Page 83 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

Gradually a parade of fire-breathing dragons, whimsical elves, dancing unicorns, and all manner of mythical creatures painted in bold splashes of colour emerged from the shadows on the caravan ceiling.

She tilted her head, the lantern light flickering across the exquisite illustration. Her chest tightened, the ten

derness in her limbs and between her legs butting into her heart.

Art stirred beside her. ‘You all right?’

She turned to find him watching her. ‘Yes,’ she murmured. Should she thank him for the orgasm? No, that was silly, they were even. He’d had one too, hadn’t he?

‘Who did that?’ she asked, studying the ceiling, the subject of unicorns and elves easier to negotiate.

He slung his arm above his head, the awkwardness lifting as they lay together staring at the illustration. ‘I did.’

She caught the reticence in his voice. ‘Seriously?’

‘Yeah.’ Was that a blush she could see slashing across his cheekbones? Since when did Art blush?

‘It’s beautiful.’ She examined the detailed painting which wouldn’t have looked out of place in a children’s picture book. ‘And rather… well, romantic.’

Sitting up, he swung his legs off the bunk, presenting his back to her. ‘I didn’t pick the subject matter.’ He climbed off the bunk and dealt with the condom. ‘Toto did. She likes magical creatures. She’s a Harry Potter nut.’

It wasn’t the subject she’d found so touching, but his obvious embarrassment only made the effort he’d taken to fulfil a little girl’s wishes all the more sweet. She wondered if he had any clue how devoted he was to his daughter.

All the questions she had about his past, and how he’d come to be a single dad, crowded into her mind.

He bent to fish his boxers off the pile of clothing they’d left on the floor. She stifled the flicker of disappointment when he tugged them on. Had she left those score marks on his back?

The hum of renewed arousal became more pronounced.

She should probably get dressed now too, so they could sneak back to the farmhouse. But, instead, she slipped under the quilt to enjoy the show as he pulled two bottles of beer out of the icebox.

The thought that he might have planned this seduction, had certainly prepared for it, was almost as touching as the fairy-tale creatures he’d painted on the ceiling.

He offered her a bottle. ‘You want one?’

‘I’d love one,’ she said. Her mouth dried as she watched his pecs flex while he popped off the caps against the cabinet edge and slung them in the bin.

She sat, plumping the pillows and drawing the quilt up to cover her breasts. He handed her the cool bottle and perched on the edge of the bed. She rolled it over her forehead, feeling flushed as he took a long gulp.

She sipped her own beer. Swallowed. ‘What happened with Toto’s mother?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

The slight edge in the tone, and the lift of one eyebrow told her loud and clear she was overstepping the bounds of a casual sex-for-sex’s-sakes fling.

‘I just wondered. Dee mentioned her.’ Surely having sex with Art entitled her to satisfy at least some of her curiosity? ‘She said she had problems and that she left before Toto’s first birthday. Do you miss her?’

‘Hardly. I kicked her out.’

‘I see,’ she said, the abrupt tone making her pulse bobble.

Instead of filling the gaping hole in the conversation, he concentrated on finishing the beer, then shot the bottle into the bin at the end of the caravan. It hit the rim and dropped into the metal container. The perfect slam dunk.

‘Why did you kick her out?’ she asked, finally forced to fill the gap for him.

He glanced her way, his expression suspiciously blank. ‘I woke up one night and found her shooting up next to Toto’s crib.’

Standing, he slipped off his boxers, then climbed back onto the bunk. The sight of his erection bobbing up to his belly button shocked her almost as much as the information about Toto’s mother.