My Summer of Magic Moments: Uplifting and romantic - the perfect, feel good holiday read!. Caroline Roberts
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So here she was, sitting in her cottage by a roaring log fire with an undoubtedly attractive man, who was dressed in a towel, jogging shirt and shorts, whilst she had on only pants, bra and a long-sleeved T-shirt under her towel. Weirdly, it felt okay.
He dunked thick chunks of bread into his mug. ‘This is really good.’
‘Thanks.’
‘So you know how to light a fire now?’
‘Yep. You learn something new every day.’
‘Indeed.’ He sipped. ‘You’ll need that life skill in here. It’s a bloody wreck of a place. Don’t know how you’ve lasted so long, to be honest. Had you down for a few days max at the start.’
‘Ah, did you now? I’m made of hardier stuff than that.’
‘Yes, I can tell.’
Was that a hint of admiration in his tone? Bloody hell! What had happened to Mr Grumpy? Had he gone and got a personality transplant over the weekend, or had the rain washed away his ill humour?
As he leaned across to put another log on the fire, his foot brushed hers, sending little electrical pulses through her. She wasn’t wearing any trousers, her sensible head reminded her. Thank God she’d shaved her legs this morning. She’d better go and get some dry clothes on as soon as. She didn’t know quite what had come over her; she wouldn’t normally strip off her trousers in front of a man she scarcely knew. But she was just getting warm again, enjoying his company, and didn’t want to move quite yet. Didn’t want to go upstairs and break the spell.
When he settled back down, his foot lay there touching her own.
‘This is cosy,’ he said, matter of fact.
‘Ah-hah,’ she agreed. A tense feeling came over her. Anticipation?
He held her gaze for a second or two, then smiled. God, he had a lovely smile – nice white teeth, soft lips, a suggestion of manly stubble on his upper lip and chin. Why on earth had he kept that smile hidden? Maybe he had a lot of pressures at work, came here to get away from it all. It took him a while to wind down, obviously, considering how cool he’d been the last few times they’d met.
‘What do you do for a living?’ Claire piped up.
‘I’m an architect. I have a practice in Edinburgh.’
‘Ah, interesting. Designing buildings and the like, then.’
‘Yes, I do all sorts, but the bread-and-butter stuff is the smaller work, like house extensions, new builds. Often where they want something unique. What about you?’
‘Journalist. I work for the local press down in Newcastle. It’s pretty low-key, but I love it, most of the time. You get to meet lots of different people.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Sometimes it can be. But other times I’m raking about looking for stories, interviewing people about their pet dogs or the latest parking rises. It’s not all glamour and paparazzi, especially not in North Tyneside.’
‘Is this just a holiday for you, then?’
‘Yes …’ She faltered. ‘I – I’ve taken a bit of leave …’ She didn’t want to start going into the reasons why. And he was polite enough not to ask further. ‘It’s a great place here – the beach and everything,’ she clarified, in case he thought she was some kind of nutter who loved living in a hovel.
‘Yes,’ he answered, then went quiet. He seemed to be thinking.
It felt odd that they were huddled in towels with only centimetres between them. The fire was crackling away, giving a golden glow, throwing out its heat now. He turned to her. Stared at her seriously, intently. She held his gaze, noticing the green of his eyes, the tiny flecks of yellow close to the pupil, but then had to look down. There was something too intense about it.
When she looked up again, his face was closer to hers. The whole atmosphere in the room had changed. And suddenly this moment felt like it was where they were both meant to be. No time for thinking – she moved her mouth to meet his. Gentle at first, then hungry. His lips tasted salty from the bread, from the sweat from his run.
They were kissing harder, passionately. She kneeled up, wanting to feel him nearer, pressing her chest against his. This contact, this sensuality, was so powerful. She had been on her own for so long in her world of fear and illness and betrayal. But hey, was this really happening? Stuff like this didn’t happen to her, Claire Maxwell – this was like some movie scene. Don’t overthink it … Go with it Claire, a little voice cheered her on.
His lips were still on hers, his hands stroking through her hair, tugging sensually, and then she felt his strong arms around her back, closing her towards him. Her towel fell away, though she was still wearing her damp top. Her inner tension began to melt. She felt safe in his arms. Nothing mattered but this kiss. Unexpected, yet so natural. So needed. Two people caught in a storm.
And this was so turning her on, the warmth flowing right down to her thighs. Wow, she hadn’t felt like this in such a long time. His erection matched her desire – she could feel him hard, nudging against her hip.
Oh God – she couldn’t just … could she? She’d been with her husband for six years, and had had only a couple of boyfriends before that. She’d never had a one-night stand. And she didn’t really know this guy. She knew he was fit and had the body of a god, had seen his taut thighs, muscled chest, and boy, so much more. Was that enough of a reason? Hell, yes, what are you waiting for? something shouted inside. He was kissing her neck now. Ohhh, that felt so good.
But could he be some kind of Jekyll and Hyde character? She’d certainly witnessed the grumpy side. And now all this passion. He could be an axe murderer or anything. Who’d chopped up all those logs for kindling? He might have killed his ex and escaped down here, hiding from the police. This could be his hideout. Bloody hell, she’d been watching far too many suspense dramas.
Perhaps he was just a hot-blooded, passionate man, who was sometimes reserved … until you got to know him, and then he let loose. Oh bloody hell woman. Go, go, go. This had been a long time coming.
She tugged at his T-shirt, his towel having dropped off ages ago. Oh my, what a chest. Gorgeous – just as lovely close up. She ran her hand over it, all defined muscle and a few sexy blond hairs. Then he was slipping out of his shorts, just boxers now – sporty black ones, tight. She hardly dared look at the contours, but sneaked a peek. Wow. David Beckham eat your heart out.
Kissing once more. His tongue warm and deliciously probing.
His hands on her top, pulling it up over her head. Oh God, down to bra and panties.
Reality hit. Shit, her scar – he’d be moving to undo the clasp of her bra at any moment. What would he think? If she forewarned him, that would surely kill the moment, but if she didn’t, just seeing what he was going to see would strike the passion dead immediately. And she couldn’t bear to see his face, the horror that might show there. Shit, shit, shit. Maybe she could ask him to leave the bra on. She pulled back.
He looked at her. Put his head in his hands, then started rubbing his forehead roughly. ‘Fuck. Fuck … Look, I’m sorry. I can’t do this.’ His voice.
Suddenly he was up scrabbling for his shirt, his shorts, running for the door. Surely he couldn’t have read her thoughts, known what was there beneath her bra. She watched the back of him dashing down the hall, then heard the slam of the door. Like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
Her desire unravelled within seconds, leaving her confused and frustrated.
What the hell was going on?
After the rainstorm and the near-miss lovemaking, everything had seemed rather surreal. So, she’d had a gorgeous man down to his boxer shorts in her living room by a roaring log fire … and then he’d gone and