A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. “I like it when you call me that.”
“What? Love?”
“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, breaking free of his grip and wiggling some more.
Theo groaned, rough and guttural. “And I like it when you do that.”
Encouraged, she rotated her hips again, and then again, her movements becoming more fluid as she found her rhythm. He fisted his hands at his sides, letting her work him the way she wanted. When her tempo increased with a sudden intensity that told him she was close, he pressed a hand between their bodies, flicking his thumb over her clit.
She cried out, gasping his name.
“That’s it.” He stroked her clit again. “Come on, love,” he encouraged, kissing her jaw, her neck, her breasts, while her hips jerked back and forth, up and down. Hold on. Let her have this. Give her this. He continued to repeat the mantra to himself as she worked him harder, faster, little cries growing louder until a scream burst from her lips, shudders wracking her body. He held onto her, her forehead resting on his shoulder, face pressed into his neck.
When the storm of her orgasm passed, he twisted, gripping the base of his cock to keep the condom in place as he pulled out. He gently rolled her onto her stomach, bending her over the arm of the sofa. Getting on his knees behind her, he nudged her legs apart and pressed himself against the curve of her lushly rounded bum.
Before entering her, Theo bent over her body, chest to her back, and whispered in her ear, “I’m going to come inside you now, okay?”
“Okay,” she breathed, bucking her hips backward, bringing him closer to exactly where he wanted to be.
It was all the invitation he needed. Bracing his palms on either side of her, he gripped the arm of the couch and thrust. Hard. He pumped into her. Once, twice, three times, his mind going blank as he gave himself over to his need, his hunger. Sensation crashed through him, and in a blink, he was shuddering against her, the rush of his orgasm sounding in his ears.
Before he collapsed, he leaned into her and kissed her flushed cheek. “Thank you,” he groaned, and passed out to the sound of her laughter, too spent to wonder what she found so amusing.
* * *
The steady ping of raindrops against glass broke through Bonnie’s languid stupor. She yawned and stretched, uncurling her limbs like a cat. The muscles in her thighs protested, body threatening mutiny if she didn’t stop moving.
Go back to sleep, the soft hush of rain whispered. Relax, a distant roll of thunder suggested. Breathing growing soft and even once more, she was on the verge of nodding back off when cold wet droplets sprinkled her face.
She jerked, blinking madly through the tangle of her hair, wondering if a window had been left open.
“You’re awake,” Theo murmured, hovering over her. Water dripped from the ends of his dark hair, landing on her cheeks.
“And you’re wet,” she grumbled.
“It’s raining outside.”
“You were outside?” she asked, tucking the blanket she was wrapped in tighter around herself. “Why?”
“I had some things to take care of,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “Come on, Sleeping Beauty, time to wake up.”
“It’s Saturday,” Bonnie protested, giggling when his shadow-beard tickled her. “I sleep in on Saturdays.”
“It’s almost noon, love,” Theo said, tugging on her blanket.
“Hey, I’m naked under here!” she yelped.
“Then it’s a good thing I’ve brought you your clothes.” He dropped her duffel bag next to the couch before tugging on the blanket again.
“Theo!” Bonnie snatched it back, clasping it to her chest.
“On second thought”—he licked his lips—“perhaps you don’t need to get dressed quite yet.”
He stared down at her, and her skin grew hot under his intense gaze. She pulled the blanket tighter, tucking it under her arms. He chuckled. The low male sound made her nipples tighten.
His fingers reached for the blanket again.
And this time, she let go.
Sometime later, they lay cocooned together under that same blanket. The rain had stopped, and bright afternoon sunshine spilled across the room.
“Christ, it’s getting late,” Theo groaned, chest rumbling beneath her cheek.
“Mmm,” Bonnie mumbled, perfectly content to stay curled up right here on the couch with him all day.
“We really should get moving.” Theo wriggled out from under her, evacuating their blanket nest. “I have one or two other matters needing my attention, and then we can be off.”
“Off where?” She rolled to her side, enjoying the view as he pulled on his pants.
“Have you forgotten about your surprise?” Theo asked. “Now, there’s a pot of tea on the counter, and a loaf of bread to make toast.” He bent down, grabbing his shirt off the floor and kissing her cheek. “Be ready to leave within the hour.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Bonnie mumbled at his retreating back. Someone can be bossy. She pressed her hand to her cheek where he’d kissed her, recalling last night, when he’d placed a soft kiss on the same spot. She smiled, laughter bubbling up again at the way he’d said “Thank you” in the epitome of British manners, right after pounding into her from behind, brutal and uncontrolled, like a beast let off its leash. Heat pooled in her belly, and she curled into herself, savoring the sweet sharp sting lingering between her legs.
But he was right, it was getting late, even for her Saturday morning sleeping habits, and she definitely wanted to find out what his surprise was. Gathering her things, blanket wrapped around her, Bonnie shuffled off to change.
By the time Theo returned, Bonnie had managed to locate an upstairs bathroom with a shower and was dressed and ready to go. She’d even had a little time to explore the cottage and was more smitten than ever. On the opposite end of the main floor was a large sunroom overlooking the undulating slopes of hillside meadows. Bonnie wanted to spend the evening in there and watch the sunset through the tall wall of windows, maybe write in her journal. She’d brought it along in case her muse decided to pay her a visit. After all, the Lake District was the source of inspiration for such literary greats as Coleridge and William Wordsworth.
They’d been on the road about twenty minutes, the last few clouds from the morning’s storm drifting away, when Theo drove the car through a small village and parked alongside a churchyard.
“A cemetery? Is this my surprise?” Bonnie gave Theo some side-eye. “Wouldn’t that be RIP, not LMP?”
“This is just a bonus stop on the way to your surprise.” Theo chuckled, stepping around the car, and held her door open. “And it’s not just any cemetery. This is St. Oswald’s. One of my country’s finest poets is buried here.”
“I didn’t know you liked poetry.”
“I don’t really,” he confessed.
She snorted.
“But I do appreciate this man’s poems.” Theo led her through the graveyard, stone monuments still dripping with the remains of the morning storm. “Here we are,” he said, coming to a stop.
Bonnie read the inscription. “Oh, Wordsworth. I was just thinking about him this morning.”
“I believe it. His life and work are woven into the history of the Lakelands. What I liked best about him is how he strived to preserve the beauty of this land, to prevent his generation from destroying it for future generations. To provide for the future.”
“I didn’t know that,” Bonnie admitted. “His work has never been a big part of my studies. I remember ‘I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud’ but that’s about it.”
“That’s what most people remember.” Theo grinned, raising an eyebrow in challenge. “Can you recall the last line of that poem?”
Bonnie scrunched up her face, thinking. “Something to do with daffodils.”
“Not bad.” Theo turned to face her. Clasping their hands together, he recited:
For oft, when on my couch I lie,
In vacant or in
pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the Daffodils.
His rich, crisp voice rolled over the words. Bonnie listened, transfixed. The man should be performing Shakespeare.
Still cradling her hands, he stared down at her palms, tracing a finger across the grooves in her skin. “It’s about the power of memory,” Theo explained, running his forefinger across her palm. “The happiness one experiences through reimagining an experience.” His fingers trailed over the mound at the base of her thumb. “The pleasure it brings.”
Bonnie shivered, her body infusing with heat, pulse throbbing in her wrists and at her throat. She could feel every heavy beat of her heart, the thick rush of blood in her veins—that’s what this man did to her, made her aware of how alive she was. She shook herself.
“Considering our experience this morning,” she observed, voice droll, “that poem is startlingly appropriate.”
“How so?” Theo asked, guiding her across the slick grass toward the wrought-iron gate.
“Oh, you know, lying on a couch, being filled with pleasure…” She nudged him with her elbow.
“I’ll never hear that poem in the same way again.” Theo’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “Are you ready for your surprise?”
In a way, this stop at Wordsworth’s grave had been a surprise. It had revealed a side of Theo she hadn’t expected. Not sure what else to expect, she nodded. “I’m ready. Surprise me.”
They walked through the cemetery and then strolled down to the village square. At the doorway to a tea shop, he paused. “I admit to having an ulterior motive by taking you here.”
“Am I finally going to discover the secret behind the mysterious LMP?”
“Actually, yes.” He beamed and held the door open, following her inside.
* * *
“Lemon meringue pie? My big surprise is pie?” Bonnie sat next to Theo in a booth, staring at the dish of fluffiness he’d presented to her.
“This isn’t just any pie. This is the most perfect slice of heaven you will find on Earth.” Theo stuffed a bite into his mouth, the groan emanating from his throat nearly pornographic.
Residual shivers tickled Bonnie’s spine as she recalled the way he’d groaned in much the same way last night when she’d wiggled on top of him, his cock deep inside her. “If you say so.” She poked at the scoop of meringue crowning her slice.
“I can’t help but notice you seem distracted,” Theo said, regarding her over another forkful. “Tell me, if you had to pick one food that carried you off to a state of pure bliss, what would it be?”
That was an easy one. Without hesitating a beat, Bonnie replied, “Gingerbread.”
“Really?” He cocked a brow at her. “Are you serious?”
“Oh yeah, I love it.”
“Then, I may have another surprise for you today,” Theo mused. “What’s that old saying? The key to a man’s heart is through his stomach?” He swallowed another bite. “Do you think the same can be said for a woman?”
“You pose an interesting question.” Bonnie rested her chin in her hand, watching him devour her slice of pie as well, and forced herself to remain casual. Inside, her mind had begun to race. What if he already has my heart?
At first, she was worried she’d been using Theo to fill the hole Gabe left. But it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that at all. Theo wasn’t Gabe—she didn’t want him to be. And she was beginning to think she wasn’t the same Bonnie.
“Shall we test my theory?” Theo asked, tongue darting out to lick a speck of lemon from the tip of his fork.
“Sure,” she breathed, gaze locked on his lips.
He slid off the bench and held his arm out to her. Again, she took it without question, her body fitting against him easily. They crossed the village square, retracing their steps. “Where are we going?”
He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’ll see.”
She didn’t have to wait long to find out. On the other side of St. Oswald’s Church, opposite from where he’d parked the car, stood the Grasmere Gingerbread Shop. Before they’d reached the green picket fence surrounding the shop, Bonnie could smell the rich aroma of baking gingerbread. She inhaled a lungful of molasses and spice, and now she was the one groaning in pornographic pleasure. And she hadn’t even tasted it yet.
“An I had but one penny in the world, thou shouldst have it to buy gingerbread,” Theo quoted.
She glanced up at him. “I know that’s Shakespeare, but I’m drawing a blank on the play.”
“Love’s Labour’s Lost,” he said, following behind as she made a beeline for the counter where a woman dressed in an old-fashioned apron and kerchief was handing out samples.
“How is it you remember that?” she demanded, a tad embarrassed he’d outdone her.
“The Shakespeare quote about gingerbread?” the woman asked, offering Bonnie a bite-sized square.
Bonnie took it and nodded.
“It’s on a sign out front,” the woman said.
“You don’t say.” She eyed Theo over her shoulder, then popped the gingerbread into her mouth and forgot to be annoyed, forgot to be anything but a mouth and a tongue, tasting and chewing and, “Oh,” she moaned, “oh, God, that’s good.”
“Best in the world.” The woman nodded. “Says so on a sign out front too.” She winked.
“You’re right,” she told Theo, accepting another sample from the woman. “I’m in love. Leave me here. I’m going to marry this gingerbread.”
* * *
That evening Theo sorted through the pile of notes he’d taken while walking the property with the groundskeeper. Luckily, the cottage was in good repair. But still, there were several layers to the rental endeavor, from permits to insurance to marketing—and all of it was bloody expensive and time consuming.
As he feared, to have any hope of making the venture profitable, the cottage would have to be let out most of the year. It was selfish, he knew, to balk at giving this place up. Especially since he wasn’t giving it up, exactly. But he wouldn’t be able to pop in for a weekend holiday whenever the mood struck. Not that he’d been doing much of that.
But he also knew opening this place to the public would change it in ways that couldn’t be measured in a ledger. Unlike the Abbey, which had always felt more like a museum than a house, the Lakeland Cottage was small, private, and felt more like a home than anywhere else in the world.
Setting the paperwork aside, Theo glanced over to where Bonnie sat on the other side of the cracked leather settee. The solar was perhaps his favorite spot in the cottage. The furniture was well-worn and comfortable, a collection of pieces relocated here once deemed unfit for other rooms. Appropriate, since anything placed in this room would soon start to fade after long days in the sun. The wall of windows overlooked the hills stretching up toward the Cumbrian sky, a breathtaking sight that never got old or faded, no matter how many years went by.
He eased back, pulling her legs onto his lap and rubbing his thumbs against her soles, gently massaging her feet. She glanced up at him, her pen pausing on the page. A smile passed between them, full of quiet contentment. Then she dropped her chin and resumed her scribbling. Leaving her to her thoughts, Theo enjoyed the simple pleasure of her nearness and the beauty of a summer twilight.
When the sky was full dark, he shifted his attention to her again. “How’s the writing going?”
“Good.” She arched her back, twisting her neck from side to side. “This place is working wonders for my muse.”
“Your muse, hmm?”
“Yeah, she likes it here.” Bonnie set her book and pen aside.
“What about you?” he asked. “Do you like it here?”
“I love it here.” Her feet were still resting on his lap, and she stretched, pointing and flexing her toes.
Theo’s heart swelled. It did something to him
, to know she felt the same way about this place as he did. He wrapped his fingers around one of her ankles. “I’m glad you came up here with me.” He moved his hand up, brushing the tender skin of her calf.
“I’m glad you asked.” She smiled at him, closing her eyes as he massaged the soft curve of muscle. “Will it be hard for you?” she wondered, eyes still closed. “Having to rent the cottage out?”
“Yes,” he admitted, again surprised by his honesty. “But I can’t let my personal feelings get in the way of a sound business decision. It’s not just about me. The Emberton holdings are sort of like a corporation. The Lindseys have worked here at the cottage since before I was born, it’s all they know. And at the Abbey? Most of the town works for our family in some capacity. If we lose the Abbey, they’d likely lose their livelihoods.”
“That’s a big responsibility.” Bonnie opened her eyes and watched him, brow furrowed in empathy.
“Enough about my duke stuff.” Theo shifted, reaching for her other leg. “Tell me about your writing. What are you working on?” he asked, nodding toward her journal.
“I’m not sure yet,” she said. “I have some story ideas, and I’m just kind of jotting them all down, seeing where they go.”
“You enjoy writing, then?”
“Mostly. Sometimes it’s incredibly frustrating. But I always come back to it.” Her voice dropped, the tone almost shy as she continued, “It’s been so long since I’ve spent any real time writing I’m still getting my bearings, figuring out what the story needs.”
“How do you do that?” he wondered.
“Play around with the characters, throw different things at them until I find what works.” She shifted her free leg, and her foot grazed his groin.
He stiffened—everywhere. “Why did you stop writing for so long?”
“Life.” She went back to doodling on her paper. “I was too focused on all the things I thought I wanted, like a husband and a teaching career.” The corner of her mouth turned up. “I was wrong about the husband … and lately, I’ve been wondering if I was wrong about the career too.”
Smitten by the Brit--A Sometimes in Love Novel Page 26