by Lucy Parker
“George did,” Wanda said, categorically. “Henrietta was furious about it. It was probably the first time she’d ever been thwarted in something she wanted.”
“So she did still want him.” Griff rubbed his thumb lightly along his jaw, and Freddy could practically hear the gears whirring as he slotted new information into place. “Why did he end it?”
“I imagine the infatuation wore off enough that he got a clear glimpse of her personality. It was a clean break, by all accounts, but not a pretty one. To my knowledge—” which Freddy guessed would be extensive on any matter of scandal “—neither of them ever spoke of the other publicly again.”
“That suggests something quite dramatic,” Freddy said, and her voice sounded odd. She laid down her fork. “Something must have gone badly wrong.”
Griff’s laser attention moved to her, with a flicker of a frown.
“Probably a small nonsense that got blown out of proportion.” Wanda placed an entire yam in her mouth. “George was the unforgiving type, and Henrietta was good at stirring up trouble.”
Yes.
Or taking advantage of it, perhaps.
As the old house creaked and the wind blew the fog closer around them, Freddy could feel the basic roots of her life starting to tear free.
Chapter Nine
Wanda kept them up talking trivialities and plying them with brandy until close to midnight. Freddy tried a few subtle yawns, and then Griff managed, in about thirty seconds, to pack the woman off to bed in her own house and make her think it was entirely her own idea.
“I find you a fairly frightening person sometimes,” she said on the landing outside the little bedroom that poor, overworked Arthur had made up for her.
Griff stood leaning against the wall of the hallway, hands tucked into his pockets, somehow still immaculate even after several trips outside. Freddy had gone out for a total of three minutes to see what it was like and had come in with a ball of frizz on her head that made her look like a shocked poodle. He’d done a bad job of concealing his amusement.
“Likewise,” he said now, and the word fell into an atmosphere that had been increasingly taut ever since the comment about romantic interludes in the fog. He regarded her with a deep, dark frown in his eyes before he turned on his heel and headed for his own room.
She was still awake an hour later, lying curled up on the hard mattress, listening to the rain on the roof. It was a sound she usually loved, but that level of soothing wasn’t going to cut it in her current frame of mind.
With a sigh, she turned over, her legs tangling in the sheet, making her feel frustrated out of proportion with the minor annoyance. She lay for another few minutes, hands spread on her ribcage, trying to do the deep breaths they preached about in the yoga class that Sabrina occasionally dragged her to in Notting Hill.
Yoga was not one of her more successful hobby attempts. She was not Zen.
In a sudden rush of movement, she threw off the covers and reached for the dress she’d left draped over a carved chair. Best not wander about the house in her bra and pants. If Wanda caught her, she’d probably be disapproving of anything less than a wimple when there was A Man in the house. Two, counting Arthur, although it was a push to imagine anyone seeing him as A Potential Seducer. Poor bloke.
Her footsteps seemed to be very loud in the hallway, but nothing was going to drown out the snoring that she hoped wasn’t coming from Griff’s room. It was like a deep-sea drill.
Opening the door to the nursery, she turned on a lamp, then the main ceiling light when it was still too creepy in the shadows. She padded over to the table where Griff had neatly divided the materials he had conned out of Wanda on loan and was planning to pack into the car later this morning.
She reached for the stack of letters again, and then almost jumped out of her socks when Griff’s voice came from the doorway. “I know you commit to a part, but this might be taking the Girl Friday act too far. It’s almost two in the morning.”
He came up behind her, and she startled again when she felt the warmth of bare skin. “You don’t have a shirt on.” She snuck a peek to see if the nakedness continued past the waist. Sadly, not.
“Sorry, am I shocking your delicate sensibilities?” He reached over her shoulder and took the letters. “Why so interested?”
Freddy hesitated, started to speak, then stopped again.
What could she say? That based on some dusty old letters, she suspected something so wrong had been done years ago that the secret had been buried for decades? That her entire conception of her grandmother and their family history had just twisted? That she might have just uncovered what somebody had tried very hard to hide?
She wasn’t bloody Miss Marple.
He’d think it was her pinball imagination again, bouncing from one outlandish idea to another.
She hoped it was.
Griff touched a light fingertip between her brows. “You don’t have to tell me, if it disturbs you that much.”
She brought her hands up, clasping his forearms. He was muscled and solid, and felt like a welcome wall of reassurance right now.
Amazing, how quickly things could change. In the space of a week, her entire perception on everything was shifting.
“I just...need to work something out.”
“I know the feeling.” His eyes had a lazy, smoky look, and his jaw had developed a thin layer of stubble.
“Were you asleep?” Freddy couldn’t help tracing her fingers up to his biceps. The muscles there bunched under her touch, and a very jaguar-ish glint appeared in the dark depths of his expression.
A finger ran down her back, and she shivered. “For a few minutes.” His voice was turning low and purr-y. “Until someone started trying to break through a block of cement with a chainsaw.”
Freddy’s giggle was more of a rasp as his hand slipped around her hip, pulling her pelvis into his. “I was worried that might be you.”
Another snore rattled the rooftop.
“Careful. This constant padding of my ego, I’ll become unbearable.”
“Become unbearable?” Freddy returned sweetly, and went up on her tiptoes to wrap her arms about his neck. She kissed him very lightly, testing the waters, and drew back to look into his face.
There was a warmth there, and a heat, that was yards apart from the vibes he usually put out, but it was still him. Still the sarky, difficult man she’d first spoken to in a London pub, after he’d torn verbal strips off her and left her feeling exposed and vulnerable, sitting with the people who should know her better than anyone but had failed to see what he had realised from the distance of the theatre stalls. It was perverse that she liked him so much.
And fancied him like mad.
“Snogging licence still valid?” she teased, and he kissed her in answer, hard and deep and engulfing. Once more in this room, she experienced being thrust into a dream-state, where she couldn’t breathe properly, but unlike the intense dismay of her dawning realisation earlier, this was all sensation and want.
He was pushed back a few steps, and her socked feet slipped on the wooden floorboards as she stumbled closer into him. His hand gripped high on her thigh, skin on skin, and her dress must be caught somewhere around her waist.
He momentarily froze. “Stitches.”
“Other leg.” Her lips on his neck, unable to stop nuzzling up to his earlobe, Freddy murmured, “What if the snoring stops?”
“People over in Littlebourne Copse can get some sleep?” Griff’s mouth burned a trail of kisses down to her throat, and she struggled to catch her breath, in a painful gulp.
“I mean, Wanda could wake up and she’ll be in here at the first squeak.”
“Do you often squeak?” he asked, and she grinned against his mouth as it returned to hers.
“Given enough inspiration, I make all sorts of noises.” Sh
e felt the faint laugh move in his chest, and cupped his neck between her palms, keeping his head away from her for a second. “And we can’t forget about Arthur. And possibly the parrot, if he’s never in a cage.”
“Freddy.” Griff straightened, his hands rubbing slightly at the curve of her waist. “If you want to stop, I’d prefer you stick to your candid philosophy where intimate relationships are concerned, and say so.”
Her heartbeat was a hard, fast thump in her chest, echoing the pulse of arousal. His touch made her shake, and his scent seemed to be pressed into her own clothes and skin, and she loved kissing him so much that she’d happily abandon her hobby search just to suck on his tongue at every possible moment. Her mind was a jumble right now, her body was tired and stressed and in need of release, and she wanted sex.
It was something she’d always approached kind of lightly, before and after the fact.
She’d take a guy back to her flat after a first date if she was attracted and in the mood and it was all consensual, and with one notable exception, she’d never thought much about it afterwards.
But right now—it felt like a weighty decision. Momentous, even.
She twisted her arms down and pushed her fingers through his, holding on to his hands, holding on to the patient, flickering heat of his eyes.
“What’s your bed like?” She brought one of his hands to her cheek and rubbed softly against his knuckles. His grip tightened on hers. “Because mine has a lot in common with that block of cement you mentioned.”
Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers. It was a whisper-soft kiss that somehow felt like a promise, and something in her belly tightened in response.
The fizzing sense of anticipation survived the short walk back to his room, but the journey shattered some of her less-fun coiling tension, since the snoring had increased in pitch, and they had to stop by her room to get a condom from her bag because he didn’t have anything, and they kept stumbling into hideous sculptural works in the dark, and the whole thing started to feel like a vaudeville skit.
After Griff had hit his knee for the second time on a decorative gargoyle, he swore vividly into Freddy’s hair and stopped copping a feel until they were safely in his bedroom, with the old-fashioned key turned securely in the lock.
The wave of shyness that washed over her was utterly out of character, and she took the fastest way of dispelling it by literally throwing herself back into his arms. He caught her with a grunt, and they ended up on the bed a bit quicker than she’d intended.
“It is soft,” she said with satisfaction as he rolled on top of her and pushed the mess of curls out of her eyes. A smile twitched at her lips as she lowered her chin and looked down between their bodies. “Well...not everything.”
The brief flash of his grin did more gorgeous things to her overwhelmed emotions. His body was heavy and somehow both comforting and exciting, and his definitely-not-softness was a delicious friction. Freddy arched her hips, rubbing sinuously up into him, and he released a sharp hiss of breath against her collarbone.
They lay there, kissing, hands stroking and bodies moving in small, compulsive presses, until she grew impatient and reached down, and their fingers collided on the hem of her dress. He levered himself away so they could pull it up, and she struggled to yank it over her head.
Smoothing his palm up her stomach—which was as far from flat as it had ever been thanks to her stress-eating over The Velvet Room audition lately, and Griff obviously couldn’t care less—he kissed her again, his tongue a silky stroke against hers, retreating and then returning, teasing her. He was more playful in bed than she’d expected, and she loved it.
She couldn’t stop touching him. His torso was long and his body was mostly stretches of taut muscle, but not in a super pumped-up gym way. Parts of him were softer, and areas of skin roughed into scars and the odd stretch mark, and he was real and here and him.
He unclipped her bra and pushed it away, and closed a warm mouth over her left nipple. Freddy shut her eyes and threaded her fingers through his hair. Her breasts weren’t particularly sensitive, so having them played with never did a lot for her sexually, but the feel of his breath and the brush of his hair against her skin was lovely.
With one hand still cupping her, his thumb circling her nipple, he trailed his mouth back to her neck and nuzzled at the thin skin beneath her ear, then caught it in a gentle suckle. Her breath caught and started to quicken, and he raised his head a little, then returned his attention to the curve there, kissing and stroking. Fast learner.
Turning her head to the side to let the man work, Freddy reached down and undid the button of his trousers. Fortunately, he wasn’t so meticulous that he’d bothered with a belt. She couldn’t be doing with buckles right now. She pressed her hand against his erection through the fabric, and he made a muffled sound into her neck. Carefully lowering the zipper, she pushed elastic aside and wrapped her fingers around him. His whole body went tense, and his breathing was rough as he rested his cheek against her shoulder, temporarily losing focus on anything but the movement of her hand.
She stroked him once, lightly, and then firmer, testing to see what he liked. When he grunted again and turned her face to catch her mouth in a rough kiss, she thought she had an idea.
While she touched him, she slipped her free hand into her own briefs—unfortunately they were her favourite pair with the holes and tattered lace but what could you do—and started catching herself up. She broke the kiss when her head went back reflexively and hit into the mattress, and he muttered another profanity when he realised what she was doing.
That curse, however, sounded more like a heartfelt thank-you to the universe.
The leash on his control seemed to snap without warning and suddenly one of his hands was joining hers. Whatever ingenious movements he was making with his fingers, she’d take notes if her brain hadn’t just shot off into orbit somewhere. She couldn’t keep up her own touch, either on him or herself, and ended up just grasping on to his neck and holding on.
With a hard push of a wet, openmouthed kiss, he sat up briefly to remove the rest of their clothing—although she realised when she closed her legs about his waist that he’d forgotten her socks.
Sometimes sex was great and sometimes it was so shite it was a waste of a condom, but she was usually focused on only the mechanics and trying to bring and wring as much pleasure as possible. This was an entirely different experience.
That first thrust was the moment when she always had a jolt of hyperawareness, the objective curiousness of having part of another person inside her body. And then back to, does it feel good, are we having a good time, hopefully yes, and yay, sex.
From the first moment with Griff, it was so intensely personal. No weirdness, no awkwardness, just—right.
It was messy, it was sweaty, and a little rough towards the end—and she was totally aware that he wasn’t just a person in bed with her. It was Griff she was snogging and gripping on to, Griff who was inside her, murmuring into her ear.
It was more than physical; it was a building and layering of a bond that went much deeper than that.
During the middle part, when it was slower and more quietly sensual, and his hands were cupping her head, his kisses were deep and searching, he pulled back just for a moment to look into her eyes. She saw, in the depths of his, the same sense of wonder and trepidation that she was feeling.
Then the pulse, the drive, was becoming too intense for slowness, and he asked in a low rasp if she wanted to go on top, and she did squeak. With horror.
“God, no. I’m so out of condition right now I have the hip flexors of a ninety-year-old. I don’t know how you’re doing it.”
She got her first proper laugh from him in bed, in the midst of very intense sex, and somehow that seemed right, too.
In the end, she did need more to get there, and he turned her under him
, and supported her unfit hips with a strong arm while he drove into her from behind.
“Too rough?” His voice, barely comprehensible now, into her hair.
“No.” Just a gasp, as she lowered her head, and gripped onto his hand where his spread fingers were braced on the mattress, holding up his weight. She reached down to touch herself again, and felt the wet slide of him, and her muscles clenched down hard and then released into seemingly endless pulsing pleasure.
She was barely aware of him tensing violently against her however long it was later, his grip on her almost painful, or how heavy he was when they both collapsed down into the mattress.
Her heart was pounding so hard it couldn’t be healthy. Freddy turned her cheek against the quilt, feeling the scrape of the cotton stitches. She closed her eyes and felt back for his hand, and his fingers interlocked tightly with hers.
Eventually, he rolled over and left the bed and the room for a minute. When he came back, the mattress dipped as she felt him behind her and around her, his arm folding over her and their hands finding each other again. She could smell sweat and hear his breathing, still slowing back to normal.
The most overwhelming sense of wellbeing and safety washed over her. Not only orgasm aftermath, but secure. She couldn’t find words beyond that.
“I think you may have underestimated yourself when you implied you weren’t good at anything but acting.” Griff’s voice was a lazy murmur against her shoulder. “Drastically.”
She barely had the energy to laugh. “Not really a talent I can write on the back of my headshot.”
He kissed her neck, and she still shivered, even after all that. She turned over in his hold and her nose brushed against his. “Should I go back to my room?”
His arm flexed her closer, seemingly on reflex. “Why?”
“Possible hazard of butlers and alarming old ladies stalking the halls at dawn.” She studied his face as she spread her fingers against his chest. “And a preference for sleeping alone?”