Page 16 of Under Gorse and Stone

I take a bite and groan. “God, that’s lovely.”

He smiles, his face open and pleased. “I am glad you approve.”

“What meat is this?”

“Well, the dish is usually made with reindeer.”

I freeze, my spoon midway to my mouth. “Reindeer? LikeRudolph?”

His eyes twinkle. “Not at Christmas. I do not believe Santa would approve.”

“Thank god. I’ve managed to stay off the naughty list all year so far.”

He laughs. “Somehow I do not believe that. Anyway, ’tis beef. Would you like more cider?”

I realise that my mug is empty. “Better not, or I won’t be able to drive home.” I remember my car with dismay. “Shit. I’ve still got to go and hire a car.”

“Why not stay here?”

“Pardon?”

He gestures around. He seems to talk with his hands, and it’s very endearing. “I have many bedrooms. You could sleep in one, and tomorrow I will take you to Penzance, and you may hire another car.”

“It’s that simple?”

His eyes twinkle. “Life is complicated, Cary Sutton, but some things are easy—like hospitality and a welcome to a pretty stranger on a cold day.”

I take a breath, feeling the cider warming my veins and giving me courage. “And what if I didn’t want the spare room?” I whisper.

His eyes flare. “Ah, then you would be myfavouritetype of guest.”

I start to laugh, and he chuckles too. When I sober, I smile at him. “I somehow think they’re probably youronlytype of guests.”

He shrugs, and our gazes tangle, heat kindling to life in my belly. I lick my lips, and his eyes flare as he watches me. Doubts and concerns swim in my head, but then I breathe out and they’re gone. “If you don’t mind, it would be lovely to stay the night.”

“I am honoured,” he says solemnly, but his grin is far too broad and pleased. As if I’m doing him a great favour, when in reality, it’s completely the opposite.

He takes my mug, raising his eyebrow in question, and I nod, watching as he fills it from the pan on the stove. He sets it in front of me and then grabs his own bowl of food, and I watch as he slides his long body onto the barstool next to me. His arm brushes against mine, and I inhale, taking in his spicy scent.

“What cologne are you wearing?” I ask impulsively. “It smells lovely.”

He pauses in the act of putting his napkin on his lap. “It is something that a friend in St Ives makes for me. I shall take you to see her if you like?”

What I’d actually like is to roll around his sheets with him so I have that scent all over my body, and for a second, I imagine how that would look. My pale body against his long, lean length, his sunset hair falling into my face.

He’s watching me, now, his eyes knowing and hot. Sweat breaks out on my skin, and the air feels as if I’ve stepped too close to a fire. I suck in a breath as our gazes hold, and a wave of desire washes over me.

The mirth that clings to him like stardust is gone, and in its place is want and need, his expression becoming fierce. Then my stomach rumbles. It’s loud in the quiet room, and it breaks the moment immediately.

He roars with laughter, and it’s so infectious that I can’t help laughing too, my embarrassment fading.

“Ah, Cary, you should eat,” he says, taking his fork and doing the same.

The stew is delicious, and silence falls as we eat hungrily. Maybe that’s why I’ve had such an odd morning. I barely ate breakfast and walked away from my lunch. The thought is a relief.

Eventually, I come up for air. “So, you’re a student in England?” I ask. “What university do you go to?”

He looks confused. “I do not go to university.”