Chapter Fifteen
Monday in Portree was lovely. On the journey there, Josefin sat between the noisy children in the centre row while Erik and Grete claimed the very back seats of the Volvo. Mats smiled when he saw them and murmured so only Ezz could hear, ‘I believe they had a heart-to-heart yesterday. They’ve been all smiles since they came down to breakfast together this morning.’ He indicated that Ezzie should take the front passenger seat while he slid behind the wheel.
She risked a quick glance over her shoulder under the guise of fastening her seatbelt and saw Grete and Erik apparently chatting amicably. ‘It’s great to see your mum smile. What did you tell your parents to explain my presence at a family outing?’
Grinning, he swung the car around and set off down the drive. ‘No explanations necessary,’ he said, which could have meant anything.
They crossed from the Sleat Peninsula over the frozen moorland, where ice glittered in the roadside ditches like mercury. They stopped to tumble from the car and photograph the pink and yellow-streaked sky above the snowy peak of Beinn na Caillich, which towered behind Broadford. ‘Beinn na Caillich means “mountain of the old woman”,’ Ezz told them as Astrid and Alvin posed for photos with the mountain in the background, their breath hanging in clouds in the frosty air. ‘Confusingly, there’s another Beinn na Caillich on Skye, not far east of here at Kyle Rhea, and also one at Knoydart on the mainland.’
When they’d admired the wildness of the moor, they piled back into the Volvo and followed the coast road in and out as if following the edges of jigsaw pieces, the road undulating past frozen beaches, upturned boats and a lone ferry chugging over the glassy inner sea.
It took them about an hour to reach Portree, which was built around a sloping bay, like Rothach but bigger. The grey-tiled buildings rose up in tiers as if to get the best view of the snowy mountains on the Isle of Raasay across the water, and the boats chugging slowly in and out of the harbour. Leaving the Volvo in a small car park, they found their way down to the harbour via a curving flight of stone steps, which Alvin insisted on conquering on his own, one step at a time.
Every form of boat bobbed on the corrugated grey sea from rowing boats to quite large fishing boats. Astrid loved the piles of creels and nets. Alvin was fascinated by an orange fishing boat with its own crane. Grete admired the pink, yellow and blue buildings that appeared on so many pictures of the town, brighter than the pastel cottages of Rothach village.
Back up the steps, they found the town itself twinkling with fairy lights as if a swarm of fireflies had decided to come to Portree for Christmas. The town was a favourite with tourists, and the shops were dressed to attract them, with lights reflecting from shiny red baubles, and model Santas beaming behind their reindeer. ‘Do you have reindeer in Sweden?’ Ezz asked Mats, standing outside a shop with a bountiful number of reindeer pulling Santa’s sleigh.
He nodded, his blue woollen hat pulled snugly over his ears. ‘In the north. And moose, of course, and lynx – though they’re not common.’
Absently, she straightened Astrid’s hat, which was slipping over one eye. ‘Maybe Santa should have had moose to pull his sleigh. They have longer legs.’
Laughing, he adjusted her hat, just as she’d adjusted Astrid’s.
As they wandered the quaint high street, Ezz was able to stock up on her favourite handmade soap for herself, and as stocking fillers for Thea and Valentina. Josefin bought matching kilts for her son and his boyfriend, sheepskin mittens, knitted jumpers, shortbread and whisky.
‘I must remember Irn-Bru from the supermarket, to make Girders,’ she told Ezz, with a grin.
Ezz grinned back. ‘Better get some Drambuie too, then.’
Erik and Grete bought Astrid and Alvin toy Highland Cattle, which were advertised as ‘coos’ – ‘cows’ in a Hebridean accent.
Showing their kindness, they also bought a ‘coo’ for Thea’s baby, Ezz having told them the happy news as soon as they met that morning. Ezz, not to be outdone, bought the baby a cream-coloured hat and bootees knitted from Skye sheep’s wool. The hat had rabbit ears and the bootees white pom-pom bobtails. Her heart gave an excited skip at the thought that she’d be an auntie again soon, and this time her nephew or niece would live close enough for Ezz to know and love them in real life, rather than mostly via FaceTime.
Mats’ hand brushed Ezzie’s a couple of times, while Alvin rode on his shoulders, but otherwise last night’s kisses might never have happened. Ezz liked his discretion, especially in front of his kids – and, of course, Erik and Grete, her employers.
It was a lovely, happy day, with two visits to cafés, one for lunch – the one nearest the Christmas tree ablaze with coloured lights in the centre of Somerled Square, by Astrid’s demand – and one for afternoon scones before they left for home. Everyone was full of smiles, and Josefin’s ruddy cheeks were almost orange in the chilly air.
Both children fell asleep on the journey back. The early darkness had fallen by the time the car drew up outside the hall; the twinkle lights twirled around the bases of the flagpoles bright in the darkness. It was past five, so Orla would have closed it to visitors before going home.
As they got out, Alvin rubbed his eyes and blinked as specks of white landed on his face. ‘Little snow,’ he cried happily.
‘Little flakes,’ Astrid amended. ‘I want to stay outdoors and wait for it to be enough to make a snowman.’
The adults laughed. Diplomatically, Ezz said, ‘I think you should wait indoors though, in case that takes a while.’
‘There was snow on the mountains today though,’ Astrid argued. ‘They looked like cakes with icing.’ Then she dragged off her pink hat and began to tug the zip of her coat, declaring contrarily, ‘I’m hot.’
‘Let’s go in before we take off our coats,’ Josefin suggested, extending an encouraging hand. ‘Then we can have hot chocolate.’ Her eyes twinkled beneath her beige woolly hat. Astrid and Alvin ran to join her, and the trio disappeared indoors and through the white door to the family side, closely followed by Erik and Grete.
Ezz went to her office. It was her day off, but as she was here she might as well check Orla hadn’t left any notes on her desk. Quietly, Mats followed her. ‘Can you join me for dinner tonight? Maybe at one of the hotels, rather than the village pub. I could pick you up at eight. I like to be there for the children’s bedtime when I can. I’ll be back to full-time work in January, so I want to make the most of them now.’
‘That sounds great, and eight’s fine.’ Ezz hadn’t enjoyed being the centre of attention at the Jolly Abbot any more than he had, but the warmth in her cheeks was mainly due to Mats moving into her space, his gaze on her mouth. And forgetting that she was at her place of work, she found her eyes on his mouth too. He hovered nearer, as if preparing to kiss her.
Then Josefin’s voice came sharply, from behind him. ‘Would you like hot chocolate, Mats?’
He turned away from Ezz and strolled out of her office. ‘No thanks, I’ll make coffee.’ He went through the door she held with a smile over his shoulder for Ezz and mouthed, ‘Tonight.’
Josefin’s expression was very different when her eyes met Ezz’s. Shadowed. Taken aback. Dismayed.
Ezz flushed guiltily. Dammit. Why had her professionalism deserted her? She might have been advised to be less formal than Tavish, but holding up her face to be kissed by the son of the household was taking liberties. And Josefin had looked so unhappy. She might have once said that Mats liked Ezz, but Ezz had shrugged it off. Now there was betrayal in that light brown gaze before Josefin turned away.
Ezzie hovered at her desk, wondering whether she could say something to smooth things over with Josefin, and if so what.
Then the door to the family area reopened and Josefin reappeared carrying a steaming blue mug, Astrid in tow. ‘We brought you hot chocolate,’ sang Astrid, skipping on her toes.
‘Wow, thank you.’ Ezz took the cup from Josefin with an appreciative smile.
Josefin did not smile back. ‘Would you like to go to the pub again tonight?’ she asked instead. Her tone was carefully neutral, but her eyes bored into Ezz.
Ezz understood. Josefin had caught the breath of the word ‘tonight’ as Mats had mouthed it and was just trying to confirm her suspicions. Steadily, she answered, ‘I’m afraid I’m busy already, but tomorrow …’
But Josefin was already turning away. ‘Tomorrow I am busy. Come, Astrid. Ezzie needs to go home.’
Astrid looked from Josefin to Ezzie as if she’d expected to stay for a chat, but then sang, ‘Bye, Ezzie,’ and skipped after Josefin.
‘Thanks very much for the lovely hot chocolate,’ Ezz called after them. But she knew that thanks hadn’t been what Josefin had wanted to hear.
As arranged, Mats picked Ezz up at eight and drove her to a hotel further down the peninsula. Good headlights were essential in the dark and winding lanes, and more of what Alvin had dubbed ‘small snow’ danced across the road like glittering white midges. Mats didn’t mention Josefin being miffed and Ezz didn’t enquire. It would be mean to bring to his attention that Josefin seemed to be feeling snubbed and jealous, and Ezz felt bad enough already at hurting the feelings of the woman she’d begun to consider a friend.
The meal was delicious, but service was leisurely and so when they returned to the village it was nearly midnight. Rothach sat in a frost pocket and every inch glittered as the tyres crunched gently down the slope of Low Road before it flattened into Chapel Road. Even the lights of the Jolly Abbot were off. Mats killed the engine and turned to her in the warm confines of the car, his face all angles and planes in the shadows. ‘Sorry it’s so late.’
She touched one finger to his lips to stem his apologies. ‘It’s fine. But I won’t invite you in for coffee, as I have to be up in the morning.’
He looked rueful, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing her fingertips. ‘Mum’s making plans for the next couple of evenings now Dad’s here and they seem to be getting over their bump in the road. Are you free on Friday? I could take the children to the beach and tire them out, so they go to bed earlier.’
She raised her eyebrows consideringly. ‘That might be possible, if you don’t mind a short evening. My sister and family are coming to stay at Thea’s for the weekend, but they’re leaving Inverness after Valentina and Gary finish work so won’t arrive till latish. Why don’t I cook dinner here? Then I’ll be free to join them whenever they arrive.’ She hadn’t offered a man dinner at her house since coming to Skye, but she knew that if she asked him to leave, he would. He was Mats, someone she knew real things about rather than what he said in his dating profile.
He nibbled her fingers and her stomach curled at the shaft of desire that shot through her. ‘Fantastic,’ he murmured.
It was quite a few minutes before she got out of the car and made for her front door, once more floating, as if Mats’ kisses unspooled her string so she floated like a kite over Rothach Bay.
Mats arrived at Ezz’s cottage just before seven-thirty on Friday evening. She opened the door to find him huddled in his coat, a few white flakes on top of his blue woollen hat. Drily, he said, ‘The small snow has turned to big snow.’
Ezz welcomed him in, gazing at the flakes’ swirl and flurry in surprise. ‘I didn’t even notice it had begun. I’ve been on the phone with Valentina in the lounge and the curtains are closed.’
Mats halted in the middle of wiping his feet on the doormat. ‘Is Valentina in Rothach already? Do you need to leave?’ Although his words were considerate, disappointment tinged his voice.
She shut the door on the snow veering and swirling about the streetlamps like white confetti. ‘No, poor Valentina, Gary and Barnaby are making slow progress. There’s snow on the A87 and a couple of cars have slipped off the road near Loch Cluanie. They’ll go straight to bed when they finally get here and see me tomorrow. Luckily, Thea and Dev set out for Dev’s family in Dumfries early this morning and got there without seeing a flake.’
His lips curved as he made short work of removing his coat and hat. ‘I’m sorry for their difficulty, but happy to have you to myself for longer.’ He moved in to drop gentle kisses on her lips. A zing shot down to her toes, taking in all the good places in between. He looked dazed, as if he’d felt it too, and it seemed to take him a moment to collect his thoughts. ‘What do we have for dinner?’
She turned towards the kitchen. ‘Fried herring with a lime and pepper crust, boiled potatoes, broccoli and red cabbage. Then chocolate ganache with figs if you have room.’
‘I’ll have room,’ he answered promptly. ‘What can I do?’ He surveyed the table, already set, the oily frying pan awaiting the fish, and the potatoes resting in a saucepan of water. As she was expecting not only Mats this evening, but that Valentina and family might visit during the weekend, she’d hung up strings of Christmas lights. A pink set twinkled along the top of the window, and a gold string along the mantelpiece in the lounge.
‘How about choosing drinks? I’ll have a fruit cocktail.’ She indicated the fridge. If he wanted alcohol, he’d have to cross the road to the pub.
But he took out a zero beer for himself, and a mocktail for her, then he propped his nice behind against the cupboards and watched her cook, asking how she’d made the pepper crust she pressed the fish into and exactly how much lime would be enough. He was a big, warm presence. And she was ultra-aware of him.
‘My parents are spending a lot of time together in their suite,’ he said, as he watched her take out another pan to make herb butter sauce. ‘What herbs are they?’ He nodded towards her chopping board.
‘Parsley and thyme, with a smidgeon of dill.’ A month ago, she’d have answered his comment about his parents with a polite, neutral smile, but a month ago she wouldn’t have had Mats Larsson to dinner and he wouldn’t have discussed his family life with her. It was a nice, cosy feeling to be chatting while she cooked their meal. ‘Do you think Erik will stay right up till Christmas?’
He made a musing noise. ‘To be decided, I think. Mum’s clear that she wants to spend more time here or travelling. Dad may be left with a choice between being semi-retired or semi-married.’
The first hint of frying herbs hit the air as the butter liquified in the pan. ‘How do you feel about that? Can you get the cream from the fridge, please?’
He located the cream and handed her the tub, cold in her hand. ‘I hope he chooses semi-retirement, of course.’
‘I hope so, too.’ She measured out hot water and added stock cubes. The potatoes had boiled so she turned down the heat and then gave the fish a last toss in the crushed pepper and flour mixture before adding it to the frying pan.
The hot oil hissed a fierce welcome and he retreated a step. ‘I can see why Mum wants to be here. It’s beautiful and restful. I could live here myself. Tell Larsson Fiskeri to appoint a new finance officer and open a restaurant selling dishes made from the local catch.’ He nodded at her frying pan, now sizzling gently, its aromas swirling around the room. Her heart skipped at the idea of him living on Skye.
But it was only a second before he added, ‘It’s an impractical plan, of course. Inger and I must share Astrid and Alvin. The children love both their parents and need that love to be returned.’
She nodded, put a steamer full of broccoli on top of the potato pan, flipped the fish and then turned the heat up to thicken the sauce while she stirred, snatching a moment to check his expression. The corners of his mouth had turned down and, his gaze distant, sadness and regret lingered in the lines around his eyes. ‘Do you wish you hadn’t needed to get divorced?’ she asked softly.
Instantly, his gaze snapped back into focus. ‘Hell, no.’ He rubbed his jaw. ‘Andreas is much more Inger’s type – rich. I just want to make everything as easy as I can on the children.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘I was uncharacteristically dazzled by her. By the time my sanity returned, we were married. It was a big lesson in “don’t follow lust – follow logic”. We were married for five years. She was young, gorgeous and vivacious, and hated me working so much. I should have seen trouble coming. She didn’t respect my parents for having made their own money, though that’s exactly why I admire them. She wanted me to be “more aspirational” but I never knew to what I was meant to aspire. Sitting on a yacht with nothing to do isn’t my idea of fun.’ He grinned ruefully. ‘Apart from this year, I generally get four or five weeks’ holiday a year. Her ideal is four or five weeks a month.’
Ezz nodded to show she was listening, lowering the heat beneath the sauce and warming the plates while she deftly slid the fish onto kitchen towel to blot the excess oil.
He stepped out of her way while she plated their meals then, as if they were used to sharing a kitchen, reached around her to stir the sauce while her hands were busy. She paused to remove her red apron from over a dark green jersey dress before placing the steaming plates on the table while he took their drinks. ‘This food looks fantastic. Let’s not mention Inger or divorce again tonight. Esmerelda Wynter, a beautiful, intelligent woman, has just cooked me a restaurant-worthy meal, and I want to enjoy every crumb. Tack f?r maten . That means thank you for the meal.’ His eyes smiled.
She took her seat and picked up her cutlery, happy at the change of subject. ‘What do you say before a meal? Like bon appetit , but Swedish.’
‘ Smaklig m?ltid. ’ He raised his zero beer in a toast, and she clinked with her mocktail.
They ate slowly while the snow whispered at the windowpanes. ‘Do you know the Norwegians came to Skye?’ he asked, cutting through the crispy coating of the fish, his knees touching hers beneath the table.
She paused to look at him askance. ‘Did they?’
He nodded. ‘Mum told me. In the thirteenth century, King Haakon moored his fleet in Loch Alsh. He had a dust-up with Scotland’s King Alexander and then died. Under a treaty I don’t remember the name of, Scotland was given the Hebrides and Isle of Man, and Norway got Shetland and Orkney. Kyleakin was named after King Haakon. At some other time, there was a Norwegian princess who stretched a chain across the Kyle Akin strait to extract a toll from boats.’
That rang a bell in Ezz’s mind. ‘Is that the legend of Saucy Mary? I have heard about that. Her castle’s a ruin now – Caisteal Maol – and she’s supposed to be buried on top of Beinn na Caillich near Broadford. And surely the Vikings came earlier than that from what later became Norway. There was a huge Viking presence on all these islands and the west coast.’
‘I hadn’t thought about that.’ Unexpectedly, he added, ‘You’re so relaxing to be with, Ezzie.’
She laughed as she cut up her potato. ‘Now you’re trying to make me blush. Tell me about Gothenburg.’
Eagerly, he began. ‘It’s close to the Norwegian border, which is why Mum was in Gothenburg with her friends, visiting the market, and fell in love with the boy with the fish stall.’ His fair hair shone under the kitchen light, and his silver eyes looked stunning. ‘It’s a seaport, of course, with big canals. Some of the buildings are colourful. Copper roofs have turned green, others are bright red. It’s a good city, with parks and cafés, bridges and museums. My apartment is in Stampen, which is a regenerated area and a bit trendy. I rented it when …’ He paused, and Ezzie remembered him saying he didn’t want to talk further about Inger or the divorce. He changed tack. ‘But soon I’ll find a house with a garden for the kids.’
She listened as she enjoyed the silky sauce that contrasted with the crunchy coating of the fish, trying to absorb the sound of Swedish place names that fell from his lips. Johanneberg. G?taplatsen. N?ckros Park. Lorensbergs Villastad. He took out his phone and showed her images of gothic churches and boatyards filled with cranes and gantries. Consulting Google, they discovered that Gothenburg covered just less than one-third of the area of the Isle of Skye.
‘So, Gothenburg’s bigger than Rothach,’ she commented, straight-faced. They’d finished their meal and he’d stacked their plates and taken both of her hands across the table. She enjoyed the feeling of his big hands warming hers.
‘Rothach is just as beautiful as anything in Gothenburg,’ he said seriously. ‘The village is charming, with its coloured cottages and slate roofs, and the rocky beach with the gentle sea.’
‘Not always gentle, but it’s sheltered in the sound. I could show you the cottage Valentina’s bought, right on the Quays, if you fancy a walk in the dark and the snow. It’s a mess now, but I think it will be spectacular after she’s spent a small fortune on it.’
‘Is she moving here?’ His thumbs caressed the backs of her hands.
She grinned. ‘Valentina and Gary are lawyers. She works in corporations and he’s in local government. They’ve moved closer now, and live in Inverness rather than Edinburgh, but it’s still a city. That’s their thing. She wants a weekend cottage here as a get-away-from-it-all place.’
‘I’d love that,’ he said.
She snorted. ‘I’ve seen your “weekend cottage”. Rothach Hall is not quite the same as Overlook Cottage.’
He made a show of looking hurt. ‘Rothach Hall belongs to my parents. Not me. I don’t even own an old fisherman’s cottage.’
‘Yeah, I’d forgotten how poor you are,’ she said ironically. ‘I’ll clear things ready for dessert. It’s already made and in the fridge.’
‘You made dinner, so I’ll wash up,’ he said. ‘How about we have dessert after that, with coffee?’
She agreed, scraping plates and handing things to him to wash, cheerfully elbow-deep in white suds while he asked her about Maxie and Vince.
‘Lovely parents.’ She was swept by the rush of mixed pleasure and pain that came whenever she thought of them. ‘I have a playlist of things they worked on. I’ll put it on.’ She located it on her phone and played it through the speaker on the window recess. ‘That’s Dad playing guitar. It’s the theme music for a film and the soundtrack got into the album chart.’ She giggled, her hands slowing as she gathered up the tablecloth. ‘As a child, I remember him singing what I thought were silly songs. Have you ever heard “Walking My Baby Back Home”? I had no idea it was about adults, especially the line about getting powder all over a vest. I thought it must be a children’s bath-time song about talcum powder. Mum and Dad nearly cried laughing. That’s how I remember them. Hanging on to each other and howling with laughter.’
Her birth parents must have those kinds of memories with Julia and Iona, she thought, a hollow opening below her ribs. The next song began and she shoved that thought away. ‘Mum’s a backing singer on this track. Amazing that I once had that voice singing lullabies to me.’ Needing to rinse her wiping cloth, she eased in beside him at the sink and plunged her hands into the water.
He shifted so that he had one arm either side of her and she was sandwiched between moist, sudsy warmth one side and hard, male heat on the other. A strangled giggle escaped her. ‘Mats!’
‘Mm?’ Nuzzling the nape of her neck, he nudged her hair aside to find the soft skin with his lips. ‘This is a great way to wash up.’
The bubbles that ran off her wrists sparkled with rainbows and Ezz felt as if she sparkled with rainbows too. ‘Mm,’ she found herself returning. And maybe there was a ‘muh’ and an ‘ooh’ in there, too, as her eyes closed, and all those sparkling rainbows of pleasure burst into a melting sensation that slithered down her back.
Instinctively, she turned in his arms and searched for his mouth. Mats’ lips were warm and soft but excited and hungry, and his hips pressed into the cradle of hers. Time slowed. He didn’t complain that her fingers were damp as they threaded through his silky hair, and she ignored her hip pressing uncomfortably against a drawer handle and it felt suspiciously as if water was filtering under her waistband. She pressed against him, loving the shock of her breasts against his lean body and the answering jolt that shook through him.
Nothing seemed as important as their kisses, making her heart thud in a way that echoed to the soles of her feet. His hands stroked her back and followed the shape of her waist. His hardness pulsed against her, as if it would dissolve their clothes to find its way inside her.
And, oh, boy, that was what she wanted. This man. In bed. All night long. He was leaving Rothach – she knew that – but not yet, not yet. ‘Oh, yeah,’ she breathed. More words wanted to pour out of her, to tell him how he was setting her on fire, how she hadn’t felt like this for so long, if ever, but they stuck in her brain, which apparently couldn’t process every message her body was sending.
Mats, breathing like a train, rained kisses on her face, squeezing her against his body. ‘Whatever the question is, it’s a yeah from me too,’ he gasped, nibbling along the exposed, incredibly sensitive skin at her neckline, nearly sending her off like a rocket.
‘Upstairs?’ she gasped.
‘Oh, yeah. ’ He eased their embrace, so they could crab their way across the now-damp flagstones towards the hall without disentangling.
‘There’s a step,’ she panted, just as he tripped.
‘Found it,’ he reported wryly. Up the hall, slithering along the walls, then she felt for the light switch, and they stumbled up the stairs. When she murmured, ‘My dress is soaked,’ he turned, a foot on one step and a knee a couple of steps higher. Taking the opportunity for a long, slow kiss, he felt for her zip and whizzed it down, so her back felt the cool air. Slowly, exquisitely, he eased the fabric over her shoulders, her arms and down her legs, following with brushes of his lips that began the rainbow sensation all over again.
She shivered, and he wrapped her in his arms.
‘Now you’re cold.’ He ushered her up the last few steps. ‘Which room?’
‘That one.’ She pointed.
He paused at the bathroom to grab a towel, then swung her into her bedroom, where the glow of streetlights filtered through the glass. The fluffiness of the towel descended on her back, and began to draw soft, caressing circles.
Every vestige of chill left her skin. ‘Curtains,’ she murmured, not sure pub-goers could see in, but not sure they couldn’t. He released her long enough to close the night out, while she lit a lamp.
Then they were facing each other beside the bed. He stroked her face, the side of her neck, her shoulder. ‘Still yes?’
She loved a man who made sure. ‘Yes, from me,’ she whispered.
A tremor shook through him. ‘A very big yes from me. Huge, urgent yes. Yes, yes, yes.’
They sank onto the bed together, his fingers pulling down her straps, unfastening her bra so her breasts, freed, swung into his face. ‘Gorgeous,’ he muttered. Then his mouth was hot and his hands sure.
‘Shirt, shirt,’ she insisted. ‘I don’t like being naked on my own.’
‘One shirt coming off.’ A deft motion and it was off over his head without unbuttoning, ruffling his hair. ‘Trousers to follow.’ A zip and a wriggle and he was out of them too, his erection hard against her through his boxers.
Ezz almost lost her mind at the feel of the scalding heaviness of him against her sensitive flesh. ‘That’s better. That’s the best. That’s awesome,’ she murmured, thoughts scrambling, limbs trembling at the sublime sensation of hot skin on hot skin, teasing mouth on breasts as, between them, they freed themselves of the final items of underwear.
Ezz would probably have checked her condoms were in date and then gone for a burning, insistent, fast-and-fucky coupling, but Mats took several audible breaths and whispered, ‘Let me stroke you.’ He sounded as if he were saying it through gritted teeth.
She paused, thinking he might need a moment to establish control. Then every hair stood on end because his fingertips were skating over her body, as if mapping it to commit to memory. That felt good. That felt like heaven was a real place. His palms circled over her back, over the globes of her buttocks, her thighs – between her legs so gently, just tracing the shape of her. She was going to explode. His knuckles grazed her before he moved back to her breasts, stroking, kissing.
Although his breath came heavy, he managed whole words and even short phrases like: ‘You OK?’ And: ‘That good?’ and she gasped only, ‘Uh-huh,’ followed by her mind exploding.
Her hands refused to glide around in the measured way his did. Instead, she clutched his buttocks, then his waist, pressing her open mouth against his chest, then his neck, tasting his skin. Finally, urgency encouraged her brain and mouth to work together on a whole sentence. ‘I have condoms in the bathroom.’
He paused in nibbling his way up her ribcage, which felt incredible , still breathing hard. ‘Mine are in my jeans.’ He leant out of bed to flail an arm in the direction of his abandoned jeans and hook them to him, one hand on her as if he was scared she’d run away. ‘Why in the hell don’t you keep your condoms in your bedroom?’
‘I don’t bring men here. Let me do it. I like doing it.’ She slipped the square packet from his hand.
Rolling onto his back, he breathed, ‘I love that.’
And ten seconds later she was sliding over him, sliding him into her, closing her eyes and gripping him while he rumbled, ‘Urrr,’ as if there wasn’t enough air.
She lost track of herself. Moving on instinct, swapping places, changing pace, holding him hard, stroking him gently, as the slow lovemaking built and built until her orgasm ripped through her like an eruption.
Finally, she lay against him, her breathing no longer rasping in her throat, her muscles mush, her body heavy and happy. Voice low, he said, ‘You don’t bring men here?’
‘Never.’ She touched a kiss to his collarbone, then licked it.
He didn’t press her further, but she felt as if he were smiling to himself that he was different. She smiled in the darkness too, but wistfully, counting the ways in which he was different. A man whose parents she worked for. A man who by no means had his own life sorted out. A man with kids. She’d even cooked for him. Holy shit.
A man who was leaving.
Later, when she awoke, he was nibbling her ear. ‘Mm,’ she mumbled, thinking he was waking her to make love again, but when she reached for him, her questing fingers found jeans and a shirt. ‘Dressed?’
He kissed her. ‘I need to be home before the kids wake up.’
‘Oh.’ She kissed him back. ‘In that case, I hope the snow stopped. I don’t want to drag myself from this lovely warm bed and help dig out your car.’
He chuckled. ‘It was only half an inch of snow. I think I’ll cope.’
‘’Kay. Then you’re on your own.’ She closed her eyes again.
‘Are you busy with your family the whole weekend?’ His fingers traced the line of her shoulder, as if his hands couldn’t help touching her.
She shivered contentedly. ‘I’m meeting Valentina and co at Overlook Cottage in the morning. And dinner later, I think.’
‘OK.’ He eased the duvet down to kiss a breast. ‘Would it be bad if I took Alvin and Astrid to the beach tomorrow and, if I happened to see you, came over to say hi?’
‘It would be good,’ she assured him. ‘Barnaby’s about the same age as Astrid and he loves the beach too.’
After one last kiss, she listened to him treading down the stairs, imagining him pulling on his coat in the hall. The front door opened and closed. A faint crunching meant snow beneath his feet. She pulled the duvet around her and shuffled upright, then to the window, easing back the curtain to watch him sweeping snow from the Volvo in shimmering arcs. He was right that it was a light covering, but enough to make the street glow like moonbeams. Fence posts wore sparkling white hats and his footprints were the only things not painted white.
Finally, he stamped snow from his shoes, slid into his car and drove steadily away. She realised she should have told him not to carry on to Bridge Road before turning back along Friday Furlong to reach the road above, because Friday Furlong was steep and narrow. But then his headlights described a smooth circle where Chapel Road met Bridge Road and Creag an Lolaire, and he drove back past her cottage.
Finally, when he was out of sight, she shuffled back to bed and flopped onto the mattress, smiling as she waited for sleep to return. Tomorrow – or was it today? – felt full of promise.