The low throb of music from his room somehow beckoned, and his door was, as promised, open. She glanced inside as she walked past.
‘Sorry.’
‘For what?’
‘I’m just restless.’
‘Get a drink if you want…’ He was lying in the bed reading, hardly even looking up.
‘I’ll just go back to bed.’
‘Night, then.’
She just stood there.
And Ross concentrated on his book.
His air ticket was his bookmark. He’d done that very deliberately—ten days and he was out of here; ten days and he would be in Spain. And then, when he returned—well, then maybe things could be different.
‘Night, Annika.’
She ignored him and came and sat on the bed. They kept talking. And it was hard to talk at two a.m. without lying down, so she did, and even with her dressing gown on it was cold. So she went under the covers, and they talked till her eyes were really heavy and she was almost asleep, and then he turned out the light.
‘The music…’
‘It will turn itself off soon.’
She turned away from him; there were no curtains on the window, just the moon drifting past, and he spooned right into her. She could feel his stomach in her back, and the wrap of his arms, and it was sublime—so much so that she bit on her lip. Then he kissed the back of her head, pulled her in a little bit more, and she could feel every breath he took. She could feel the lovely tumid length of him, and just as she braced herself for delicious attack, just as she wondered how long it would be polite to resist, she felt him relax, his breathing even, as she struggled to inhale.
‘Ross, how can you just lie there…?’ He wasn’t even pretending; he really was going to sleep!
‘Relax,’ he said to her shoulder. ‘I told you, nothing’s going to happen—I had a very long bath.’
And she laughed, on a day she had never thought she would, on a day she had done so many different things. She lay in bed and counted her firsts: she had been cuddled, and she had hung up the phone on her mum.
The most amazing part of it all, though, was that for the first time in ages she slept properly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WAS midday when she woke up.
Annika never overslept, and midday was unthinkable, but his bed was so comfortable, and it held the male scent of him even though he had long since gone. Instead of jumping guiltily out of bed she lay there, half dozing, a touch too warm in her dressing gown, smiling at the thought that there was really no point getting up as she had nothing to wear—and there was no way she was getting on a horse today!
She hurt in a place she surely shouldn’t!
‘Afternoon!’ He pushed the bedroom door open, and the door to her heart opened a little wider too. He hadn’t shaved, and looked more gypsy-like, dark and forbidden, than she had ever seen him, but he was holding a tray and wearing a smile that she was becoming sure was reserved solely for her. She smiled back at him.
‘What did I do to deserve breakfast in bed?’
‘You didn’t snore, which is very encouraging,’ he said, waiting till she sat up before placing a tray on her lap, ‘and it’s actually lunch in bed.’
It was the nicest lunch in the world: omelette made from eggs he had collected that morning, with wild mushrooms and cheese. The coffee was so strong and sweet that if she had given orders to the chef at her mother’s home he could not have come up with better.
‘You’re yesterday’s news, by the way,’ Ross said. ‘In case you were wondering.’
She had been.
‘Lucky for you some bank overseas has gone into liquidation and the papers have devoted four pages to it—you don’t even get a mention.’
‘Thank you.’
She had finished her lunch, and he took the tray from her, but instead of heading off he put it on the floor and lay on top of the bed beside her.
‘I like having you here.’
‘I like being here.’
She could feel his thigh through the sheet. She felt so safe and warm and relaxed, in a way she never would have at the movies with him, or across the table in some fancy restaurant—so much so that she could even get up and go to the loo, brush her teeth and then come to the warm waiting bed.
‘I am being lazy,’ Annika said as she crossed the room.
‘Why not?’ Ross said. ‘You have to work tonight.’
And he might never know how nice that sentence was—for surely he could never understand the battle of wills, the drama it entailed, merely for her to work.
Ross accepted it.
It was warm. The sun was streaming through the window, falling on the crumpled bed. After hot coffee and the omelette, wearing a thick dressing gown under the covers was suddenly making her feel way too hot. She stared at him, wanting to peel her dressing gown off, to stand naked before him and climb in bed beside him. He stared back for the longest time. The air was thick with lust and want, but with patience too.
‘Sleep.’ He answered the heavy unvoiced question by standing up. He stood in front of her, and she thought he would go, but she didn’t want him to.
There was a mire of confusion in her mind, because it was too soon and sometimes she wondered if she was misreading him. What if he was just a very nice guy who perhaps fancied her a little?
And then he answered her fleeting doubt.
His hands untied the knot of her dressing gown, and she stood as he slid it over her shoulders. She saw his calm features tighten a fraction, felt the caress of his gaze over her body and the arousal in the air.
She was naked in front of him, and he was dressed, and yet it felt appropriate. She could not fathom how, but if felt right that he should see her, that they glimpsed the future even if it was too soon to reach for it. She felt safe as he pulled the bedcovers over her.
Only then did he kiss her. He kissed the hollows of her throat, sitting on the bed, leaning over where she lay. He kissed her till she wanted him to lie down beside her again, but he didn’t. He kissed her until her hands were in his thick black hair, her body stretched to drag him down, but he didn’t lie down. He just kissed her some more, till her breath was as hard and as ragged as his. It was just a kiss, but it brought with it indecent thoughts, because they both explored what they knew was to come. Their faces and lips met, but their minds were meshed too. It was a dangerous kiss, that went on and on as her body flared for him, and then he lifted his head and smiled down.
‘Go back to sleep.’
‘You are cruel.’
‘Very.’ He smiled again, and then he left her, a twitching mass of desire, but relaxed too. She had never slept more, never felt more cherished or looked after. The horrors were receding with every hour she spent in his presence.
She slept till seven, and then showered and pulled on her uniform. She made his bed before heading downstairs. He offered her some dinner but she wasn’t hungry.
‘I need to go home and get my agency uniform, and perhaps…’ she blushed a little at her own presumption ‘…perhaps I should pack a change of clothes for tomorrow.’
‘Here.’ He handed her a key. ‘I lie in on Sunday. Let yourself in.’ And he handed her something else—a brown paper bag. ‘For your break.’
He had made her lunch—well, a lunch that would be eaten at one a.m., after she had helped to get twenty-eight residents into bed and answered numerous call bells.
She deliberately didn’t look inside until then. She sat down in the staffroom and took the bag out of the fridge and opened it as excited as a kid on Christmas morning.
He had made her lunch!
A bottle of grapefruit juice, a chicken, cheese and salad sandwich on sourdough bread, a small bar of chocolate and, best of all, a note.
Hope you are having a good shift.
R x
PS I am no doubt thinking about you. R xx
He was thinking of her.
Even though she had slept for most of t
he day, it had been nice knowing Annika was there, and without her now the house seemed empty and quiet.
He had never felt like this about anyone, of that he was sure.
Gypsy blood did flow in his veins, and it wasn’t just his looks that carried the gene. There was a restlessness to him that so many had tried and failed to channel into conventional behaviour.
He didn’t feel like that with Annika.
Yet.
Her vulnerability unnerved him, his own actions sideswiped him—it had taken Imelda months to get a key; he had handed it to Annika without thought.
He was going away in little more than a week, digging deep into his past, thinking of throwing in his job…He could really hurt her, and that was the last thing he wanted to do.
Ross headed upstairs and stepped into his room. He smiled at the bed she had made. The tangled sheets were tucked into hospital corners, his pillows neatly arranged. If it been Imelda it would have incensed him, but it was Annika, and it warmed him instead.
And that worried him rather a lot.
CHAPTER TWELVE
SHE flew through the rest of her shift.
There would be no words of wisdom from Elsie, though.
As Annika flooded the room with light at six the following morning, Elsie stared fixedly ahead, lost in her own little world. And though, as Elsie had revealed, she enjoyed being there, this morning Annika missed her. She would have loved some wise words from her favourite resident.
Instead she propped Elsie up in bed and chatted away to her as she sorted out clothes from Elsie’s wardrobe, her stockings, slippers, soap and teeth. Then Annika frowned.
‘Drink your tea, Elsie.’
No matter Elsie’s mood, no matter how lucid she was, every morning that Annika had worked there the old lady had gulped at her milky tea as Annika prepared her for her shower.
‘Do you want me to help you?’
She held the cup to her lips, but Elsie didn’t drink. The tea was running down her chin.
‘Come on, Elsie.’
Worried, Annika went and found Dianne, the Registered Nurse.
‘Perhaps just leave her shower this morning,’ Dianne said when she came at Annika’s request and had a look at Elsie. Instead they changed her bed, combed her hair, and Annika chatted about Bertie and all the things that made Elsie smile—only they didn’t this morning.
Annika checked her observations, which were okay. The routine here was different from a hospital: there was no doctor on hand. There was nothing to report, no emergency as such.
Elsie just didn’t want her cup of tea.
It was such a small thing, but Annika knew that it was vital.
It felt strange, driving home to someone.
Strange, but nice.
Since her mother had refused to talk to her about her work since she had supposedly turned her back on her family to pursue a ‘senseless’ career, Annika had felt like a ball-bearing, rattling around with no resting place, careering off corners and edges with no one to guide her, no one to ask where she was.
It felt different, driving to someone who knew where you had been.
Different letting herself in and knowing that, though he was asleep, if the key didn’t go in the lock she would be missed.
She felt responsible, almost, but in the nicest way.
She dropped the bag she had packed on the bathroom floor, and then slipped out of her uniform and showered, using her own shampoo that she had brought from home. It felt nice to see it standing by his shampoo, to wrap herself in his towel and brush her hair and teeth, then put her toothbrush beside his.
The house was still and silent, and she had never felt peace like it.
Nothing like it.
She had never felt so sure that the choice she made now would be right, no matter what it was. The decision was hers.
She could step out of the bathroom and turn right for the spare room and that would be okay.
She could go downstairs and make breakfast and that would be fine too.
Or she could slip into bed beside him and ask for nothing more than his warmth, and that would be the right choice too.
It was her choice, and she was so grateful he was letting her make it.
His door was always open, and she stepped inside and stood a moment.
He needed to shave—his jaw was black and he looked like a bandit. His eyes were two slits and she knew he was deeply asleep. He was beautiful, dark and, no doubt—according to her mother—completely forbidden, but he was hers for the taking—and she wanted to take.
Annika slipped in bed beside him, her body cool and damp from the shower, and he stirred for a moment and pulled her in, spooned in beside her, awoke just enough to ask how her shift had been.
‘Good.’
And then she felt him fall back to sleep.
His body was warm and relaxed, and hers was cold, tired and weary, drawing warmth from him. She felt him unfurl, felt him harden against her, and then he turned onto his back. She lay there for a moment, till his breathing evened out again, and then she rested her wet hair on his chest and wrapped her cold foot between his warm calves. She slid her hand down to his hardening place, heard his breath held beneath her ear, and turned her head and kissed his flat nipple. Her hand stroked him boldly—because this was no sleepy mistake.
‘Annika…’
‘I know.’ She did—she knew they were supposed to be taking it slow, knew he was going away, knew it was absolutely bad timing—but… ‘I want it to be you.’
‘What if…?’
‘Then I still want it to be you.’
Her virginity, in that moment, was more important to Ross than it was to her. To him it denoted a commitment that he thought he wasn’t capable of making, yet he had never felt more sure in his life.
She traced his lovely length to the moist tip, and then he lifted her head, gently pulled at her hair so that he could kiss her. His hand was on her breast, warming it, holding its weight. Then he was stroking her inside, her warm centre was moist, and she was glad his mouth had left hers because she wanted to bite on her lip.
He kissed her low in the neck, a deep, slow kiss, and he was restraining himself in case he bruised her, but she wanted his bruise, so she pushed at his head, rocking a little against him as his lips softly branded her.
‘Put something on,’ she begged, because she wanted to part her legs so badly.
‘Are you sure?’ It was the right thing to say, but it seemed stupid, and Annika clearly thought the same.
‘Yes!’ she begged. ‘Just put something on.’
He was nuzzling at her breasts now, as his fingers still slid inside her, and his erection was there too, heavy on her inner thigh, teasing her as his other hand frantically patted at the bedside drawer.
She was desperate.
Little flicks of electricity showered her body. She was wanton as he suckled at her breast and searched unseeing in the drawer. Then she held him again, because she wanted to. She took his tip and slid it over her, and he moaned in hungry regret because he wanted to dive in. Side by side they explored each other’s bodies as still he searched for a condom.
‘Here…’ He waved it as if he had found the golden ticket, his hand shaking as he wrestled with the foil.
Still she held him, slid him over and over the place he wanted to be till it was almost cruel. He was so hard, so close, and she didn’t want him sheathed. She wanted to see and feel—but he had a shred of logic and he used it. He sheathed himself more quickly than he ever had, but he didn’t dive in, because he didn’t want to hurt her. He claimed her breast again with his mouth, and she cupped him and stroked him again. She teased him, but she could only tease for so long—and then she got her reaction: he was gently in. She was breaking every ingrained rule and it felt divine.
‘Did I hurt you?’ he checked.
‘Not yet.’
And he swore to himself that he wouldn’t.
Yes, he’d made that promise
more than a few times before, but this time he hoped he meant it.
She wanted more, and he pushed so hard into her that she had to lie back. She wanted to accommodate him, to orientate herself to the new position. Those little flicks of electricity had merged into a surge—she couldn’t breathe. He was bucking inside her and she was frantic. She thought she might swear, or cry out his name, but she held back from that. She could feel his rip of release and she wanted to scream, but she wouldn’t allow herself. She bit on his shoulder instead, sucked his lovely salty flesh and joined him—almost.
Not with total abandon, because she didn’t yet know what that was, but she joined him with a rare freedom she had never envisaged.
Then, after, he waited.
As she fell asleep, still he waited.
For the thump of regret, the sting of shame, for him to convince himself that he was just a bastard—but it never came.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HE WAS a very patient teacher—and not just in the bedroom. Round and round the field she bobbed, trot, trot, and she even, to her glee, got to gallop. Then Ross showed her the sitting trot, in which her bottom wasn’t to lift out of the seat. He did it with no hands, made it look so easy, but it was actually hard work.
Around Ross she was always starving.
‘It’s all the exercise!’
She laughed at her own little joke and he kissed her. Then, when she wanted so much more than a kiss, very slowly he took off her boots and she lay back. She could feel the sun on her cheeks and the breeze in the trees, and life was, in that moment, perfect. He sorted out her zip and she let him. In everything she was inhibited—at work, with friends, with family—but not with Ross.
In this, with him, there was no fear or shame, just desire.
‘There,’ she told him, because where he was kissing her now was perfect.
‘Again,’ she said, when she wanted it there again.
‘More,’ she said, when she wanted some more.
She pulled his T-shirt over his head, berating him the second his mouth stopped working so it resumed duty again.
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