Sure Thing (5 page)

Now, we’re lying side by side, on our backs, on Tom’s bed. Both naked, both exhausted. I could stay here, like this, forever, but real life’s still out there. Waiting. Needing our attention.

“Was that okay?” Tom’s tone is soft, gentle. “Intense enough for you?”

“Oh yes,” I murmur in response, a moment before my stomach joins in the conversation with the most enormous growl. “Oh, God, sorry,” I mutter, embarrassed. I suppose it has a point, though. It’s been more than twenty-four hours since I last ate, and that was only a couple of cheese sandwiches.

“We need to have that that conversation. The sooner the better. So you will need clothes. And food too apparently. Have a shower if you like, and get dressed, love. I’ll see what I can find to feed you with.”

With that he rolls off the bed and wanders around collecting his jeans and discarded muscle vest from the floor. Barefoot he makes for the door. “See you downstairs in about half an hour.” He winks at me, then he’s gone.

* * * *

It’s close to nine o’clock in the evening by the time I finally arrive in Tom’s kitchen. I took my time in the shower, then in combing my hair which is now loose around my shoulders and back. I usually plait it, or twist it into a sort of loose arrangement at the back of my head, but this evening I feel like just leaving it.

Tom and the three dogs are gathered around the Aga, Barney dwarfing the two border collies. Even so, they seem remarkably unconcerned at this Behemoth in their midst.

“Yours is ready. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. I’ll just sort out this lot.” He puts three bowls on the floor, the two modest-sized ones in front of the collies and what looks like a washing up bowl full of food in front of Barney. Each dog seems to know which is it’s dinner and there’s no squabbling, they just get on with it. Tom leaves them and crouches in front of the cooker.

“I hope you like fish,” he calls over his shoulder. “I rustled up ocean pie. My mother’s speciality.”

“I like fish.” I like anything, I’ll eat anything. It’s the cooking I can’t do with.

Tom plonks the hot dish on the table and proceeds to spoon out a generous helping for me and the same for himself. I’m so hungry I forget to even thank him before I tuck in. He doesn’t seem perturbed by my lack of table manners and just waits while I demolish my meal. His plate is still half full when I finish.

“More?” he asks politely.

I nod. “Thanks.”

My plate is refilled, and I’m reminded of my first visit here, when he gave me breakfast. I asked for more then, like some little Oliver Twist waif, and he fed me. It seems a long time ago now. And it now seems likely he’s going to be doing a lot more to my body than simply feeding it. Oddly, that thought warms me, and I look up at him, catch his gaze. Smile. He smiles back and we continue to eat, the silence comfortable.

At last both we, and the dogs, are full. Tom opens the back door to let the canine crowd out into the back yard before coming back to the table. He takes my empty plate and his own then dumps them in the sink.

“Would you like a drink? Tea? Or maybe something stronger to see in the New Year?”

I look up in surprise. Of course, it’s New Year’s Eve. 2013 is only a couple of hours away. And I shudder again when I think how close I came to not seeing in this or any other New Year.

A pot of tea appears on the table and two chunky mugs. Tom goes to the fridge for a carton of milk before coming to sit back down opposite me. He pours us both a mug of tea then gestures to the milk. I help myself.

“We’ll crack open a bottle of red later. So, when are you planning to meet with Abbie?”

“Soon. Next week.”

“Right. And when you come back from that, then we’ll talk. That ‘clothes on’ conversation. You’ll have questions. Some worries no doubt. I’ll explain what I can. We’ll agree how it’s going to be between us.”

Not now then, and not for a while by the sound of it.

“Not tonight. And maybe not tomorrow either.” He has answered my unspoken question, testimony to the depth of understanding dawning between us. “You just recovered from a migraine that brought you to your knees for twenty-four hours. You nearly died out on the moors the last night. And I’ve already manhandled you quite enough today. So for now we drink, we laugh, we see in the New Year. Then we sleep. And tomorrow’s your birthday. Your twenty-first. So we’ll have a party of some sort. I want you to have a lovely day and I’ll make sure you do. And all the time you can be thinking over what we’ve talked about, what we’ve done so far, what we might be planning and what you might be expecting. What you think I’m expecting. And you can ask me questions. You can even have second thoughts if you want—things may look different in daylight. Then, when you’ve spoken to Abbie, and when we’ve arrived at some sort of understanding, then, if you’re still up for it—we begin. Is that okay with you, Ashley?”

His expression is soft now, gentle, kind. He leans back in his chair, watching me, his lids lowered over those gorgeous green eyes, his lips quirked in a half smile. So sexy, so seductive. My pussy clenches and twists, the dampness between my legs unmistakable. I want him, again. But he seems to be turning me down, making me wait until—when?

“But I want, I mean— Can’t we…”

He laughs, leans forward. “Insatiable woman. This conversation’s over, get undressed.”

I don’t need asking twice and pull the huge T-shirt over my head as he pushes our teacups to one side. I start to unbutton my jeans but he grabs me around the waist and tosses me backwards onto the table top. He quickly unzips me and slides the jeans down my legs. I kick them off my feet and wait for him to strip and join me. Instead, he sits on a chair, pulls it up close to the table and, reaching for me, he draws me toward him. He positions me carefully, my legs spread wide, my bottom at the edge of the table. He smiles at me, just once, swiftly, before lowering his head between my legs.

Even though I know what’s coming—I’m even getting used to this now—the intensity of the sensation still makes me yelp. Then shiver as he draws his hot tongue slowly across every inch of my pussy, from my anus right up, around the entrance to my vagina and finishing by my clitoris. He raises his head. “You okay, Ashley, you seem—agitated…?”

“Just do it. Please…” I grind out the words, hardly able to breathe past the desperate need he’s building within me. My lower abdomen is clenching, squeezing painfully. I desperately want him inside me, his cock, his fingers, whatever. I need to come, I need to be fucked. And he knows it. I hear the knowing in his tone as he bends back to his task.

“My pleasure, love.”

Chapter Four

“Happy Birthday, Ashley.”

I pull the duvet back over my head, a vain attempt to block out the daylight for a little bit longer.

“Come on out of there, birthday girl. You’ve got visitors.”

“What? Who…?”

“If you don’t show your face downstairs soon you’ll miss your own birthday party. Here, I brought you coffee. Now you’ve got half an hour and then we’re all coming up.”

Tom’s voice is teasing, amused as he dumps my coffee on the bedside table then pulls the covers from over my head. I try to wrestle them back but he takes that as a challenge and grabs my wrists to pin them beside my head on the pillow. He leans in and kisses me, at first softly then more deeply when, despite my morning grumpiness, I start to respond. Needless to say, I’m naked so he runs an appreciative hand across my breasts before eventually straightening to stand over me. The admiration and thinly restrained lust is clear in his expression. He gazes down at me in his bed, his appreciation tinged perhaps with a little regret that we do appear to have company to entertain.

Company! Shit.
“Who? Who’s here?” I sit up, concerned, if a little belatedly, as I realize how this is going to look. Me appearing downstairs looking all rumpled and just-fucked. In Tom Shore’s house.

“Nathan, Grace and Rosie. They came to collect Barney. And to celebrate your twenty-first. Rosie made a cake. With candles no less. Should I put the fire service on alert I wonder…?”

“Funny, ha ha,” I mutter. I start to roll out of bed, groping with my feet for any spot of floor that seems to be firmly anchored. I hate being woken up suddenly, only to be kissed senseless on top. No wonder my legs are behaving as though they’ve been plaited.

Tom flops down on the bed alongside me, his arm loosely over my shoulders, his fingers entwined in my hair.

“God, you’re lovely in the morning. Maybe I could just sling them all out, tell them I need to fuck you now and get them to come back later…”

“Don’t you dare!” Mortified at the thought of Rosie’s sweet little face wondering what on earth he might mean, and Grace’s shocked one knowing exactly what he does mean, I leap to my feet, only to topple backwards. His hand is still tangled in my hair. “Ow, what was that for?”

He extricates his fingers from my hair, making a futile attempt to straighten it for me. “Sorry, love, you moved too fast. Right, I’ll restrain myself, but you need to get a shift on. I’ll see you downstairs. We’re all in the kitchen.” And with that he drops another quick kiss on my mouth before he’s out of the door.

I hear his footsteps clattering down the stairs as I reach for the delicious steaming coffee, made just as I like it—milky and not too strong. Waking up in Tom Shore’s bed has its distinct advantages, I think.

* * * *

“Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday Dear Ashley… Happy Birthday to you!”

I lean forward to blow out the twenty-one brightly colored candles on Rosie’s hastily constructed chocolate cake. It’s smothered in a generous coating of sweet buttery icing, with my name etched out in Smarties around the rim. I can’t remember when I last had a birthday cake, probably as a teenager, I guess. And I haven’t had a birthday party since I was a small child. Looking at the people lounging around Tom’s kitchen, I can’t restrain the silly grin on my face. We’re waiting for Rosie—the master of ceremonies for this occasion—to dole out their slices of my birthday cake. Rosie, helped by Nathan, is concentrating carefully on cutting it into huge slices—apparently intent on sharing out the whole thing in one sitting.

They’ve brought a jelly and custard trifle too, and some cheese and onion crisps which Tom earlier tipped out into bowls for us to share. While I was still getting dressed I gather Tom threw together some ham and cheese sandwiches—and
voilà!—
my birthday feast is ready. And it’s absolutely wonderful. We all tuck in, Rosie chatting all the time about her helicopter ride and night in hospital, while Nathan and Grace ask after my health now. Suitably reassured that everyone is indeed okay we enjoy our banquet, gearing up for the main event of the singing and cake cutting.

“Did you make a wish, Ashley?” Rosie’s eager little face is liberally dotted with chocolate cake crumbs. She looks at me expectantly, obviously keen to be let in on any secret wishes.

“Er, no. Not yet. I will though, I just need to think. Decide what I want most.”

“That’s a cue to bring on the presents if ever I heard one.” Nathan Darke’s tone is amiable, agreeable even.

He hasn’t said anything yet about me abandoning his little princess up on the moors, but there’s still time. I’m not convinced one jot by Tom’s assurances that he’ll be fine about it.

I look up in surprise at his remark.
Presents?

“Really, there’s no need. I’m not expecting anything…”

“Can we go first? Can we give Ashley our present first? Please? Please?” Rosie is hopping from one foot to another in her excitement.

Nathan hushes her, turning to Tom. “That okay with you, mate?”

“Sure.” Tom shrugs. “Shall we go outside?”

At Nathan’s brief nod Tom holds out his hand to me, pulling me to my feet. He tugs me outside, the rest of the room emptying as everyone, including the three dogs, troop after us. We assemble outside the back door.

“Wait here.” Nathan leaves us all there whilst he marches off around the side of the house. A few moments later he’s back, astride a beautiful, gleaming, brand-new quad bike. Followed by the excited dogs, he circles the yard slowly before bringing the shiny purple and yellow machine to a graceful halt in front of the door. He turns off the engine, pulls out the key which he holds out to me.

“Happy Birthday, Ashley. And thanks.” Dumbfounded I just stand and gape at him. Surely he can’t mean…

“Is this…? Is this…?”

“For you, yes. Enjoy it.” He climbs effortlessly off the machine and hands me the key. “There’s a helmet under the seat, and a tankful of petrol. You’re good to go.”

“But I, you, I mean, you can’t… It’s too expensive, I mean…” I can’t manage to string a coherent thought together, let alone a sentence. I just stare at the beautiful machine, disbelief etched all over my face. “But why? It’s too much…” Then, as usual at times of stress, blurting out the thought uppermost in my mind, “But you don’t even like me!”

He laughs, reaching for me while Tom steps tactfully back. He hugs me, and I gasp in amazement. What’s happening—what on earth’s going on?

“I always liked you. More or less. I just didn’t trust you. At first. But that was then, and I guess I have to accept that Tom’s just a better judge of character than I am. But”—and his voice is serious now, the teasing note gone as he steps back to look into my eyes, his dark gaze intent, holding mine—“two days ago your actions saved my daughter, the most precious thing in the world to me. You put yourself in danger to help her, and I’ll never forget it. I’m in your debt, I always will be. This is only a fraction of what I owe you, but we thought it a fitting present in the circumstances. We thought you should have a quad of your own, so when Tom takes his back for his precious lambing you can still roar around the moors taking your pictures and rescuing little girls.”

I stare at him, bewildered. Does he mean me? Is it me who did those things? I suppose it must have been. Wow. I’m speechless, embarrassed. Not used to being the center of attention, and certainly not for these sorts of reasons, I can only mumble my thanks—that it was nothing really…