Page 50 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

‘So do I,’ she whispered.

His mouth captured hers, the press of his lips firm and wet and hot.

She opened for him as his tongue delved, her mind spinning, comparisons forgotten as he yanked her closer.

Heat shot like a fireball into her nipple as one big hand cupped her breast. Her thumbs pressed into his ribs to hold on to him as he sucked on her tongue. She delved back, getting deeper into the recesses of his mouth, chasing the sweet spice of the gin, the hot spice of arousal.

Her breathing hitched as he drew away then propped his forehead against hers. Strong fingers massaged her nape, anchoring her arm to his side.

‘You’re good at that.’ He groaned.

‘Ditto.’ She chuckled – which had to be the gin.

Her fingertips slid back down to his waist and he shivered.

‘So what’s the verdict?’ he said, his gruff voice thick with temptation. ‘Guys or girls?’

‘Hard to tell,’ she said, his confidence contagious. ‘I may need more evidence.’

He laughed, the sound deep and rough. His thumb circled the tight muscles in her shoulder – which relaxed and wept with joy, for the first time in months.

‘If I kiss you again, I won’t be able to stop,’ he said. ‘And we’ll both regret it in the morning.’

‘I know.’ She straightened away from him, trying to clear the gin-soaked fog from her brain as her gaze roamed over that devastating face.

As she took in the tanned skin drawn tight across high cheekbones, the aquiline nose, the tapered brows, those wide lips, tipped up now in a tantalisingly lopsided smile, she knew that starting something with Art would not be a good idea, but that didn’t make it any less tempting.

The possibility of having sex with a guy who might actually notice whether or not she had an orgasm was a pretty powerful mojo. And somehow she knew Art would notice.

‘I should go to bed,’ she said. Time to get her wayward mojo under control.

As she stood up, she swayed.

He stood too, resting a hand on her hip to steady her. ‘You OK?’

‘Yes, I’m just exceptionally drunk.’ She glanced down at the now empty bottle of sloe gin. ‘You’re right, that stuff is lethal.’

He took her wrist as she turned to go. ‘Hold on.’

Walking to the sink, he tugged her with him. He took a glass from the shelf above the sink, and filled it with water. He presented it to her.

‘Drink it, or you’ll wish you were dead in the morning.’

She chugge

d down the lot. He poured her another glass and she drank that too. She handed the glass back to him. ‘Thanks.’

‘Goodnight, Ellie,’ he murmured.

She staggered out of the room, feeling dazed, and drunk and desperately disappointed.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Dee stood under the shower spray, the needle-sharp streams massaging the knotted muscles of her upper spine, and began to catalogue all the ‘stuff’ she had to do today as she waited for the hollow ache that was always there after dreaming of Pammy to subside.

She had two dozen loaves to bake for Gillingham market and, once that was done, she had a celebratory meal to plan for everyone to enjoy once the first phase of the barn clear-out was completed.

The forecast was for a balmy evening, so she would get Josh and Toto to help her put the trestle tables out in the yard, adding fairy lights and lanterns for an air of celebration – to symbolise the launching of this exciting new venture to secure the co-op’s future. She smiled as she leaned into the mirror to apply moisturiser and suncream – thinking of all the high spirits and high fives yesterday evening at the news of the bank loan being approved – and ignored the new twinge in her back.