by Karen Kincy
He squints a little. “How?”
“With their bare hands.”
“Don’t catfish have teeth?”
“I have no idea.”
He laughs low in his throat. “I’d rather keep my hands for better purposes.”
I cross my legs, my thighs pressed together. I’m not sure if he wanted to sound flirtatious or if my hormones are on overdrive.
“Where are we headed for dinner?” I say.
“The Cock and Bottle.”
“What?” I stare at him. He’s not blushing this time.
“The local pub,” he says mildly.
“Are you fucking kidding me? There’s a pub called the Cock and Bottle in Upper Dicker? What is this, a porno?”
The blush creeps back into his face. “A cock like the bird. Cock-a-doodle-doo?”
“Keep saying cock.” I wiggle my eyebrows.
Bram’s hands tighten on the steering wheel. He keeps his gaze on the road. He’s more than a little uptight, isn’t he?
“It’s a very nice pub,” he says.
I’m not interested in very nice, and I’m not sure why he can’t tell. Maybe he’s clueless. Maybe he can’t see trouble coming.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. The Audi spits gravel and hits the paved road. Bram gives it more gas, cruising down the flats, speeding through the curves. He drives with fierce concentration. Cool leather cradles my back. My legs tremble with the engine’s purr, and I have to remind myself to breathe.
I smile at him, but he doesn’t smile back.
15
Bram
My knuckles whiten on the wheel. Cassia keeps looking sideways at me, and it’s more than a little distracting. It’s rather hard to drive with an erection. It’s not impossible, yet, but it will be if she keeps talking about cocks.
“Cassia,” I say.
“Yes?” She manages to sound innocent.
“I have to apologize.”
“For what?”
Heat scorches my face. There must be a polite way to phrase this. “For doing what I did.”
She stares out the window for a moment of excruciating silence. “I’ve done so much worse than that, Mr. Winterbourne.”
“Have you?”
“Bram.” She glances sideways at me. “One kiss won’t kill you.”
Jesus Christ, she isn’t talking about me wanking off by the window. Lucky me. She still believes me to be a gentleman.
“This doesn’t have to be complicated,” she says. “I’m not asking you to marry me and buy a house and make babies.”
I twist my mouth. “God forbid.”
“I’m not looking for commitment. This isn’t about love.”
Her blunt honesty takes me off guard. “Lust, then?” I say, mildly enough.
“Why else are you wining and dining me?”
My cock would answer in the affirmative, but my brain takes control. “That’s what I like. A good meal with good company.”
She leans with her knuckles on her chin. “And after?”
“We see where things take us.”
“Sex doesn’t have to be personal.”
I clench my jaw. “There are always emotions involved.” And there always have been.
“Maybe if you’re making love.” She curls her lip. “Not if you’re fucking.”
I lift my foot from the gas, hit the brakes, and slow on the side of the road. We’re halfway to Upper Dicker, hawthorn hedges flanking the road. There isn’t another car in sight. I peel my sweaty hands from the wheel.
“Is that what you want?” I say. “Fucking?”
Cassia locks gazes with me, toying with her seatbelt, her wrist brushing her breast.
I grit my teeth. “I don’t do that.”
She reaches across and strokes my jaw with her fingernails. I realize I’m holding my breath and let it out in a rush of air. My hand closes around hers, holding her motionless. Her eyes harden around the edges.
“Cassia,” I say.
She doesn’t blink. “What do you want?”
A future beyond the bedroom. But this—she’s offering me instant gratification.
I flash her a smile to hide my anxiety. “I want to eat dinner.”
“And then?” she says, unrelenting.
My imagination plummets to the bottom of the gutter. I should be ashamed. I should do the right thing and turn her down. But we want the same thing, and I don’t see why we can’t come to a mutual understanding.
I haven’t let go of her hand. I bring her fingers to my lips and kiss them.
Cassia’s breath catches in her throat. Shivering, she looks into my eyes. Her middle finger rests against my lip. I lick her fingertip, and she lets out a sharp little gasp. My cock could rival granite. She unbuckles her seat belt with her left hand and slides closer. I run my tongue over her fingernail, then let her go.
“I want to kiss you properly,” I say.
Her sigh shudders with what might be relief. I bend down before her next breath. When our lips meet, she arches beneath me. Her breasts rub against my chest. I cup one of them in my hand, testing its weight, and heat scorches my skin. She crushes herself against me, her hands gripping the front of my shirt.
On the road, a lorry driver blares his horn. We break apart.
My heartbeat thunders in my ears. I hunch lower in my seat like a bank robber with the police driving past me.
Cassia laughs. “Are you hiding?”
It’s ridiculous, I know, and I smile somewhat sheepishly. All right, I smile sheepishly enough for a whole bloody flock.
“Good luck hiding that.” She’s staring at the bulge in my trousers. When I blush, she gives me a wicked smile.
“Down, boy,” I say to myself, like I’m training a dog.
She laughs. I love the way she bends over and slaps her knee. “Can you drive with that?”
“With it? I’m afraid not.” I can’t stop grinning. “Only good for one thing.”
“Oh, I can think of a few other things. I love it when you blush.”
“I’m not blushing.”
“You can’t even try to pretend. You’re too pale, Irishman.”
I glance heavenward. “Curses on my ancestors.” I pretend to shake my fist.
She laughs again. “You have a ginger beard, don’t you?”
“Gingerbread?” I stare at her with faint confusion.
“Ginger beard.” She rubs my chin. “I like a little stubble.”
I’m quite interested in knowing what she likes, but if we take the time to find out, we’ll never make it to dinner.
“Buckle up,” I say.
Cassia grins. “How commanding. Are you going to dominate me later?” She must be teasing me, but she does what I say.
I stare out of the windshield, calming myself, before I shift to drive.
By the time we reach the Cock and Bottle, my cock is behaving itself, though I could use a bottle or two of beer. I step out of the Audi and go to her door, but she’s already standing. She looks over the pub, which is what you might call quaint. Window boxes overflow with flowers that drip over the blue-painted walls.
“Are we keeping the climbing roses?” she says. “On Wolfenwold Hall?”
“I would rather forget business tonight.”
She saunters toward the pub with a swing in her hips. “Tonight will be purely pleasure.”
I press my hand to the small of her back to escort her inside. And to mark her as mine.
16
Cassia
The Cock and Bottle isn’t nearly as raunchy as the name promised. But I’m giddy, champagne bubbles in my stomach, before I’ve drunk a drop of alcohol. As we follow the waiter to our booth, Bram’s hand cradles my back. How chivalrous of him. His fingertips scald through the satin of my blouse.
“Something to drink, love?” says the handsome blond waiter.
I tilt my head. “What do you have on tap?”
“Anything you want.” The waiter winks.
/> “In that case...”
Bram leans back and drapes his arm along the booth. He sits with his legs wide, which he probably doesn’t even know is distracting. “I would recommend the Guinness Extra Stout.” His smile doesn’t touch his eyes.
“How very Irish of you,” I say.
“A pint of Guinness, then?” the waiter says, his gaze on my blouse.
Bram lifts his fingers. “Two. Please.”
The waiter chucks our menus onto the table. When he’s gone, I glance around the pub. It’s cozy in here, electric candles twinkling like fireflies in mason jars. Bram fidgets with a jar, his fingers tracing the rim. I remember how he licked my fingers and I’m instantly wet. I cross my legs and fidget with the buttons on my blouse, daring him to look at me. But he stares into the distance, his eyes shadowed.
“Earth to Bram.” I wave my hand. “What are you thinking?”
“Wondering what the hell I’m doing here,” he mutters.
I straighten, my teeth gritted, and force a smile. “I’m not holding a gun under the table.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way.” At least the man has the good sense to apologize. “I’ve never done anything like this.”
“Never had a one night stand?”
He works his jaw. “I’m hoping for more than one night.”
“How sweet,” I say flippantly. “I’m open to more sex later.”
The waiter returns with two brimming pints of Guinness. Bram glowers and swigs his beer. I study his face as I swallow a mouthful. The black beer slides down my throat and leaves bitterness on my tongue.
“Ready to order?” says the waiter.
I haven’t even looked at the menu. “You have shepherd’s pie, right?”
“Of course, love.” The waiter glances at Bram, who’s brooding over his menu. “You?”
“Fish and chips.”
Is it just me, or is his voice an octave lower? He gives the waiter a predatory grin. God, is he feeling territorial toward me?
When the waiter leaves, Bram relaxes a little. “Bloody wanker,” he mutters.
“Dude,” I say. “Do not tell me you’re jealous of the waiter.”
“He was rude to you.”
“He was flirting.”
“Exactly.” Bram sips his Guinness. “With me sitting right beside you.”
“Your manhood isn’t in jeopardy. Don’t start butting heads or beating your chest.”
He still doesn’t smile, just glares at the back of the waiter’s head.
“Wait.” I hesitate. “You think I might change my mind and fuck the waiter?”
He stares into his beer, a bit of color in his cheeks.
Shit, I hit the nail on the head. “Just because I want to fuck you doesn’t mean I want to fuck every man in the United Kingdom.”
His mouth thins into a smile. “I’m flattered.”
“And I sure as hell don’t do devil’s threeways.”
“Are you speaking from experience?” he says, staring at me.
I shrug casually, though I’m bluffing.
Bram crosses and uncrosses his legs. “We need a few rules before we proceed.”
Can’t say I’m surprised. He seems like a logical and meticulous sort of man. “Try me.”
“Rule one.” He speaks in a murmur so low it’s subterranean. “No one else touches you. I don’t want to share you.”
I shiver at the possessiveness in his voice. “Done.”
“Rule two. No lies. Nothing less than the truth.”
I spread my hands. “I’m brutally honest. Anything else?”
He rubs his lip with his thumb, then shakes his head.
“I have one to add,” I say, which makes him swallow hard. I can see his throat bobbing. “Rule three. No falling in love.”
His hands curl into fists on the table. He looks startled, as if he hadn’t thought of this. “You expect me to fall in love with you?”
“I’m just that good in bed,” I deadpan.
“Are you serious?”
“I’ve heard the adjective mind-blowing. Especially when talking about blowing.”
His eyes darken to a stormy blue. “Christ, you’re shameless.”
I flip my hair over my shoulder. “Why, thank you.”
The waiter returns with the shepherd’s pie and fish and chips. “Enjoy!”
Bram only has eyes for me. “No cheating. No lies. No falling in love.”
“Three little rules.” I reach across the table. “Deal?”
He shakes my hand with wary eyes. “This bloody well feels like business.”
“Blame yourself. You asked for rules. I was willing to be wild and crazy in bed.”
His grip tightens on my hand. He sucks in his cheeks until they look hollow. “Can we add an addendum? Wild craziness is mandatory in bed.”
I laugh. “Our constitutional right to get freaky.”
He releases my hand. “That’s one too many Americanisms for me.”
He’s adorable when he’s confused. And he’s fucking sexy when he smiles. I’m tempted to strip him naked and ravish him, but this is a pub and my shepherd’s pie sits cooling in front of me. Deep breaths. Calming breaths.
“I’ll explain everything later.” I force a poker face. “In bed.”
17
Bram
I eat my fish and chips like a robot, hardly tasting them. The idiot of a waiter returns, but I glare at him until he backs away. Maybe he can see murder in my eyes. Cassia attacks her shepherd’s pie and swallows a forkful.
“Good?” I say.
She fans her mouth. “Hot. Burned my mouth.”
“Drink more beer.” I can’t help smirking as she sips. “It’s the Irish answer to everything.”
“Bram.” Spluttering, she laughs. “Don’t make me choke.”
My glass is already empty. I flag down the waiter, who’s never there when you need him. “Another pint of Guinness.”
We work on dinner together. Before long, I finish my second pint of Guinness and order a third. Cassia hasn’t even finished her first Guinness, but she has a rosy glow in her cheeks. Her eyes twinkle in the electric candlelight.
I study the curve of her lips and the dark waterfall of her hair. “You’re gorgeous.”
She folds her napkin. “You’re tipsy.”
“After two and a half pints of Guinness? Hardly.”
“Right.” She says it with immense sarcasm. “Irishman.”
“Stereotypes.” Grinning, I flag down the waiter. “Another pint, if you please.”
She groans. “None for me.”
“Dessert?” I say.
She flicks her eyebrows. “We already had strawberries.”
The waiter delivers my fourth Guinness. I drink it in silence, while Cassia leans back and watches the other diners in the pub.
I polish off the pint. “There. Vanquished.” I slur the word, just a little.
She squints at me. “Should you even be driving?”
“Probably not.”
When I toss her my keys, she catches them in both hands. “Me?”
“The lesser of two evils.”
She punches the air in triumph. “Yes! The Audi is mine.”
I laugh. My blood heats my skin. I ask for the check and hand the waiter my card before Cassia finishes rummaging in her purse.
She frowns. “I don’t want to owe you.”
“You owe me nothing.” I wave that away and climb to my feet. My legs hold steady, though I trip over the edge of the booth before I catch myself. “You didn’t see that. I’m the master of grace and stealth.”
“I believe you,” she says blithely, “when you’re sober. Get your ass in the Audi.”
She strides out of the pub and I follow in her footsteps. The Audi gleams silver in the moonlight. Cassia gives me a look as she unlocks the doors. I can’t translate what it means. “What are you smirking about?”
I slide into the car. “I never bought the woman-to-man dictio
nary.”
“You are drunk.”
I pinch the air. “Maybe a wee bit.”
“God, you sound so Irish. It’s sexy. Keep talking.”
I wrinkle my nose in a bemused smile. “You want me for my accent.”
“Among other things.”
I buckle my seat belt. She starts the engine, finds the gearshift, and pulls onto the road. As we drive away from the Cock and Bottle, she gives the Audi more gas. The nighttime countryside whips past the windows.
“We have a speed limit here,” I say.
She eases her foot off the accelerator. “Don’t worry, darling, this isn’t the first time I’ve driven without a license.”
“Should I even ask?”
When she grins, the moonlight gleams on her teeth. “I’m not as good as you think.”
I straighten in my seat. “Neither am I.”
As she concentrates on rounding a curve, I slide my hand over her leg. The denim of her jeans isn’t thick enough to hide the tensing of her muscles.
She swallows and glances sideways at me. “That’s distracting.”
“I know.” I run my fingers along her thigh. “Next time,” I murmur, “wear a skirt.”
She laughs, but it sounds breathless. “There won’t be a next time if you make me crash. There won’t be anything but fiery doom.”
“I can handle a bit of fiery doom.”
“Can you?”
Wolfenwold Hall looms ahead. It looks like it belongs in an old book about swooning ladies and brooding gentlemen with too much money. Not that I’m an authority. Cassia cruises up the drive. I trace my fingernails closer to where her thighs meet. She stares at the road. I toy with the hem of her silky blouse.
We lurch to a halt outside of Wolfenwold Hall.
“You sleep here?” she says.
“Though I doubt I’ll be sleeping much tonight.”
Cassia kills the engine and lunges from the car. I’m after her in a heartbeat. My legs don’t betray me this time. She walks to the doors of Wolfenwold Hall like she owns the place. I’m breathing hard, like I’m running to catch her, and in a way, I am. She waits for me to unlock the door. It creaks open under my hand.
“Welcome to my lair.” I can’t keep a straight face.
She hugs herself. “Tell me you have electricity.”
“I live like a caveman, waiting to ambush women.”