by Lily Harlem
Rough ‘n’ Tough
By Lily Harlem
Rough ‘n’ Tough: Text copyright © Lily Harlem 2017. All Rights Reserved
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from Lily Harlem.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the author’s written permission.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
About Lily Harlem
Rough ‘n’ Tough by Lily Harlem
It’s safe to say Carmel was born with a silver spoon in her mouth. A life of privilege and luxury is all she’s known. But that doesn’t mean she’s been lucky in love and with a nasty ex on the loose her trip home to study for exams isn’t going well.
Until that is the sexy Irish gardener her father has employed steps into the foray. Then things get really interesting, really fast. Before she knows it she’s stealing out into the darkness for an adventure her imagination could never have dreamt up. One thing is for sure, Harper is as good as he is bad, and as kinky as he is sexy. Carmel will never be the same again.
Please note, this book contains a dabble into mild breath play and an Irish traveller who will charm your pants off!
Chapter One
Carmel allowed her sunglasses to slip down the bridge of her nose. Peering over them, she studied the sinfully gorgeous guy working in her garden. He was topless, his jeans sat low on his hips, and his shoulders and back the colour of freshly baked apple pie.
And damn, those tattoos. Maybe she’d led a sheltered life—actually there was no maybe about it, she had—but they were intricate, extensive and so freaking hot they should be illegal.
She swirled her pen over her fingers, lacing it between them, and nibbled on her bottom lip. Concentrating on her dissertation was impossible when there was such a tempting distraction, and that wasn’t good news. Not with deadline day and her final exams coming up in a matter of weeks.
Last chance, Daddy had said. She’d already had two gap years and then changed her mind about the course half way through so started again. It was turning into the longest degree ever and she was rapidly becoming one of the oldest students in her modules.
And now, just when it mattered most, all she could think about was the heart-stoppingly sexy guy chopping the hedgerow alongside their tennis court.
For the second day in a row he’d fascinated her considerably more than the theories she was supposed to be examining. It was the way his muscles bunched as he worked. How his skin shimmered with sweat. How his long dark hair fought to be free of the low ponytail he’d tied it in and he kept pushing the escapee strands over his ears.
She took a sip of her tonic and lime and settled her sunglasses back into place. It wouldn’t look good for him to know she was ogling his body at every opportunity she got—imagining what it would be like to dip her tongue into the hollow of his throat, press her cheek up against his stubbled jawline, grip his ass through his jeans and see if his buttocks were the perfect handful they appeared to be.
“Hey, Bart, go get that other saw, will ya.”
The sound of his voice, with his thick, treacly Irish accent, did strange things to Carmel’s body. She wriggled on the seat and forced out a shaky breath. The night before, lying in her soft white bed beneath Egyptian cotton sheets, she’d touched herself, made herself come, thinking of him. Just a mental image of his long, strong, body over hers, driving into her, was enough to ensure a quick, powerful orgasm shook through her system.
“Is it in the van, Harper?”
“Aye.”
She risked another look at the man she knew only as Harper. Her father had paid him a week’s wages to manage the overgrown shrubs in the garden. The weather was so hot here in Hereford though, that she wondered if Harper was regretting taking on such a physical job. His young helper, Bart, certainly seemed to be moaning about it a lot, though he wasn’t a slacker. Neither of them were.
As Bart ambled out of sight, alongside the house to the front drive, Harper wiped his forearm over his brow, flashing his dark underarm hair.
He looked straight at Carmel.
Quickly she looked away, and peered at the lecture notes set before her. God, if just his gaze upon her made her blood heat, her nipples tighten, what the hell would it be like if he actually stripped her naked and fucked her hard and fast.
Not that she’d ever know.
Girls like her didn’t get fucked by men like him.
That wasn’t how it was.
Daddy would have a fit.
She read the lines she’d pondered over for an hour, their meaning slipping through her brain like dust on a breeze. She just couldn’t form them together, each sentence a tumbleweed drifting past her. Damn the guy who’d knocked on their door offering a good deal on garden maintenance just when her father had been saying how overgrown some of the hedges were. If only he’d driven past, or they’d been out, then maybe she’d be getting on with her work.
“Can I bother ya for some water, Miss?”
She looked up.
Harper stood before her holding an empty bottle. He tipped it up, as if proving there was nothing left inside.
“Yes, of course.”
He’d stepped under the red canopy that stretched over the table she was working at and it had illuminated his body in a scarlet glow.
He smiled, flashing neat teeth, and nodded at her notes. “Sorry, you’re busy.”
“Not really.” She shrugged and stood.
He passed her the bottle. As he did so she caught his scent. Raw male, fresh sweat and something she couldn’t identify. It was spicy. Ginger perhaps? Sandalwood? Whatever it was she enjoyed it settling in her nose and breathed a little deeper
“Seems you are. Been sat for two days with your head in books.” A shard of sunlight, bouncing off the kitchen window caught on the gold hooped earring he wore, from it hung a small cross. She noticed, now that she was closer to him, the tattoo on his neck was of three feathers, starting behind his ear they fell downward to his collar bone, the ink black as night.
“I have exams coming up.”
“Ah, you’re one of those.” He nodded knowingly.
“What does that mean?” She hadn’t meant to inject so much indignation in her voice, but it had just come out. Perhaps it was because she was self-conscious of their very obvious, and very different backgrounds.
He grinned, a cocky but oh-so-sexy smile that tilted his lips and sent creases darting from the corners of his eyes. “I just mean, you’re a clever sort, not like me.”
“I’m sure you are…clever that is.”
“Nah. Didn’t bother with school.”
“But you must have?”
“Nope. Me ma and pa were always on the move. Where they went, I went. Showed up a few times to keep them from getting banged up, but no one could be assed to teach me stuff.”
“So you can’t…” She paused, the words sticking on her tongue. Was he illiterate?
“What?”
“It doesn’t matter.” She held up the bottle. “Water or squash? I think we have lemon and barley,
or perhaps some elderflower.”
“Water’s grand.” He shrugged and let his gaze slip from her face to her chest.
She wore a pink v-neck vest top and a necklace an ex had bought her. It was a small butterfly with diamonds on the wings—one of her many Tiffany & Co pieces. She didn’t like the guy who’d bought it for her anymore, not one bit, but she loved the necklace so still wore it.
She twirled the pendent between her fingers, somewhat of a habit.
“That’s nice,” he said, nodding at her hand.
“Thanks.”
“Pretty like you.”
His words were unexpected and brought a rush of heat to her cheeks. “Oh, well…I…”
He chuckled and rubbed his fingertips over the centre of his chest, flattening the damp patch of hair that sat at his sternum. To the right of the hair, across his right pectoral was another tattoo, this one of a skull, atop it a crow cawing and its wings half outstretched. “Sorry, I’m one of those blokes who says what I think. Guess me ma and pa didn’t teach me to hold my tongue either.”
She swallowed, a prickle of sweat formed at her temples. “I’ll er…get you some water. Does your friend want some, too?”
“Nah.”
She turned and headed through the French doors into the kitchen. The huge white room was shaded and she was grateful for the cool air draping over her hot skin. Harper was a man who made her internal heating crank up to full temperature. He shouldn’t, though, a man who looked like him, spoke like him and looked at her the way he did was dangerous, more than dangerous, he was bordering on lethal.
She ran the tap, placing the tips of her fingers beneath the gush of water.
What was she thinking? He didn’t look at her in any way. He’d simply asked for some water, a perfectly reasonable thing to do on one of the hottest days of the year.
She glanced out of the window and watched him walk to the edge of the patio and look out over the expansive garden and into the distance. The rolling hill view was one all her father’s friends envied.
He tugged at his jeans, pulling them up a little and covering the black waistband of his boxers. The denim cupped his buttocks making it perfectly possible to imagine their shape unclothed.
She put his water bottle beneath the stream from the tap and studied the dip of his spine. It glittered with sweat and had another feather set in the deepest groove of his back.
What is it with the feathers?
And what was it with him?
Why did she find this guy, the exact opposite of the type of man she usually dated, so damn attractive? Her skin goosebumped with the thought of pressing up against him, her nipples tingled at how it would feel to slide against the hot flesh on his back, kissing her way around his neck, over his ink, taking him into every one of her senses, feasting on him, filling up on him.
“Shit!” The water overflowed, several large drips splashed upward, hitting her face and landing on her top.
Hurriedly, she turned the tap off, then put the lid on his bottle and dried the outside of it. She dabbed at her cheeks and t-shirt with the tea towel. A large wet patch sat over her right nipple.
With a deep breath, she headed back out into the heat. He must have sensed her because he turned.
His eyes were narrowed against the sun but as he stepped under the canopy to join her, they relaxed.
“Here.” She handed him the bottle. “If you need anything else, just ask. Anything at all.”
“Anything at all?” He bit on his bottom lip, as if suppressing a grin, and glanced at the wet patch on her top.
A voice came across the lawn. “Hey boss, I got it.”
“Good lad.” Harper lifted his gaze to Carmel’s and kept it there. A long, sultry look that was as hot as the midday sun.
“Have you er…got much more to do?” she asked. “You know, down there, in the bushes.”
“Another day, day and a half, trimming those bushes.” He let his grin escape. “What about you? With your books.”
She pulled her chair out and gestured over the papers on the patio table. “Oh you know, it’s a continuous thing, studying, what with exams, lectures, dissertations.”
“Sounds a drag.”
“It can be.”
“So no time for fun.”
“Fun?”
“Yeah, you know. Stuff that makes you smile, relax…feel good.”
“Well yes, of course, I have plenty of time for fun. I play polo most weekends and Daddy just booked skiing for next Christmas, that’s fun.”
“Polo. Skiing.” He shrugged. “Whatever yanks your chain, I guess.”
The way he’d said her two hobbies made her guts twist, as if she’d been so predictable with her answer she shouldn’t have even bothered speaking. “And what yanks your chain?” She pressed her lips together, barely trusting herself not to say pirating, or looting, or robbing banks—because he certainly looked roughish enough to be capable of all of those things.
“I like horses, too.”
“But not polo.” She laughed, a ridiculous high-pitched sound that she hated.
“Nah, not polo.” He didn’t elaborate. “Never been skiing though, not sure I’d like the cold.”
“It’s very beautiful if you hit the right place in the Alps.”
“Alps? That’s mountains right?”
“Yes. Only a short flight.”
“Wouldn’t get me on a plane.”
“No?” She frowned. “So how to do you travel.”
“On my legs.” He slapped his hand on his right thigh and gave her a wink. “Thanks for the water.”
“You’re welcome, Mr Harper.”
“It’s just Harper.”
“Oh, okay. Harper.”
“And you’re Carmel Harvey-Jones, right?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Er, yes. But…?”
“I like to know who I’m working for, lovely.” He shrugged. “More to the point, I like to know who owes me money.”
“You’re working for my father. I’m just staying here, studying. I’ll be back in Oxford soon, for my exams.”
“This is your home as much as your father’s.” His gaze slipped down her body in a way that wasn’t at all respectful, lingering on her chest and then openly scanning to her feet and back up. “And when he’s not here, you’re top dog.”
Any other guy she’d give a piece of her mind for caressing her with his eyes and calling her a dog. But this one…well…she had no idea what shit that might get her in. He’d thrown her off kilter, her usual calm self-assurance had evaporated.
She shifted from one foot to the other and cleared her throat.
Harper turned and stepped down from the patio. He had a swagger to his step and drank from his water bottle as he went. The sun bounced off his jet-black hair and when he walked over the gravel path, his boots crunched into the stones with each step.
Damn it. Why did she feel such fascination, attraction for a man who was the exact opposite her parents wanted her to settle down with? The Henrys and Williams of the world were her destiny, not some roaming Irish traveller, working his way around the country hand to mouth.
But the Henrys and Williams didn’t ooze sex appeal, or mystery, or set a flame inside her just with a look and a smile.
Oh yes, there was no doubt about it, Harper was as off the scale unsuitable as he was dangerous. And it was not lost on Carmel, that the combination was more than yanking her chain, it was hitting the spot, big time.
Chapter Two
Carmel spent another two hours happily watching Harper as he worked, though she pretended to be studying a research paper and writing notes.
The afternoon stretched on, so hot even the birds had hidden themselves away in the shade. Eventually thoughts of a swim called to her. Harper was working around the other side of the tennis court now and her view wasn’t as pleasant. She figured she wouldn’t be missing much if she cooled off.
So she slipped into her two-piece black costume and we
nt to the pool on the westerly side of the house. It was an indoor pool but one wall consisted entirely of large folding doors that opened to the outside, making it perfect for any weather.
She pushed them open and the scents of a balmy English afternoon floated in. After a quick shower, she dived into the deep end of the pool. Water flooded her ears and embraced her hot body. She kicked out and released a few air bubbles from her mouth as she stared ahead through the fuzz of the water.
The tiles in the pool were pale blue and an orange mosaic of an octopus had been set into the base. She stayed under the water until she’d gotten past the last tentacle, then surfaced. Dragging in a lungful of air, she broke into a crawl and did several fast lengths. Swimming was one of her favourite things and she couldn’t imagine not having a pool when she came home form uni. Carmel had lived in several houses over the years, each one bigger than the last as her father’s investment business had grown from strength to strength. She didn’t think he’d ever move them again, though, this was the biggest house in the village. He’d just had a helipad installed at the far end of the driveway to make it easier for getting to London and Cheltenham. And now with the acquisition of the land to the right and behind the house, there was no need to worry about anything being built there and interrupting the views.
Slowing to a lazy breaststroke, her thoughts wandered to Harper again. She wondered where he lived. What kind of home he had. She imagined him with an old-fashioned horse-drawn carriage. One that was pulled by piebald horses with feathered fetlocks and brass bells on their harness. The caravan with an arched roof, flowers in window boxes and pails, watering cans and other paraphernalia hanging on hooks. There’d be a soft bed, big enough for two of course, and a small stove with simple cooking equipment. The whole thing a far cry from her luxury house that was so big an army could move in and there’d still be room for more.
Would his caravan smell of him? The same tangy, male scent she’d caught on the breeze when he’d come to stand near her. And did he share it with anyone? No. She liked to think he didn’t. He wore no ring on his left hand so surely that meant he was single. As free to do what he wanted as a bird on the wing. If he wanted to move on, he could. Stay for a while, that was fine, too.