‘Then hop on,’ he advised, turning around and crouching down. ‘My boots have more grip. I’ll give you a piggyback to the top.’
‘I weigh a tonne,’ I protested.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. Come on, get on. You don’t have enough layers on. You’re wet now and you’ll freeze soon. We’re closer to your place than the hotel, right?’
‘Right,’ I sighed, giving in to his insane plan and climbing on board. He hooked his hands under my knees and I wrapped my arms around his neck, putting my chin on his shoulder. Maybe there were some advantages to a slippery hill. I could breathe in that cinnamon scent to my heart’s content now.
He struck out, taking it slowly as we inched our way up the bank. A walk that would normally take me around three-quarters of an hour had taken us over an hour so far, as the lane, and now the road and hill, were so treacherous. We’d had time to talk though, and we’d made the most of it. In fact, we’d chatted like old friends, comfortably, like Georgie and I did. I’d filled him in on my work and my family, or rather lack of one now, at which point he’d reached out his hand and held mine without saying anything. It had made me feel so warm in that moment, we could almost have been snuggled under my fur blankets in front of the lounge log burner. He just seemed to get how painful it was for me to tell him my past, without offering words of condolence or pitying me, but just taking my hand and being there for me. It made me more curious to know his backstory, as he hadn’t mentioned a family yet, and that kind of reaction usually only came from people who’d suffered loss themselves. This last part of the journey, he’d been telling me about his love of New York.
‘Damn it,’ he grunted, as his foot slipped and he staggered slightly, making me scream, before he righted himself. ‘There is no way we’re ending up at the bottom of this hill again,’ he said in a determined voice. ‘I feel like I’m in some badly designed adventure game, where there’s actually no way up and we’re just going to keep repeating this over and over.’
‘Don’t say that. I’m getting cold, hungry, and thirsty, and it will be poo city if we don’t make it back soon,’ I warned. He burst out laughing, then yelled, coinciding with my scream, as he completely lost his footing and fell flat on his face, me going down with him and landing on him with an “Oomph.”
Seconds later he was sliding, me lying on top of him, as we did a backwards human toboggan down the hill, picking up speed rapidly as I shrieked. We ended up in a tangled heap in a pile of snow where the main road forked off to the lane back up to Severn Manor. We were both panting, trying to catch our breath from the shock.
‘Are you ok?’ he huffed.
‘I … I think so,’ I uttered, gently moving all my limbs and checking for pain. I winced as I straightened my legs. My knees had taken quite a bashing. ‘You?’
‘I think my face is bleeding, but other than bruised knees and scuffed hands, I think so,’ he confirmed. He managed to extract himself from under me, then quickly rolled onto his side and reached out to clasp my chin, turning my face to his as he checked it for damage. He really was quite the gentleman.
‘Oh God, your chin, you have a really nasty cut.’ I sat up, groaning as my muscles uttered a protest, and put my cold wet hands in my pocket to find a tissue. ‘Here, stay still while I dab it. We need to get back so I can clean and patch you up, but I can’t see us making it up this damn hill.’
‘Me neither,’ he responded, wincing as I tended to his cut. His lips were so close, I could lean in and kiss him right now. Our wispy white breaths were mingling, swirling as we both breathed heavily, inches apart. ‘Come on, we really will freeze out here if we don’t get dry and warm soon.’ He stood up abruptly and hauled me to my feet.
‘How? This hill is going to kill us,’ I reminded him.
‘This way,’ he pointed, ushering me towards a stile into the field that ran alongside the road. ‘The snow here will be powdery, easier to walk on. We can follow the hedge and re-join the road when we level out.’
‘As long as there’s no flesh-eating sheep or cows,’ I joked as he helped me over the wooden structure.
‘True,’ he grinned, then winced at the reminder of his chin injury.
He joined me and automatically took my hand as we made our way, much more easily, up the hill. My knees really weren’t happy though, and throbbed as we climbed. We didn’t speak this time, both still slightly winded from the fall and concentrating on our ascent. But it was a comfortable silence. The lights were still on in The Cock & Bull on the opposite side of the road at the top of the hill, the sound of the locals enjoying themselves drifting out to meet us. We stayed in the field until we reached the village hall, and used another stile to cross over into the car park.
‘Not far now,’ I reassured him.
‘Great,’ he nodded.
I pointed out the local royalty’s manor and the deer park as we turned right at the stone cross on the village green to take Church Lane. We carried on past the farmworkers’ terraced houses on the right, the church up ahead as we turned right onto my lane. Apart from the church, there were only four detached cottages along here. First was Holly Cottage, which was mine. Honeysuckle Cottage, which was the Joneses, was next door, then Georgie lived in Ivy Cottage, and Jasmine Cottage was at the far end. That one was for sale, the current owners having decided to emigrate to Australia. I smiled as I saw the outside light on my front porch burning brightly. I didn’t think I’d ever been so happy to return home.
‘This is me,’ I confirmed, swinging open the gate.
‘Cute place. It looks really old,’ Miller said, his eyes scanning it with interest.
‘It is. I’ll give you the tour in the morning,’ I said bravely.
‘Morning?’ he queried, his voice full of surprise. I let go of his hand to lift up the plant pot on the left of the door to retrieve my front door key.
‘Like I’d let you walk back on your own, when you’re cold, wet, and bleeding. You can sleep in the spare room, ok?’
‘Ok,’ he grinned. ‘But we seriously need to have words about security if that’s where you leave your keys.’
‘I’m in the country, in a sleepy village, not the centre of New York. It’s safe out here.’ I opened the door to find Sumo waiting in the hall, his stubby little legs firmly rooted on the oak floor as he eyed up the new arrival.
‘I’d better warn you that Mr. Sumo can be quite cantankerous with people he doesn’t kno–’ I gasped, unable to believe my eyes or ears, when he barked and scuttled forwards, then put his paws up on Miller’s legs, snuffling and licking his hand as his bottom wagged.
‘Is this the same dog you told me about?’ Miller laughed, as Sumo slobbered all over him.
‘Apparently not,’ I uttered, completely bewildered. ‘He’s never been like that with anyone since my dad.’
‘Then he obviously has good taste. Are you hungry?’
‘Starving,’ I confirmed as I shut and locked the door.
‘I was actually talking to the dog.’
‘Charming,’ I replied, heading into the kitchen as I stripped off my wet gloves and hat, then shivered. ‘Why don’t you head upstairs and take a hot shower and clean your face before you get an infection. There’s clean towels on the rail.’
‘What about you, you’re cold too.’
‘I’ll just feed Sumo, then I’ll go up and change. I still have your shirt and boxers here, I’ll put them on the spare bed, door on the left as you come out of the bathroom. I’ll try and find some jogging bottoms for you, but they may be a short, snug fit,’ I warned.
‘Thanks, Abbie,’ he nodded, rubbing his hands together to try to get them warm.
‘I’ll turn up the heating and when we come down, I can make us something to eat, as we missed the buffet.’
He flashed me a smile, then gave a way-too-excited Sumo a pat on the head and made his way upstairs.
‘You traitor!’ I glared at my dog as he finally headed through to get his dinner. ‘Why don’t I e
ver get that welcome?’ He just yawned at me, then licked his lips. I warmed my hands up under the hot tap first, then put his dinner down and left him to trough it while I ran upstairs.
I quickly stripped out of my damp clothes and riffled through my wardrobe. What the hell was I supposed to wear? No matter how much my body might be screaming at me to wear something sexy, I didn’t want to give the wrong impression. Equally my Hello Kitty pyjamas weren’t going to give the right impression either. I settled on a pair of tight black jeggings and a fluffy, cosy, baggy cream jumper, with a pair of toasty cream eyelash socks. I dug out Miller’s clean shirt and boxers, then a pair of my baggiest black jogging bottoms. I only had size five feet, there was no way my socks were going to fit him. Not that I’d really paid much attention to his feet, but most men weren’t a size eight, let alone a five. I headed out of my room to cross the landing just as Miller appeared from the bathroom, with nothing but one of my white towels wrapped around his waist.
‘Hey,’ I squeaked. My God, his body looked even better with a sheen of water still clinging to it.
‘Hey,’ he grinned, the look in his eyes telling me he knew that I was checking him out and liking what I saw.
‘Here.’ I shoved the clothes into his arms and shot down the stairs before my hands had a chance to reach out and do something totally inappropriate. ‘Sumo, poop time,’ I called.
For once, he came obligingly, looking a little disappointed to find it was only me and not Miller. I undid the dog flap and pushed him out, then flicked on the kettle. Going for a poo was the most exercise he had, though he never ventured far. I usually went out with him and scooped up the mess, as best I could when he was extra gassy, but I was too cold to accompany him tonight. Especially not when he sometimes liked to take his time, pulling a face as he strained for ten minutes before it all shot out like a cork from a bottle of champagne.
Tonight he was super fast and scurried in panting, then went to sit in the hall. I angled my head to give him a curious look. He was wagging his butt, his eyes focussed on the turn of the stairs. He was waiting for Miller to come down. What the hell? Seven years of love and I’d never once got that reaction from him. Miserable mutt.
I decided bacon and egg sandwiches would be quick and hot and should hit the mark, so I busied myself making them.
‘He’s a friendly little guy,’ came Miller’s voice as he padded into the kitchen, his legs bare, wearing just his black shirt. I swallowed hard as I ran my eyes up and down his firm thighs. He had the build of a rugby player. ‘Sorry, I tried your pants, but they were too tight.’
‘My pants? You found a pair of my pants and tried them on?’ I gasped. Crap. Had I left a pair lying around in the bathroom? Oh no! Had he rummaged in the laundry bin for a used pair? I was mortified. Why the hell would he need a pair of my pants when I’d given him his own? I knew he was too good to be true. He was a damn cross-dresser.
‘No, you gave them to me.’
‘I did not! Like I’d just hand out a pair of my smalls to some … some … virtual stranger, even if he did act chivalrously the once, ok twice, actually three times,’ I shot back, trying to remember which knickers I’d been wearing yesterday that would have been on the top of the laundry pile. ‘Oh God, the big pink granny ones?’ I groaned. I’d been in my comfy knickers. Not that I possessed many sexy lacy ones, but these were the extra big, extra comfy ones for lounging around at home in. They encased everything.
‘No, the small black ones you handed to me outside the bathroom. Do you have color blindness?’
‘No. Are you telling me you’re not wearing the ones I gave you?’ I asked, my eyes flicking down to see if I could spot anything hanging out. Sadly not.
‘Well, you can see I’m not. Good thing too because I’m bleeding. I’d have ruined them.’
‘Are we having the same conversation here?’ I asked, covering my eyes and feeling very confused. Now he was telling me he had a period? Did that mean he was a transsexual? No, hang on a second, they didn’t have periods.
‘Oh God,’ he uttered, completely aghast. ‘You thought I meant I was wearing your panties? What do you English call them, knuckers?’
‘Knickers,’ I whispered, still not sure what was going on. He burst out laughing, and I dropped my hands in time to see him stride over.
‘No, I definitely didn’t try your “knickers” on, Abbie. I meant these,’ he chuckled, reaching down to rub my covered leg. ‘We call them pants.’
‘Oh, thank God.’ I let out a sigh of relief as I finally smiled again. ‘I was having a whole visual there that I really didn’t want to have. But I dread to ask what’s bleeding, other than your chin.’
‘My knees,’ he confirmed, pointing down to where they were looking red and raw. ‘Scuffed them up a bit when we fell, but they’re fine. You really call your panties knickers, not knuckers?’
‘Ermmm, I should know. Not that knickers makes any more sense than knuckers. Damn it, the eggs,’ I exclaimed as I heard them spitting in the pan. ‘Sit down, we’ll eat, then I’ll sort out your knees and chin. Are you warm enough?’
‘I am, thanks,’ he replied.
‘Well, after we’ve eaten, you can head to bed if you’re tired, or I can make a fire if you want to stay up and talk, or we can watch TV or something.’ I flashed him a hopeful look over my shoulder.
‘I’m not tired, surprisingly wide awake actually.’ He gave me one of those slow smiles, the kind that could melt a girl’s heart.
‘Great,’ I replied, sliding the eggs onto the buttered bread then reaching for the pan of grilled crispy bacon.
I was far from tired and wasn’t in any hurry to have this evening end.
Sunday
‘Hmmm,’ I moaned, snuggling down in my warm bed as flashes of the evening in front of the fire with Miller came back to me.
We’d sat on the long sofa, feet up and tucked under each other’s thighs to keep warm, as we’d talked about differences in our language. We’d laughed more often than not while we drank a few glasses of whisky to warm us up from the inside. I’d still been shivering, not seeming to be able to get warm despite the central heating being on and the fire roaring. So Miller had made me turn around and settle back between his outstretched legs, my back to his chest. He’d pulled my cream fleecy blanket over us, then wrapped his arms around my waist as we’d continued to talk. Injuries aside, it had been the perfect night. Even Sumo had displayed uncharacteristic happiness, venturing off his armchair to lie on his back on the floor next to us, whining now and then for a belly rub from Miller.
I smiled to myself. Was it normal to like a guy so fast? I mean really like. He just seemed to accept me as I was. I didn’t feel like I had to try and make myself better for him to be interested in me. And he really seemed to be. Each minute I spent with him, the less I worried that he was only satisfying curiosity over someone who wasn’t his usual type. But there was still that thing, the “he hadn’t found the kind of girl he wanted to get serious with.” For most guys, that was usually an admission that they really weren’t into relationships. So why would he change for me? And if he did, how the hell would it work with him so far away?
I heard a load of snuffling, then a grunt, and frowned. That sounded like Sumo. How had he got into my bedroom? He struggled with the doorsteps to the garden to do his business, and he’d definitely never made it upstairs. And thinking about it more, why did my pillow feel so firm, and why didn’t I remember going up to bed?
I opened my eyes, surprised to see the patterned cream material of my squashy sofa instead of my high, vaulted ceiling in my bedroom. I soon realised I was in the lounge, curled up against Miller, my head on his firm chest. I held my breath, not wanting to wake him, as I desperately tried to remember what had happened before I must have fallen asleep on him last night.
‘Oh my God,’ Miller groaned loudly. ‘Please tell me that isn’t you?’
‘What?’ I gasped, taking a huge gulp of air when I realised he
was awake, only to choke on a Sumo morning special. I buried my face in Miller’s chest, giggling as he started to gag.
‘It’s the dog, right? Tell me it’s the dog, or it will ruin this whole “Abbie’s really cute” thing I have going on.’
‘Well, it’s not me, thank you very much,’ I mumbled, homing in on him thinking I was cute and feeling my stomach flutter deliciously. ‘Close your eyes, it’ll melt them. His morning trumps are always the worst.’
‘Trust me, I’m closing … everything.’ He gagged again and quickly pulled the blanket over our heads. ‘Is that normal for him?’ he eventually asked when he’d finished choking.
‘Pretty much. I did warn you he was gassy.’
‘That’s not gassy, that’s nuclear. You need an exclusion perimeter set up around him.’
‘Bet you wish you’d stayed in your expensive hotel suite right now, don’t you?’ I asked, angling my face up to meet his gaze. He shook his head and reached up to hold my chin, sweeping his thumb over my lower lip, which made a shiver run down my spine, that giddy feeling I’d felt when I first set eyes on him returning full force.
‘I’m right where I want to be, Abbie, and I’m not waiting any longer.’
‘For what?’ I whispered, drowning in his deep, rich brown eyes, which were holding me captive, the tension between us rising with each passing second as our chests rose and fell in unison.
‘For this,’ he murmured, dipping his head and brushing his lips across mine. I closed my eyes, the butterflies in my stomach soaring, fluttering madly. He repeated the move more firmly, sparks of high voltage stimulating my lips. The next time he kissed me properly, I returned it, making him groan and tighten his arm around me, his other hand firmly gripping my chin to stop me from going anywhere. I was ready to swoon. No one had ever kissed me like this, so full of determination and passion, or coaxed such an incredible response from me. He kissed like a man, a proper alpha-male man. I snuck a hand down to grip his firm bottom, right as Sumo scared himself with a gurgling rumbling trump, which made us break our lip lock and laugh.
Never the Bride (Dilbury Village #1) Page 8
