An Uncommon Sense: Sensual Healing, Book 1

by Serenity Woods

  “Which means?”

  “The planet of love? In the sexiest sign of the zodiac?” He sipped his tea, smiling. “I think that’s more than enough to prove to me whoever said you were bad in bed is a complete idiot.”

  Her cheeks burned but she kept his gaze. “Do you really believe where the planets are in the sky when you’re born can affect your character?” It was such a load of nonsense. How could anybody think it was the case? And yet a small part of her was desperate to believe it was true.

  He shrugged. “I don’t know how it works, but birth charts are often amazingly accurate. I don’t look too deep into the whys and wherefores. I just accept it happens.”

  “I couldn’t do that.” She frowned. “I couldn’t accept anything without proof. Faith is just a convenient way of pushing aside the little irrelevancies and evidence that something doesn’t add up.”

  He sipped his tea. “In your opinion.”

  She met his clear, open gaze. “I suppose,” she admitted reluctantly. She fiddled with her cup. “How did you know about the scarf?”

  He continued to hold her gaze. “I didn’t sneak into your house, nor did I pay for anyone else to sneak into your house, and I didn’t ask your friends. Will that suffice?”

  “Quite clearly not.” She studied him. “Why won’t you tell me? What are you afraid of?”

  He hesitated and then sighed. “That you’ll freak out.”

  “I promise I won’t freak out.”

  “You swear?”

  “You want me to cross my heart and stick a needle in my eye?”

  He put down his mug. “Your dad told me.”

  The kitchen fell silent. She could hear the tick of the clock above the sink and the distinctive cry of a rosella out in the garden.

  “My dad’s dead,” she said flatly.

  He rolled his eyes. “That’s kind of what I meant.”

  She stared at him. “You’re saying you spoke to his ghost?”

  “His spirit. Yes. Well, I didn’t speak to him, he spoke to me. He told me to tell you where your scarf was.”

  She put her cup back on the saucer with a rattle. “My dad produced a miracle and broke the laws of physics, but he didn’t come through with the meaning of life or even next week’s Lotto numbers. He told you where my red scarf was.”

  Ash tipped his head at her. “It doesn’t work like that.”

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t make the rules.”

  She felt completely flummoxed, as confused as if he’d told her rivers ran uphill. “When did he supposedly tell you this?”

  “On the night of the parents’ evening, while I was talking to you.”

  She vaguely remembered a point when he’d looked past her as if listening to someone’s voice. She kept her voice even. “Did he say anything else?”

  Ash turned his mug around in his hands. “I know he died from a heart attack.”

  “That’s hardly a shocking prediction,” she said sharply. “Heart disease is the most common cause of death for both men and women.”

  “That’s true.” He finished off his tea. “Did he die from a heart attack?”

  Her eyes were stinging. “You could have found that out from anywhere. His obituary. You could have phoned my brothers or my mother. You could have listened to me talking to Freya or Mia about him. There’s any number of sensible, rational ways you could have worked that out.”

  “Also true.” His eyes were gentle. “But I didn’t.”

  Ash saw the emotion come in a rush, making her catch her breath. She took off her glasses, and as the tears spilled out, she tried to catch them with embarrassment, but they tumbled over her fingers and down her cheeks.

  He stood calmly, walked over to the worktop and retrieved a piece of kitchen towel, then came over and handed it to her. As she crushed it to her eyes, he bent and kissed the top of her head. Then he picked up her cup and his mug, took them over to the sink and started running the tap, his back to her.

  He squeezed the dishwasher liquid into the bowl and waited for the hot water to fill it up. Behind him, Grace sniffed and snuffled into the kitchen towel, but he didn’t turn around, giving her some privacy. Outside, it was a beautifully sunny afternoon, and as bubbles began to rise from the sink, the sun’s rays turned them into a kaleidoscope of colours.

  Slowly, he began to wash the cups and the dishes left over from lunch, waiting for her to recover and then react, probably by calling him something rude and storming out of the house.

  After another minute, however, he felt a presence at his side and in his peripheral vision saw Grace appear beside him. She’d replaced her glasses. She picked up a tea towel and, without further ado, started to dry the crockery he’d washed.

  Relieved that she hadn’t walked out, he kept his gaze on the sink and continued to do the dishes.

  She dried half a dozen glasses and a few plates in silence and then leaned on the worktop, looking out at the garden.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered. “I don’t know how you found out about the scarf, but I don’t believe you spoke to my dead father. And you knew I wouldn’t believe, but you still told me. You knew it would make me angry and upset. Why did you say that?”

  He scrubbed the plate in his hands with the brush until it gleamed clean. “I don’t get to choose what the messages are or where they’re from. I just get to pass them on. And I told you because you asked, and because I’m not going to lie to you and say I asked your friend when I didn’t.” He balanced the edge of the plate on one of the mugs so the water could slide onto the draining board.

  She stared at it for a moment. Then she picked it up and dried it, placing it carefully on the pile of clean crockery on the worktop.

  He picked up the next mug, aware she’d folded up the cloth and put it next to the crockery.

  “I should go,” she said absently, lifting a hand to catch a soap bubble that was drifting toward the window.

  “Okay.” He washed the mug and put it on the draining board.

  She turned to face him, leaning a hip on the worktop. “Do you make all your women peppermint tea and let them cry at your kitchen table?”

  He laughed. “The only women who have stood in my kitchen are Liv, Jodi and my mother. I have a room for my clients with its own entrance at the other end of the house. I keep my work and my home life very separate.” He looked across at her. “And I told you, Miss Fox, I don’t sleep around.”

  Her face was slightly red where she’d cried, and behind the glasses, her brown eyes were shiny, like wood left out in the rain. Her white blouse, pink skirt, stockings—and the sexy underwear she was probably wearing—made her soft and feminine, and along with the brown wisps of curls framing her face and her soft pink lips, made him want to kiss her. How come he was so crazy about this woman when he’d only just got to know her?

  She inhaled now as she saw his gaze linger on her lips, her own parting involuntarily. “I don’t understand how I’m so attracted to you when I don’t agree with anything you believe in. We’re poles apart, Ash, and I’m upset that you’d use my dad to get close to me. I know there’s no way you speak to the dead, and you must have somehow found out about him and used that information to try to get me to trust you, and that makes me uncomfortable. I know I should run a mile.”

  He said nothing, holding his breath, knowing she hadn’t finished. She’d called him Ash for the first time. Surely that meant something more positive was following?

  She looked up into his eyes. “And yet… Somehow I can’t believe you’re lying to me.” Her brow creased. “I’m confused.”

  He smiled. “Sometimes we have to accept things, even though we don’t understand them.”

  “You’re talking about faith again. I can’t do that. I have to understand. It’s the way I’m made.”

  “Honey, you don’t have to accept that I can talk to the dead. Maybe you just have to accept that I believe I can.”

  She st
udied him for a moment. He could almost see his proposition moving through her thoughts like a fish through water, her brain trying to sift through the advantages and disadvantages, trying to make it work.

  He went to tell her not to think too much, but before he could say anything, she stepped closer and slid her arms around him, resting her cheek on his chest.

  For a second, he just stood there, arms held out, droplets running from his wet hands onto the tiles, too shocked to move. He could smell her shampoo, something fruity, strawberries maybe, and feel her soft body pressed against him all the way down.

  Slowly, he leaned across to pick up the tea towel and dried his hands behind her back. He replaced the cloth, put his hands on her hips and turned her so she was leaning against the worktop, then pulled back slightly so he could cup her face with his hands, lifting her chin so she looked up into his eyes. He slid her glasses off and put them on the worktop.

  Then he kissed her.

  Her lips were unbelievably soft and she tasted of peppermint. As he pressed his lips against hers, he slid a hand around to the nape of her neck, which was bare as she had her hair up, and he didn’t miss her answering shiver as he stroked the skin gently.

  At first, she remained stiff and unyielding, not pulling away, but just accepting the touch of his lips without moving, and he could feel nervousness coming off her in waves. He continued to kiss her, however, with soft, gentle brushes of his lips, his mouth leaving hers to kiss lightly across her cheekbones, then returning once again for a moment, before he finally lifted his head.

  A light blush now filled her cheeks. Her eyes were wide, and for the first time since he’d met her, he couldn’t tell what she was thinking, because she didn’t say anything. He stroked her neck with his thumb. “Want me to stop?” he said huskily.

  She moistened her lips with her tongue. Then she gave a very slight, almost imperceptible shake of her head.

  He smiled and slid his arms around her, and this time a shiver ran from the top of his head to the base of his spine as she responded, hesitantly at first, then more confidently, her hand coming up to touch his face, her thumb brushing his stubble. Her mouth opened under his, and tentatively he brushed her bottom lip lightly with his tongue, thrilled when she returned with a stroke of her own.

  He kissed her leisurely, slowly, tasting her, stroking her back, enjoying the softness of her breasts against his chest. He couldn’t help himself and let his hands slide beneath the hem of her blouse to rest on her waist. She wore something tight and silky beneath her clothes, some kind of all-in-one piece of underwear that probably had cups and straps and poppers underneath, something so feminine, unfamiliar and erotic that he grew instantly hard. He knew she’d be aware of it, considering he’d pressed his hips against hers.

  Sure enough, she pulled back and looked up at him, and she was breathing hard, her eyes dilated but also filled with uncertainty.

  “Want me to stop?” Ash murmured again.

  Grace’s heart was thumping so loud she was sure he could hear it, even without his ESP, or whatever he thought he had. The guy was so gorgeous. How had she come to be standing in his kitchen, kissing him, letting him slide his hands under her blouse, where they hovered, clearly itching to move higher? If she shook her head again, saying she wanted him to carry on, she knew where it was going to lead, and the thought of having sex with Ash Rutherford made her feel faint with excitement. But equally, she could still clearly remember the disaster of her last sexual adventure. It had not ended well, and the thought of repeating that with this delectable man made her want to cry again.

  He was studying her now, his blue eyes gentle, although his hands were still warm on her waist, his fingers seeming to enjoy stroking her silky abdomen.

  “No,” she said eventually. “But…”

  He brushed his lips against her temple. “But what?”

  She swallowed. “I…I’m a bit nervous.”

  He cupped her chin again and kissed her slowly. “What about?” he murmured in between kisses.

  “Disappointing you,” she admitted.

  He chuckled and dropped his hand back to her waist, sliding it around the silky material to her back. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

  “I don’t mean the underwear. I mean…me.”

  He pulled back and looked at her then. He frowned, and she thought he was going to say something, but instead he placed both hands on her hips and lifted her easily onto the worktop, making her gasp. So he was going to show her, rather than tell her. Her heart thundered, but she couldn’t have pushed him away if her life depended on it.

  He nudged her knees open so he could move closer to her. As he did so, her skirt rode up and exposed the tops of her stockings, complete with white garters. He sighed, resting his hands on her thighs, brushing his thumbs across the point where the garters fastened to the stockings. His eyes were mischievous, slightly lusty, and a thrill ran through her at the thought that he found her desirable and wanted to touch her. Unable to resist, she kissed him.

  His lips were firm and warm, his tongue soft as it brushed into her mouth, and she raised her arms around his neck, letting him pull her closer, to the edge of the worktop. He returned his hands to her thighs and slid his fingers to the tops of her stockings, then to the band of bare skin above the nylon.

  He drew back very slightly, hovering his lips above hers, exchanging breaths with her as he ran his fingers around the tops of her thighs to the outside, then back to the centre again. Her heart thumped as his warm hands rested on her skin, his thumbs brushing down, grazing the sensitive area at the top of her thighs, not quite touching her silky underwear.

  “Oh,” she whispered, feeling slightly melty, like a chocolate button left on a radiator. Jeez, the guy was only brushing her thighs. If he did anything more intimate, she’d self-combust.

  “You are the sexiest creature I’ve ever met,” he murmured, kissing up the line of her jaw to her ear, touching his tongue there. She shivered and he groaned. “Oh God, don’t do that.”

  “I can’t help it,” she said breathlessly as he caught her earlobe between his lips and nibbled. “You make every single piece of me tighten and stand on end.”

  “Oh, Grace, for the love of…” His lips hovered above hers again as he slid his hand up to her waist and under her blouse, then slowly up to her breast. Cupping it gently, he brushed a thumb across her taut nipple, so sensitive beneath the silky cup of her underwear.

  She gasped and automatically arched her back, and all reason flew out of the window. He tightened his other arm around her and kissed her fervently, his hand warm on her breast, and a rush of moisture soaked the panties of the silky body she was wearing as she moved her hips, feeling him hard against the soft, swollen part of her. He kissed down her neck, murmuring something she couldn’t hear, and she leaned back on her hands as his tongue traced down her skin, pots and pans clattering behind her as she bumped them.

  He began to undo the buttons on her blouse, and she held her breath as he reached the bottom and pushed the sides apart. His face was a picture as he studied the white body that, with its touch of Lycra, clung to her figure, the cups topped with white lace outlining her breasts perfectly. “Whoa.” He pushed the blouse off her shoulders and then lifted her down to the floor. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get a better look at that.”

  She waited shyly as he unzipped her skirt, slowly letting it drop to the tiles. For a moment, he just studied her, from her sheer stockings, to the white garters, to where the garment dipped between her thighs and then up to her breasts before his gaze reached hers once again.

  “Miss Fox, you are absolutely stunning.”

  She laughed. “My underwear says thank you.”

  He lifted the strap on her shoulder with a finger. “Do I get to see what’s beneath it?”

  She clamped a hand on top of his, eyes wide with alarm. As he raised his eyebrows, she shook her head. “I…um… Can I keep it on? It makes me feel…sexy.”

>   “You are sexy,” he said, stepping closer to her again, his hands resting on her hips. “The underwear’s gilding the lily. But it’s up to you. I’m hardly complaining.”

  “What about you?” she said, tugging at the bottom of his shirt.

  “Oh, yeah.” He grabbed the shirt at the back of his neck and tugged it over his head then dropped it to the floor, running a hand briefly through his hair before returning it to her hip.

  “Oh my God.” Grace nearly imploded. She placed her hands on his chest and ran them up, brushing his flat nipples and light brown scattering of hair, moving them across to his shoulders, finally running them down his arms. He was magnificent, built like a warrior, a perfect example of strength, vitality and maleness rolled into one. He smelled of the fresh outdoors, and his muscles beneath her fingers were hard, the skin stretched over them like warm cotton over steel.

  “Miss Fox, speechless?” he teased. “I’m hoping that’s a good sign.”

  “It’s a very good sign.” For some peculiar reason, she felt tears sting her eyes. He was so lovely—he could have any woman he wanted. What could he possibly want with her?

  Chapter Six

  He slid his hand underneath her chin and lifted it, his blue eyes searching hers. There was something about him that was so reassuring—he exuded calmness, and his gentle gaze made some of the tension flow from her, letting her return his smile before he slowly lowered his lips back to hers.

  This time he pulled her to him, sliding his hands up her ribcage to cup her breasts, circling his palms over her nipples before brushing them with his thumbs until they hardened. Grace sighed, heat beginning to build between her thighs, and Ash deepened his kiss as if he could sense her rising passion. Her heart thundered beneath his hand, and as he squeezed her nipples gently she sighed again, tipping back her head, pressing her hips against his, desperate to feel his hardness pressing against her.

  He planted kisses down her neck, bending his head to cover a nipple with his mouth, and small fireworks went off throughout her body, tiny explosions in her breasts and between her thighs that made her gasp.