by Grace Lowrie
Smiling to myself with satisfaction I hopped down off the tumble dryer, disposed of the handwritten notes, grabbed a cold carton of orange juice from the kitchen and skipped out the back door into the sunshine.
Chapter Twenty-three
Sinclair’s Merc was sitting on the drive when I pulled up on Monday morning. As I was unloading my tools, he stepped out of the house to meet me, looking as dapper as ever in a complete, three-piece, pinstriped suit, despite the mounting heat.
My inappropriate feelings for Melody had thrown me for a loop and I’d spent all weekend trying not to think about her. I’d taken Bridget out again – this time to an Indian curry house – and I must have made a good impression because she’d invited me back to her place for a ‘nightcap’ afterwards. And yet, despite being horny as hell, I’d turned her down with a feeble excuse about feeling tired. The truth was I couldn’t bring myself to sleep with her, not when my head was full of someone else. Bridget took the brush-off well, considering. But Melody’s lecherous father was the last person I wanted to see right now.
‘Morning, Liam. How are things progressing?’
‘Really well, I think. I was hoping to speak to you actually; I found out something interesting about the rose garden...’
‘Oh yes?’
As I relayed my library findings, we walked side by side to where Melody and I had cleared and restored the four circular beds centred around an old sundial. Once I’d shown him where the original design had extended out to, and described the formal arrangement of columns and rope swags we could reinstate, I paused to see what his reaction would be.
‘That all sounds very interesting, and I appreciate all the trouble you’ve been to, researching the original design etcetera, but... they’re rather old fashioned aren’t they, rose gardens...?’
This comment was not what I’d expected or hoped for, and for a moment I was at a loss for what to say. ‘Well, yes... I suppose so, but they’re in keeping with the period of the house and the rest of the gardens. I know it looks a bit untidy right now, but once I’ve re-planted these beds and the roses are in full bloom I really think it will look stunning...’
Sinclair cleared his throat. ‘I don’t want the rose garden extended. In fact it might be an idea to scrap it completely. My friend, the sheikh, was showing me his garden of exotic succulents last week. They’re very low-maintenance and really provide a spectacular display of colour, texture and form...’ I fought to maintain a politely neutral expression on my face as I waited for him to continue. ‘If we ripped these old shrubs out we could have something far more interesting and contemporary, don’t you think? I mean, it’s a prime location up here near the house and it’s quite a sun trap...’
My heart sank as he talked of creating a desert garden of cacti, yuccas and palm trees arranged around a fake dry river bed, mulched with crushed sea-shells. ‘Do you think you could design something like that?’
‘Um, yes... I’m sure I could come up with something, and. although an exotic garden would be a great addition to the grounds... I do wonder if this is the right spot for it. I’m not sure if it would complement the existing Victorian architecture or the traditional layout of the terrace. Maybe a desert garden would be better located on the far side of the walled garden, where it would still benefit from sunshine and—’
‘But no-one would see it over there! No, I’d like to be able to view it from the drawing room when I’m entertaining – something to comment on and admire...’
‘Oh, right...’ I hadn’t been aware that Sinclair did any entertaining, but then I was never there at weekends.
‘I don’t see any reason to stick rigidly to the sentimental idea of a rose garden when we have the opportunity to do something remarkable with the space instead.’
‘No, I understand,’ but even to my own ears I didn’t sound convincing.
As Sinclair and I toured other parts of the grounds that morning, he made several other suggestions (instructions), which I didn’t agree with – replacing a brick path in the walled garden with smooth concrete, for example, rather than repairing the frost damage; and removing a cluster of ancient rhododendrons instead of simply cutting them back. But these poor decisions didn’t bother me nearly as much as his dismissal of the Marcel rose garden. Melody had been as keen to see it take shape as I was, and based on my suggestions she’d been googling different species and varieties of roses all week. My only hope was that she might be able to talk her father out of his new scheme, where I had failed completely.
It was mid-afternoon by the time I saw Melody. She only emerged from the house once Sinclair had left for the airport, on his way to the Middle East. I was busy dragging blanket weed out of the lake with a long-handled rake when she came running towards me through the trees in a flurry of yellow cotton. I smiled and threw down my tools when I saw her.
‘How can you run about in this heat?’
She didn’t slow as she neared, and I caught her as she launched herself at me in an enthusiastic wide-armed hug. Apparently she’d missed me as much as I had her. I returned the embrace and then set her down as my body inevitably began to react to her softness and her delicate, appealing scent.
‘Gone again, has he?’
She nodded.
‘How long for this time?’
She held up three fingers.
‘Three weeks?’
She nodded again, grinning happily up at me and, before I realised it, I was putting my hand to her face and stroking her hair back from where it was sticking to her cheek. As she leaned into my fingers, her longing gaze locked with mine, I swiftly reminded myself that she was simply lonely and in need of a friend.
We sat on the footbridge over the stream as I told her about Sinclair’s exotic new plans for the garden and witnessed her expression fall.
‘Maybe if you tell him you want to keep the roses, he’ll change his mind?’ I suggested. She wrote something down and showed it to me: Then he’ll know we’ve talked.
‘Is that really so bad?’
She nodded.
‘But we’re just friends, right? I mean, he can’t mind you having friends...’
She frowned slightly before writing again: He wouldn’t understand.
I sighed in frustration. ‘OK. In that case, maybe we can transplant the existing rose bushes somewhere else; plant them in the other beds. They don’t always survive being moved, but if we do it later in the season they’ll stand less chance of drying out...’
Melody looked upset and stared off into the distance as I spoke, and I had a feeling it wasn’t because of the roses. I didn’t need to see it written down in black and white to suspect she wanted to be more than friends. If I was honest I wanted that too, but her circumstances were so complicated. I’d never felt this strongly attracted to anyone before. It was consuming me and truthfully, it was scary.
Rising to my feet I picked up the rake and returned my attention to the surface of the lake. My insides ached as she wandered away from me, dejected, in the direction of the house.
Chapter Twenty-four
Upon hearing the hum of Liam’s van pulling up on the drive, I slipped out the back door unseen and made my way down to the lake, armed with a bath towel. The night had been long, sultry and sleepless; my limbs were weary with restlessness, and my skin felt sticky with yesterday’s sweat, and yet today it was only going to get hotter. I was still angry; mad at Gregory for wanting to do away with the rose garden that we’d worked so hard to restore, and furious with Liam for only wanting to be friends.
He was all I could think about. The more time I spent with him, the more desperately I wanted him to kiss, hold and touch every part of my body. It was as if he was channelling the power of the sun and causing a restless burning deep inside me, which yearned for release. And yet, infuriatingly, he always held back.
I may not have an in-depth understanding of men, but the internet led me to believe that they all wanted sex. Through conversations with Liam I’d c
onfirmed that he was unmarried and lived alone, and from the appreciative way I sometimes caught him looking at me, I’d ruled out homosexuality, so what was stopping him from making a move? Was he simply afraid of losing his job? Yesterday I’d literally thrown myself into his arms, but instead of taking the opportunity to ravish me, he’d let me walk away.
At the side of the lake I ruthlessly stripped down to my underwear and waded into the crystal clear water on my tiptoes, taking my time, inch by inch and huffing out breaths as I adjusted to the sting of the cold. Despite the rising heat throughout most of August, Liam had not been swimming and hadn’t offered me another lesson since that first one. I wanted to impress him with my bravery and lure him into holding me again, and a swimming lesson was the perfect excuse.
When the water finally reached my chest I practised pushing my arms out the way he’d shown me, ignoring my shivering and trying to adjust to the chill. Lifting first one leg and then standing on the other, I tested my balance and let the water buoy me up. Then, recalling Liam’s gentle words of advice, and feeling reassured, I attempted to lift both feet off the muddy floor and kick my legs out behind me, while still paddling my hands. Immediately I began to sink and stumbled to my feet, unnerved without Liam’s hands to support me. But I was determined to get it right, and after several more attempts and a mouthful of water, I managed to lift my bottom and propel myself forwards with my head above the water.
Elated, I splashed my way around the edge of the lake, parallel to the shore, enjoying the feel of the now temperate water as it eddied around my body. Was Liam on his way? Could he see me yet? Would he be impressed with my progress? With new-found confidence I pushed myself out a little further from the shore, where the water was cooler and darker.
But it occurred to me that I must look as ungainly as a baby elephant splashing about; the noise almost violent in the quiet of the grounds, blocking out the birdsong and making me feel self-conscious. I wanted to look graceful and elegant. In an effort to achieve this I minimised and slowed my movements but sank almost instantly, water stinging my eyes and filling my nose as my feet flailed about searching for a floor that was no longer there. As I began to panic I writhed about gasping for air, spluttering and swallowing more water. Realising that the lake bed was too far below me to reach with my outstretched toes, I lifted my legs high again, my pulse thundering through my body and pulsing in my ears as I broke the water surface, and gratefully sucked in air. But then a cramping pain shot up through my right calf and I inhaled more water as I gasped in shock, reflexively grabbing at my leg and dropping back below the surface.
I’m drowning; I’m going to die, right here in my underwear in this stupid lake and no-one will ever know what happened to me! I’ll never learn to dance the tango, or publish a novel, or figure out what my bad dreams mean. I’m going to die a bloody virgin and I can’t even scream!
Kicking out with all my limbs I was straining my head upwards, desperate for air, when something warm and solid hooked around my waist and dragged me back and upwards through the water. I broke the surface with an almighty choking wheeze. By the time I’d worked out what was happening, I was lying on the grass, convulsing and coughing up great lungfuls of water while Liam leaned over me, dripping, his face white and eyes wide with worry.
‘What the hell were you doing? How could you be so stupid?’ he shouted, his anger distracting me from my discomfort and my near-death experience. I gaped at him, my body shaking uncontrollably as humiliation began to crawl through me. ‘You know you can’t swim, you could have drowned!’ His voice softened slightly as his eyes searched my face.
He had every right to shout at me; I’d been foolish, I could see that now, but the obvious anxiety etched on his face was surprising. He cared; this lovely big man really cared if I lived or died; the realisation flooded me with warmth.
‘Are you OK?’ His voice had finally reduced to an emotional rasp as his anger waned. I nodded and his eyes closed as relief washed over his features. His passionate concern, coupled with his bare-chested proximity, roused my feelings for him ten-fold and before he had a chance to open his eyes I sat up and pressed my mouth, inexpertly, to his.
For a split second he stilled in surprise, before his lips softened against mine, his hand cupping the back of my head and inducing a rushing sensation inside my body. His mouth was moist and warm as it moved against mine, his breath hot as his lips parted slightly. I let my own mouth open in response, and was rewarded with a low vibration of sound as he half groaned, half sighed with pleasure. It was the most erotic thing I’d ever heard, and it spread through me like molten lava, heating me from within.
Encouraged, I tentatively licked the inside of his upper lip, light-headed with my own daring, and he used the tip of his tongue to stroke mine. The sensation was almost overwhelming and I found myself wrapping my arms around him, thrusting my fingers into his hair and pressing my chest to his, in an unconscious attempt to hold him there indefinitely.
He groaned again, this time louder and deeper as I brazenly explored his mouth with my tongue, drunk on the taste of him and anxious to commit every millimetre to memory. My body ached with a hunger I’d never experienced and in every place my skin made contact with his, it seemed likely to burst into flames.
But then he cupped my face in his big hands and pulled back away from me, breathing hard, his eyes burning darkly beneath his furrowed brow.
‘This isn’t right,’ he said.
What?! I stared at him in disbelief. Nothing had ever felt more right to me in my whole entire life; surely he felt the same; his eyes told me he did. I tried to kiss him again but he held me back with no effort; my strength no match for his.
‘We can’t do this.’
Frustration lashed through me and before I knew it I’d slapped him hard across the face.
Chapter Twenty-five
God she was beautiful.
For an agonising moment, when she disappeared under the water, I was terrified I might lose her forever, and now here she was, bedraggled, beguiling, and attacking me with unrelenting spirit. Her right hook had caught me off guard even more than her kiss had; the force of it enough to turn my head, heat my skin and almost make me come, right there and then, like a pubescent schoolboy.
The kiss we’d shared was stirring enough – I’d fantasised about how good she might taste and the reality was even sweeter; her obvious inexperience and eagerness was downright endearing. But it was the sudden sting of pain that followed it which almost had me losing all control. Such passion from someone so seemingly small and innocent was intensely arousing. Her eyes burned with fiery reproach more clearly than words ever could, and I found myself wanting her to hit me again.
As if reading my mind, she back-handed me across the other cheek, my hard-on jerking in direct response, and I returned my mouth to hers, kissing her hungrily while she scrambled enthusiastically up onto my lap in a tangle of bare legs and arms. This mysterious girl provoked and confounded me at every turn. Right now I wanted nothing more than to bury myself inside her, right here in the grounds of her stately home, but reality crept back in.
What the hell was I doing?
Summoning the last of my willpower I pried her off me and staggered to my feet. Dragging air into my lungs I made an effort to calm down while she sat half-naked on the grass, gazing up at me, open mouthed and panting. She was breathtakingly sexy. I wanted to taste every inch of her body; to kiss that perfect little birthmark on her thigh and explore all her other secret places with my tongue. In desperation I grabbed her clothes from where they lay folded and handed them to her.
‘Put these on, please.’ She hesitated, a perplexed expression written across her face, but then, to my great relief she began to dress.
Turning away from her I pulled my own shirt back on, hiding the prominent jut of my erection, which was still refusing to subside. God I was confused.
Once Melody was covered up, she retrieved her notepad and pen and it w
as with apprehension that I read: Do you want me or don’t you?
Her blunt question was a reasonable one under the circumstances and made me ashamed of my own cowardice in comparison. Heavily I sat down on the grass beside her, just beyond her reach.
‘It’s not that simple,’ I began, pushing aside my jumbled emotions and trying to construct a sensible answer. ‘We hardly know each other...’
She cocked a sceptical eyebrow at me.
‘I mean, how many men your own age do you really know? Are there any?’
She looked down at her hands, confirming my suspicions.
‘Have you had a boyfriend before?’
This time Melody looked away across the lake, her features tightening with irritation.
‘I’m not trying to make you feel uncomfortable. It’s just... I get the impression you’re rather isolated living here and I don’t want to take advantage of you. There are so many guys out there closer to your age... I may not be right for you...’ I wasn’t explaining myself well and she deserved to know the whole truth. ‘And anyway I’m... I’m kind of seeing someone...’
She flinched at this and my heart contracted painfully in my chest as a tear escaped from the corner of her eye.
‘Please don’t be upset...’ I reached out to her, despite my resolution to maintain a safe distance, but she shrugged away from me, swiping hastily at her tears as she rose to her feet.
‘I’d still like to be friends... I’ll happily teach you to swim if that’s what you want...’
I stared after her as she walked away from me, yet again. I desperately wanted to run and catch her; hold her and show her how badly I wanted her, but I knew, with my head if not my heart, that I should let her go. It was for the best.
Chapter Twenty-six
Dammit why was I crying? So he was seeing someone else and I’d made a complete fool of myself – so what – I’d get over it. I swiped at my cheeks as I stomped dejectedly back to the house, my clothes clinging uncomfortably to my damp underwear. Maybe it was delayed shock from almost drowning; for a moment there I’d thought my life was over, and my lungs and throat were still raw. In fact I had a headache now too, but then again, none of that had prevented me from enjoying my first proper kiss.
