‘How carefully?’ I barely recognised the sexy tone in my voice.
‘I’d say … inch by inch.’
His words hung in the air and neither of us spoke.
‘Madam, sir, would you be liking dessert?’ The unfortunate waiter coughed beside us.
Scott raised his eyebrows at me wordlessly, but I had no interest in trifle and Pavlova. The only taste I was craving was his mouth on mine. I licked my lips and tried to speak, but had to settle for shaking my head.
‘No, thanks, just the bill.’ He hadn’t taken his eyes off me.
The waiter scuttled away. Scott reached out his hand and placed it gently on the side of my neck, just under my ear. I leaned into his touch and closed my eyes briefly.
‘I think … I’ve changed my mind,’ he said slowly.
I frowned, not catching his meaning. By now, I was light with lust.
He let out a long breath. ‘I think we should go and see what their best room looks like.’
CHAPTER 24
My embarrassment at checking in without luggage evaporated as Scott kissed me urgently while we waited for the ancient lift. Impatience got the better of us: we gave up and dragged each other up three flights of stairs instead. Breathless, we reached our room. I fumbled the key card and Scott took it from me, dropping it, cursing, finally achieving the little green light.
Normally, when I arrive in a hotel room, I inspect the sheets, the view, the thermostat and the fake leather binder of guest information. I examine the plan on the back of the door which shows the fire exits and then I use the bathroom, careful to unwrap the miniature soap before I get my hands wet.
I did none of that. Clothes were already coming off as we tumbled into the suite. Scott kicked the door shut and two jackets, two shirts hit the carpet. Shoes, socks, boots followed. Neither of us said a word: we were too busy kissing, touching and exploring. My arms were around his neck and my eyes were closed as he backed me over to the bed. When the mattress hit the back of my knees, he lowered me down gently but insistently.
I opened my eyes to look into his, finding them bluer than ever. He touched his thumb to my lips and then bent to kiss my neck. His hands moved over my hair, my shoulders, my ribs and stomach. I curled my fingers around his lightly tanned forearms, giving a tiny moan as I stroked hungrily over the tense muscles of his biceps, chest and back.
But when he started to tug at my jeans, I froze. A sudden image of James flashed into my mind, so piercing that I dug my teeth into my lip. Scott leaned away from me, eyes intense but wary.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked in a low voice.
I swallowed. ‘Sorry.’ Had I ruined this?
‘It’s okay,’ he said, stroking my cheek with measured gentleness. He found my hand and kissed the palm, then kissed each finger in turn. ‘It’s okay,’ he repeated, kissing my forehead and stroking my hair.
When I gave the slightest of sighs, he started to stroke my shoulders and collar bone. When my tension dissolved through my toes and I let out a slow breath, he began to kiss me through my bra. When I began to kiss him back, he dispensed with the rest of our clothing. As I finally arched up towards him, he framed my face with both hands and asked me a silent question.
And when I responded with one small, needy word, he covered my body with his.
~~~
‘For someone who’s late for work, you look awfully pleased with yourself.’ Amelia put down her phone and gave me a stern look. Still, I spotted the smile that was drawing at the corners of her mouth.
‘Sorry.’ I pressed my lips together and tried to look demure, but the grin escaped anyway as I slid into my seat.
‘So, I take it you had a nice day looking at decaying sugar factories?’
‘His job’s actually pretty fun,’ I said, blowing at the dust on my computer screen.
‘Hmm. And how about Scott? Is he fun?’ She failed to keep a straight face.
I stretched my arms above my head. ‘Indeed he is.’ For once, my croissant lay forgotten.
We had left the hotel at dawn that morning. Scott had broken several speed limits driving me back to Saffron Sweeting, which was chivalrous, as he was supposed to be in London.
‘Are you going to be very late?’ I’d asked, as we grazed a roundabout in fourth gear.
‘I’ll call them,’ he shrugged.
‘Sorry.’
He squeezed my thigh, then changed up to fifth. ‘I’m not.’
As Suffolk whizzed past us, I’d pushed my guilt about James to one side. Surely, this didn’t count as being unfaithful, if your husband had cheated first?
When I’d eventually got round to inspecting the fire exits – functional – and sea view – beautiful – from our hotel suite, it had been almost dark. The amazing sex had been followed by room service cream tea, supplemented with champagne and extra sandwiches. Feeding each other scones had led to some delicious fooling around with the clotted cream, and the generous pot of tea was stone cold by the time we drank it.
‘I just realised, I’ve never actually done that before,’ I’d said, as he slowed the Jaguar in deference to the bumpy track to my cottage.
‘Which part?’ He winked. ‘You didn’t seem like a beginner to me.’
‘Stayed overnight somewhere, without planning it.’
‘What –’ he replied, ‘you’ve never got drunk and crashed on someone’s sofa?’
I shook my head. ‘No. Or missed the last train. I’m too organised.’ Or maybe just too dull, I added silently.
‘Well, in that case,’ he’d grinned, ‘I think we should do it again.’
Now, Amelia inhaled the scent of her coffee. ‘So you didn’t spend much time talking, then.’
‘Of course we talked,’ I replied. ‘We looked at a factory, and a school, and the, um, hotel.’
‘I get the idea,’ she said pointedly as I wriggled in my seat, glowing a little from embarrassment, but mostly just glowing.
Amelia walked over to the coffee table and began to rearrange the glossy property magazines. ‘So, you feel you know him pretty well?’
‘Uh – well enough, I think. Why?’
‘I know I told you to go and have fun, but, Grace …’
‘What?’ Something in her voice made me nervous.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re seeing someone.’ She was definitely uncomfortable.
‘So? What are you getting at?’
‘Just … well, that he might only be your rebound guy. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Well, of course I know that.’ I had reminded myself of it frequently. I became suspicious. ‘Why have you shuffled those magazines, like, six times? Is there something between you and Scott?’ Okay, I was paranoid, but given my recent history, it was a reasonable question.
Nonetheless, I was startled that she looked so guilty. Her phone started to ring but she sank down on a chair and ignored it.
‘Amelia? For Christ’s sake, what’s going on?’
‘Grace, keep your hair on. I can see you like him, and that’s lovely.’
I watched her fiercely, seconds away from implosion.
‘But … I kept hoping he’d tell you himself. And I’m dreadfully cross that he hasn’t. You do have a right to know.’
‘Know what, for crying out loud?’
She made a defeated gesture, both palms up.
‘Grace, Scott’s just bought your cottage.’
~~~
I was so angry, I didn’t return any of his phone calls.
So, it wasn’t a total surprise when I got home from work on Friday night to find a blue Jaguar parked outside. Both Scott and Mungo were waiting on the doorstep. They seemed to have formed an uneasy alliance, each suspicious of the other’s intentions. Mungo wasted no time in showering me with physical affection, to prove he was my number one guy.
‘Hey,’ I said, trying to ignore the fresh dog slobber on my best trousers. Perhaps sensing my unease, Mungo growled as Scott moved towards m
e.
Scott stopped in his tracks, eyeing Mungo with dislike. ‘I was worried,’ he said. ‘You didn’t call me back.’
‘I’m fine.’ I locked the Beetle and folded my arms.
‘Right. Okay.’ He looked surprised and I guessed this was a new experience for him. He was so charmingly gorgeous, his other girlfriends probably returned his calls before he’d even hung up the phone.
‘So, are you here on business or pleasure?’ I asked acidly.
He was watching me carefully. ‘Well, pleasure … obviously … I came to see you.’
‘Oh, really?’ I looked at the cottage. ‘I thought you might have come to serve an eviction order.’
‘Grace …’ He squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them skywards, as if seeking assistance. ‘I’m an idiot,’ he said.
I waited, tight-lipped. But I tilted my head to one side to show I was listening.
‘Look, I should have told you. I’m sorry. There just didn’t seem to be a good time.’
‘There were plenty of good times,’ I shot back. ‘Right before we got a room would have been a really good time.’
He shook his head. ‘I couldn’t help it. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to wreck things.’ He was half smiling, looking sheepish but sexy.
‘I’m sure.’ A thought occurred to me. ‘That Sunday, when my family was here? You hadn’t come to see me, had you?’ What a mug I’d been.
He didn’t answer, but dug his hands in his pockets.
‘You’d come to check out my cottage, hadn’t you?’ Oh hell. And he’d covered up by asking me on a date. ‘You weren’t interested in me at all.’
‘That’s not true. Yes, I did come to have a peek at the cottage. But you were a delightful bonus.’
I looked at him in horror. Bonus? I’d been a fool to get involved with another man so quickly.
He saw my expression and tried again. ‘What I’m trying to say is, I didn’t expect to like you so much.’ He was wrinkling those blue eyes at me now. ‘By the time your horse won that race, I was hooked.’
Hooked? I didn’t answer, but hope flared within me.
‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘can we go inside?’
‘Do I have the legal right to refuse?’ I huffed, but he could tell I was softening.
Mungo, traitor that he was, started to paw at the door.
We sat awkwardly at opposite ends of the sofa. Mungo lolled happily in front of the fireplace, but still kept a lazy eye on Scott.
‘So, how long have I got?’ I asked with a sigh.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Before you evict me.’
He laughed. ‘Grace, I’m not going to evict you.’
‘You’re not?’ I searched his expression for confirmation.
He shook his head slowly. ‘Absolutely not. The cottage is just an investment. Like the other one. I told you about it, remember?’
‘Oh.’ I was quiet for a moment and he watched me, a smile playing on his face.
‘You should have told me about this one too,’ I said, still grumpy but thawing fast.
‘I know. I know.’ He scooted along the sofa and touched my thigh. ‘I’m sorry.’
I sighed. ‘It’s just … I really like it here.’
‘That’s good,’ he said. Then he raised his hand to play with my hair. ‘I really like it here too.’
I looked up at him and was defeated.
As Scott leaned me back on the sofa and began kissing me carefully but deliciously, a wet canine nose was thrust under my elbow.
‘Bugger off, Mungo,’ I muttered. ‘Can’t you see we’re busy?’
~~~
The following Tuesday morning, a dozen white roses were waiting for me at Hargraves and Co.
‘Wow, he’s totally fallen for you,’ said Jem on the phone that evening. ‘Not that that’s surprising,’ she added hastily.
‘I’m having a hard time believing it,’ I said, looking at the tall blooms in their vase.
‘So, you spent the weekend together?’
‘Yes. Sunday and Monday, I mean. We went to Southwold.’
Scott had picked me up after I’d finished work on Saturday evening and we’d driven to an upmarket boutique hotel. This time, I’d made sure I had clean undies and a toothbrush.
‘Southwold? Not quite Paris, is it?’
‘Have you ever been? It’s gorgeous. Adorable painted beach huts – they change hands for tens of thousands of pounds, Scott says. And the shops were cute too.’
‘Was he trying to buy a beach hut, then?’
‘I don’t think so.’ Scott had, in fact, mixed some business into our trip but I didn’t mind. So what if he was deducting me from his taxable income? I was having a great time and while he wasn’t completely flashing money around, he’d made sure I experienced the luxury end of Suffolk. Being chauffeured in a Jaguar and feasting on gourmet meals made a welcome change from the white Beetle and a Waitrose curry. The days were getting chilly and I was a sudden fan of heated leather seats.
As we’d been eating a late dinner on Saturday night, I’d said to him, ‘There’s something else we need to talk about.’
He’d flinched slightly, in the way men often do when they hear the word talk.
‘You didn’t tell me about your parents and Saffron Hall.’
In fact, he hadn’t shared a single thing about his family. Yet, he knew my mother kept chickens, that my dad had once played cricket for Lancashire and that my brother’s wife was nicknamed Puddle-Duck in college. I’d kept quiet about the Gruffalo, though.
‘I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.’
I was determined not to make a scene and scanned the dessert menu before continuing. ‘But you do know I’m helping them plan a big Thanksgiving event? Can we share the bread and butter pudding?’
He didn’t blink. ‘Yes to the pudding and yes, I know about the turkey dinner.’
‘And?’
‘And what? It’s no big deal. I think you’re all bonkers.’
Bonkers? That didn’t sound like a term of endearment.
‘Look, the Hall’s mortgaged up to the nines. It’s inevitable they’ll have to sell it sooner or later. But if the three of you want to play at party planning for a bit, I’m not going to get in the way. You’ll be lucky to break even, though.’
‘Oh.’ I didn’t pursue the topic, but I was disappointed.
Now, to Jem, I confessed, ‘It wasn’t quite the reaction I’d been hoping for.’
‘Well, it sounds like he might have a point,’ she said.
‘Maybe he does, but a bit more faith in me would be nice.’ Then again, James had shown unswerving faith in my business abilities, and look where that had landed us.
‘So you just made mad passionate love in a hotel in Southwold all weekend?’ Jem teased me.
‘I’m not going to dignify that question with a response,’ I said, but she could hear the huge smile in my voice. ‘Let’s just say, all that outrageously expensive underwear doesn’t seem such a waste now.’
‘Oh, lucky you,’ she replied wistfully. ‘I can’t remember the last time we – well, you know. And certainly not in expensive underwear.’
‘Are things okay?’
She sighed. ‘Fine. You know, it’s just … just everything. So tired the whole time.’
I didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. I had no words of wisdom for juggling nappies and nookie.
‘But I want to hear about the rest of your weekend,’ Jem said loyally.
‘There isn’t much more to tell. He took me to a place called Snape Maltings. We should meet up there some time, you’d like it.’
‘Snape what?’
‘Maltings. It’s an old malt house, like the one here, you remember? Only this one isn’t falling down, it’s been converted into a huge concert hall, and there are shops and cafes and luxury holiday flats. It’s very cool.’
I had, in fact, been in absolute heaven browsing the blissfully stylish home deco
r shop at Snape. Scott had sensibly realised I wasn’t listening to a word he said and had wandered off somewhere. By the time he came back, I’d bought new bed linen, a duck-egg-blue milk jug and a set of French glasses embossed with bees.
Jem laughed. ‘I think I’ll just live vicariously through you, Grace.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look at you – new job, cute cottage, sexy man who sends you roses. I’m so happy for you.’
I was happy for me too. Of course I was.
I said goodnight to Jem and tucked the vase of roses under my arm to take upstairs. I wanted them next to my bed, to make sure I saw them as soon as I woke up in the morning.
CHAPTER 25
I confess, I was so busy seeing the world through Scott-tinted glasses that Halloween sneaked up on me. But in the last week of October, I suddenly realised that the village had made a herculean effort to get into the ghostly spirit.
Outside the pub were straw bales and pumpkins, and what looked like a stolen scarecrow hastily transformed into a witch. The little library sported hairy black spiders in its window, and inside I spotted a display of spooky books suitable for reading to children. Brian had gone all out in the bakery: cookies and cupcakes were decorated with bats, cats and orange icing. He was also taking orders for pumpkin pies.
I got the biggest shock, however, when I popped into the post office and encountered a human skeleton, which was clutching a telescope and wearing a pirate’s hat. Next to him, a fake hand reached out of an old sailor’s trunk.
‘Good grief!’ I said to Violet, in admiration. ‘Where on earth did you find him?’
‘Peter helped me,’ she replied, looking proud. ‘He dug around and found me a couple of bits he hadn’t sold.’
‘Can’t think why,’ I murmured. After all, every stylish home needs a skeleton next to the television.
I noticed she had a prominent display featuring plastic witches’ hats, black and orange party supplies and even a tall basket filled with broomsticks.
‘It looks great in here,’ I told her.
‘Did you see my pumpkins?’ At her age, she could ask that kind of question without people snickering.
I nodded: there was a fine display of pumpkins outside the door.
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