by Georgia Rose
Now my body cried out for him, my hips rising as I willingly succumbed to the pleasure he gave me and which built rapidly. I longed for release, yet skilfully he held me as if in suspension, every sensation heightened by his constant attention. Desperate to be pushed over the edge I called out, breathless and grasping his hands as with a final flick I came, crashing over hard and fast, the quick blinding intensity that rolled through my body exquisitely prolonged by his unrelenting tongue until I could bear it no longer and I pushed him away.
He reared up over me then, soft skin over the solid muscle of his chest, his stomach, and I reached for him, pulling him down towards me, my fingers pushing roughly into his hair, feeling him, hard against still tender flesh that made me gasp as he drove into me, thrusting deeply, his lips coming down passionately on mine as he powered into me over and over until suddenly he tensed tight up against me, groaning loudly, his body shuddering until finally he collapsed, heavy and breathing hard. Eventually he rolled off me and we lay fully sated and wordless, falling asleep in a tangle of bodies and sheets.
I woke the next morning with a smile on my face and, cheesy though it may be, a song in my heart as I hummed my way downstairs.
“Someone’s got their bounce back.” He grinned as I popped bread in the toaster before wrapping my arms around him. He’d told me the previous evening he was going to be ‘off for a couple of days’ and he was wearing his holster under his left arm. His gun lay on the table, an indicator of the state of alert on the estate. Since the attack all who were licensed to carry did. While it remained our intention to take down the Polzin organisation, it was likely that at some point they would retaliate against us. It made me edgy, his holster, always there as a reminder of the situation we were in, but I thought it was interesting how I now thought of the estate as ‘we’. It was the estate and everyone on it instead of only Trent and Cavendish against the bad guys. Maybe I was more of a team player than I’d thought.
He drained his glass before placing it back on the desk and turned his attention to the pile of photographs he had in front of him. Leaving the top one to the side, he looked carefully through the others, as he had done whenever he’d had the opportunity. He savoured each one as he took his time, gazing at them, allowing the memories each evoked to flood back in. It was highly likely he would never see them again.
He checked they were in order then placed them back on the desk, returning to the one he’d previously put aside. He’d recently received it from his clients. Their instructions always followed the same pattern: a photo would be given to him which would show his next target. In this case, more correctly, targets.
The photo featured two men and two women standing on the steps of a courthouse. He knew where it was. A red cross had been drawn, using a permanent marker, over the hearts of each of the two men and one of the women. The other woman, it appeared, was of no importance in the plans of his clients.
One of the crosses had a circle around it.
It was this circle that made all the difference.
It was this circle that had shown that this was not business.
This was personal.
And he didn’t like that. He didn’t like that one bit.
Chapter 4
Now I was no longer spending my days feeling debilitated by nausea I was looking forward to spending Christmas at the Manor. Cavendish and Grace were hosting an open house again. As Turner settled back into life on the estate he was occasionally free and he ‘volunteered’ to come and help out at the stables. I guessed this was at Trent’s instigation, part of his less than subtle plan to introduce more assistance gradually for me at the stables, as if I wouldn’t notice. However, I was particularly pleased to make use of the extra help on Christmas Eve. Because I wasn’t riding and because I had Turner’s help I got the stables done in double-quick time, which meant I could fit in a visit to Eva.
I placed the flowers in the vase buried in the black granite, this time a warm and comforting array of reds and ambers, and I remembered the icy white roses I’d brought in error the previous year. I was pleased to see a small wreath already on the grave. It was pretty: red berries interwoven with a richly coloured tartan ribbon. I imagined Alex laying it there for her and hoped he was moving on.
I sat on the bench, filled her in on life on the estate and told her about the baby. I had no doubt she already knew – my dreams showed me that, but this made it official and I couldn’t help but hope she was okay with it; that she understood. I told her we were starting to get the nursery ready. It would be decorated in greens and yellows, neutral, nothing stereotypical. Trent’s suggestion, which had made me laugh. Eva had insisted from almost as soon as she could talk that she wanted her room to be blue and we’d covered the cream with paint the colour of robin’s eggs, softened with a cornflower blue that I believed matched her eyes.
I let her know I thought it was a boy, a blond-haired boy. Trent had once told me he had been blond as a child, his hair only darkening to a rich dark brown as he grew up, and since then I’d thought of my boy: blond, blue-eyed and solemn. I didn’t know why solemn, but I couldn’t imagine having a giggly baby. Perhaps because Trent had always been so serious, I saw his son as a smaller version of the same.
Trent had changed. If not with the outside world, where I was sure he was still the same hard man life had made him, then at least with me. After years of living in sad loneliness he felt secure and loved, and by giving him everything I had I found myself in the privileged position of being allowed to see through the tough exterior to the softer soul inside. To my surprise I discovered that I was the centre of his existence. I had never been that to anyone, not even Alex, and it was both overwhelming and deeply touching.
I hoped he felt I was as open as he was about my feelings, but I wasn’t sure and I didn’t know how to bare my soul in the way he did to me. We weren’t needy people, never feeling like we had to keep telling the other we loved them. That was a given; once said it was meant forever, but sometimes I wondered if I should say more, tell him how much he meant to me. I just didn’t know how.
I stayed with Eva for a while, trying to think back to what life had been like when she had been a baby. That had been more than ten years ago now, a lifetime, and a time when I was an entirely different person. Eventually I left, promising as always I’d be back.
I returned to the cottage late afternoon, delighted to find Trent’s truck parked in the yard showing he’d made it home for Christmas. He’d been ‘off for a couple of days’. I made a fuss of Susie as she scampered out to greet me. Like the previous year, a beautifully decorated tree had magically appeared in the cottage and was lit by the glow from the lights that adorned it as well as a golden warmth coming from the wood burner.
I found Trent asleep on the settee. Music played softly in the background and I sat on the other one and watched him for a while.
He was a man who worried too much, and although he had much to worry about with things as they were, he did overburden himself, taking on more than his fair share of the load. I loved watching him sleep; it was then I got to see his face truly relaxed. The warm light highlighted angled planes and softened others with shadows cast. His jawline was dark with stubble; his hair lay across his forehead, reaching down to beautifully curved brows above thickly lashed eyes. Lips, soft in repose, tempted me and I moved closer to kiss them; my sleeping beauty stirred and woke in our role reversal. He smiled sleepily as he reached his arms around me.
“Hi,” he murmured.
“Hi.” I kissed him again, firmer this time, and felt him take notice as his arms tightened their hold. I pulled away to look at him. “I’m off to do evening stables, be back in a bit.”
“Don’t go.” His eyes were barely open. “I have plans to get you into bed.” I chuckled; while his heart might be willing I was pretty sure his flesh would not be that interested. Whenever he returned he needed recovery time – cuts and bruises had to be treated and the sleep of the dead slep
t – but it never failed to amaze me how quickly he bounced back.
“Work now, play later,” I whispered against his lips as I quickly kissed him goodbye before unwrapping his arms from my body and leaving him to drift back off into sleep, which he looked like he could use.
We woke early on Christmas Day, pulled on thick coats to go and feed Susie and the horses then went back to bed where we snuggled up and swapped presents. I had struggled to come up with a gift for Trent, settling eventually for silver cufflinks; not exactly original, but he liked them. He gave me a beautiful silver locket, an antique. It contained a photo of Eva, the other side left blank for Baby.
I sat up to allow Trent to put it on me and once he had he reached down to the hem of my vest top and pulled it up and over my head. I raised one eyebrow in question and he grinned salaciously.
“I want to see you wearing only this.” Always happy to oblige I wriggled out of my lounge pants as he stripped and pulled me close. He was hungry. I could feel it in his kisses, in the urgency of his restless body. Usually we took our time, revelling in the enjoyment of each other, but this was not one of those occasions. A cobweb-shaking session of raw, animalistic passion worked just as effectively and falling back on the pillows panting and laughing with him a short time later I couldn’t help thinking how much my Christmases had improved since I’d come to the estate.
We enjoyed a fabulous feast at the Manor. Most of our friends, or at least those who didn’t have family elsewhere, were with us, and encouraged by how much I ate from then on Trent tried to feed me at every opportunity. He was keen for me to gain some weight which was fair enough, but I didn’t want it to get out of hand so I insisted on starting back at the gym, which I hadn’t been to since the morning sickness first struck. Cavendish brought in a fitness trainer to work out a suitably modified routine for me and I was back to fitting my workout in at the end of each day when I’d finished at the stables. I started to look and feel much healthier. My skin glowed, my hair was glossy and I was full of energy. Trent and I started socialising with the others again, enjoying pub nights at The Red Calf, though being the designated driver every time wasn’t quite as much fun.
My enjoyment of food wasn’t the only appetite that was fully restored, and over the next couple of months barely a night passed, if Trent was at home, when I didn’t get to indulge in my reawakened passion for him. He was never one to say no, but unfortunately for him, and for reasons unknown to me, my libido peaked in the early hours. It would wake me up and, knowing I’d never get back to sleep again, I’d reach for him. I knew it was selfish to wake him, but I banked on the fact he’d always come round to my way of thinking. I’d snuggle up, my body pressing against his warm skin, and wrap my leg across his, running my hand over his chest, brushing my fingers through the light covering of dark hair then caressing slowly downwards, following the trail as it tapered away across the flat muscle of his stomach. Generally by then I’d have gained his full attention and like he’d awoken in the middle of an erotic dream he’d become an active participant in our lovemaking. If not I worked on him more, using my hands, my lips, my mouth…He loved that – there was no ignoring that. Just as he, and I, loved my nipples brushing through his chest hair as he held me close, hungrily searching for my mouth as I moved over him, his hips driving against me in rhythm as we sought our mutual goal. Then, satisfaction achieved, we’d collapse, hot and panting, unravelling from one another to drift back into the folds of sleep.
I realised the toll this was taking on him when I came in from the gym on several occasions to find him fast asleep in the sitting room. I’d get dinner on, or progress what he’d already started, and he’d wake, appearing in the door to the kitchen, stretching and yawning as he rubbed his eyes.
“God, woman, you’re wearing me out,” he’d mumble into my neck as I hugged him to me, feeling the stirrings of desire as I did. I loved my new levels of energy almost as much as Trent loved what was happening to my body. He enjoyed every change as I gradually filled out, and while I could understand his increased interest as my breasts got larger, I was surprised by how delighted he was as my stomach grew.
We were lying on the settee one evening, comfortably relaxed and settled with Trent’s hand resting on my bump, when he felt Baby move for the first time. I’d been feeling it for a while now, right from the fluttering butterfly movements as I’d been sitting eating dinner one evening to the now more obvious stretches and kicks. Several times I’d grabbed Trent’s hand and pressed it to my stomach, but there had been no more movements, as if Baby had had a sudden bout of shyness. This time, though, it made him jump. He kept his hand in place, hoping for more, and stared in fascination as he watched a ripple move under my skin as Baby went for a walk.
“That is amazing,” he stated, pointing at my bump and I laughed at his astonishment at something I was learning to live with. “Does it hurt?”
“Not really…it’s usually stretches and wiggles I feel rather than kicks, though they’ll get stronger as Baby gets bigger. I remember one time when I was expecting Eva I actually saw an outline of a foot as she kicked me when I was in the bath.”
“Oh, that’s weird,” he replied, a worried frown appearing on his face.
“You’d think it would be, but then when it happens it feels normal.”
He was quiet for a moment then cleared his throat. “Er…I was wondering if we should discuss some baby names.” I’d known this was coming, that he’d been sensing when I’d be most receptive, and over the last few days I’d already had a couple of gentle hints. “Charlotte’s a nice name,” he’d mentioned most recently while reading the paper, no doubt while taking in an article about a notable Charlotte. I’d made some sort of noncommittal noise and moved on.
He’d already made it crystal clear he wanted traditional names. Names that wouldn’t stand out, that wouldn’t earn Baby a beating at school. I thought this was a shame as, having lived with the quite ordinary Emma, I liked his Ezekiel better and quite fancied the idea of something a little more flamboyant, but any suggestions I’d made in the past had been shot down in flames.
“We haven’t discussed any girls’ names, Emma.” Though he’d come straight to the point, I could feel him testing the water to see if I was any closer to coming round to his way of thinking, which was to keep an open mind.
“There’s no need to,” I replied, probably a little more bluntly than I meant to.
“Emma…” his reasoning tone.
“If it comes to it, Trent, we’ll come up with something then. But I honestly don’t think there’s any need.”
“Okay.” He sighed, then after a moment of quiet moved on. “Boys’ names then. What about William Henry? What do you think?”
I thought, as names went, they were pretty safe actually, and more than a little unoriginal considering they belonged to the two men we were closest to. William Henry Trent. Hmm. Will Trent. I liked the sound of that.
I was still thinking when he added, “They might make good godfathers too.” This was new and I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but yes, they seemed to be the obvious people to ask. It wasn’t as if either of us had brothers who would fill that role.
“Yeah…I like that idea.” It pleased me that he was thinking of Carlton like that. “But as we’re not religious, would we go down the route of having a christening?”
“Ahh, I see what you mean, and you’re right, we wouldn’t, but I think we should have people in place in the roles of godparents. Our four closest friends would be ideal.”
“Yes, they would, and I like the name, as long as we can shorten it to Will…if it suits him.”
Trent tilted his head as he considered. “I’m happy with that. It’s a good, strong name and he’ll blend in when he goes off to boarding school.”
I didn’t hesitate. Not for a second.
“That won’t be happening.” It was a statement, and as far as I was concerned a final one. I didn’t even break stride making it.
“Our son will not be going away to school.”
“Why not?” he queried as I pushed myself up into a sitting position.
“I will not be separated from another child, Trent, ever, and certainly not because of some old boys’ tradition. Our child can go to the local school. It’s a perfectly good school and he will come home each day. We will be the ones who bring him up and make him into the man he will become, not some school miles away where we have no idea what is happening in his life and we end up with a stranger coming home to us for the odd weekend.” I knew I was being a little unfair, but I also wanted to draw my line in the sand and this was one point on which I was not going to budge.
“It’s not really like that,” he argued weakly.
“I will not be separated from him.” The ‘and that is final’ bit was implied by my tone and I didn’t feel the need to add it.
The winter was turning out to be an icy one and though the cold could be biting it was easier to work in than when it was wet and miserable. White sparkling mornings greeted me with breaths blown out in frosted clouds and frosts so thick they crunched beneath my boots as I crossed to the yard each day.
With my growth spurt I eventually had to concede I needed new clothes so went on a shopping trip to stock up. Fortunately we had no big events coming up that I might need some sort of dress for as frankly they were all hideous, so I was able to get an assortment of jeans and tops that I thought would see me through. As I wandered along the high street of the town I stopped outside the window of a baby store. I’d left Trent that morning tackling the painting of the nursery and I wondered if I should buy anything for it. I started towards the door, then hesitated. It felt like it was tempting fate to buy things for a baby before its safe arrival and I didn’t need anything jinxing Baby’s future. I walked away, headed back to the car and drove home.