Getting Dirty

by Rachael Stewart

  I’m soaring, my body rigid and pulsating. And then he cries against me, shuddering with his own release, his forehead pressed against my clavicle, his mouth pressed into my skin. I feel so close to him in that moment, with his cock buried deep, his head so tight against me, his arms enclosing me. The need to cry is back, but it’s full of happiness.

  I wet my lips, find my voice. ‘How’s that for a good morning?’

  His breath moves down my front and he breaks away just enough to say, ‘The best.’

  And then he’s pulling me back against him again, delivering a kiss to my skin before pressing his cheek to my chest.

  We stay like that for what feels like for ever, and yet I’m still disappointed when he pulls back to look up at me, his hands raking through my hair.

  ‘Your breakfast will be cold.’

  I sweep a kiss over his lips. ‘It’ll still be perfect.’

  He laughs softly and lifts me away. Dutifully, I sit back against the headboard, give him the chance to disentangle himself from the covers, and then pull them up just enough to cover my breasts.

  I give him a wicked grin. ‘I’m ready to be fed.’

  ‘You’ll be waiting a little while, then; a man needs to recharge.’

  I laugh. ‘You know that’s not what I meant.’

  ‘That’s a shame.’ He rises off the bed and offers me the tray. ‘I’ll be back in a second—don’t eat it all without me.’

  And then he pulls his lounge pants off the floor and heads into the bathroom. To clean himself up, I’m sure. But there’s a look on his face a split second before he turns away—that same pain I read in the underground garage.

  He’s suffering too. And I don’t know why.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I ENTER THE BATHROOM, walk straight up to the cold tiled wall and press my head against it. I feel sick. I love her. I know I do. There’s no denying it now. I don’t want to wake up another morning without her here in my bed—our bed.

  So much rides on the truth coming out and I’m scared. I haven’t been fucking scared in years. I haven’t felt the pain of loss in a decade, and I have no idea how I’ll come out of this in one piece if she rejects me.

  I take a breath and push away from the tiles. Standing here isn’t going to help.

  I clean up and pull on my bottoms. I take one last check in the mirror and then, happy that I don’t look like the fucked-up idiot I feel, I return to her.

  She’s like a blushing bride, sitting up in bed after a night tangled in the sheets with her man, eagerly scoffing a piece of toast. And there goes my nausea again. Over a potential future that I want so badly and fear I can’t have. The kind of future I haven’t wanted since Jess upped and left.

  ‘This is so good.’

  She has her mouth full as she says it and I feel a tickle dance over the fear. My laugh is giddy and light and everything I need in that moment.

  ‘I’m glad Her Ladyship approves enough to forget her finishing school manners.’

  ‘I didn’t attend a finishing school. How old-fashioned do you think I am?’ Her cheeks flush deeper, her eyes glisten bright as she places a hand over her mouth. ‘But, yes, she does approve.’

  I walk to the bed and climb in beside her, taking a coffee mug off the tray still on her lap. I can’t face eating. I’m scared the nausea will make a return pretty swiftly.

  ‘You ready to talk about what happened yesterday?’ I ask, lying back against the headboard and raising the mug so I can breathe in the familiar aroma, using it to gain a sense of calm.

  She chews her food slowly, raking a hand through her hair as her eyes lose their spark. I wish I’d waited until after breakfast, but if I have my way I’ll be taking her home to pack a bag and then getting the hell out of the city.

  ‘My brother...my stepmother—’ She swallows like it pains her to do so, her tears instant and crippling. ‘They want me to convince Granny she would be better off in a hospice under twenty-four-hour care.’ She shakes her head and starts to tremble.

  Oh, God.

  I take the tray from her lap, slide it out of the way and pull her into me. She comes easily, her head tucking beneath my chin, the tears, the sobs, racking her body as she lets go.

  I rock her and hush her softly, murmuring words of encouragement—It’ll be okay... It’ll be okay—but will it, when all is said and done?

  The fraud-filled boulder swells large in my chest, suffocating, heavy. I close my eyes and force myself to breathe through it.

  ‘I don’t want to do it—it’s not fair, and it’s not right,’ she rambles through her tears. ‘They just want life to continue like nothing’s wrong... They don’t care that being at home is a comfort to her...that it’s important... They only care what effect it has on their plans, on their stupid summer soirée.’

  ‘You don’t need to do anything you don’t want to,’ I whisper into her hair, my lips brushing over its softness. ‘You don’t.’

  ‘But I’m just tired of it—tired of trying to act like everything’s okay, like I can cope, when it isn’t and I can’t.’ She sniffs and looks up at me, wiping her nose, her eyes, with the back of her hand. ‘I never fight with her.’

  ‘With who?’

  ‘My stepmother. It’s not worth it. But last night I got so angry I walked out on them—created a scene, according to her.’

  ‘I’m sure you didn’t create a scene.’ Wet strands of hair cling to her blazing cheeks and I brush them back as I try to reassure her. ‘And even if you did, what does it matter? You have every right to be upset.’

  She folds herself back into me.

  ‘Granny wouldn’t approve. Laurens don’t cause a scene. Laurens need to be above reproach. Laurens don’t show their feelings. Laurens sport a stiff upper lip at all times.’

  It comes out in a controlled flurry as she channels her grandmother, letting rip the pressure she’s permanently under. I can feel her physically cracking under the words and I’m taken over by a need to protect her, to take her away, to give her a break even for a few days.

  ‘It’s not healthy to bottle everything up.’

  ‘But I have to. I have to keep up appearances. I’m not going to let her down—not while she’s still here.’

  ‘Then let me take you away—give you time to recover, regain your strength.’

  She’s looking up at me, wide-eyed, shaking her head.

  ‘I can’t go away—not with her so sick.’

  ‘A few days won’t hurt.’

  ‘But what if my brother has her kicked out while I’m gone?’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘You can’t know that.’

  I can, because I’ll have people watching him. But I can hardly tell her that.

  ‘Does she have a close friend? Someone you trust who could come and stay for a couple of days?’

  ‘There’s Grace... She’s been visiting quite a bit; she’d come if I asked her.’

  ‘There you go.’

  ‘But you said we have to keep under the radar—your job, my...my notoriety...’

  ‘You don’t need to worry about that. The place I have in mind is quiet, peaceful. We’ll hardly see a soul.’

  She sighs softly and puts her arms around me, cuddling in. ‘It sounds perfect.’

  ‘It is.’

  Her head-shake is softer now. ‘But it doesn’t feel right, leaving when she’s so ill...’

  ‘I’m talking a few days at most—a chance to recharge. You owe it to yourself and you owe it to your grandmother to look after your health too.’

  She goes quiet and I wonder if I’ve lost her, if the idea is too much. I hold my breath as I wait.

  Eventually she nods and gives me the lightest squeeze. ‘Okay.’

  Okay. I mentally repeat that as I relax and press a kiss to her head, staying t
here as I breathe her in and think.

  The first part of my plan is in motion. I hope the rest can come my way as easily.

  Although, I don’t need easy—I just need her.

  If she’ll still have you when the truth is out...

  * * *

  ‘Where are we going?’

  I packed as he instructed—warm clothing, enough for a couple of nights away—but I haven’t actually asked until now. I think part of me is stunned that I’m actually doing it. I’m not impulsive. I don’t just pack up on a whim. But one look at Granny’s face when I told her I’d been invited away and I knew it was the right thing.

  She actually smiled and squeezed my hand, said it was a lovely idea and told me that she and Grace were looking forward to the peace and quiet. Ever a Lauren, ever controlled, ever in charge.

  I even saw Philip—albeit briefly. But it was long enough for me to make my thoughts clear once more on his attempt to move Granny elsewhere.

  When I told him I’d be gone for a couple of days, he smiled. I don’t want to think about what that smile meant, but I have assurances from Grace that she’ll tell me if anything untoward happens in my absence, and I don’t think Philip would dare—not if he wants to avoid the fuss I’d kick up on my return.

  I shake off the negative direction of my thoughts and look at Ash in the driver’s seat. He still hasn’t answered my question.

  ‘Come on—where are we going?’

  ‘It’s a surprise.’ He smiles at me as he says it and then looks back to the road. ‘You should lie back, chill... Although, don’t get too comfy—we’ll be getting out soon.’

  ‘You have met me, right? I don’t “chill”.’

  His smile becomes a grin. ‘It’s time you learned.’

  I harrumph and look out of the passenger window at the rain, which won’t stop falling and is making the afternoon feel much later than it is.

  ‘I’m beginning to wish I’d said we could go away for longer—then you’d have had us in the Bahamas, or anywhere but here. It’s so grey and miserable...’

  ‘It won’t feel as bad when we’re up in the air.’

  ‘When we’re what?’ I turn to him. ‘What do you mean?’

  His grin is still there, riding strong. ‘You’ll see.’

  Less than an hour later, we’re standing on a private airfield with a small aircraft before us and no pilot.

  ‘Ash, what’s going on?’

  ‘You ready for some fun?’

  ‘Fun? In that?’ I point a shaky finger at the thing, which looks more like a large child’s toy.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re afraid of flying.’

  I spit out the rain that’s gathered over my lips and pull my hood further forward, tugging my coat tighter around my neck. Our bags have already been taken on board and I know it’s just me he’s waiting for.

  But seriously...?

  ‘No, not afraid of flying. But that... In this.’ I fling a hand around me at the weather.

  ‘It’s quicker this way—no traffic.’ He holds out a hand to me. ‘Come on. We’re getting soaked.’

  I slip my hand in his, but I don’t move.

  He gives me a little tug. ‘Trust me.’

  I take in the zippy-looking aircraft, bright shiny red, and I’m still convinced it’s more toy than vehicle, but I trust him—I really do. I give the ground one last longing look and then climb into the cockpit, looking for a way into the back.

  ‘Sit down,’ he calls up.

  ‘Here?’ I say, pointing to the two seats that look far too pilot-worthy for me.

  ‘Yes.’

  I can tell he’s enjoying this; his eyes have the playful glint to them that normally precedes a cheeky make-out session, not a flight. I sit my arse down as he closes the door. My gaze sweeps over the multitude of instruments...screens, buttons, joysticks, levers...

  Oh, crap.

  I’m so distracted I don’t realise I’ve lost sight of him outside, but then he’s back, and the door is opening on the other side as he climbs in right alongside me.

  My eyes widen. ‘You’re flying it?’

  He shakes his head, eyes still dancing. ‘My ego really isn’t safe around you, is it?’

  I can only smile as butterflies kick up in my belly. I’m nervous—I can’t deny it. But as he slips into pilot mode and starts chatting to someone I can only assume is air traffic control while navigating his phone and what looks to be a flight plan, I admit to becoming awestruck.

  He catches me staring and gives me a lopsided grin as he speaks into the headset. He passes me a similar contraption to wear. Then he helps to strap me in, his hands brushing over me, and all the time there’s a look of concentration on his face that I find as sexy as his come-to-bed look.

  If not for the fact that he’s talking, I’d pounce—and, judging by the flash in his blue eyes as he settles back into his seat, he knows it too.

  I force myself to behave and let him get on with piloting, but I have so many questions. Like, how he learned to fly, why he learned, whose plane is this...? But they can wait—at least until we’re airborne.

  And even then I’m mesmerised. As we hit what he tells me is cruising altitude, I can’t take my eyes away from him—the way he navigates the various controls, watches the screens, the gobbledygook he speaks into the headset. He’s so confident and in control.

  Who’d have thought flying could be a form of foreplay?

  I’ve never understood the fascination with a man in a pilot’s uniform before, but now I’ll be right up there with heart eyes.

  ‘Flying is in the Livingston blood.’

  His voice pipes up through my headset and subconsciously I touch my fingers to the ear pad, my cheeks flushing at my inner ramblings.

  ‘My father learned for fun, but his father was a pilot in the RAF, and his father before that. There’s nothing quite like taking to the skies and getting out of the rat run below.’

  I smile as I imagine him as a child watching his father in awe, just as I’m watching him now.

  ‘You want to try?’

  He eyes the joystick—if that’s even what it’s called—and I laugh, shaking my head. ‘I’m happy to watch.’

  ‘Maybe some other time?’ he asks, hopeful, and my body warms.

  My smile is all the answer he needs.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I PULL THE plane into the Livingstons’ private hangar, my body abuzz.

  I knew she’d love it. The second the Scottish Highlands had come into view, her attention had turned to the landscape, pleasure written across her face.

  ‘That was pretty special,’ she raves as I cut the engine, her eyes still bright, her cheeks warm and rosy. She already looks more relaxed, happy.

  ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’

  I unfasten my harness and lean across to help her do the same. Our hands collide and her eyes shine into mine as she wets her lips. I don’t know whether it’s an intentional move to pull me in but I’m there, kissing her. My lips are soft upon hers, nothing urgent or desperate. We have time together now. No risk of the outside world looking in, no interfering. Just us.

  Her mouth parts willingly, her excited little whimper encouraging me on. I smooth a hand through her hair, my thumb across her cheek, and keep on kissing her. Soft, tender, loving... Its effect is all the more powerful below my waist, around my heart. I don’t want to pull back, and I don’t want to—

  Rat-a-tat-tat.

  She freezes. The sound comes from the glass behind me.

  So much for no interfering, no outsiders...

  But you chose this place—and he’s no outsider.

  I let out a breath and press my forehead to hers.

  ‘Who’s that?’ she whispers like he’ll overhear.

  I shake my head and smile. ‘The
guy who gave me the flying bug.’

  Her lips part...her eyes widen. ‘You brought me to meet your father?’

  Yeah, I guess I did.

  Not that I thought about the magnitude of that at the time—only that it was the right place for her. She’s thinking about it, though; I can see it in her face.

  ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Yes—no. Yes.’ She smooths out her jeans, her hair, her cheeks. ‘You could’ve warned me.’

  I grin, understanding her hesitation and adoring her all the more for it. ‘You look perfect.’

  She does. My father is going to love her. My mother would have too.

  My head spins with the realisation, my heart pulses, too big for my chest. Fear is quick on its tail. If I have to give her up will I have to endure what my father did when he lost Mum? Is it the same kind of grief?

  ‘I don’t believe you...not when you’re looking at me like that.’ She presses herself back in her seat like she’s trying to hide from my father, who’s rapping on the glass again. ‘What’s wrong?’ she asks.

  ‘Nothing at all.’ I snap myself out of it, snatching a quick kiss to prevent any further protestations from her. ‘But we’d best open up before he tries to clamber in and meet you himself; this is going to be fairly novel for him.’

  ‘Novel?’ she says as I lift her door handle and push it open.

  ‘You’ll see.’ I turn to open my own door and spy Dad’s grinning face through the glass.

  Here goes...

  The door lifts up. ‘It’s about time, you kids.’

  Kids? Really?

  ‘Hey, Pop.’

  I clamber down and give him a hug, pounding his back as he does mine and whispering, ‘Behave, okay?’

  His eyes flash mischievously. ‘Always.’

  ‘Er...gentlemen?’ Coco’s voice is faint as she leans through the cockpit. ‘Fancy giving a lady a hand?’

  I start to move, but Dad’s like lightning as he heads around the plane. ‘I’ve got this, son.’

  I laugh. ‘Never seen you move so fast!’

  He shoots me a look and I hear Coco’s tantalising giggle.