignoring her desires, subjugating them to the common good, the higher purpose, so how come all Art had to do was look at her a certain way and she had the insane urge to leap across the dinner table and take him down?

  The front door shut downstairs, and then the loose floorboard squeaked as footsteps came up the stairs, lighter than usual. She slipped out of bed, grabbed her robe and yanked it on, then tied her hair in a soft knot.

  Art had disappeared after dinner – leaving her achy and tense and unable to sleep – to head to the workshop as he did every night. It was now five minutes past midnight. Everyone else had been asleep for hours, and she wanted to sleep, too.

  With Maddy and Jacob now happily nesting on the other side of the farm acreage she ought to be getting ten solid hours a night. She needed ten solid hours a night, what with the shop chores and all the wedding planning, she had a lot of responsibilities on her shoulder. And she couldn’t do any of it efficiently with Art and his ‘jump me I dare you’ looks turning her into an insomniac.

  She’d had enough. This situation required action.

  Taking two deep breaths, she whipped open the door as the footsteps approached in the corridor outside.

  ‘Art,’ she whispered furiously.

  He stopped, his broad body illuminated by the light from her room. She noticed the sheen on his slicked-back hair and the damp patch on his T-shirt. Her gaze travelled down to take in his bare feet. He carried his boots, which would explain the lighter tread on the stairs. Liquid fire tugged at her abdominal muscles. Had he just been for another midnight swim?

  Visions of the swim she’d observed two weeks ago swam into her head.

  Down, girl.

  He didn’t move, didn’t say anything. No surprise there then. He was going to leave it up to her to handle the awkwardness.

  ‘We need to talk,’ she finally managed.

  ‘About what?’ His gaze didn’t even flicker.

  ‘The WI’s new jam-making regulations, what do you think?’ she snapped. Was he actually serious?

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Don’t be dense. We need to talk about what happened on Friday evening.’ She oscillated her hand between them. ‘The… That bloody kiss.’

  ‘What about it?’

  ‘I don’t want it to happen again. So you need to stop looking at me like that.’

  ‘Looking at you like what?’ he said, as if he didn’t know. But his gaze flicked away and she knew either he was lying to himself, or he was lying to her or quite possibly both.

  So she hadn’t been imagining those hot looks.

  ‘Like you want it to happen again,’ she said.

  He didn’t deny it.

  ‘Look, Art, I’ll admit I’m struggling not to…’ She paused. Did she really want to give him this much ammunition?

  If he’d looked smug, she might have stopped there, but he was giving her that intense look again, the one that made every one of her pulse points throb with unrequited need.

  ‘Not to want to do something about it, too.’ There, she’d said it. He didn’t respond, not in words, but the muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘But we both know it wouldn’t stop with a kiss next time,’ she carried on. ‘And we both agreed that would not be a good idea.’

  He stepped into her personal space. The smell of fresh water and the underlying hint of man had her catching her breath, audibly.

  ‘When did I agree to that?’

  She tried to get her objections in order, but the sight of him, the smell of him, so close was having a predictable effect.

  ‘We can’t have an affair, it would be too awkward, for Dee… And Toto. And it would be beyond confusing for Josh. I only told him three nights ago that I’m divorcing his father. He’s still processing that and…’

  ‘Who says they have to find out?’

  ‘But… What?’ Her voice trailed off into breathlessness as he bent to put his work boots on. The narrowed expression when he straightened was even more exciting than his damp T-shirt. Blast the man.

  ‘How could they not find out?’ Was that hope she could hear in her voice? Or madness? ‘We all live in the same house? And we both know from Jacob and Maddy that sound carries in this house.’ He remained mute as her common sense explanation gathered pace. ‘I’m not having sex with you with my son and your daughter and my mother right down the hall.’ Of that much she was certain… Or certain-ish. The feral glint in his eyes doing weird things to her resolve. ‘They might hear us.’

  There were loads of other reasons why this would be a very bad idea, why couldn’t she verbalise a single one of them?

  ‘Get some shoes on,’ he said.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘I’ve got a place I want you to see.’

  ‘Where?’ she said, fairly sure she should not go anywhere with this man. Because she could not trust the endorphins rampaging round her body like teenagers at their first all-night Acid House rave.

  His lips tipped up, the elicit smile a devastating combination of smug and sexy. ‘It’s a surprise.’

  She waited two pregnant seconds. Should she go? Could she stay? And spend another night fighting the memory of having that hot avid mouth on hers?

  She cursed and shot into her room to slip on walking boots over her bare feet. She must look ridiculous, but when she returned to the doorway, he took her hand and led her down the stairs without a word.

  He dragged her out into the starry night, the air warm and still. He found his way in the darkness as if he had twenty-twenty night vision, leading her through the farm outbuildings, past his workshop, and round the back of the shop, and into the woods. The night smelled of wild honeysuckle and wet earth.

  They followed the track that circumnavigated the millpond. It reminded her of another night two weeks ago, when she’d foolishly embarked on a midnight stroll.

  Where is he taking me? And why am I going? What am I? A lemming?

  But the denial eluded her, as his hand flexed on hers. She stumbled over something and his grip tightened.

  ‘You OK?’ he asked as he steadied her.

  ‘Yes,’ she managed, past burning lungs.

  He guided her over a stile and then led her up the hill through the trees. A cloud passed over the moon, but, as her vision adjusted to the darkness, a shape appeared through the treeline at the top of the meadow.

  ‘What’s that?’ she mumbled, as the shape morphed into a bow-top gypsy caravan similar to the one in his workshop.

  ‘Somewhere private.’

  He let go of her hand to climb the steps and swing open the door.

  She stoppe
d in the doorway, both unbearably aroused and completely horrified. With herself and him. What was she doing here? What were they doing here? This was still a really bad idea.

  But, even as she lectured herself on the sense of letting Art drag her away from the safety of the farmhouse, she couldn’t find the will to move.

  He dug around in the darkness. A scratching sound was followed by the scent of kerosene. The soft glow of a lamp illuminated the caravan’s interior. It was beautiful, compact and cosy but also luxuriously finished. Her pulse skipped and skidded at the sight of the double bed built into the end of the space, covered by a colourful patchwork quilt which had to be her mother’s work.

  She dragged her gaze away from it, to encounter a series of expertly finished dark wood cabinets which had to be Art’s work, with a gas stove and an icebox on top. Gingham curtains, like the ones in her room, fluttered over the narrow windows propped open on one side. The fresh scent of lemon polish and the fragrant smell of summer flowers infused the air.

  ‘It’s exquisite,’ she whispered.

  ‘It’s useful,’ he corrected. He leaned his butt against the cabinet and folded his arms over his chest. The lamplight shifted over the harsh planes of his face. ‘We’re at least half a mile from the farmhouse, and even further from the other homesteads,’ he said, his voice matter of fact. ‘No one’s gonna disturb us or get traumatised by us being here and doing whatever we want to each other…’

  She had to force herself to breathe. The enormity of what he was suggesting so huge she couldn’t quite process it in her head. Even though her body was already way ahead of itself, her nipples hard enough to drill nails.

  You muppet. Why did you let him bring you here? And why can’t you just turn around and run back out into the night? Before you get pressured into doing something you don’t want to do.

  But annoyingly, despite the provocative things he’d said, and the hot way he was staring at her, she didn’t feel pressured. She felt aroused. Hopelessly, stupidly, unbearably aroused.

  ‘We can’t,’ she said, her voice a great deal less demonstrative than she needed it to be.

  He released his arms, and braced his hands on the cabinets behind him, making his shoulders bunch under the damp T-shirt.

  He ducked his head, and crossed his legs at the ankle, his fingers tightening on the cabinet edge as he stared down at his work boots. Was he nervous, too?

  But then his head came up and he said in that same matter-of-fact voice: ‘Why not?’

  There was no anger or irritation, it sounded like a genuine question. That deserved a genuine answer. Unfortunately, she couldn’t think of a single, solitary one that would make any sense.

  After a pregnant pause, she managed, ‘Because it would be dishonest?’

  Unfortunately, the lift in her voice made it sound more like another question than an answer.

  He huffed out a strained laughed, then dropped his head back down to examine his boots some more. When he spoke, his voice rumbled out from his chest, making the hairs on her nape prickle.

  ‘You know what’s dishonest?’ He trapped her in that tractor beam gaze. ‘Pretending we don’t want to do this, when we do.’

  Pushing himself upright, he walked towards her, each step slow, and careful, as if he were approaching a wild animal that might bolt at any moment.

  Her heart beat so fast it felt as if it were going to gallop right out of her mouth. He raised his arm, and slid his hand across her cheek, barely touching.

  The calluses on his palm rasped over sensitive skin and her breath gushed out in a rush. His eyes remained locked on hers, as if he were waiting for her to tell him no.

  That would be the no that had deserted her seconds ago, no minutes ago, no hours, and weeks and months ago. The first time he’d kissed her. Maybe even before that. The no that had now floated out into the close night never to be heard of again.

  His fingers threaded into her hair, and he lowered his lips to hers, but, just as he paused a whisper away, she flattened her hands against his waist.

  ‘I should warn you,’ she whispered against his lips, ‘I’m not very good at this.’

  He lifted his head, and cupped her face in both his palms. ‘What?’ he said, searching her face.

  Why the hell had she said that?

  ‘Forget I said that, let’s just do it and see how it goes. It’ll probably be OK, I have it on good authority you’re a guaranteed orgasm.’

  His lips curved, his eyes lighting with amusement. Was he laughing at her?

  She pulled back. ‘Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Shhh.’ He propped his forehead against hers, grinning now.

  ‘Did you just shush me?’

  ‘Stop talking, Ellie.’ His fingers curled around her nape then slid into her hair. The top knot released, spilling her hair onto her shoulders. His abdominal muscles jumped under her touch.

  ‘It’s going to be good.’ He chuckled again, the rusty sound sending a renewed rush of blood to her cheeks. ‘I guarantee it.’

  The yank in her abdomen became a hot slow glide of pressure, and instead of pushing him away, instead of being outraged, or scared, or indignant, she laughed, too.

  He found her ear lobe and bit into the tender flesh. She choked out a sob, all her performance anxiety issues dissolving in the rush of blood to regions that had been neglected for far too long. He nuzzled, sucking the rampaging pulse, as rough hands sank beneath the waistband of her flannel pyjamas to cup her bare bottom.

  She jolted, hot breath skating over her skin, as the ache became heavy and insistent.

  ‘It’s just sex, Ellie,’ he rasped.

  Just sex.

  She spread her fingers determined to believe it, absorbing the hard planes of muscle and sinew.

  Art was a mercurial and enigmatic man. And she had always wanted him, even as a girl. Why not take this for herself? It would be their secret and no one would ever need to know.

  The tension that had been punishing her for days, for weeks, sang a hallelujah chorus in her blood. She tipped her head back, and lifted her hands to rub the day-old stubble on his cheeks, loving the rugged feel of him, absorbing the sublime strength in his jaw. Arousal darkened his irises to rich chocolate. Her pulse leapt at the evidence he was as wild for her as she was for him.

  She could have this. They could have this. It would be their secret.

  ‘How about it?’ he asked.

  She nodded, the power of speech having deserted her.

  The quick grin made her heart stutter, before he turned his head to bite into her thumb, the playful nip sending sensation shuddering down.

  He bent and scooped her into his arms.

  She choked out a laugh, exhilarated and overwhelmed, as he carried her to the bed and placed her on the coverlet.

  ‘Time to get naked, Princess Drama,’ he said.

  She laughed, joy and excitement battling in her chest with the swooping beat of affection.

  *

  Art felt the rush of blood southwards, as the adrenaline mainlined into his bloodstream.

  This was mad. Certifiable. He’d been telling himself that for days, for weeks, ever since she’d watched him from the edge of the millpond. But with his hands on her at last, her subtle sexy scent driving him nuts, mad seemed like the only way to go.

  He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Hadn’t even been able to keep out of her way any more. When she’d told him she wanted it too, had made it clear that whatever she’d said three days ago, her desire for him wasn’t in question, he’d had all the permission he needed to demand more.

  Everything else was just practicalities. Sex was simple, and satisfying, and would take this ache away.

  He perched her on the edge of the bunk, then gripped his T-shirt and hauled it over his head. He flung it aside, gratified when her gaze fixed on his chest. ‘Lose the pyjamas.’

  ‘Stop acting like a caveman.’ Her chin took on that stubborn tilt he’d become addicted t
o.

  ‘Then stop wasting time,’ he countered. ‘We haven’t got all night.’

  She huffed, but did as she was told, undoing the buttons on the soft cotton top. Underneath was a wispy lacy thing that moulded to her breasts and did nothing to disguise the shadow of her nipples.

  Arousal gripped the base of his spine. He kicked off his boots and ripped open his flies, releasing the aching erection confined in his shorts.

  ‘Do you have protection?’ she asked, as she wiggled out of her pyjama shorts.

  ‘Yup.’ He reached over to prise open the draw on the bedside table, digging out the box of condoms he had stuffed there yesterday, while convincing himself he wasn’t going to use them.

  Now that she was here, delightfully naked as she perched on the bed, her arm drawn tight over those lush breasts, he knew that was a big fat lie.

  After dropping the box on the bed, he finished tearing off his clothes.

  ‘I see you keep yourself well stocked here.’ He noted the sarcasm. Was she jealous? Why should that please him? ‘So I’m not the first to be invited to Art’s gypsy love nest?’

  He smiled at the indignant tone. Unlike other women, an arsey Ellie turned him on – probably because everything about her turned him on.

  He’d never had sex with anyone at the farm, not since Alicia. But he wasn’t going to tell her that, and give this moment too much significance.

  ‘Do you want to talk about my past conquests?’ He picked up the box and tore off the packaging. He tossed out a couple of foil packages, and handed her one. ‘Or do you want to do the honours?’

  She took the offering, unfolding her arm from across her breasts. The soft mounds jiggled, the puckered nipples making his straining erection pound harder.

  ‘Pretty full of yourself aren’t you, Dalton?’ she said, as she ripped the package open, and pulled out the rubber.

  Taking her shoulders, he pressed her back onto the bed and climbed up to join her. ‘If you shut up for two seconds, you’re going to be pretty full of me, too.’