A Wanting Heart

by Christie Adams

  The fire and passion he’d seen in her the night before hadn’t been an out-of-character flash in the pan. The real Fiona had stepped out of the shadows and into the light. He knew she hadn’t explored that with another man, so out of curiosity, he’d asked how she’d known to do the things she’d done—her response was to tell him that romance novels had come a long way since she used to read them as a teenager. A very long way.

  “Scotland’s a long drive from all the way down here.”

  He grunted in agreement. “Close your eyes, I’m going to rinse your hair. I thought I’d follow you back to your place, you can leave your car there, pack what you need and we’ll take the Land Rover up to Scotland, maybe stop off in the Lake District for a night to break the journey.”

  “Ryan…” Her tone held a hint of wariness.

  “I know,” he said easily, squeezing the excess water out of her hair. “One day at a time. Pass me your conditioner and that comb, nearly done here.”

  He rubbed the conditioner through her hair, enjoying the relaxed intimacy as he proceeded to comb out the tangles. “I think I’d better tell you a bit more about the cottage—it’s in the middle of nowhere. Nearest village is about three miles away, but the scenery is spectacular, even in winter. It’s about a mile from a small loch. The downside is that if there’s bad weather at this time of year, it can get cut off.”

  “That’s why you want to take the Land Rover.”

  “Need to. The forecast’s a bit doubtful—could be snow in that area while we’re up there. Are you all right with that?”

  “What? The prospect of spending two weeks in a Scottish cottage with you, cut off from the rest of civilisation? What’s not to like?”

  She leaned back against him, her hand dropping to her side to stroke his outer thigh. For a moment, Ryan wished he’d changed the time for breakfast to nine o’clock. With a small, wry grin, he pulled himself together and put some distance between himself and Fiona, softening the gesture with a kiss to the side of her neck and a playful tug of her earlobe with his lips.

  “Why the hell did the lovebirds decide to get married in the middle of winter, anyway?” Ryan picked up the sponge and squeezed some shower gel on it, then began to wash Fiona’s back.

  “The church. They wanted that church, and they wanted it on a Friday or a Saturday this year. Saturdays were all booked up—they were lucky to get yesterday, especially with it being so close to Christmas.”

  Ah, the festive season. Having been on deployment when they were dating first time around, he’d never had the chance to celebrate with Fiona, and their two weeks away now would end just before Christmas Eve—unless there was a miracle and they got snowed in together. Fiona in his bed on Christmas morning would be the perfect gift.

  Dragging his mind back to the job at hand, he finished off rinsing her hair. “Okay, if you’re all done now, go and get your backside into the bedroom and wait for room service. I won’t be long.”

  “And who’s going to wash your back, Quinn?”

  His body clenched at the light in her eyes as she looked up at him. He wrapped his arms around her and lifted her, so that he could kiss her more comfortably, gratified to feel her lusciously long legs lock around his hips and thighs, while her arms found a secure home around his neck. “That job is exclusively yours, Miss Pearce,” he murmured against her lips.

  “Mmm, I’m all in favour of exclusivity. In that case, I’d better not be late for my new job, Mr. Quinn.” She smiled and let her lips tease his again. “I’d hate to disappoint my boss on the first day.”

  Somehow, Ryan couldn’t see that happening—she could never disappoint him. With his back to Fiona, he braced himself against the tiles, awaiting the sweet torment of her touch.

  She was using her hands, not the sponge, and he could feel every one of her fingers as she worked her way down his back. He was aware of a brief hesitation around his waist, and then her hands swept over his buttocks. He looked down at the erection jutting from his groin in instant response.

  “Turn round and I’ll do your front.”

  He cleared his throat. “Might not be a good idea right now, kitty-cat.”

  The endearment, coined after a particularly passionate session when she’d left scratches all over his back, slipped out before he could stop it.

  “I’ll be the judge of that, Quinn,” she told him in no uncertain terms. “Turn around.”

  In sheer disbelief, he watched her kneel before him, but there was nothing subservient about the way she took control of his cock. He leaned back against the tiles, making a silent, desperate plea that the cool, smooth surface would help him to remain on his feet while her mouth drove him crazy all over again.

  “Oh God, woman, are you trying to kill me?”

  ~~*~~

  A couple of hours later, Ryan was at the wheel of his ancient but reliable and much-loved Land Rover, heading for the motorway on the first stage of the long journey north to Scotland. Still on sick leave for the purposes of recuperation, when he’d planned to take this trip after the wedding, he’d never imagined that Fiona would be sitting beside him, her bags in the back next to his, along with both their laptops.

  It was just lucky that Fiona was able to take the time as well, but it made sense. She’d had the responsibility of organising Natalie’s wedding, and now that her little sister was safely on her way to Heathrow with Joel for their honeymoon—somewhere considerably warmer than Scotland, as far as Ryan was aware—Fiona was free to take some much-needed time for herself.

  “If the gear changes give you trouble with your shoulder, I can do some of the driving, give you a rest.”

  He glanced over at his travelling companion, his smile as warm as the look in his eyes that was just for her. “As I recall, you were never too happy behind the wheel of this old thing,” he reminded her.

  She smiled back. “Times change—so do people.”

  He wondered if she meant that she’d changed, in more ways than he’d witnessed so far. He also wondered if she could see anything different about him. He’d changed, but in ways only Fiona would ever see.

  “You know we still need to talk, a chuisle. Why you called me last night…why we split up three years ago…why neither of us has been with anyone else since.”

  “I know.” It was an acknowledgement, but lack of further comment indicated that she wasn’t inclined to have the discussion yet. That was all right—he’d wait for as long as it took.

  Ryan shifted the Land Rover down a gear, put his foot down and accelerated past a tractor—he’d be glad when they got to the motorway and could make some serious headway. “Are you going to run away from me again?”

  “No.”

  He believed her, but he could still hear the underlying nervousness in her voice. And then the stifled yawn. “Why don’t you get some rest? You didn’t get much sleep last night, darlin’.”

  He only winced slightly when she punched his thigh.

  ~~*~~

  As it happened, the journey north wasn’t too bad. Ryan stopped for a break just outside Birmingham, where Fiona insisted on taking over the driving for a while, so that he could get some rest. Considering how she’d almost always ducked out of driving the old Land Rover, her offer surprised him, but it quickly became apparent that the confidence she’d developed in the intervening years wasn't confined to the bedroom.

  The further they travelled, the more noticeable the drop in temperature became. Ryan toyed with the idea of breaking their journey for the night, but with the way the weather was looking, his instincts were telling him that they’d better carry on to their destination.

  “Do we need to pick up any supplies on the way?” Fiona asked at one point.

  He shook his head. “There’s a farm a couple of miles from the cottage. Mrs. Drummond, the farmer’s wife, has a key, and I asked her to stock up for me ready for today. If she’s run true to form, there’ll be enough to feed the five thousand.”

  “You’ve
not lost your appetite, then.”

  More teasing. He could get used to this, Ryan thought. It was as if she were continually dipping her toe in the water, before plunging in for the first time. He could only wonder why she was doing it. Didn’t she know that she didn’t need to break the ice with him, that he’d quite happily pick up where they left off?

  Well, maybe not exactly where they left off…he’d prefer to pick it up before everything went pear-shaped, and plot a new course from there. On the other hand, though, he was prepared to go along with anything Fiona wanted, so long as it kept her in his life and maybe, just maybe, led to the kind of relationship he’d always wanted with her. He’d been in it for the long haul back then, and as far as Ryan was concerned, that hadn’t changed.

  They carried on travelling north, until they reached the last service area before they’d be leaving the motorway and heading across country. Ryan was going to take over again for the last leg of the journey. When he saw Fiona stretching sinuously after getting out of the Land Rover, he went around to her and took her in his arms to rub her back. To his immense surprise, she leaned into him, accepting the comfort readily.

  “Mmm, that’s nice,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his waist while he massaged the kinks out of her spine. Her head was nestled against his shoulder as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

  “Maybe we should break the journey after all,” Ryan offered.

  “How much further do we have to go?”

  “We’re making good progress—another hour, an hour and a half at the most.”

  She tilted her gaze to meet his eyes—hers looked sleepy but happy. “If you can manage that, it hardly seems worth a stopover.”

  “Hey, I didn’t spend all those years in the Royal Navy and the SBS learning how to sit on my arse and do fuck all.” Laughter tempered his ferocious expression. “I can handle any situation.”

  She arched an eyebrow at him. “Doesn’t the Navy require water to function? In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s not a lot of the wet stuff around here.”

  He chuckled. “You really think I’m not as good on dry land as I am when things get…wet?”

  From the soft bloom on her cheeks and the mischievous sparkle in her eyes, it was clear that his deliberate double entendre had not gone unnoticed.

  ~~*~~

  When he’d told her the cottage was in the middle of nowhere, Ryan wasn’t kidding.

  Fiona shivered. She was sitting in the 4x4, waiting not-so-patiently for him to get the generator started. He’d only been gone a few minutes, but to her it felt like a lifetime, sitting in the dark and the dropping temperature, trying to stamp some life and warmth back into her frozen feet.

  Light suddenly burst from the cottage and Ryan came running out of the door.

  “Sorry it took so long,” he apologised, lifting her down from the Land Rover before she had a chance to descend gracefully—or not. “Bloody generator wouldn’t start.”

  “That would be the state-of-the-art generator that you had put in three months ago? The one with the almost infinite mean time between failures, quote, unquote?”

  “I claim operator error.” He grinned unashamedly. “Get yourself in, I’ll bring the bags.”

  On the way there, he’d warned her that the cottage wasn’t huge. That was true enough, but it was also cosy, and Fiona loved it on sight. The main room had a fairly spacious kitchen area at one end, with a large, almost rustic table and chairs. At the other end, clustered around the hearth, there was a low coffee table and a couple of comfortable-looking sofas, old and saggy, covered in cushions and throws. The place was a casual blend of masculinity and restfulness.

  Fiona could imagine all too well eating dinner at that table, and then spending the evening in front of a roaring fire, with Ryan’s arms around her while they talked or listened to music or made love. There was no TV, but he did have satellite broadband out of necessity, to keep in touch with his people and with the outside world, a satellite phone for backup and emergencies, and a sound system with a docking station for an mp3 player.

  Well, Ryan had said that he’d bought the place as a bolt-hole, so he could get away from it all occasionally, so it was hardly surprising that “all” included the intrusive presence of television. No matter—she could think of a lot of interesting ways to keep him busy…

  The door banged behind her; it was Ryan of course, laden with bags that he left on the floor, and laptop cases, which he put on the kitchen table before coming to her to wrap his arms around her.

  “Well, here we are. There’s not much beyond this, a ghrá. There are four doors through there.” He pointed to a doorway. “Bedroom on the right, bathroom first on the left, boot room/utility room/general dumping ground second on the left, and the door at the end leads to the yard. Across the yard is the outhouse where the generator is, along with the backup generator and freezer. We have lights, hot water, heating and sustenance—what more do you need?”

  What indeed? Fiona knew the answer to that question—one tall, devilishly attractive, former Royal Navy officer would do very nicely. On tiptoe, she kissed Ryan on the mouth and then told him to go and sit down and unwind. “I’ll make us a drink.”

  A short time later, armed with two mugs of her special hot chocolate, she found Ryan sprawled on one of the sofas, eyes closed, his boots an untidy heap on the floor. He’d plugged his mp3 player into the docking station and was letting the soothing classical music wash over him. Now that he could relax, he looked absolutely exhausted. Perhaps she shouldn’t have been quite so demanding last night…and this morning.

  Fiona put the mugs on the coffee table, then sat on the floor in the space between it and the sofa, so that she could take a closer look at Ryan. She didn’t think he was asleep yet, but he wasn’t far off. They’d eaten on the way up, so at least they didn’t have to think about preparing dinner.

  “Oh, Ryan,” she whispered, wishing she could tell him what was going through her mind, but it was too soon—she wasn’t ready to say the words yet, not when they came with all the baggage they implied. Instead, she picked up the hand closest to her and held it to her cheek. He looked so vulnerable like this, an image so at odds with the man he was—an image that brought all her protective instincts to the fore. Two weeks stretched ahead, with Christmas beyond; Fiona couldn’t help but speculate where this time together might lead them both.

  “Hey.” Fingers moved against her cheek. “You looked miles away then.”

  “I was,” she admitted with a sheepish smile. “Get your hot chocolate before it goes cold.” She passed him a mug.

  Sitting up, he took a hearty swig then stopped dead as he swallowed. “That’s not just hot chocolate. What the hell have you put in there?”

  “Tut. And you an old sea dog as well.” She sipped her own drink, enjoying the warming flavour of the dash of rum she’d added to both mugs. “I know it’s relatively early, but maybe bed would be a good idea. It’s been a long day, for you especially—you look done in.”

  She supposed she deserved the look Ryan gave her.

  “And whose fault would that be? I could barely walk out of the hotel this morning,” he complained.

  Fiona knew he didn’t mean a word of it. She could play that game too. “Let me think. Yours?”

  Another look. “How the hell do you work that one out? You made me lie there while you fucked me senseless.”

  She feigned complete innocence. “If you weren’t so attractive, I wouldn’t have had this compulsion to do that. See? All your fault.”

  “Thanks.” He looked all set to grumble some more but thought better of it. “Actually, bed’s not a bad idea.” He held out his hand. “Let’s go, a chuisle. Just don’t expect me to –”

  Fiona cut him off with an impulsive kiss. “All I expect is for you to lie with me and hold me in your arms, and sleep soundly till morning,” she assured him, her voice as soothing as a summer breeze.

  “I can do that.”
<
br />   The bed was big and old-fashioned, with sheets, blankets and an eiderdown—and already made, courtesy of the thoughtful Mrs. Drummond. Ryan stripped off in seconds, making himself comfortable in bed while he watched Fiona follow suit. As soon as she joined him, he gathered her to him, her back to his chest, his arms enfolding her, warming her with his not-inconsiderable body heat. She nestled back, fitting herself more snugly against him, and gave a supremely contented sigh.

  Ryan heard that sigh, and felt the woman he loved relax in his arms. He was tired—God, he was exhausted, truth be known—but he couldn’t sleep, not just yet.

  Fiona right here, right now, was more than he’d dared hope for. They’d been together for more than twenty-four hours, and there hadn’t been even the suggestion of any disagreement between them. She’d let him comfort her. They’d made love with even more passion than they’d shared right at the start of their relationship, and they’d driven a few hundred miles in a combination of companionable silence and carefree intimacy.

  It seemed to Ryan that today, he’d had the very best part of Fiona with him, with no trace of the demons that had haunted her when they were first together. He stroked the long hair he’d always adored, drawing it back away from her face, and took a deep breath, inhaling the heady mix of scents. The smell of her shampoo, the perfume she’d applied to her pulse points—a fragrance she’d never worn until he’d bought it for her birthday—he loved it all, but most of all he loved the essence of Fiona herself.

  He didn’t know if she was asleep yet, but she was certainly relaxed. Ryan found himself wondering what had happened in her life since they’d parted company. While he hadn’t been as far away from her as he’d wanted her to believe, he hadn’t been close enough to know any details. Not that he wasn’t interested—he was, but on the other hand, he hadn’t wanted to hear Joel tell him that she’d found happiness with another man.