Before the Rain (9 page)

“And you did that a lot, did you?” He jabbed her in the ribs. “Did you?”

Shivers trickled down her spine, and her stomach whirled.

“Speechless, I see. That means I’m right.” He shoved his hand out, palm facing up. “Now, hand me your keys then and we’ll get a move on.”

“You’ve been drinking, too. You can’t drive.”

“I had two whiskeys and a light beer hours ago, and most recently a coffee and a packet of crisps. I’m sure I’m fine now. Let me be your hero and drive you home.”

“I like this side of you.”

“Which side? This side?” He turned so his left side faced her. “Or this side?” He pivoted to face the opposite direction.

“Ha ha. You know what I mean. The nice side. All heroic and stuff.”

“I only offered to drive you home.” He rolled his eyes. “Come on, Chantilly.”

“But, wait, I must say goodbye to Steven and David first. And Flo.”

“No, no you don’t.” He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the exit.

They climbed into the rented Mini.

She giggled at how large he seemed in the little car. “So much for us sexing it up in the backseat.”

“Yeah, not likely. I barely fit in the front of this thing.”

He zipped that vehicle around the country roads with a speed and ease that impressed her, and she was quite sure she was gawking at him. She didn’t care. Seemed to her that foreplay was over. Now came the real play.

“It’s my beard, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“The reason you’re staring at me?”

“No, I’m thinking is all.” She cocked her head, unable to steer her gaze from him—the slight lines around his eyes, his full lips, and his thick hair. Oh, how she’d like to rake her fingers through that mop of his while he claimed her.

“About?”

“You.” She shifted in her seat. “You’re so raw.”

“Raw? Piece of meat, am I? I see. Not that I mind. Use me, Chantilly.”

She sighed. “Raw and honest. Real. Yes, real is the right word. You’re so real.”

“Well, I think you’re real, too. Wait, you are real, right?” He pinched her arm.

“Hey. Keep your eyes on the road.”

“Only checking, but I’m still not convinced you’re real.” He poked her. “Are you real?”

“There’s only one way to find out,” she cooed, and she reached over to kiss him.

He turned to meet her lips. He lost his grip of the wheel and the car swerved, but he quickly regained control.

“So we’re clear? No-strings shag? We’re just getting it out of the way, cutting the tension so we can carry on as normal?”

He growled, “No strings.”

“Well, there will be one string. A G-string.”

Mouth agape and eyes wide, he craned his neck to face her.

Lightning struck a nearby tree and sent it tumbling toward them.

Dylan snapped his attention to the road and twisted the wheel, skidding away from disaster.

“Bloody dry storms, cause so much damage. We should’ve stayed at the pub.”

Trembles took hold, so she gripped the seatbelt to focus her energy on something other than the chaos outside.

“You okay?”

“If you hadn’t figured it out yet, I’m not a fan of storms. Never have been.”

“Let’s get you home.” He shifted into reverse, but the wheels skidded beneath. The more he revved, the more they squealed. The Mini wasn’t going anywhere.

He tried again. The engine spluttered, then died.

“Crap, we’re stuck.”

Gingerly, she unbuckled. “It’s what, two miles from here?”

He nodded. “We could make a run for it.”

“But it’s raining and I’m wearing heels.”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” He swung his door open and leapt out. “I know where we can go that’s closer.”

He moved to the passenger side of the car and opened her door. “Come on, trust me.” He unzipped his coat and slipped it over her shoulders. “We better move if we wanna make it before the rain really comes down.”

“It’s already raining pretty bad.”

“It will get much worse, trust me.”

She side-eyed him. “Why, because you’re a farmer?”

“Ia.”

What a night this was turning out to be.

Rain beat down on them, and the sky was alive with booming thunder.

“Where are we headed?” Zoe asked.

“Aunty Betty’s place.” Dylan hopped over a knee-high fence with ease, then turned and held out his hand to help her over. “I’m sure she’ll love that we made good use of her abandoned home to play out our evil plan.”

She took his offer of help and quit cursing herself for wearing girlie shoes. “What plan is that then?”

“You know.” He dipped his gaze then continued. “It’s much closer than Rose Farm. Just across this field about half a mile.”

“Good, I’m soaked.”

“And you’re the one with a coat.” He clasped his fingers around hers and hurried to an almost sprint before he ordered, “Stay with me.”

“My shoes,” she moaned. “They’re sinking into the mud.” She struggled to keep pace, her flimsy pumps digging into the soft, sodden ground.

“We’re there.” He pointed ahead. “It’s past the farm fence you can see yonder.”

“Will I have to climb?”

“No, no. There’s a gate.”

Thank goodness.

Glancing across the darkened scenery, she spotted their destination about a quarter-mile ahead at a guess. Barely visible through the rain and darkness, but it seemed the stone cottage had a roof. And a chimney towering high.

“Hope the fireplace works.”

“
Ia
, the outside is a little rundown, but I do believe Aunty Betty spends the odd afternoon out here with the pretense of upkeep. I think she likes the timeout.”

“Yes, I bet she does.”

Her grasp slipped, and the ground sank beneath her like wet sand. Her left foot got jammed, and then her right.

Splat.

Knee down in the mud, she said, “I’ve gotten stuck.”

He bent and wrapped his hands firmly around her ankle and tried wedging her free, his touch like tiny electrical pulses tingling her all over.

“Woman, why’d you wear six-inch heels out here?”

“Well, how in tarnation was I to know trekking through a field at midnight during a darn thunderstorm was a part of the night?”

He laughed.

“What’s so funny?”

“What we’ll go through to be alone.” He yanked her feet free of her shoes, her very expensive, very pretty shoes. “Look at us? Who needs a cold shower when you live in Wales?”

“Never mind that, can you save the shoes? Please say you can save the shoes.”

“Not a chance.”

“But—”

“But nothing. We’ll get sick if we’re out here any longer.”

She rose and put one foot forward, her toes squelching in the watery mud. She lifted the other foot and slowly pressed it to the ground. A shudder shot down her spine, and goose bumps prickled. “I can’t do it. I can’t. Don’t make me.” She turned, eased her hand into the ground, and grabbed the heel of her left shoe. She pulled. Her grip slipped, and she fell back on her ass.

Her hair clung tight against her face. No doubt her eyeliner was running a nice
The Crow
makeup effect down her cheeks. “Look at me. I’m a mess.”

“Woman!” He swept her into his arms and held her snug. “You never looked prettier.”

Heat radiated through her and rose to her cheeks, and her mouth dried. Tension dissipated, and she allowed herself to feel safe in his strong hold. Storm? The only storm happening now was the one jabbing at her heart.

“Put those arms around my neck and hold on tight.”

“With pleasure.”
With pleasure? Did I really say that?

Pressed against his side, she curled into his embrace and rested her head upon his chest. His thundering heart pounded in her ears and warmed her through. And although rain beat on her head and trickled down her face, she sizzled with burning desire.

His strength was impressive and his speed even more so.

The beaten and weathered property would have been handsome once upon a time. The ornate double doors that were now tarnished, and the pretty sash windows with paint peeling from the frames, told a sad story of neglect. The garden was a sodden mess from the torrential rain, and the flowerbeds she imagined Betty had worked hard on were squelched and ruined.

“It’s sad,” she sighed.

“What is?” He curled a hand around hers and squeezed, pulling her beneath the porch framing the entrance and out of the rain.

“This beautiful house reminds me of myself.”

“How so?”

“Neglected and left to ruin.”

He quirked his mouth into a smile. “This beauty has life in her yet.”

“Yes, indeed.” She eyed him up and down. “Dyl, you’re very perceptive.”

With his free hand, he rubbed his nape and frowned.

Clueless.

Adorable.

Sexy.

For sure he was unkempt, but, darn it, he was hella good looking, and, as she was discovering, he had kindness and an undeniable magnetism.

“Yes, indeed.” He felt around the top of the doorjamb. “That’s odd.”

“What?”

“The key Betty usually keeps here isn’t in its place.”

She scanned the area for another good hiding spot. “How about under one of those rocks in the flowerbed?”

“Maybe. But she’s always kept it taped to the top of the door.” He searched under rocks. “You were right. Found it.” He jabbed the key into the lock then eased the door open. “After you, me lady.”

She scooted inside but paused as she reached his side and peered into his soft gaze. “Thank you, sir.”

Her teeth chattered and her toes were frozen, but her desires were fired up.

She flicked the light switch at the door. Nothing happened. “No electricity?”

“Nope.”

Scanning the living room with only the moonlight streaming in through the two small front-facing windows, she noted a couple of old sofas, a coffee table, and a huge fireplace. Cozy. But not rundown. “Besides not having electric, this place seems, well, lived-in.”

Slamming the door, he said, “Get out of those clothes.” He added with a growl, “Now.”

“No patience, eh?” Zoe inched back until she pressed against the wall.

“You heard me. Undress.” He stalked toward her, his white shirt clinging to his muscular frame and highlighting his abs and hard nipples. Her gaze wandered to his crotch tented by his jutting shaft, need pooling at the juncture of her thighs.

She wanted him. Bad.

Breath caught, words strangled, she simply nodded and peeled away his heavy coat from her shoulders. She let the garment drop to the floor, hoping her top had the same wet-shirt effect as his and he could see her hardened nipples pert and demanding attention. Never had she been so glad to be braless.

“And the rest of it. You don’t wanna get sick.”

“No, no, I don’t,” she cooed, playing along, unsure where his game was leading but sure she wanted to roll the first die. “Neither do you.”

He glanced to the floor. “I’ll get a fire started. Best you go find some blankets in the bedroom. You can undress in private there.”

She slumped, a heavy sigh spilling from her. “Oh.”

“What, you think I had something else in mind?” He shook his head like a wet dog, and oddly she craved to rake her fingers through his mop, to tug on his hair and hold him still while she claimed his mouth.

Dripping with disappointment, she sighed again. “You know I did.”

“Yes, but we’re frozen.”

“You’re right.” Of course he was. But who cared about right when sex with him was on the table? “But—”

“Chop-chop.”

“Fine, bossy,” she teased, frustrated by his prolonging the deed.

Using her phone as light, she searched the one-story home for a closet or a bedroom, somewhere she might find blankets; one long, narrow hallway with several doors to choose from. She searched each of the rooms. A bathroom, a gym, a bedroom with a twin bed, but no bedding, and then….

“Jackpot.”

She found a fully decorated room. A bedroom that was rather cozy and very pink, and big enough for a queen bed, bedside tables, and a wardrobe combined with a chest of drawers. A chaise lounge sat in front of a floor-to-ceiling window, and a paperback lay face down around the halfway point. This fuchsia and white scene screamed Betty.

She stripped down to her panties and pulled the quilted throw off of the bed. Beneath, there was a fleece blanket, which she wrapped over her shoulders. Still cold, she grabbed the throw to carry to Dylan. She noticed a box of condoms on the nightstand. “Well, well, well. Aunty Betty, you old dog.”

She took the box as she didn’t have any rubbers, and the likelihood of Dylan having some was slim, too. She hadn’t set out to start a holiday fling that would sate the sexual tension oozing between them, and her guess was he hadn’t either.

Gathering the blanket in her arms, and holding the rubbers and her phone, she tackled the hallway and made her way back to the living room.

Dylan had stripped down to a pair of black form-fitting boxers, and he crouched before the hearth. He poked the beginnings of a fire with an iron rod, the thick biceps in his sculptured arm flexing with the motion, and he blew at the tiny flame.

Sizzles and crackles grew, and an amber flame burst through the logs.

“There, we’ll soon be warm and toasty,” he declared, standing with his manly chest puffed out and his chin high as if he wore a full set of clothes and wasn’t in the slightest bit cold. The warm glow from the fire silhouetted every dip and curve of his toned body.

“Okay, mister,” she said, her voice shaky. “I’m ready.” And she dropped her blanket and revealed her nakedness.

“Zoe,” he rasped. “You should know I’m not so experienced.” Tracing an index finger over her wrist then up her arm, he continued. “I haven’t bedded anyone since Nessa.”

“It’s been a while for me, too. Six or so months.”

“Nessa walked out on me four years ago,” he muttered. “I’ve not been with anyone since.”

She checked to make sure she wasn’t gawking.
Four years, oh, my stars.

He pulled the blanket from her grasp and laid it out before the fireplace, his glance focused on his activity and away from her gaze. Straightening, he stretched out his arm and ushered her to join him, still refusing to make eye contact.