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“Likewise.”
Laura looks at the tin in my hands and says, “Ooh, is that for us?”
“Lemon curd and blueberry loaf,” I tell them. “And that makes it sound as if I had something to do with its creation, and I didn’t, obviously.”
“Lovely. We’ve got some butter or whipped cream to go with it. Coffee or tea, Titus?”
“Coffee would be lovely.”
“Heidi?”
“Tea, please.” She grins as her grandparents go inside to make the drinks. “I’m turning English.”
“So I see.”
“Bloody hell, let’s pop the kettle on and have a cuppa,” she says in her best English accent, and I laugh.
“Your grandmother thinks we’re sharing a bed because of your comment about my tattoo,” I tell her.
“Oh shit, really? Sorry, I’d better put her straight.”
“I tried. I don’t think she believed me.”
“Of course she didn’t. I have a gorgeous, smart young guy staying in my home. There must be something wrong with me if I haven’t jumped his bones.” She crosses her eyes.
I chuckle, because I’m supposed to. But my gaze lingers on her as she tips up her face to the sunshine. She thinks I’m gorgeous. That warms me to the core.
After her comment this morning, it’s impossible not to think about her lying in bed, closing her eyes, sliding her hand down her naked body, and pleasuring herself until her orgasm sweeps over her. I want to do that for her. I want to kiss her, and have her moan my name against my lips as I make her come, with my fingers, my tongue, and while I’m thrusting inside her.
God, why do I insist on torturing myself like this?
Chapter Ten
Heidi
“So,” Grandpa says once we’re all sitting with our drinks and a slice of the loaf, “you two are off to a castle for the weekend?”
“More like a large country house,” Titus replies. He takes a bite of his cake, murmurs his approval, and removes some crumbs from his lip. “It’s called Hawkerland Manor. The owner is a Kiwi, but his wife is English and from old money, I think.”
“What are you wearing, Heidi?” Grandma asks.
“I meant to ask you what the dress code was,” I say to Titus. “How smart do we need to be?”
“Alan mentioned a cocktail party this evening. Then tomorrow it’s an Agatha Christie-style murder-mystery evening. Sunday he mentioned taking us to a local pub. Plus some casual events in between—the hot-air balloon ride, and he promised me some fishing in the river. And they have an indoor pool, so bring your swimming costume.”
“I’ve got a little black dress for tonight,” I tell him. “Not sure about the murder mystery.”
“Apparently we’ll get character descriptions, and he said something about having costumes to help us out.”
“Sounds fun,” I say.
“You should wear that silver dress you wore to Lisa’s wedding,” Grandma says with a twinkle in her eye. “Without the jacket.”
I shoot her a warning glance, but she just grins.
“What’s this?” Titus asks. “I think I need to hear more about the silver dress.”
“It’s sort of 1930s but with shoestring straps and it’s a bit… ah… revealing.”
