Page 18 of Oz (Finding Home #1)

The lady in front of me drones on about her honey. She has dozens of jars open and Milo is dutifully trying some and making noises of appreciation. I edge slightly to the right so I can see beyond her and into the stand where Silas is currently charming a woman with a Chihuahua.

I stare at the wide smile on his open tanned face and watch as she shakes out her long auburn hair. She’s very pretty. I can see appreciation on his face and I remember suddenly that he’s bisexual.

I frown. I’ve nothing against bisexual people at all. The only thing it means to me in connection with Silas is that there is suddenly another section of the population who might be better for him than me.

I wonder why my heart isn’t obeying the urgings of my head. I’m entirely wrong for him. His partner should be someone upper class, someone with effortless charm. Someone who can greet his guests and family properly. Someone who he can be proud to stand next to. That someone surely isn’t me.

I look up and see the woman touch his arm and an adorably confused and panicked look come over his face.

He looks beseechingly towards his friend Theo, who shakes his head but wanders over to join their conversation.

They talk for a few minutes and then she leaves after touching her hair about thirty times and then his hand.

When she’s gone, Theo says something and Silas shakes his head at once, giving that lopsided quirky smile he has. I close my eyes in resignation. That smile and the slightly lost air about him are the reasons I can’t listen to my brain.

I’ve escaped heartache all these years because of that trusty organ, and right at the moment I need it most, it’s faltering, helpless against the power of … Silas. I grimace and look up to see the honey woman and Milo looking at me aghast.

“Sorry,” I say quickly. “I was just thinking–” I falter slightly.

“Erm, I was just thinking about how much I love bees,” I finish.

Milo gives me a knowing look, but the woman smiles approvingly.

This leads to a long and very intense conversation about bee habits and her extracting a promise to visit her hives.

Saying goodbye, we walk away from the honey stand. “Lovely,” I sigh. “Now, I’ve got to go and put my hand in a hive and I’m far too pretty to wear a net over my face.”

He snorts with laughter. “I hope the white outfit doesn’t make you look plump.”

I nudge him admiringly. “So pert.”

He shakes his head. “It’s nearly four, you know. Haven’t you got a date?”

I look at my watch and curse. “Is that the time already? It isn’t a date.” I open my diary and thumb through the pages. “Okay, we’ve got honey, local candles, and the pottery from Boscastle. We’ve just got to put the book order in for the shop from the wholesalers. Anything else?”

He looks down at his list. “I think that’s it for today. Don’t forget that we also made the deal for those hand-carved walking sticks. And it is totally a date.”

I elbow him gently. “No, it isn’t. He’s my boss and you and I have a fond memory of why that isn’t a good route for me.”

He makes a scoffing noise and I stare at him. “Oh, please. I never met your ex, but Silas isn’t that wanker you were going out with before. If you can’t see that, then you’re an idiot.”

I stare at him. “Where is all this coming from?”

He gives an embarrassed smile. “I like you, Oz,” he says in a low voice. “You’re my friend, even if your mentoring skills aren’t fully developed.” I shove him gently and he smiles. “I just think Lord Ashworth really likes you and you’d be good for him.”

I rub his arm. “Was that uncomfortable?” I ask sympathetically.

He gives a big sigh and grins. “Sooo uncomfortable. Can we please move onto the not talking about feelings portion of the day?”

I laugh. “Okay. Are we done here, because I need to get a seat for the horse racing.”

“It’s children’s horse jumping, not Formula One.” He nods. “See you tomorrow. I’m going to ask for samples from the handmade chocolate stall.”

“But we don’t need them.”

He smirks. “We know that.”

“See, my mentoring skills are actually pretty good,” I shout after him as he disappears into the crowd. “Get me some,” I add as an afterthought.

I look down at my watch and curse. I’m going to be late if I don’t hurry.

Looking at the signs, I take a path to the right and follow it, dodging around the slow-moving crowd.

I pass stalls selling cheese and scented candles and rather incongruously a steel drum band made up of very enthusiastic old ladies.

When I arrive at the showground the horses and their riders are just coming out.

I look around and then see him as if he’s got a spotlight on him.

He’s leaning against the fence sipping from a plastic cup.

His navy polo shirt pulls across his wide shoulders and his navy shorts cup his arse lovingly.

A man leading a horse stops to say something to him and he throws his head back and laughs, and I stare because he’s so beautiful.

At that moment he looks up and catches my gaze before I can shutter it.

Surprise spreads across his own, along with something that looks like happiness.

Then he smiles at me and the feelings have gone, leaving only his tanned open face and his eyes which are almost green at the moment and still with a vestige of that warmth lingering.

Becoming aware that I’m not moving, I make my way towards him. “Sorry I’m late,” I say, edging past an old couple who tut at me as I squeeze in next to him.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says easily, handing me the twin of his cup.

I sniff and smile. “Cider?”

He grins. “Cornish cider.”

“Well, I suppose I must, if it’s tradition.”

He laughs, and we turn to face the arena which is now filling with small children on sleek-looking ponies.

I watch one little girl walk her horse past us.

Her helmet is on too far forward, giving her a truculent look.

I look at her horse who’s trudging after her and snort.

He looks at me enquiringly and I nod towards them.

“Don’t they say you start to look like your pets after a while? ”

He grins. “It’s actually truer than you think.” He turns to me. “Who do you think I look like?”

I stare at him and smile evilly. “Probably Chewwy.”

“Why?”

“You’re both hairy people pleasers.”

He laughs loudly, and I smile at him. I look around as the first competitor is announced and begins his assault on the brightly coloured jumps. The air is full of the smell of horses and leather. “I suppose this is what you grew up with,” I say idly. “Did you or your brother compete?”

He laughs. “You must be joking. I could barely manage a car. Who the hell would put me on a fucking horse?” He pauses. “Henry liked the outfits, but he couldn’t stay on a horse for more than ten seconds, so an equestrian career was ruled out pretty early.”

I grin and look around as the Tannoy splutters into action announcing the next competitor.

We watch as a young girl sits slumped on her horse who looks pissed off, to put it mildly.

At her urging the horse canters slowly and reluctantly around.

She aims his nose at the jumps and we watch open-mouthed as he proceeds to annihilate the entire course, balking at some rides, riding blatantly round jumps or kicking his way through the others.

Silas grins. “He’s like the Sid Vicious of the riding fraternity.” I laugh and he turns to me. “Want to take a walk?” he asks in a low voice and I swallow hard before following him out of the arena.

As if by mutual consent, we turn to our right and amble aimlessly along.

The late afternoon sun beams down on us.

His arm brushes me, and I fancy I can feel the heat from his skin.

Occasionally his hand brushes mine, and although we’re walking amongst a crowd, it feels like we’re in a bubble of our own, full of warmth and light.

I feel as aware of his body in this minute as I’ve ever felt while someone fucks me.

It’s just one more example of how he fucks up my status quo.

We wander along, talking in low voices with frequent pauses as our tongues still and our eyes tangle.

He buys me a tub of strawberries and cream and we amble along eating them and sipping cider as the crowd thins and the stalls start to pack away.

For the first time I don’t want a time with a man to stop.

Usually I’m eager to leave, my feet itching to move and go.

But now it feels like I’m in one of the legends that talk of humans walking into fairy rings and being caught.

I slow, and it happens quickly. He stops to say something, but he must catch something on my face because he raises his hand and grabs my arm gently.

For a second we lock gazes and then he moves fast, pulling me off the path and round the back of an empty stall.

We’re in a tiny corner boxed in by the back of a tent and surrounded by empty boxes, and I stare at him in the dim light.

I take a long shuddering breath at the look of incinerating heat on his face and he gasps before grabbing my head and pulling my face to his. At the first touch of his lips my eyes slide closed and I melt into him as he groans under his breath.

His hands slide down and he cups my arse, lifting me and pushing me into the back of the stall. I moan low in my throat and wrap my legs around him, feeling the heft and steely hardness of his cock as he starts to grind at me.

He tightens his grip and we eat at each other’s mouths, rubbing our tongues together and suckling on lips.

I gasp as he pulls away and then give a much too loud cry as he lowers his face and I feel his mouth run along the sensitive tendons of my neck.

He rubs his beard there and finding my pulse he sucks gently, wringing another cry from me.

“Fuck!” I whisper. “Oh fuck, I need you inside me.” I reach down and fumble with his belt buckle, but still in surprise as his large hand stops me.

“Wait,” he mutters. “Wait, Oz.”

I look up and groan. “Are you having second thoughts?”

I’m gratified to see the speed at which he shakes his head. “No, of course I’m bloody not. Jesus, can’t you feel how fucking hard I am?”

I wriggle and we both groan, but then I pull back and try to regulate my breathing and get some control. To do that I fall back on my default setting of flippancy. “Then what’s the problem?” I look around. “Is it the slight tackiness of the area in which we’re going to consummate our passion?”

He snorts and starts to laugh. “It might be.” His face turns serious and I swallow hard, my flippancy falling to pieces like an old tissue. “I don’t want to do it this way with you.” He breathes in. “I’ve had sex in many places and with many people, but I’ve never met anyone like you and–”

He pauses, and I shake my head fondly. “What are you trying to say?”

He bites his lip. “I want to take you out on a date. I want to get to know you.”

I run my hand through his wavy hair and watch as his eyes lower sexily. “Why?”

“Because you’re different. Nothing I’ve done before has ever led to anything good and I don’t want that to happen with you. I want to try something new. I want to take you out.”

I lower my face into his neck, feeling him sigh as I inhale the scent of him. “Have we got time for a date?” I ask. “There’s so much still to do and I made you a promise that it would get done.” I pause. “And aren’t you still my boss?”

I feel his chuckle as I rub my face into his neck. “I think that ship has sailed. I don’t care anymore.” He pauses. “Do you?” A faint thread of worry seeps into his voice and I immediately raise my head.

“No, of course I bloody don’t,” I say sharply.

“I went into the thing with my old boss on a whim and because I was bored. It got shitty, not because he cheated, but because he was a wanker. I don’t think you are.

Anyway, this isn’t a Catherine Cookson novel where you’re an evil mill owner seducing and abandoning your innocent worker.

I’m well aware of what I’m doing and in full control. I never do anything I don’t want to.”

A wry look crosses his face. “I think I’m well aware of that fact,” he says tartly. An amused look crosses his face. “A Catherine Cookson novel? Oz, you’re so full of surprises you should have been a cracker.”

I laugh, feeling my cheeks heat. “My mum liked them and I used to get bored when she was on nights.”

“Okay,” he mutters. He pauses. “So, if I were to say something in a Yorkshire accent you’d melt?”

“Try it.”

“Eeh, by gum, missus,” he starts, and I break into peals of laughter.

“Oh my God,” I gasp. “Yorkshire people do not sound like that. Please don’t consider a career on the stage.”

His laughter dies and he rubs his hand gently through my hair, watching his fingers move through the strands as if fascinated. “So, a date? How about tomorrow?”

I swallow and nod. “Okay. I haven’t been on many,” I confess. “So, don’t worry because I’ll never spot it if you’ve got it wrong.”

“Thank you,” he says seriously. “That’s made me feel so much better.”

“You’re welcome,” I say demurely and he laughs. “Where are we going and when?”

He grins. “I’ve got the perfect idea and just know that it’s both practical and functional. You’ll feel like you’re still working even though we’re not on the premises.”

I stare at him. “Yeah, no. I don’t think that’s how dates go,” I say dubiously and smile as he hugs me tight, his head lowered over my own in our tiny hidden corner of the county fair.