Kezia put the guitar gently down in the corner of the room, opened the curtains even wider so that the view would be there when she woke in the morning, and pulled the dress over her head.
The damage wasn’t as bad as she’d expected. She had a slit up the other side now. Granted, not quite straight, but it stopped short of her knicker elastic. Which was good. It had pulled open at the seam, fraying the fabric, with one small jagged tear, but she could probably mend it. The green-blue fabric shimmered as she laid it over the back of the chair and she shoved her espadrilles underneath. The top sheet of the bed was crisp and fresh under her fingertips as she dragged it back, then rummaged in her rucksack for a t-shirt.
She was pooped. Well and truly done in. Tired from the journey, and that edge of uncertainty when you don’t know where you were going and who you are going to meet. It could be good, she was used to it, but since her parents had gone it had been harder. There was nothing to comfort her at the end of the day. Well, there had been Simon, but she’d fucked that one up hadn’t she?
But she had needed to. It was right to move on, it had to be. Exhaustion hit her as she lay back, pulled the cool cotton sheet up to her chin and closed her eyes. All she had to do was think of Simon, imagine him holding her and everything would be fine. But it was a dark, enigmatic stranger that jumped into her head, two black eyes burning into her as though he could read every thought.
‘No.’ She growled and rolled onto her stomach, burying her head under her arms. She really, really did not want to think about him anymore. He was a domineering, bossy know-it-all who thought he could dismiss her with a wave of his hand.
She could still feel the warmth of his skin burning through her dress. She screwed up her eyes. No, no, no. She did not, definitely, one hundred per cent did not want to think about that. He’d held her for two seconds flat, then jumped away before she could make the mistake of touching him back. Bastard. What made him think he could touch her, then not let her do it back? What was he? Too fragile to touch? Handle with care?
Except, she didn’t want to touch him, anyway. Why the hell she’d been about to do that she didn’t know. He was a weirdo. A weirdo who crept up on you and disappeared into the shadows. A weirdo who was all controlling and thought everyone would jump at his command. Well, he’s got another thing coming. She was here now and she was going to stay. He worked for Marie, didn’t he? Not the other way round. So he couldn’t make her go. Not unless Marie said so. And she wouldn’t, would she?
She thumped the pillows into submission and rolled back over. He couldn’t make her do anything. Oh, God, how had he turned her on like that, making her stomach curl, her nipples prickle, made her burn hotly one minute and go goose-bump cold the next? Simon didn’t do that.
Damn the man, Simon did do that. Well, kind of that. When they’d made love it was nice, relaxing. He’d made her come. A nice rolling orgasm that unknotted the tension and sent her to sleep like a good bath would.
Just like a warm bath. Not like a hot-blooded, rampant shag that left her panting for more and begging for a rest.
Bugger. Where, the hell had that thought come from?
Had she ever had that? Most of her lovers had been like Simon, which she’d always thought made her the lucky one. She hadn’t encountered any of the shits that a lot of girls she’d known had. The ones who only ‘wanted it’ when they were half cut, the ones who called tweaking a nipple foreplay. No, most of the sex she’d had was with men she could call friends. Well, the closest she got to friends. A life on the move had left her with no one really close, no girlfriends she could chat to and confide in. Marie had come close to that, though in the short time she’d known her. Being nomadic left you able to strike up acquaintances quickly – yeah ‘acquaintance’ was the word – it made you open because you didn’t have time to be coy. You had to get on with it, then move on, and on, until one day…. you wanted to stop.
Hell, why had she thought this would be easy? Maybe it would be better in the morning, when she wasn’t tired. When she wasn’t thinking of James and how he seemed to turn her on one minute and scare her with that intense look the next. Yeah, it would be better. And she had no choice anyway. No car, no money to speak of and no one she could think of that would offer her a bed. And buried deep in the countryside with a man who didn’t seem to welcome people seemed as safe a place as anywhere.
He was hot though, very hot.
Her hand snaked down between her thighs, rested on a pussy that was damp from something that wasn’t perspiration. She groaned. Stroked gently with her fingertips. She hated him. She rolled over onto her side, her fingers still resting against the warmth, stroking absentmindedly, an automatic caress.
How the fuck was she going to sort out her life when there was a man like him lurking in the background, with his seductive voice, his lulling touch, just waiting to pounce?
There was a subtle shift in the air, a delicate scent that cut through the fresh hay and horse feed, and the bay mare shifted her body slightly as a shadow fell across her.
‘You’re up early.’ James glanced briefly over towards the stable door as he finished securing the hay net.
She grinned self-consciously as though she half expected him to tell her off and a brief tang of guilt threaded its way through him.
‘The sun wakes me up.’ She shrugged as though he might think it was a stupid thing to say.
The sun always woke him up too. He didn’t understand people who blocked out all daylight, confused the natural rhythm of their bodies and then relied on the jarring noise of an alarm. Well, he didn’t understand it these days. Once he had been one of those people; one of the crowd who dodged nature in the search for something better.
‘Did you sleep okay?’
Something flickered across her face that could have been guilt or embarrassment and she traced her finger along the top of the door, avoiding his gaze. ‘Quite well.’
The mare gave him a nudge and he grinned. ‘You want me to move out of the way of your breakfast, you bossy mare?’
‘Who are you to call anyone bossy?’ She’d got one dark eyebrow raised and a cheeky grin on her impish face.
Leaning against the stable wall, away from the shower of hay that the horse was creating with each greedy tug, he took a proper look at his interloper.
Last night he’d not been quite sure what had landed on his doorstep, apart from the fact that it was tired, angry and determined. Her shapely thighs had been on show when she’d been perched on the gate, along with slim bronzed arms and delicate wrists that looked like they would snap under the weight of her rucksack, but he could take or leave a good body. He’d seen and touched more naked skin in the last few years than was good for him.
But he’d not been able to ignore the heart-shaped face that was pale with something more than tiredness. And the overall image had left him wondering whether he should lock her out or take her in. And then she’d fallen into his arms like a spitting kitten and made his mind up for him.
Now, her dark hair hung straight around her face, big hazel eyes stared at him openly without rancour, eyes that last night had flashed tawny before darkening to the colour of moss. She was small, slim and yesterday’s