‘No, you can’t come—’
He’s heading up the stairs three at a time while I’m still clutching the banisters at the bottom and wondering how I’m supposed to stop him. He really shouldn’t come inside.
‘I promise I won’t take advantage and steal Bella while you’re up here, if that’s what you’re worried about!’ he shouts back down, his deep voice filling the space. ‘I like to face my enemies properly!’
I have a feeling that he is not a man who easily takes ‘no’ for an answer. And I also have a feeling that a hot bath would be very, very nice. If only I had the energy to get up to it.
But I also know that it isn’t just Bella I’m worried about. Though I am of course very worried about her. But oh my, being held by him has sparked so many bad thoughts and desires, well, just honest to goodness plain lust, I suppose. I’ve not had sex for a while. I didn’t think my body really cared, but boy, have I just discovered I’ve been in a desert that needs water. And that sweet side to him is an extra aphrodisiac that has sparked something in my heart as well as my groin area.
I’m not surprised Georgina told me to keep him at arm’s length.
Any decision-making is taken out of my hands a few minutes later, when he reappears, throws me over his shoulder, carries me up and dumps me just inside the bathroom.
‘I’ll be downstairs if you need anything, just shout. I’ll make you a hot toddy.’
‘I don’t li—’ I’m talking to a space. ‘Like hot toddies,’ I finish pathetically before eyeing the steaming water. He’s chucked in some bath oil. It smells nice.
Irresistible. Not at all like that cold lake.
Peeling my damp-claggy clothes off and exposing the goose-bumpy pale skin underneath, I clamber into the water.
It. Is. Bliss.
I could stay in here forever. Except the enemy is in the house. And might kidnap Bella. But he did say he’d be downstairs if I needed anything, and he did say he wouldn’t take advantage. I guess I’m just going to have to take him at his word.
Right now, if he headed off with her at a snail’s pace, I wouldn’t have the energy to follow.
The only thought as I look up at the ceiling and wallow is, what’s he going to do about his own sodden clothes?
This actually sets my mind off on other various thoughts. Most of them rude.
Chapter Eleven
‘Better?’
Ash is sitting on the kitchen chair, Bella on his knee, looking very much at home. He also has clean, dry trousers on. Shame.
But this is good, very good, I tell myself, trying to be sensible and ignore my deprived body.
And his body.
The other bit, that isn’t dressed.
‘How did you do that?’ I squawk and point. Must concentrate on the trousers, not on the bare, naked, manly, muscled, tanned, naked (sorry, did I already say that?) torso.
‘Magic!’ He winks, one corner of his mouth quirking up. ‘Spares.’ He nods towards a rucksack by the door that I hadn’t noticed him carrying. ‘I was going for a long hike when I spotted you—’
‘Spotted me? You weren’t waiting for us?’ I don’t know whether to be disappointed, or not believe him.
He smirks. ‘Pure coincidence.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ A proper smile breaks out on his tanned face, showing off startlingly white teeth between those full, sexy lips. ‘I thought seeing me once in a day would be enough for you. Don’t want you to get over-excited, do we?’ He raises an eyebrow and it doesn’t come off as at all cheesy or conceited, just cheeky. So cheeky my stomach is doing funny little quivery things. ‘Have to admit, I’ve never known a girl to throw herself in a lake before to avoid me, though.’
‘I’ve never known a man I’ve had to do it to avoid.’ I can’t stop looking at his chest. It is obscenely attractive.
‘Anyway, I usually carry some spare clothes, just in case. My T-shirt’s drying outside.’
Shame. Oh, flipping heck, my pulse rate has just soared, Bella has started lovingly licking his pecs. Oh my God, I want to be her. He’s fondling her ears now, and oh no, he’s just flexed a muscle. I’m staring. I can’t help it. Staring. Still staring.
‘So, er, the bare, sorry the boathouse, you said there was an, er, boathouse, by the lake.’ Where else would the bloody thing be? Stop blabbering, Becky!
‘There was.’ There’s humour in his tone. ‘Here.’ He pushes a glass towards me. ‘Brandy, thought you might need warming up on the inside as well as the outside.’
My insides are fine. Warm, practically boiling over. ‘Not hot—’
‘You said you didn’t like hot toddies.’
Ah, so he did hear.
I take a sip and it zips down my throat like molten lava, making me splutter. A burning throat is brilliant though, dampens down the sexual urges a treat. ‘No, I don’t,’ I croak. I do some coughing and grunting, to clear my throat. ‘When did it, er, the boathouse fall down?’ A boathouse is safe ground. I can talk about a boathouse with no hint of desire or sexiness.
‘It didn’t.’
I frown at the brittle note in his voice and risk another sip of brandy which actually is quite nice. Mellow. Once you get used to the fierce heat. I think I need more. ‘What happened?’ I take another gulp.
‘Georgina happened.’ He looks quite stern.
‘Oh.’ Even with a good measure of brandy inside me, it’s still awkward.
There’s a long pause, then he fishes his phone out of his pocket and fiddles before holding it up for me to see.
His forearms are strong, muscled. Even his fingers are masculine. No hint of moisturiser or manicure there.
Teddy had very nice, clean nails. Smooth hands. Ash doesn’t. His are slightly rough. You’d know when he touched you. You’d know you were being touched.
I need to think about something else, I need… then I see the photo and it is easy to be distracted.
I can’t help but smile. The place is unbelievably cute, and not at all the simple wooden hut I’d imagined it would be. This is a magical hideaway that any young boy would want to play in.
I take the phone from him, so that I can enlarge the photo and look at it more closely. It is perched, one end firmly nestled in the land, the other hovering over the dark water of the lake. Lichen-spotted stone walls glow a golden brown in the evening sun, and the thick green-grey slates that cover the roof dip midway, giving it the look of an old man surveying the view. A rustic jetty stretches out into the lake, mirrored below its surface as though it is rooted in the depths.
It belongs, as though it has grown out of the landscape and has been there forever. Should be there forever.
‘Wow, it’s amazing.’ I smile at him. He’s looking wistfully down but glances up when I speak. ‘Can I have a copy? I’d love to paint that landscape with it actually there.’
He stares at me steadily for a moment, then snaps out of his memories and nods. ‘Sure. Have you got WhatsApp? Forward it on to yourself if you like.’
I hit forward, type in my number, then pass his phone back to him.
His fingertips brush against mine and there’s a spark, a tingle in the base of my stomach. He’s felt it as well, I’m sure he has, because he pauses instead of moving away.
Then he moves, brushing my damp hair back from my face. The touch of his fingers as they trail across my cheek makes me tremble – with anticipation, excitement? I’m not sure.
He’s got deep laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. His face is tanned so they show in relief. His nose is strong, but slightly crooked as though it might have been broken, his mouth uneven, one side more used to lifting than the other. His lips are a strong, firm line. So firm. Dry.
I run my tongue over my own dry lips and realise I’m holding my breath. I drag my gaze from his mouth and glance up, and he’s staring back so intently my heart pauses for a second.
And then he kisses me.
A light, fleeting touch that I have t
o lean into, follow, so that I don’t lose it.
‘Sorry, I should go.’ He pulls back.
‘No. Don’t.’ I want to prolong this. I want more. ‘Stay, I’ll make you some lunch. To say thanks.’ Shit, I shouldn’t be doing this. Talk about forbidden fruit. ‘Unless you’ve got stuff to do?’
‘No stuff.’ Our gazes are locked. ‘I don’t need to go. But maybe I should?’ There’s a question at the end. Another long pause. ‘Let you get over your shock? I don’t want you to think I’d take advantage.’
‘You’re not.’ My throat is parched. Sandpaper. ‘I’m fine, fine, I don’t need rest, but you can go if you want.’ I really, really don’t want him to go.
We’re adults. Why should he go just because I happen to be looking after the house where his ex, who hates him to bits, lives?
I’ll come back to that one later.
‘Maybe I should stay to make sure?’ His voice is soft, and it is more intimate than any conversation I’ve had with a man before. ‘Can’t have you dropping dead and Bella left to starve, can we?’
I gulp, moistening my dry throat. Talk about tension; there’s an undercurrent stronger than any riptide. I’m being dragged under and I don’t want to do a thing about it. ‘Oh, definitely not.’ I try a laugh, which comes out all weak and feeble. God, I’m pathetic.
But my brain is still functioning. I have had a brill idea. He is hot, he is incredibly sexy, so maybe I can seduce him, or let him seduce me, and keep him as a sex slave (sorry, backtrack, getting carried away) or just keep him, but sexually enthralled so he doesn’t want to leave (and seriously pushing the boundaries of believable here), then I can work without the worry of him nicking Bella.
If he’s single. But he’s acting like he is. And if he’s not I’ll go back to the sex slave scenario. But let’s be honest, what kind of girlfriend would let him loose to stalk his ex and try and nab her dog? They’d be with him, wouldn’t they?
I think the brandy has taken over my brain.
‘I could make you something to eat.’ He breaks away, stops looking at me and goes over to the fridge. Then he laughs, which instantly breaks the tension. ‘What the hell do you eat? Wine, cheese, eggs, gin?’
‘Eggs are good.’
‘Indeed.’ His tone is mock serious. ‘Omelette it is, then.’
‘Or we could just sit in the sun for a bit, have a glass of wine?’ We will have wine, lots, his judgement will go out of the window. There’ll be mad passion. He can stay, the dog problem will be solved, I can work in peace and be physically as well as mentally satisfied (sex helps with relaxation and is a stress reliever – fact!), and Georgina can sort the rest out when she comes home.
‘You need to line your stomach, boost your energy.’
He looks at me as he says the words and my heart hammers a little bit harder.
Who knew watching a man beat eggs could be a turn-on? Who knew eating an omelette could be the best foreplay a girl could get?
Oh, to hell with wine and the rest, forget it, I just want him.
I can’t stop watching his mouth move as he eats. He leans forward. ‘You’ve got something…’ Wipes his thumb over my mouth. Leaves it resting there. Hang on, who’s seducing who here?
My lips part, I can’t help myself. I let the tip of my tongue rest against his skin. He doesn’t move. It doesn’t matter who is seducing who.
I’ve never wanted to taste a man more in my life.
‘Not hungry?’
‘Not for food.’ I very deliberately put my knife and fork neatly down on the plate and stare straight back at him.
This time, when he leans in, he tangles his fingers in my hair and pulls me close.
This isn’t like an end-of-date, oh-we-should-have-a-quick-snog-now. Or a ‘why not?’ This is a want, a need. I don’t care if it’s shock from my soaking, or some kind of delayed reaction, or I’m just feeling sex-starved because I’ve not done it for months.
I just want to satisfy the craving. And this hungry kiss is just the start, the start of something amazing. He smells like the woodland I’ve just walked through, fresh, natural, deeply sensual and sense tingling. His touch is firm, definite, but so, so seducingly gentle.
His mouth…
Oh my God, I feel weak, light-headed, dizzy.
‘Becky.’ Nobody has ever said my name like that. I try and focus on him, drink in his face, his eyes, but it’s hard, so hard. ‘Becky.’ People have said my name that way before. ‘Becky!’ It is more like my mother says it. He also seems to be prodding me with his finger, not the part of his body I’d been looking forward to meeting…
Where am I? What happened? Bugger, what flipping time is it – it’s dark! I sit up abruptly, then regret it and sink back on the pillows. My pillows. In my, well, Georgina’s spare, bedroom. On my own.
One thing leads to another as they say.
Except they didn’t. I’m pretty sure they didn’t.
For one, I am still fully clothed. I put one hand on my leg to be sure. Then the other on my chest. Yup, definitely covered up, this delicious delight has not been unwrapped.
Disappointing.
Very disappointing.
Not that I consider myself irresistible, but that kiss! There was definitely a kiss; I remember a hot kiss. Tongues and tonsils. Lip mashing. Groping.
Oh my God. I remember everything now. I was planning on seducing Ash, having my wicked way. Then an omelette intervened, and I was powerless, he took over.
Then I passed out.
Yup, I am pretty sure that was what happened. Not from passion, or exhaustion from orgasm overload. Nope, I passed out from being plunged in icy water and ingesting half the lake.
My brain might have been panting for action, but my body copped out.
Shit. How unfair is that?
Or not. Passing out was a smart move.
What the hell was I thinking? What kind of moron would decide sleeping with the enemy was a smart move? Totally not. Totally lust-driven bad idea. I wasn’t thinking straight, what kind of dog-protector am I?
Frig.
‘Oh shit! Shit, shit, shit. Bella!’ I sit bolt upright in a panic, my heart pounding. He’s taken her, I know he’s taken her.
There’s a funny groan, and something kicks out at my ankle. There’s a black fluffy mound at the foot of the bed, indignant at being woken up. I sink back flat again, exhausted. I reach out one hand, so that it is resting on her. ‘Phew. Thank fuck for that.’
The pillow crinkles. Except it is not the pillow, it is a piece of paper at the side. A note.
You were breathing fine, checked all vital signs and thought you were safe to leave on your own! Sleep well.
* * *
PS: I do play by the rules, Bella was snoring at your side when I left – but I am going to take her back. A new day, a new dawn and all that – so watch yourself! A
I can imagine him grinning as he wrote it.
Dawn? I glance at my watch. Bugger. I have lost nearly a whole day. I haven’t done the work I wanted to or been to the art shop.
I feel knackered but force myself to sit up again and swing my legs off the bed. I’ll feel better when my feet are on the floor. That’s what Mum always said when I tried to skive off school.
I do feel surprisingly fine. Mothers are always right.
Downstairs the place has been tidied up. No sign of soggy footsteps or omelettes. It’s like it was all a (rather erotic in a weird way) dream. Except when I catch sight of myself in the kettle, my hair is a mess of ringlets and my eyeliner is smudged down nearly as far as my cheekbones.
Bella brushes against my leg and makes me jump.
‘Well, at least you’re still here, trouble! Good job. Bet you wanted to go after him, eh?’ She looks at me, big hazel eyes questioning. ‘Ash?’ She wags her tail and grins. Yes – this dog can grin, as well as nearly talk. Never underestimate a cockapoo! ‘Hmm, don’t get ideas. You are not to get dog-napped, okay? Deal?’ I hold a hand up high-five-sty
le, jokingly, and the bloody dog high fives me back. Well, I’ll be blowed! ‘Is this still part of the dream?’ She barks. I wince. Pretty sure I’m awake. ‘Okay, I’ll feed you—’ she barks again ‘—then you’ve got to let me work in peace for an hour or so.’
It’s not as easy to work as I thought it might be. I guess I’m still in shock from being submerged in a lake, and then manhandled by Ash.
I can’t help but touch my lips, remember what it was like to be kissed. Except it’s all a bit elusive, which is frustrating. I’d quite like to be able to remember properly.
I’d also quite like to know more about the boathouse, and what happened to it. I didn’t imagine Ash’s reaction; he was genuinely annoyed and upset. And what was his connection to it? Did it belong to Georgina’s parents, did they both play here as kids? Grow up together? There’s definitely a Georgina connection.
I have been doodling, idly sketching as I think about Ash and the strange day – and I realise I’ve drawn a vague outline of the lake before me. And the boathouse.
With a sigh, I prop my mobile phone up in front of me, Ash’s photo displayed on it. I half wish it was a photo of him, not a boathouse. I have a sudden urge to capture his amazing face, even though I’m not a portrait artist.
But instead I stare at the boathouse. And it is almost like it’s still there. I can sense it, see it.
Sometimes you just have to go where your imagination wants to take you. The Magic Pony can wait until tomorrow.
Chapter Twelve
‘No Dogs.’ What the hell do they mean? No dogs! This is the Lake District. Every other person is a hiker with a dog. Or two.
How can they have a ‘No Dogs’ sign on a shop?
Well, okay, I suppose a lot of people are in pairs. One is on dog duty, the other goes inside. But in my case that is no help at all. I can’t leave Bella outside. I’ve had too many close calls, and if Ash materialises and sees her tied up all alone, he’ll think all his birthdays have come at once. And I’ll have no defence when I explain to Georgina. She’ll rip me to shreds, hang me up to dry, blacken my name on every pet-sitting site in the country. But I need my gingerbread, and this is the only place they sell it!
The Dog Sitter: The new feel-good romantic comedy of 2021 from the bestselling author of The Wedding Date! Page 12