Heart of the Cotswolds: England

by M. L. Buchman

  Think of something else.

  Survival.

  Were they both in the same goddamn rut? Wasn’t that the ultimate joke—two separate paths to misery.

  Well, being in a rut wasn’t right for the Faerie Queen. And if a White Knight ever needed a good and worthy quest, it was to get her out of said rut. Besides, what the hell, maybe he’d find a way out for himself as well while he was at it.

  “Big jobs?”

  She pointed at the wall he was leaning on.

  “Oh. That’s not big, just a little messy mixed in with some careful planning. The kitchen is the biggest one.” Even as he watched, he could see her orderly brain working things out.

  “So you said there was about six weeks of projects here.”

  Was there? He walked mentally through the rooms again. That felt about right.

  “That’s what you said, anyway.”

  “Okay. I’ll believe.” Though he wasn’t going to ask how she’d remembered and organized all of that—might make him feel even more inadequate than his knee already did.

  “What if you had an untrained assistant?”

  “You?”

  “I can afford my own rates.”

  “But can you afford mine?” Could he afford his own? Working closely with Jane Tully for a six-week project was definitely going to test his white-knighthood to the limits.

  Her eyes narrowed as she looked across the room.

  “Crap! Okay, that came out wrong. I am not asking you to sleep with me to pay for my help.”

  “Then what are you asking?” Her voice was cool.

  “The truth?” What was he asking for? “I’d help out just to be around you. Even just sitting with you in the pub makes me feel better than I have in a long time, Jane. I’m okay for money. I was raised working-class poor, so I banked pretty much every dollar for the last decade. Army paid all my living expenses. Even at apprentice rates with Trent, I’m still banking a third of what he pays me. I’d do the work just for the pleasure of your company. Besides, I like working with my hands. It would give me something to do evenings and weekends. Just feed me once in a while and I’ll be happy.”

  Her lovely lips quirked up into an amused smile. “That may be the longest speech you’ve ever made.”

  He shrugged. “Talked more to you this week than I normally do in a year. Twice that if you don’t count the razzing that goes on within an action team.”

  “I could get to like you, Aaron Mason.”

  “I’m way past ‘like,’ Jane Tully.” And he really, really had to go back to keeping his mouth shut. What came after like? Lust? No, that came before. He remembered the blonde beauty in the wedding dress as she strode so confidently into the pub—that was an image he’d never forget. So what came after like, but before… Crap! He definitely wasn’t going there. Usually his head was pretty quiet, but she stirred things up.

  Jane rolled to her knees and crawled across the living room. They were so close that it would have been too much trouble to stand for such a short distance. She stopped with her face just inches from his. Her green eyes were wide and as bright as the meadow waving in the breeze beyond the open cottage door.

  “This…” she whispered and he could taste her spring-water fresh breath. “This has nothing to do with whether or not you help me on the cottage.”

  Then she leaned in the last few inches and kissed him.

  It was different. Jane hadn’t expected that. After all, she’d kissed Aaron Mason any number of times, though mostly playfully over kissing gates.

  If he had a crush on her, she was done fighting the crush she had on him.

  She rested a hand in the center of his chest to keep herself steady. It was like pressing her palm to a rock wall made of powerful, living, breathing man.

  His hand slid up, his fingers caressing the nape of her neck, his callused thumb stroking along her jawline. They were so close that his wrist braced against her shoulder as if she were leaning against a tree that would never let her fall.

  And the kiss. Lord above! How could so strong a man kiss a woman so softly? It was a gentle, testing, welcoming, head-swirling, nervous-system-melting kiss that made her glad she was already kneeling.

  His other hand slid onto her hip and guided her to straddle his lap.

  “But your knee—” she could barely pull back enough to speak.

  “Just don’t kick it and we’ll be fine.”

  So she was careful to raise her leg high until she was astraddle his thighs.

  His hand slid down and she braced herself for the pain of the grab, which left her wholly unprepared for the power of his gentle caress. He brushed his big rough hand over her breast like a sculptor testing the surface of his finished creation.

  She began to do the same.

  He’d shaved this morning, but she could still feel it was afternoon. What would it be like to learn enough about him that she could tell the time of day just by brushing her palm over his cheek? She’d have laughed if what he was doing through her bra and blouse didn’t elicit a moan instead.

  His muscles felt as strong as they looked. Stronger. He had broad shoulders without being massive, but his strength ran bone deep. She’d never had a lover who was in such perfect condition.

  A lover?

  Yes, Jane. You’re going to be lovers. And now that she’d finally thought that out loud, so to speak, she was fine with that. In fact, she didn’t see much point in waiting.

  Since he only wore boxers, his pants still around his ankles, it was easy to find the lower edge of Aaron’s t-shirt and slide it off over his head. Across their little lunch table built of yellow limestone, his chest had looked beautiful. Now she went to peel off her own shirt so that she could see if his chest against hers felt beautiful as well.

  Aaron was way ahead of her. Her shirt was open and her bra loose when he tipped her back and took her into his mouth. The jolt knocked the breath right out of her body.

  Even her best-ever orgasm had barely matched that flash of lightning.

  Unable to catch her breath, all she could do was hold on. She wrapped her arms about his head and pulled him in hard, her body begging for more. And her White Knight delivered.

  When he finally went to lay her down, she shook her head.

  He stopped instantly and looked at her. His eyes were darker even than that first night in the pub, but he was waiting for…

  “Oh god, no, Aaron. Don’t you dare stop. But your knee.” She couldn’t believe he would even offer to stop at this point. It gave her a sense of control she’d never had with a lover. A sense of safety she’d never had at all.

  She pushed lightly against his shoulder.

  Without comment, he twisted aside from the wall he’d been leaning against and lay back on the floor as she still straddled him. No macho-male-must-be-on-top here. Was that a university professor thing? He was ex-Delta Force. She’d looked them up online and what little was posted about them said they were the most elite military force anywhere. So, she’d expected the most macho.

  Not this one. Maybe because he didn’t have to prove anything—he already was the best.

  Still dressed from the waist down, together they rode upward, his hands on her hips, her breasts, her face, and back down. Everywhere he touched her was a caress, a suggestion, a plea until all she could do was give until her release slammed through her. An arching madness so far beyond pleasure that it was almost pain.

  Jane. The same Jane who had always had the boring, mundane, steady-boyfriend lovers while Debbie’d had the hot, sexy types. Jane Tully had just found the embodiment of raw maleness.

  And it was glorious.

  She braced herself against that beautiful, scarred, masterpiece of a chest while the shudders raced through her. And when they eased and her arms wouldn’t support her any longer, she lay down on Aaron’s chest and finally learned that it felt even more wonderful than it looked.

  “I would pay anything to see that again.” Aaron had watched
as Jane had shattered. As tears had streamed down her face without her even being aware. Of her mouth formed in an “Oh!” of surprise that her body could even feel what it had. And to know that he had done that for her.

  “I’m not a peep show,” she whispered somewhere in the vicinity of his ear—her voice still broken with rapid breathing.

  “No,” he slipped his arms around her bare back and marveled at how Jane felt both so slender and so substantial in the same moment. Unlike his battered hide, her skin was smoothly perfect and he’d never get enough of touching it. “You’re a show-for-one kind of woman. No one could ever question that. I just can’t believe that I’m the one who gets to watch.”

  She braced herself up on his chest, leaning on her forearms, and kissed him lightly.

  Her hair streamed down on either side of his face and tickled his cheeks and ears. He used one hand to toy with the ends of it. He slid the other down under the shorts she still wore and cupped her against him. If she reacted that way partly clothed, what did she look like when—

  “Aaron?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “You ever say anything like that again and I’ll beat the shit out of you.”

  “Oh, okay.” He’d thought it was a compliment. In the future he’d keep it to himself how spectacular she looked when her release slammed through her.

  “You damn well better believe you’re the one who gets to watch.”

  “Huh!” He couldn’t think of what else to say. Again, the ghost of Sad-sack Mason had extended its evil claws. Well, to hell with him. Lady said not to go there. He wouldn’t go there.

  If he really was the one who got to watch, there was another thing he’d really like to see.

  “I would kill for a condom right about now.”

  “What else would you do for it?” And he could tell by her smile that this was definitely his lucky day.

  “Anything! I’d…I’d…I’d install a new window in your private office.”

  “Uh-uh!” She waved the silvered packet she’d fished out of her purse at him as she shook her head. “Remember, sex has nothing to do with the renovation. We already agreed to that.”

  “We did,” Aaron muddled around for a new idea as she crawled back across the floor to him. Somewhere in the fray, her shirt and bra had finally gone away completely and he was as mesmerized as he’d been that first night in the pub. She hadn’t looked so incredible because of the amazing dress she’d been wearing. It was the other way around—the dress had looked so amazing because of the woman inside it. And now she was revealed in all her…well, in her waist-up glory. “I’ll…wash windows for you.”

  “That, Mr. Mason, is a deal. I hate washing windows.” So did he, but at the moment he didn’t give a damn.

  She stood briefly to strip off her shorts and panties. Perfection on Jane Tully didn’t stop at her waist, that was for damn sure. Then she slid into an easy cross-legged position by his feet.

  “What are you doing down there?” He propped himself up on his elbows to see what she was up to.

  She didn’t answer. Instead, she began untying his boots.

  “Oh.” He had a naked Faerie Queen taking off his boots, socks, and…pants.

  Using only one leg, he raised his hips enough to shed his own underwear, but she got her hands there first and teased them down until he could feel his pulse in the one leg that was supporting his hips in the air.

  “Oh my, Mr. Mason,” she said as she finally slipped them free. “I think that we’ll have to be properly introduced at a later time.”

  She ran a single fingertip down the length of him and it was almost too much.

  “For now, however…” she sheathed him with only one more tease or two.

  Jane finished crawling up his body until she could kiss him. Then, with a single smooth move, they slid together.

  This time, when she peaked—when they peaked—she kept her eyes open and they watched each other.

  “We should do this in every room in the cottage,” Aaron held her like she was precious.

  Another first Jane could get very used to.

  They’d had cold Chinese food (she definitely needed a microwave) and managed to inflate the air mattress. Now they just watched the last of the sunset through the open door. The sheep and lambs on the far hill had quieted for the night. Birdsong faded. The soft scent of growing grass was all that invaded her new home.

  “I think that’s a splendid idea.” But she didn’t like the idea of it all happening too fast. Aaron hadn’t happened too fast, not with how amazing he felt as she curled against him with her head on his shoulder.

  “With or without the air mattress?”

  She wanted this to last. Who knew where either of their lives were going, but she wanted it to last forever anyway. Or at least for longer than this weekend.

  Their clasped hands rested together on his chest. She remembered holding hands with him as they’d walked back to the pub after the lambing. A man who liked to hold hands. She definitely wanted to stretch this out as long as she could.

  “What if…we only make love in a room once it’s finished. Once it’s renovated and furnished. Until then, we only make love here.”

  “Bedroom is first,” he practically barked it like an order.

  She smothered her laugh against his chest because it sounded more likely a girly giggle of delight than a proper laugh.

  “Your office is last,” he declared just as definitely.

  “Why is that?”

  “Because I knew exactly what I wanted to do to you in that room the moment we set the chair there. Leaving your third floor office to last will keep me highly motivated.”

  The mental images that he created for her had heat rising to her cheeks and hope rising to her smile.

  “Are you going to be able to work? Your knee, I mean.”

  “It’s just a sprain. It means I have to put the knee brace back on, which I hate. And maybe do some of the physical therapy exercises, which I hate even more.”

  “You’ve been avoiding your PT exercises?”

  “PT is Army for physical training. Being a civilian and doing PT for physical therapy feels like a joke.”

  “Would your knee have gone out if you’d been doing your PT?”

  His silence was answer enough.

  She freed her hand from his, balled it into a fist, and pounded the side of it against his chest.

  “Hey!”

  His grunt was satisfactory enough that she did it again.

  “Ow!” He caught her fist in his hand, easily encasing it completely inside his big hand as if hers had become embedded in one of his stone walls.

  “No more skipping PT. Ever. You were a top soldier, now you’re going to be an equally exceptional patient.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

  Her fist was still trapped inside his unyielding grip, so she moved her knee from over his hips to slide most of the way up between his legs.

  “Yes, ma’am!” Aaron sounded much more respectful this time.

  “Damn straight, soldier.” They lay together in peace for a long time, watching until the last of the light had faded from the room and the sky.

  “There’s one other thing that I’ll practice being exceptional at,” his voice was little more than a whisper in the night.

  No question what he meant.

  Jane slid over on top of him. “You have my permission to practice that as much as you want.”

  He didn’t answer with words.

  Chapter 9

  The financing was taking time and after a week, Jane sounded as if she was going to go mad.

  Unable to wait—he was as impatient as Jane was—they began surreptitious repairs. That next Saturday, still wearing the goddamn knee brace, he tore apart the kitchen closet and rebuilt it as a proper pantry. It wasn’t large enough for them to christen it properly, but they decided that—after shedding his toolbelt—up against the pantry door counted.

>   Jane stocked the shelves with food that told him they were both in trouble. His skill set included how to use the heater on a Meal Ready to Eat and not much more. She could cook pasta and dump jarred spaghetti sauce on it. A brief consultation with Bridget and he added a basic cookbook to the pantry shelf and a small gas grill to the front deck. The food became decidedly better, if not very exciting. He bought some spices and a bottle of brown sauce.

  Any night they couldn’t face their own food, they went back to the pub to eat. Sometimes the Earl of Evenston would be in—seemed it was a regular escape from his mansion—and they’d make a merry night of it. Though Aaron still stuck with “your lordship” rather than Conrad. His attempt at calling him the Duke of Earl after the ’50s song Grandma used to play had fallen flat.

  “Dukes are properly addressed as Your Grace. I’m not a Your Grace,” the earl had used the driest of tones.

  By the end of the second week, Jane contacted Harriet the estate agent who contacted the owner. He was apparently traveling abroad at the moment, but had “every confidence” that things would work out and gave them permission to go ahead with all interior renovations except the most major work.

  Not wanting to overstep their bounds, they worked on the guest bedroom through most of the weekend. All it had really needed was some plaster patching and sanding, new electrical outlets, an eight-foot piece of trim, and a fresh coat of paint. He’d also had to spend a couple of hours getting the windows to open and shut properly.

  The fresh paint smell was still too thick on Sunday evening, so they returned to the air mattress in the middle of the living room.

  “Two weeks,” Aaron settled his ear just over her heart and listened to the quick double-tap beat accelerate as he rested his hand over her other breast. He felt guilty every time he touched her with his rough hands, as if he would somehow mark her. But she leaned into it every time so he didn’t feel too guilty.

  “Two weeks what?” Her breath was a little short and her pulse rate was definitely up.