by Wilde, Lori
“Have you ever punted before?” Dougal asked.
“No.” Jess grinned. “Why do you think we’re inviting you along?”
“You could hire a chauffeured punt,” he pointed out.
“But we like you.”
“You want me to take you to Grantchester?” Dougal slid Roxie a quick glance. She shrugged. She had no idea Jess was going to ask him along for the ride.
“Pretty please?” Jess clasped her hands together as if she was saying a prayer.
“That wouldn’t be fair to the other guests,” Roxie said, giving him an out. “I’m sure they’d all like Dougal to punt them on the Cam.”
“Yes,” Jess said, “but I asked, and they didn’t.”
Dougal laughed.
“We tip big,” Sam added.
Dougal looked straight at Roxie. “How can I say no with such beautiful enticements?”
“Oh, goodie.” Jesse danced a little jig. “Let’s go.”
Thirty minutes later, they were on their way in the small, flat-bottomed boat. It was long and thin and rectangular in shape with just enough room to seat two people next to each other. This particular punt was designed to carry five—two couples inside the boat, the punter out on the platform at the stern. Jess and Sam wedged in together, a big picnic basket at their feet. Roxie sat alone, closest to the platform where Dougal stood, holding a long, thick pole.
They scooted under a bridge, headed away from the majority of the punters angling for The Backs. The weather was gorgeous—blue skies with soft puffs of clouds, mild temperature, a soft caressing breeze. And the view from the river! The architecture of the old buildings stirred the imagination as did the beautiful gardens. Ducks floated by looking for handouts from the boaters.
In the distance, church bells rang, announcing the 10 a.m. hour. It didn’t take long until they’d left most of the buildings behind and found themselves surrounded by lush green fields on both sides of the river.
Jess and Sam chattered all the way to Grantchester. Roxie tried to pay attention, but Dougal’s proximity derailed her focus. He handled the punt like a pro, and she couldn’t stop herself from watching him. His movements were smooth, muscles rippling underneath the sleeves of his shirt. Because he wasn’t guiding a tour today, he wasn’t in costume and wore blue jeans and a blue polo shirt with a collar, and he’d traded his boots for sneakers.
Dressed in street clothes, he looked like a different person, and she found herself loving this new image of him. It was a cleaner look, simple and direct. Was this the real Dougal? she wondered.
They were halfway to Grantchester when a punt passed by them, headed toward Cambridge with two young men aboard. “Jess? Sam? Is that you?” one of them asked.
“David! Mike!” Jess and Sam squealed simultaneously and waved at their friends.
It turned out that Jess and Sam had gone to college with David and Mike, who were backpacking their way through Europe. The punts stopped side by side for some conversation. David and Mike were leaving Cambridge later that day, and they bemoaned the fact they wouldn’t get to see more of Jess and Sam.
“We could go back with you,” Sam said, shifting her gaze to Dougal. “If that’s okay with you and Roxie.”
Dougal shrugged. “It’s your vacation. Just remember the bus back to Stratford leaves at six.”
“What about the picnic?” Roxie asked.
“We’ll feed you girls,” David spoke up. “A late lunch at Whims?”
“That’s the best restaurant in Cambridge,” Jess exclaimed. “I’m in.”
“You and Dougal can keep the picnic basket,” Sam added.
Then Jess and Sam carefully transferred over into David and Mike’s punt and the group poled away.
“What are you grinning about?” Dougal asked Roxie when their friends had disappeared from sight.
“We’re all alone.”
His eyes twinkled. “That we are. Would you like to learn how to punt?”
“Another adventure,” she said. “Sure.”
He laughed.
“What?”
“You’re like a kid. So bright-eyed and eager.”
“Hey, I spent a long time not having adventures. I’m not going to pass up a single one.”
“Then come up here and take hold of the pole. But first let’s review the golden rule of punting.”
“Which is?”
“Stay with the punt, not the pole.”
He got down from the platform and held out his hand to help her up, then he passed her the pole. She eyed the platform suspiciously. It looked scary, slippery and not very big. Tentatively she took her position and the ridiculously long ten-foot pole, acutely aware of her wavering balance.
Nervously she glanced over at Dougal who’d sat down in the boat. “What do I do now?”
“Hold the pole upright and over the right-hand side of the punt, drop the pole into the water and position it slightly behind where you’re standing. If the pole is too far away from the punt, it will go in circles when you push. If you put the pole in the water level to or ahead of you, the punt will go backward,” he explained.
She did as he suggested and felt the pole land solidly on the bottom.
“Now push down on the pole. The harder you push, the faster you’ll go.”
Roxie pushed and the punt glided forward, but the pole wouldn’t budge from the mud. “What do I do?”
“Let go of the pole!” Dougal said, but his warning came too late. The punt was out from under her and she was holding on to the pole in the middle of the water.
“Help!” she managed just as the pole starting leaning over against her weight. She was going in, no two ways about it.
But then suddenly, there was Dougal, paddle in hand, angling the punt right back to her and she was able to get one foot back on the platform and right herself with only one leg getting wet.
“You saved my fanny,” she said.
“You forgot the golden rule.” Dougal chuckled. “Don’t worry. Everyone does their first time.”
“I think maybe I’ve had enough of punting.” She giggled. “You make it look so easy.”
“No, go on, give it another go.”
She took another stab at it, and this time she managed to propel the boat down the river without mishap. After a few more rounds of drop and push, she started to get the feel for it. The activity was more strenuous than she’d counted on.
“I’m getting tired,” she said after several more minutes. “Could you take over?”
“How about we stop for lunch?”
“We’re not at Grantchester.”
“No law saying we have to go all the way. We can stop here.” He waved at an inviting field. “Let’s have lunch, and then punt on back to Cambridge.”
“I’m for that,” she agreed.
Dougal took over and angled them toward the riverbank. He tied up the punt, and then helped her ashore.
Roxie spread Jess’s blanket beside a large weeping willow, making a nest among the brightly colored wildflowers sprinkled across the lush green grass. Out here in nature, with no one else around, it felt as though they were the only two people on their planet.
Dougal flopped down on the blanket beside her as she opened the white wicker picnic basket, his fingertips stroking her forearm so softly that at first she thought she was imagining it. Then she felt the tickle of his lips, hot and sexy, kissing a path up her arm. She glanced over at him, his eyes were half-closed, a lazy smile curled at the corners of his mouth. She loved the feel of his hard body beside hers.
“You look so relaxed,” she said.
“Punting the Cam agrees with me.”
“Me, too.”
“What’s in the basket?” He propped himself on his elbows.
“Let’s see.” Roxie lifted the blue gingham napkins and poked around inside. “Ah, a bottle of French wine. Sauvignon blanc. Two glasses and a corkscrew.”
“Good start.”
Roxie dug around in th
e basket. “Gourmet sandwiches. Hmm, let’s see.” She lifted the corner of the bread. “Yum, looks like roasted turkey and white cheddar with some kind of fancy fruit chutney on a baguette and a side dish of pearl couscous salad, plus apples and a variety of cheeses and oh my…look.” She held up dessert for him to see.
Dougal broke into a grin. “Walnut brownies.”
They ate in companionable silence, enjoying the beauty of the moment, savoring the delicious food, reveling in the company. Roxie’s mind traveled, as it always did, to another time and place. They were indeed Adam and Eve, munching sinfully on apples and happily touching each other.
“Who are we now?” Dougal asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I know you enjoy playacting,” he said. “The first day we were Shakespeare and his Muse. Then in the church we were star-crossed Sir Gareth and Lady Sarah. Last night we were Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet, before we turned into the dungeon dominatrix and torture victim.” He grinned and her heart pumped with excitement as she remembered last night’s sexual adventure. “Who are we today?”
“Adam and Eve,” she admitted.
He looked around at the pastoral setting, and then his gaze tracked hotly over her body. “I can get into that.”
Roxie’s pulse quickened. She had never role-played with any of her other boyfriends and she was loving this.
“Let’s see,” he said. “You’ve just tempted me with your apple and as a matter of course, we must now sin.” He took the apple core from her hand, tossed it aside.
She studied his face.
He looked at her as if he’d just tumbled out of bed, his hair wild and whorled, his eyes heavy-lidded and filled with the vestiges of a fantastic wet dream. She appreciated his body, dressed casually in that blue shirt and jeans. He looked rock-solid, substantial, an athlete with muscular legs and a strong back. And when he turned his head, she could see his muscles in one long ripple underneath his shirt.
Her hands tingled, yearning for his touch. Between her legs, she ached for him. The scent of fertile rich soil was potent and loamy, the smell kicking her arousal up a notch.
Dougal’s eyes held hers and she knew he smelled it, too, their lust, brewing. She tasted him before their lips touched completely.
He reached out and took her hand and pulled her close, running his fingers along the curve of her back. He kissed her in the verdant green field dotted with beautiful wildflowers. The sweet smell of bluebells and forget-me-nots and musk mallow and meadow cranesbill mingled with the musky aroma of the water. Dougal was like that river. Strong and steady and reliable and Roxie couldn’t resist. There was no point in even trying.
Dougal Lockhart was her downfall.
He lay on his back, and she stretched out on top of him, staring down at him, her thighs on either side of his waist.
He kissed her tenderly, tentative and questioning, as though he feared she might disappear if he was too bold. But how could he fear that after last night?
The breeze gusted and the willow tree branches rustled, blowing a wave of fluttering caresses over their skin. She touched her forehead to his, looking deep into his eyes, and her pulse shifted from a saunter to a trot.
Silence stretched heated and heavy. Something new was being created between them. Vistas as yet unexplored. She realized that her hands were trembling.
The blue vein at his temple throbbed. The tempo of its beat matched perfectly the aching in her sex.
Dougal kissed her again, deeper. He groaned and she felt the vibration of it rumble from his chest and the almost painful tightening of his hands around her waist.
She wanted him desperately. She had to get his clothes off him. Right this minute. She snatched at his shirt and he helped her wrestle it over his head. His skin was molten.
“Wait, wait, time-out,” she said, suddenly realizing she didn’t want to be in the same predicament she’d found herself in before, and pulled a condom from her bag.
He reached for the buttons of her dress and slowly began undoing them. With each button he loosened, her breathing sped up. After he undid the last button, he ran his hands under her camisole, pushing it aside so he could stroke her bare breasts.
Goose bumps spread over her skin, engulfing her in shivers. She was exposed, astride him in a pasture in broad daylight. It was a dulcet, decadent sensation. Roxie could feel exactly how hard he was for her.
“You are so beautiful,” he said huskily. “The way the sun glints off your ebony hair. You take my breath away.”
Dougal smelled like cotton and leather. He made her feel safe and taken care of when she hadn’t really felt that way since her parents had been killed. It was a startling, disconcerting feeling. Roxie was used to being the protector, not the one being protected.
She closed her eyes, but she could still see the ocean of wildflowers waving merrily all around them. He was pinching her nipples gently but firmly, sending little rockets of pleasure flying across her nerve endings.
He sat up with her legs still positioned on either side of him and laved his tongue over one of her nipples while his hand stole down and slipped between her legs.
He was doing all the right things, touching her in all the right ways, giving her all the right looks. Misery crawled through her. She couldn’t go through with it. Making love—really making love—with him wasn’t fair to either one of them. Not when she was hiding her true identity.
“Dougal.” It was a plea. “We need to talk.”
“No talking. Not now. Just feel, Roxie.”
How easy it was to just give in to the sensations sweeping through her. To relinquish all control as he eased her legs farther apart and planted a kiss on her knee.
Arching her spine, she rocked back a little on his pelvis, giving him freer entry. His hand slid down her belly, past the waistband of her panties. His fingertips found her clit and she gasped at the heat of his touch.
And then he started rocking against her, rhythmic and pleasing.
Her legs shook and she could feel the pressure of his body underneath her buttocks, pressing stiffly against her. He was panting, and she was panting until she didn’t think she could bear one more minute of this torture.
In the distance they heard voices out on the river, another punt gliding along.
Someone was going to see them!
Frantically she tried to break away, to pull her dress closed around her nakedness, but Dougal wrapped one hand tight around her waist while at the same time pushing a finger deep inside of her. Sucking in her breath, she let out a cry of happy surprise as a hot wave of bliss passed over her.
He sat all the way up, pushing her down on her back. Her nose filled anew with the fertile smell of wildflowers and Dougal. He smiled down at her, his eyes mischievous. She could hear the people on the river laughing and joking.
“They’re not going to stop,” he said. “And neither am I.”
Her heart clutched. She loved this dangerous game he was playing.
The sound of the people in the punt came closer, escalating her excitement. She moved, shifting away from him and went for his zipper, wanting his cock more than she’d ever wanted anything in her life.
Soon they were both completely naked, relishing in the glory of each other’s bodies on the banks of the river Cambridge, far away from reality. They were Adam and Eve. New lovers, excited, giggling and exploring.
They stared into each other’s eyes and smiled, embarrassed suddenly but in a good way. Roxie reached out to touch his face and he let her caress his clean-shaven chin, his mouth, his chest, but he closed his eyes. Did not look at her again.
Was he nervous? Or was he savoring this moment as much as she was?
“Have you ever done anything you deeply regretted?” he asked hoarsely.
“Haven’t we all?” she whispered.
“Tell me, Roxie, what do you regret?”
“I regret not meeting you sooner,” she said. “Look at all the fun I’ve been missin
g. What about you? Are you regretting this?”
“No.” He squeezed her tightly. “Never.”
“Not even putting your job on the line?”
“I wish I didn’t have a morality clause in my contract because I’m not the kind of guy who goes back on his word, but when I’m around you I can’t help myself. I have zero control.” He kissed her again. “You do strange things to me, woman. You make me do things I wouldn’t normally do.”
“Right back at you, big man.”
“Is that a bad thing or good?”
“You tell me,” she whispered.
He finally opened his eyes and looked deeply into hers. “These last few days with you…”
“Yes?” She held her breath.
“They’ve been special.” She could tell by his serious expression he did not say such things lightly. “You’re special.”
“I think you’re special, too.”
“But you scare me,” he admitted. He looked so vulnerable in that moment, so utterly breakable.
“How so?”
“You have this wide-eyed innocence about you as if you’ve been sheltered most of your life, and yet you’ve also got this sensible, grounded side, as well. You’re a bit of a paradox.”
“Yeah, well, you’re all rough and tough and manly and yet you’re squiring tourists around Europe. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just not very…” She searched for the right word to describe him. “Urgent. You seem like the kind of guy who needs something urgent to do.”
He looked at her with quizzical eyes and something else, an emotion she couldn’t label. It was almost a sad expression, but not quite. It was more rueful. Or could it be disappointment?
Had she disappointed him in some way or did he fear that she would? “You’ve been hurt before.”
“I have.”
She fingered his lips. “You’re not a man who easily gives his heart.”
“I’m not,” he whispered.
Now she was feeling as vulnerable as he looked. “If you’re not ready, it’s okay. This doesn’t have to mean anything, Dougal. I’m not expecting anything from you.” At least that’s what she kept telling herself. “And I don’t think you should expect anything from me other than what we’ve got in this moment, right now. Sex is enough.”