Page 17 of Crossed Paths (The Ramblers of St. Claire #2)

Epilogue

Hunter

I t’s the first properly hot day of summer, and somehow, I’ve managed to drag Alexandra out for a walk.

Not to a Ramblers’ meeting—we haven’t managed one of those in months.

Saturdays are spoken for now. She’s flat-out at the pub, I’m pulled in three directions at the Hall.

Weekends pass in a blur of arrivals, orders, last-minute disasters, and if we’re lucky, a shared glass of something cold at the end of the night.

But we are both off every Monday now. And today is Monday. Our day.

We’d climbed Wookie Hill—I told her the name twice, and she still couldn't repeat it back to me if her life depended on it. Not that I mind. She was too busy laughing when we reached the top, cheeks flushed, hair sticking to her forehead, grumbling about my ‘bloody enthusiastic stride.’

Now we’re on our way back down, feet scuffing over dry grass and loose stone. The breeze has shifted—cooler now, with the tang of something sharp in the air.

Above us, black clouds are pulling across the sky like someone’s dragging a curtain over the sun.

There’s a low rumble of thunder in the distance.

Alex stops and turns, squinting upward. “Right,” she mutters, “that’s going to break any second.”

I smile, watching her tuck a piece of hair behind her ear with the kind of frown she saves for burnt toast or customers who are rude.

She squints toward a rise in the field, then changes course without a word.

Her fingers find mine, warm and certain, and she gives a tug.

“This way,” she says.

I follow her gaze. Nestled just beyond the slope, half-camouflaged by the tall grass and creeping ivy, is a crooked old barn—leaning a little to one side, slate tiles missing from the roof, but solid enough to do the job.

Inside, it smells of warm dust and old straw. A few bales of hay sit clustered near the back wall, scattered like the remnants of a forgotten season. I drop my backpack onto one and brush off my hands, then step over to where Alex stands at the entrance.

She’s still, watching the clouds roll over the hills like they’re deciding whether to behave.

A single drop lands on the stone near the entrance. Then another. Then five.

And then it breaks—rain coming fast and hard, drumming against the roof in sharp, steady bursts. The sound fills the barn, thick and echoing, like it’s trying to drown out everything else .

I step in behind her, slide my arms around her waist and pull her gently back into me. My chin rests on her shoulder, the familiar fit of us anchoring something deep.

She leans into it, just a little.

“I hope it doesn’t rain itself in,” she murmurs.

I smile against her skin. “Then we’ll just have to make the most of it,” I growl, my lips brushing the curve of her neck before I start kissing her there—slow, deliberate.

She lets out a soft moan, breath catching, and tilts her head just enough to give me better access.

We’ve been together ten months now, and I still can’t get enough of her.

Not just the way she fits against me, or the way her breath catches when I kiss her like this—but the small, quiet things.

The way her eyes find mine across a crowded room.

The way her presence settles something in me I didn’t even realise was restless.

She moved in two months ago, just after the Easter rush.

It took some convincing. She didn’t say yes right away. There were nerves, questions. That stubborn edge she gets when she’s afraid of wanting something too much.

But she came.

One night she brought a half-used bottle of shampoo and never took it back. The next week, her favourite mug appeared in my cupboard. And then she stayed.

Waking up with her next to me every morning is the best part of my life.

Since the mess with Silvia—who, true to my word, was gone by Monday—we’ve built something steady. Ellie, Silvia’s replacement, is everything I hoped she’d be: competent, calm, ethical. A proper grown-up .

Alex and I have even crossed into business together. Wine tastings, holiday events, Sunday roasts that run like clockwork between the pub and the Hall.

It’s been good for business.

It’s been even better for us. So much so that she finally told me she loved me at Christmas.

No fanfare. No hesitation.

Just her voice, low and certain, over a cup of mulled wine and a fire that was burning too hot.

“I love you,” she said, like it had always been true.

And I knew, in that moment, it had been.

Lightning brightens the sky for a second. I kiss her neck again, slower this time, lips brushing just beneath her ear.

She sighs and melts back into me, and I hold her tighter.

The rain drums harder on the roof, loud now—steady, relentless. A perfect excuse not to move.

Still, I shift, guiding her gently backwards into the barn, away from the open doorway and the spray of wind-blown rain.

“Tell me,” I murmur, lips brushing her ear, “have you ever had sex in a barn?”

She gasps, scandalised and delighted all at once. “Hunter,” she hisses, glancing toward the open countryside like a passerby might just wander up the hill and peer in. “We can’t.”

I kiss her before she can say anything else—slow, deep, and certain.

“Why not?” I murmur against her mouth, then kiss her again.

This time when we break apart, her breath is shaky. Her eyes search mine for half a second—and then she whispers, soft but sure, “ Yes. Why not.”

I grin and step past her, sizing up the stacked bales in the corner.

“Right,” I say, already dragging two together. “No cold floor for you.”

She watches, arms folded, trying to pretend she’s unimpressed—but I see the flush creeping up her neck.

I climb up and spread our picnic blanket over the top of the hay—softening the scratch of it, smoothing the edges.

“Contrary to what the films tell you,” I say with a grin over my shoulder, “hay can be very scratchy.”

She rolls her eyes. “And yet here we are.”

I pat the blanket. “Come here, then.”

And when she climbs up and kisses me again, rain pounding outside, hands already tangling in my shirt, I know there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.

Alexandra

Hunter’s hands are everywhere, tracing the curves of my body as if memorizing every inch. I lean back, letting him take control, my trust in him absolute. Like horny teenagers, we undress, and I am not even concerned anymore that anyone finds us. Let’s face it, who’ll venture outside in that rain?

Hunter looks up at me, his eyes burning with intensity. “Tell me what you want,” he demands, his voice commanding yet gentle.

I hesitate, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But there’s no room for shame here, not in this barn, not with him. “I want you,” I confess, my voice barely audible. “All of you. ”

A slow smile spreads across his face and he leans in, his lips brushing my ear. “Then take me,” he whispers. “Take everything I have to give.”

His words send a jolt of desire through me, and I act on instinct. I push him back, straddling his lap as I kiss him fiercely. His hands grip my hips, holding me in place as I grind against him, feeling the hardness of his erection.

Hunter’s gaze rakes over me, his expression a mixture of awe and hunger. “You’re breathtaking,” he murmurs, his hands sliding down to cup my ass. “So fucking breathtaking.”

I smile, a flush creeping up my neck. “You’re not so bad yourself,” I tease.

He chuckles, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrates through me. “Flatterer,” he says, his hands cup my breasts before he takes a nipple into his mouth. I gasp, my head falling back as pleasure surges through me.

“Hunter,” I moan, my hands tangling in his hair. “Don’t stop.”

He chuckles against my skin, his breath warm and moist. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmurs before sucking harder, his tongue swirling around my sensitive peak.

I’m lost in a haze of sensation, my body responding to his every touch. His hands move lower. He teases me with slow, deliberate strokes, his fingers circling my clit before dipping inside me. I’m wet, so wet, and he groans at the evidence of my desire.

“You’re so ready for me,” he whispers, his voice thick with lust. “So fucking ready.”

“God, you’re beautiful,” I breathe, reaching out to stroke his hard cock .

He hisses at my touch, his head falling back. “Alex,” he groans. “If you don’t stop, I’m not going to last.”

I smile, a wicked glint in my eye. “Then let go,” I challenge, my hand moving slower, teasing him.

He growls, his hands gripping my hips as he positions himself at my entrance. You’re playing with fire,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous.

“And you’re the one who’s going to get burned,” I retort, my voice laced with desire.

He pulls me down and at the same time he thrusts upwards, hard and deep, and I cry out, my nails digging into his shoulders. He fills me completely, stretching me in the most delicious way. “Fuck,” he mutters, his forehead resting against mine. “You feel so good.”

I tighten my legs around him, taking over the movements. I ride him as hard as I can, but it is not enough. Frustrated, I moan, “I need more.”

He knows exactly what I mean. With a swift move he turns us and I end up underneath him. Some bits of hay peek through the blanket and scratch me but I don’t mind the soft pain.

“Don’t stop,” I plead. “Please, don’t stop.”

He pulls back slowly before slamming into me, setting a rhythm that has me gasping for breath.

The barn seems to fade away, leaving only the two of us, our bodies moving in perfect harmony.

The hay bales shift beneath us, the scent of earth and sweat filling the air.

It’s raw, primal, and utterly intoxicating.

“Hunter,” I moan, my body tightening around him. “I’m close. ”

He quickens his pace, his thrusts becoming more urgent. “Come for me,” he commands, his voice hoarse with need. “Let me feel you fall apart.”

I cry out, my orgasm crashing over me like a wave. My body shakes, my muscles clenching around him as I ride out the pleasure. Hunter follows soon after, his release sending him over the edge. He groans, his head buried in the crook of my neck as he spills himself inside me.

For a moment, we lie there, breathless and trembling, our hearts pounding in unison. Then, slowly, he pulls out, his arms wrapping around me as he holds me close. I rest my head on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“That was…” I begin, searching for the right words.

“Perfect,” he finishes, his lips brushing my hair. “Absolutely perfect.”

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