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“I’ve had girlfriends. I just haven’t spent extended periods of time with them, nor have I shared conversations like ours.”
“That’s because there’s no distraction, and I’m the only person here.”
“And you like to talk,” he added with a smirk.
I slapped his arm. “Hey. I don’t talk too much, do I?”
He shook his head. “It’s more my shortcoming than yours. You’ve got a pleasant voice and you make me laugh. I like you best, however…”
Expecting something sexy, I smirked. “How?”
“When you’re all vulnerable. When you need me.”
Huh?
That really threw me. “Are you saying you’re turned on by my damsel-in-distress act?”
He studied me closely. “Has it been an act?”
“No. I only called you when I needed you. But I sensed you wouldn’t see me unless it was about protection.”
“That’s my role, Savvie.”
I nodded slowly as I finished my drink and rose.
If I were being totally honest, I loved knowing I could turn to him, especially when I needed him, which went beyond my many dramas.
Shifting the mood a little, I pulled a grin. “Although you don’t say a lot, you seem to like to talk about things that interest you, like fishing and…”
He slanted his handsome head. “And?”
“What you’re going to do to me.” My mouth curled slowly.
“Mm… I like the sound of that.” He touched my arse. “And I love touching you.”
“Is that all?” I goaded.
“Oh, there’s a lot more. Like…” He fondled my breasts. “Like your perfect tits and…” He ran his fingers down to my pulsating sex. “And how you taste. Can’t get enough of that.” He ran his tongue over his lips.
He tasted my lips slowly, and I became a puddle again.
Holding onto one another, we walked into the room that we’d made our own and fell onto the bed, where he devoured every inch of me, making me see stars.
Yes, I was in love. And maybe he was too. I just had to ride this warm, delicious wave and hope to find him there with those steady hands to guide me.
Carsonhadtakenofffor the village early in the morning. While I waited, I went through my luggage looking for sensible village clothes and settled on a pair of leopard-skin, high-waisted flares, and a green cropped cashmere jumper. Imagining Carson’s dry response to my clothing choice made me smile. He didn’t quite get my fashion obsession. Something I’d never thought about until I met him. I’d certainly never worn the same clothes over three days.
Apart from the jeans I’d grown fond of, there was an oversized Scottish woollen jumper I’d appropriated from my parent’s bedroom, which belonged to my dad. Wearing it had made me feel close to him, tugging at my heart whenever I took a deep smell of the wool, an action that had Carson looking puzzled.
“It belonged to my dad,” I said, a lump forming in my throat.
His eyes softened, and he held me. No further explanation was needed. He just understood me better than most. And I seemed to cry at the drop of a hat since that awful experience with Bram.
This rawness helped me look deeper into myself. As the layers came off, I discovered things about me I liked, which had little to do with wardrobe choice.
Everything about our rich scene was cosmetically airbrushed, in that our souls had been buried with the collagen fillers.
Were we really going to leave?
