CHAPTER NINE
LINDY
My legs shook the whole time as I made two mugs of coffee. Thankfully, Covin—the reason for the leg shaking—stayed at arm’s length, though I knew the distance wouldn’t last with him. He seemed to be a tactile lover, not that I was objecting at the way he manhandled me. It had been months since my last break up and with no dates in between my heart was screaming for the missed physical contact.
This feels like so much more.
“So, picnic.” I turned to face him with a bright smile that slipped the moment I looked into his face and those eyes that calculated, his gaze that never left me.
That intensity. It was like all the dust had fallen from his lean shoulders and what was left behind stunned me. I mean, I knew Covin was good looking. Tall, lean but strong, and elegant in a way that spoke of class like he came from another era.
But the way he looked at me now? Those yellow shot hazel eyes weren’t glazed with whatever facts and research he filled his head with, slumped over that desk. That aura that lent him his nickname dissipated and left me breathless at the much younger but more distinguished and dangerous looking man who watched me now with no concealed degree of interest.
I’d never had someone’s attention so much in my life. It both terrified and pleased me.
My smile slipped a little as I passed him his mug, and I raised my chin, clinging to my sense of insanity that usually flowed along with me.
The corner of his mouth crooked. I followed the motion with my eyes, and missed what he said first.
“Could you say that again please?” I sipped my coffee and tried to look…something. Anything but lovelorn and lost.
His eyes twinkled at me like a reindeer high on Christmas cheer.
Fail.
“I said I think we might have to stock up with some supplies and make it a Christmas day picnic,” he repeated with an apparently endless amount of patience for flighty artists who didn’t pay attention to anything at all.
“Why’s that?”
“Because—”
“Ho the castle,” someone called from what was most definitely not the front door.
“I thought I locked that thing yesterday,” I muttered. “And who actually yells out Ho, apart from Santa Claus?”
Covin shrugged, his go to when he didn’t want to fess up to something I was fast learning. “Why don’t we go see?”
I stared at him. What have you done, Dustman? Just like that, all the trust I thought we had dissipated. “Why don’t you go first,” I suggested in a sugary sweet voice.
“Sure.” He held out a hand, mug in the other and started walking.
I huffed, though three steps in I found my hand enfolded in his much larger, warmer one.
A forest filled the corridor, and the next, and the next. Trees lined stone walls as far as I could see.
“What’s happening?” I tugged on his hand. “What did you do?”
He squeezed my fingers. “I’d say sorry but…I’m not. Just go with it, alright?”
I narrowed my eyes at his back but he dived between the trees like he knew a secret path I didn’t. Somewhere in front of me he hosted a conversation with the person I assumed had called out. As I worked my way through the labyrinthine maze of branches, I didn't realize I had walked through the arched front door to the castle until I stood outside suddenly, shielding my eyes and saw…
More trees.
And dozens of workmen garnished with more tinsel and holly than I expected Witnot Castle had ever seen.
“Covin…?”
“Right here.” He appeared at my side, his hand beneath my coffee mug ready to catch when I squawked and dropped it.
“You ordered trees.”
“Yes.”
“Not on my credit card. It didn’t have this much space.” Thank Christ.
He hip bumped me and nearly knocked me off the top step of the castle entrance. “I would never force you to pay for Christmas trees. I saw what you ordered, and reversed the charges. I might have gone a little overboard but also this way we don’t have to hang up any more garlands. And the rest of the castle will be done, too,” he mused.
I stared up at him, absently noting our third clear day in a row. That’s a streak that has to break soon. Rain seemed the order of normality up here. “And how much did buying out a Christmas tree farm cost you?” I breathed.
He shrugged. “No idea. I called in a few favors and here we are.”
“A few favors.” I ran my hand across the tree nearest me and started counting. “Covin, this one is twelve feet tall.”
“Yes, it’s a good size. Ballroom?” He gestured to one of the workmen.
“We have a ballroom?” I looked around.
“Yes, off Al’s bedroom.”
“Al has a bedroom?” The world spun grey stone and fir tree green.
“Yes, keep up. Picnic tomorrow, alright?” He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, kissed me soundly, and left me standing with an empty coffee mug and a still full one—mine—while he directed the order of the Christmas trees into rooms like an orchestra conductor, followed by boughs of firs that must have been a hundred years old before they were cut.
“Alright,” I whispered, only slightly overwhelmed by the over-caffeinated scholar who took over the castle in his brand of intensity I knew by now that wouldn’t wear off until the job was done.
So I planted my butt on the edge of the top step and off to one side, far enough away to let the tree parade pass me by like King Caractacus while I sipped my coffee. The lingering taste of whiskey mingled on my lips, and I savored the flavor of Covin’s last kiss, knowing I had lost him for hours.
But then, I had a picnic to plan.
Before Covin noticed, or at least admitted to noticing, I managed a quick shopping trip into the village to stock up on supplies. By the time I returned to Witnot, the blue sky had grayed out completely, and the air was icy enough to suggest my trip was about to end one way or another.
I ducked inside the stone archway covered in garlands, hidden by trees decorated in deep scarlet baubles and gold tinsel just as the first snowflake landed on my nose.
“Good timing,” one of the last remaining workmen from this morning shot out of the castle as I entered it. “Sky’s about to let down, I’d say.”
“Probably, I agreed. “Did he feed you?”
“Oh yes,” the man rubbed his stomach enthusiastically. “Salmon croquettes and fresh bread for lunch. Couldn’t be happier.”
I rolled my eyes internally. Yep, that sounded like Covin. Al wouldn’t be happy without his tins to stack if Covin used the lot like I suspected he had. “That’s great, thank you so much for the enormous amount of work you’ve done.”
“No worries. Merry, Christmas,” he called, skidding his way along the path on the lightly iced stone. “You and your husband, though he’s an odd duck.”
“No, he’s not my husband,” I protested, but the man was already off and moving faster than he should have been for the increasingly snowy conditions.
I held my breath until he made it to the remaining truck parked outside and waved him goodbye though I doubted he could see me a mere five minutes later. Giving it up as a bad job I headed into the kitchen to put my goodies away before they melted.
Covin sat in front of the oven that looked like it was full of— somethings. A giant leather bound tome sat open in front of him and he took notes at a speed that astonished me.
“Is this what you were doing before I arrived?” I placed my bags on the ground and stared, open mouthed. “You’re not just a professor, are you?”
“Associate,” he muttered, jogging far too nimbly around the edge of the table to slide his arms around me. “I missed you.”
“I’ve barely been gone,” I protested.
“Long enough.” His mouth descended on mine in the sort of kiss that curled my toes inside my boots.
“Whoa,” I whispered, flushing head to hips in Christmas bauble red. “I need to put some things away.”
“I’ve got it.” Covin grabbed my bag and started unpacking. “Ice cream? Isn’t it?—”
“Snowing. Yep.” I bit my lip, reaching for the tub. “It’s for dessert.”
“Ah.” His gaze coasted over my form, but he let me unpack, unaccosted, and closed his leather bound book, buckling the thing shut.
What sort of book has to be buckled up to keep what’s inside out of the world?
“What other sorts of jobs did you do, Covin? The ones you said you…gave up?” I didn’t want to go there with him but now that he had started it, I kind of couldn’t stop.
The curse of being nosy AF in all respects.
He looked at me for the longest time. I shuffled my feet, a hundred apologies leaping to my tongue but none of them made it out of my mouth. We paused in a complete impasse another wanted to break.
Finally, Covin fessed up. “I was a spy.”
That was not like anything I ever expected him to say. “Like Mission…improbable, or whatever?”
Covin snorted. “Yeah, sure. Like that.”
I wrinkled my nose. “With…your brown suits, and tie and … Rocking the Dustman look? No way.”
He grinned like he was privy to an in-joke I missed. “You don’t see it, huh?”
“What?” I raised an eyebrow. “I feel like I’m too stupid to be part of this conversation.”
Al jiggled the oven door in agreement.
Covin was by my side in an instant, his arms locked around me, leaving me breathless with the speed he moved at, the possession written across his face. “Hardly, sweetheart. Your mind works just fine. Damn sexiest thing about you.”
I swallowed hard. With anyone else the too-close factor would be too much, too fast. Even with Covin, when I first met him, mere days ago. Now…
Now, I leaned into him, rising up onto my toes, seeking his mouth on mine.
“Damnit, Lindy.” He kissed me hard and fast, pushing everything behind me off the table. Pens and other small things clattered to the floor as he lifted me up, stepping between my legs until I felt the evidence of his desire bulging against me. “Out, ghost,” he ordered, not taking his eyes off me as he broke the kiss for a breath, then dived back in.
A mewling sound worked its way along the back of my throat. I moaned softly into his mouth as he pushed my coat off, unwinding my scarf and tossing that aside. Shivers rippled over me at the sudden change in temperature, but he wasn’t done. My shirt went next and his mouth on my bare skin made up for what the lack of material didn’t.
I wound my hands through his hair, tugging him up gently but he refused to be deterred, hooking a finger through my bra strap and pulling the cup down to suck my nipple into his mouth. His tongue swirled around the peaked bud as pleasure shot through me. I cried out softly, praying the ghost paid attention and left the room as Covin shifted, laying me back on the tabletop.
“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he whispered reverently, laving his tongue across my breasts.
I couldn’t suck in enough air to answer him, and after a moment I stopped trying. My nails dug into his shoulders through his shirt as he swapped sides, pinching and swirling and sucking until I unraveled in a hot mess in the middle of the castle kitchen.
His body pressed over mine, fully clothed, not that it stopped the pressure of his erection rubbing in exactly the right spot against my jeans. I cried out, biting my knuckles as I came in broad daylight in the middle of the kitchen, and I wasn’t even naked.
Panting and moaning, I barely registered as he gathered me into his arms, wrapping my clothes around me and rocking me against him.
“So beautiful,” he murmured over and over, massaging the back of my neck. “I want to worship you all over but later, Lindy. When I can take my time with you.”
I nodded into his shirt, inhaling the spicy scent of his sweat and the leathery-ness that clung to him I’d forever associate with my Dustman.