Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
“F irst things first. As my DIY skivvy, and not my friend, or heaven forbid, girlfriend , you need to put on some old clothes before we get started.”
Teddy was busy rummaging in a large box.
“And since I couldn’t possibly bear the barrage of disdain you would direct at me if you ruined your own things, especially those expensive-looking and very tight trousers”—he perused my jodhpurs appreciatively for a moment, until he caught my glare—“you can wear some of mine.” He threw a large black T-shirt and a pair of jogging bottoms at me. “Put these on. I’ll turn my back.”
“There’s no way these will fit me, Ted.”
I eyed the huge jogging bottoms with fear.
“You can cinch them in at the waist or something. Get creative, Hannah.”
The T-shirt had been neatly folded and smelled of washing powder and that citrusy scent that I subconsciously associated with Teddy. I shook it out and started to laugh, at first giggle-snorting and then hiccoughing loudly.
“Why do you have a Dirty Dancing T-shirt?” This was so at odds with his uber cool, ladies’ man image that I couldn’t comprehend it. “Did Henry get it for you as a joke?”
“No, he did not.” He folded his arms and fixed his shrewd gaze on me, looking cross.
“Oh.”
“It’s a good film. Maybe you shouldn’t have that one.” He walked over and snatched it back, quickly finding a plain white one in the box and throwing it over.
“Ok. If you say so.” I continued to chuckle as I took off my boots, before stopping at my belt buckle when he hadn’t yet turned around. Twirling my index finger in a circle, I gave him a hard stare until he begrudgingly spun to face the window, while I stripped out of my jodhpurs and polo shirt and down to my underwear.
“I knew you’d take off your clothes for me at some point.”
“Funny. Keep your eyes forward, Fraser.” The T-shirt swamped me, but the jogging bottoms must have belonged to an actual giant. “This isn’t going to work.”
He faced me again, a strange light in his eyes, his expression serious and broody for a split second, before his usual boyish expression appeared. “You’re a strange little hobbit, aren’t you?”
“I’m five foot five and a half. So, above average, thank you very much.”
“That is a curiously specific yet still vertically unimpressive answer,” he replied, laughing.
I went to put my hands on my hips in a matronly way, and the jogging bottoms began to slide down my legs. I quickly grabbed them, bunching the excess material protectively around my middle.
“There’s a tie cord in them somewhere. Just tighten them up?” Teddy suggested.
Pulling the white string as tight as I could, wriggling and puffing from the exertion, with angry, exaggerated movements, I persisted for a few moments under his wry gaze. And yet they were still miles too big, leaving a void of space between my body and the waistband. “Now what?”
Teddy sighed as he came over to me, taking the string from my fingers and pulling tighter, his knuckles grazing the skin of my stomach as he worked. He practically lifted me off the floor as he yanked the waist as small as it would go, knocking me off balance, so that I fell forwards, hand braced on his chest.
Glancing at this point of contact, the place where my palm was conveniently nestled over a rather impressively firm pectoral muscle, Teddy tutted. “I thought we agreed no touching?”
I was flustered. Who wouldn’t be? I was fairly sure that even Emmeline Pankhurst would have copped a bit of a feel at this point. He was annoyingly and unbelievably toned.
Stepping back to roll the jogging bottoms up so I could find my feet, I put my boots back on and tied a 90s-style knot in the hem of the T-shirt so that it no longer fell to my knees. “Ta da. Haute couture, DIY style.”
Teddy smiled a soft, genuine smile until the T-shirt slipped off my shoulder, revealing my bra strap, and he swallowed.
“Let’s get to it. You’re going to learn how to mix plaster today, Dr Havens.”
Good grief.
He wasn’t going to start with something easy then.
“I thought I was here to make tea?”
“Tea break’s over.”
With a resigned humph, I followed him out of the kitchen and up the grandiose curved wooden staircase. Shafts of sunlight reached like fingers through the bannisters, highlighting the dust motes that danced in the disturbed air around us, a miniature universe of twinkling stars swirling in space. Crossing the expansive landing, we entered one of the empty bedrooms where bags of plaster and buckets of water were already lying in wait.
“Lucky me, getting you to undress and come up to my bedroom. This is proving to be quite a day.”
Teddy was tracking my movements with an amused expression, leaning against the doorframe as I wandered around, boots clumping loudly on the bare floorboards.
“Have you dialled the wooing up to advanced levels?”
“No, we’re still just covering the basics.”
“God help me.”
Teddy grinned his best mischievous grin, flashing teeth and dimples as if he didn’t have a care in the world. And yet my insides were spinning, shifting me off my usual centre of gravity, propelling me towards inevitable doom, and into a whole series of fantasies about his mouth. I had to bloody well stop this.
“Well, maybe we need to focus on fundamentals in plastering and not flirting,” I said with a frown, pausing by the open window where I had a good view of the surgery, my flat peeking out over The Rectory’s walled garden. The glorious, delicate scent of the dog roses that climbed the honey-coloured stone of the house and wound around the sill gently wafted under my nose, and I inhaled deeply.
“Right, let’s get to it.” Teddy was busy lifting sacks of plaster, his T-shirt pulling tight over his arms as he manhandled everything into the middle of the room. “It’s a one-to-one ratio of plaster to water, ok?”
I nodded. How hard could this be?
Pulling out a power drill he inserted a long metal rod with a twirly end into the chuck, tightening a nut and giving it an exploratory whizz so that it spun around at an alarming speed. Satisfied, he turned it off and placed it next to a large black bucket. He began gathering various trowels and boards around him, before handing over some goggles and staring at me expectantly.
“Aren’t you going to mix the first batch?” I asked, putting on the goggles.
“No. Off you go.”
This felt like a practical skills assessment, the sort I’d been subjected to many a time at vet school. Feeling my prickles begin to resurface, my face contorted into its usual grimace of incredulity that seemed to be a regular feature in the presence of Teddy Fraser. I opened the plaster sack.
“You’re so cute when you scowl, you know.”
The teasing lilt to his voice was unmistakeable and the crease between my eyebrows deepened further.
Using the measuring jug, I angrily scooped the orangey dust into the black bucket, using another jug to slop equal amounts of water onto it. With trepidation, fingers grasping the heavy drill, I had to use both hands to aim the end of the mixing bit into the bucket. The on switch was an innocuous-looking grey button, but when I slid it along the barrel, the drill erupted like an angry Jack Russell terrier, shaking me violently until I let go with a yelp.
The next ten seconds occurred in slow motion. And it was a monumental horror show. Trust me.
The drill continued to vibrate at maximum speed. The bucket of plaster that encased it shuddered and shook across the floor as if taking part in some sort of primal dance. Both Teddy and I lurched forwards as the bucket began to tip. I was closer, and I managed to grab the drill again, but this didn’t really help. No, I just joined in the shaky dance-a-thon, desperately trying to switch it off as the bucket teetered and I fell backwards onto my arse, hoisting the spiralling drill aloft and splattering semi-mixed, watery plaster everywhere. Most notably pebble-dashing the entirety of Teddy’s face and chest with pinky-orange water, and globules of partially dissolved plaster.
Wiping his forearm over his goggles, he stalked towards me, glowering under the rapidly drying face pack he was wearing, and grabbed the still vibrating drill to turn it off.
I was trying desperately hard not to laugh. “Sorry.”
“Are you?”
“Yes. I didn’t expect the drill to vibrate so much. I’m used to using little ones for inserting pins and screws into animal bones.” I kept my hand over my mouth, trying to manually force the giggles back down my throat.
“You see, I’m not sure I believe you. At. All.” He discarded his goggles and I could see that his gaze had become dark, tanned skin forming an eye mask around his features, so that he looked as though he was some kind of cartoonish racoon villain.
A snort bubbled into my nose, which I tried to cover with a cough.
“Oh.”
Leisurely, Teddy bent over, holding out a hand as if to help me up, but when I reached to take it, he deftly moved to the side, grabbing a handful of sloppy plaster mix from the bottom of the bucket and dumping it on my head. He smeared it across my cheek and then stood back up and out of reach.
“Hey!”
In defiance, I reached into the bucket, sliding my fingers into the silky slop and lobbing a generous amount of it towards him, which landed with a satisfyingly wet thud in the centre of his chest.
He looked at the mess sliding down his clothes, then he smiled back up at me menacingly.
“You’re going to lose this one. You do know this, don’t you, Havens?”
I suddenly felt nervous. But my ever-helpful brain decided that bravado was the best course of action as I took off my goggles to see him better.
“Maybe you’ll be the one to regret it, Fraser.”
Yeah, why not poke the bear, Hannah? Good one.
He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s how you want to play it?”
I was still sitting on the floor, the plaster bucket closer to me than to him, when he crouched down to look me in the eye. Quick as a flash, I grabbed the bucket and threw the entire contents towards him, hooting with laughter as the remaining plaster mix coated his groin and thighs. Teddy gasped and fell backwards as his ripped jeans absorbed the cool mixture, which had the consistency of a lumpy milkshake. From the surprised and slightly disgusted look on his face, I assumed it was soaking through to his underwear.
Goal!
His returning glare was stony. Frowny. Lips a bit pouty. Without hesitation, I scrambled to my feet, sprinting out of the bedroom and across the landing. Self-preservation was kicking in and adrenaline began to bound wildly as I heard him make chase. Before I had got far, an arm wrapped around my waist, and I was lifted high into the air and thrown over a very well-muscled shoulder.
“Put me down!” I yelled, screaming with hysterical laughter.
“No. We need to wash this plaster off you before it irritates your skin.”
I wriggled and wriggled, unceremoniously hanging upside down, but unable to escape his death grip on my thighs.
“You know, you could have been a fireman if you’d wanted to! You don’t have to re-enact these fantasies with me.”
“This is just one of many fantasies that I would like to re-enact with you,” he muttered.
We left the house, going back out into the bright sunshine. I was banging about like a sack of potatoes, while he was walking languidly as if I weighed little more than an empty handbag. Reaching down as far as I could, I smacked his backside hard enough that my palm stung. But he just laughed and smacked me back, softly, on my airborne derrière.
“Easy, tiger. There’s plenty of time for that sort of thing after we’ve got you all clean.”
Before I could come up with a sufficiently indignant or cutting rebuke, I was transferred into a bridal hold, and simultaneously dangled over a very overgrown and decidedly sludgy-looking pond.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I hissed.
“Wouldn’t I?” He grunted as I squirmed furiously in his arms, loudly shouting for help, but his expression was patient and amused. Dangerous. “I’m doing this for your own good, Hannah.”
“If I’m going in, so are you!” I declared mutinously.
He chuckled and raised an eyebrow, and as he went to launch me into the pond, I thrust one hand into his left armpit and began to tickle. His upper body twisted violently in surprise, causing him to lose his balance and trip on a broken paving stone, so that we both toppled forward. At the last minute, Teddy contorted his body and as we hit the water, he took the full brunt of the impact, me straddling his waist as we both became almost fully submerged in two feet and twenty-plus years of stagnant water, rotting leaves, and pond scum.
Breaking the surface mere milliseconds after me, Teddy gasped.
“Fuck, that’s cold and it stinks like foetid arse!”
Tugging my waterlogged jogging bottoms back up to my hips, I stalked out of the pond, hauling myself onto the patio area. I was preparing to give him a piece of my mind, which became inexplicably empty the minute I looked at him.
The filthy water ran down his body as he stood, T-shirt clinging to him like a second skin. It was practically transparent, the planes and angles of his torso all highlighted for my viewing pleasure. But it was the moment when he reached up and ran both his hands over his hair, biceps flexing, pushing the damp curls and pondweed from his forehead, that my mouth ceased to produce any saliva. I felt like the living embodiment of Miss Elizabeth Bennet standing on the pristine lawns at Pemberley, and shamelessly ogling a delicious and dripping Mr Darcy. And while historical romance films were not really my thing, even I’d had inappropriate thoughts about Colin Firth in a wet shirt.
I finally dragged my greedy little eyes back up to his face only to catch him staring back at me, cheeks lightly tinged with pink. Following his gaze, I looked down to see that my T-shirt was also now almost entirely see-through, giving him an unobstructed view of the decidedly unsexy turquoise sports bra I had on. Teddy swallowed, suddenly appearing desperate to look anywhere other than at me.
“I think perhaps we should get changed,” he said gruffly, opening and closing his fists as if dealing with some sort of inner turmoil, a dark intensity etched on his features.
“Good idea,” I agreed, and fled back to the kitchen to retrieve my own clothes. And any shreds of dignity I may once have had.