It was a long kiss and a deep one. One good enough to leave her breathless and fuzzy-headed and a little bit cross-eyed. She could tell from the shape of him pressing through the pretty frock she was wrecking that he’d enjoyed it just as much.
He laughed, rolled onto his back and pulled her head onto his chest. She curled up into his arms, hitching one leg over him possessively. He was hers now. Hers forever. And she was determined to make as much use of him as possible.
It had been a beautiful day, but a tiring one. She’d met Ben’s parents for the first time. Had to put on a fancy dress and have her make-up done. Walk through a room full of people in high heels without falling over. And…well, get married. That had been the easiest part – she had no doubts at all about the man she was gazing up at and if she had had any they’d have been chased away by the open adoration in his eyes as they exchanged their vows.
She’d been secretly delighted when Ben had whirled her away from the dance floor and whispered his suggestion in her ear. His fiendish escape plan. They’d go back, eventually, and spend the night at the hotel. Wake up for breakfast with family and friends, before heading off to their official honeymoon in Tuscany.
This, though, was their unofficial honeymoon. Back here, to this special place.
“I still can’t believe you never saw it and you came to London anyway,” said Ben, laying gentle kisses on her hair. It still smelled of lavender, even if it had been coiffed to within an inch of its life.
“Me neither,” she replied, letting her hands sneak up inside his buttoned shirt, fingers creeping over the strong, flat stomach, reaching the muscled ridges of his chest. Sigh. “I guess I’m just a fantastically brave person, aren’t I?”
“You are indeed – but I hope you still like the message.”
The message in question had been on the first page of his book. The book she’d not looked at in any detail at all once it had fallen out of its packing and into her coffee.
After a few paragraphs of thanks for his agent, his editor and his family, as well as a touching tribute to his grandfather, there’d been one simple dedication: “To Pippa – who found my heart no matter how well I tried to hide it. With love – the Man from the Duck Pond.”
If only she hadn’t been so freaked out she might have seen it. Might have travelled to London with a spring in her step instead of an anvil in her stomach as she worried about seeing him again.
Still, she thought, smiling as she reached his nipples and made him moan. All’s well that ends well. They were here now and everything had been worth it. Even the smack in the face that had resulted in McConnell being the one who went back to jail.
Ben had come back to Cornwall with her as soon as she’d been ready to travel and this time he brought half his life with him. The flat was under offer, the book was launched and there was nothing on earth that was going to keep him away. The kids had been thrilled to have both of them back, and Patrick had given them one raised eyebrow of a look and taken off to see Gemma.
And now they were married. With the full approval of Margaret Dooley, who they’d even invited to the wedding.
“I think,” he said, sliding his hand around the front of her dress, “that I’ll dedicate my next book to your left breast.”
“Oh. Okay,” she replied, arching up her body towards his touch. “But the right one might feel left out.”
“I’ll find a way to make it up to it,” he said, lowering his head and showing her how.
Later, after they made love, they lay entangled in each other’s arms on the sand, Leonardo’s old blanket thrown over them to protect their modesty if a passing spy satellite zoomed overhead. The wedding dress lay creased and sand-strewn next to his suit and her hair was looking less-than princess-like in the moonlight.
She sighed contentedly and snuggled deeper into his arms.
“I love you, Pippa,” he said, holding her tighter.
“I know,” she replied, kissing the bare skin of his chest.
They lay silently together, basking in the afterglow of both their passion and the now-fizzled-out campfire, listening to the sea whispering towards them.
Pippa looked out towards the bay remembering all the happy times she’d had in exactly this spot. And if she screwed up her eyes and tried really hard she could almost imagine that she saw them there. Her parents. Standing hand in hand on the shoreline, happy and together and smiling.
Smiling at her, the daughter who’d made them so proud. And at the man who held her heart in his hands and cherished it.
Also by Debbie Johnson …
Cold Feet at Christmas
Debbie Johnson
After spending many years working as a journalist, I decided to stop telling other people’s stories, and start making up my own! I work from home in a very messy house near the beach, and write in between pouring bowls of Coco Pops for my three children and my dog (only kidding – he prefers Frosties!). I’m married to a man who is both a librarian and a musician – the perfect combination – and love to write pure, escapist fun. As well as romance, I’m also a published author in fantasy, and am working hard on crime as well. Or writing about it, at least.
http://www.debbiejohnsonauthor.com/
@debbiemjohnson
About HarperImpulse
HarperImpulse is an exciting new range of romance fiction brought to you from the women’s fiction team at HarperCollins. Our aim is to break new talent from debut authors and import the hottest trends from the US, bringing you the very best in romance. Whether that is through short reads for your mobile phone or epic sagas that span the generations we want to proudly publish romance fiction that gets everybody talking.
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Pippa's Cornish Dream Page 17