One Bed

Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

G olly wrapped up her too long, but very funny speech by thanking Cass and Nadia, and Bea, for all their effort in arranging her party and then exhorted her guests to visit the psychic, and to enjoy the entertainment. She’d ordered a lot of booze, she told them, and they’d better bloody drink it!

Judging by the approving roar, Bea assumed Golly’s guests were more than happy to obey her order.

‘On that note…’ Gib said, leaving Bea, Jack and Jacqui to head for the bar to get them a round of drinks. The waiters were run off their feet and, as part of the family, Gib could slide behind the bar and pour the drinks himself.

As the applause died away, Bea released a relieved sigh. ‘That wasn’t too bad,’ she said, flicking imaginary sweat from her forehead. ‘Golly was reasonably restrained. I can, sort of, relax.’

Jack rubbed his hand up and down her arm. ‘You look tired, darling. Are you OK?’ he asked, concerned.

OK? She was sharing her bed and her body with Gib, who was also reading her books. He didn’t know she was Parker Kane. He was leaving the island, and her life, in a week or so. She liked him, more than she’d ever expected to. She needed a new agent and even though Gib had mentioned Navy was interested, she wasn’t sure whether he, or anyone else, could be trusted to keep her real identity a secret. She’d also started to wonder if Golly was right, and that it was time to step out from behind her pseudonym. Her mum’s affair with Gerry happened five years ago, would anyone even remember? Care?

‘I’m fine.’

Jack and Jacqui wore identical expressions of disbelief.

‘That was quite a kiss you and Gib shared on the dancefloor earlier,’ Jacqui said, mischief in her eyes.

She couldn’t talk her way out of this one, so Bea decided to act as nonchalantly as possible. ‘He’s quite a man.’

Jack, always protective, frowned. ‘Just be careful, OK? We don’t want to see you hurt again.’

‘He’s just a fling, Jack,’ Bea assured him. But, question of the day, if she was just using him for a good time, as a way to get out of her head, then why was she feeling so off balance, so squirrelly? Whenever he was around, her heart turned into a rocket and zoomed around her body. Her stomach took on the consistency of a jellyfish and her breath hitched, her skin buzzed.

Her reaction to Gib was terribly inconvenient. It could be because she was out of practice, and her reaction to him was just her hormones, excited at the idea of a fun time. Fancying him could be a way of distracting her from her professional dilemmas. It didn’t mean she was falling for him. Not after six days. That wasn’t possible. She was far too cautious.

What could she say to change the subject? Right, she remembered something she’d been meaning to ask Jack. ‘Isn’t it a pity about Golly’s Art Deco couch?’ Seeing his blank expression, Bea frowned. ‘The one that was in the cottage?’

‘What about it?’ he asked, obviously confused.

‘Golly burnt it. She said it was riddled with woodworm.’

He sent her an are-you-insane look. ‘My dear Bea, what are you talking about? I checked Golly’s furniture six months ago and none of it had woodworm. And the couch is in my warehouse at the moment. She sent it to me a few weeks ago, saying she wanted it recovered. God knows why, I only recovered it two years ago and the material was not only a bitch to find but completely fabulous.’

Bea narrowed her eyes, smelling a rat or two. ‘Have you stripped it of its fabric yet?’

‘No, I’m waiting for Golly to choose a new fabric. She said she would, but only when she got back to London.’

The interfering witch! ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath, Jack,’ Bea drily suggested.

‘What do you mean?’ Jacqui asked, equally bewildered.

‘My godma is playing matchmaker. She removed the couch from the cottage, to make sure Gib and I had to share the bed.’

Jacqui glanced from her to Gib and back again. ‘Frankly darling, you could do worse. To be fair, you have .’

Yeah, yeah, Gerry was a cockroach. Tell her something she didn’t know! Anyway, that wasn’t the point.

‘Golly has no right to manipulate my sex life!’

Jack sent her a pitying look. ‘But, darling, at least now you have a sex life.’

She did. A freakin’ hot, look-at-me-and-I-melt one. A ‘sex in the sunshine, in the shower, on the deck’ sex life, one that most women craved. Bea looked down at her feet and smiled. Gib was a fantastic lover, generous, assertive, and demanding.

But she was only in this position because bloody Golly had forced them to share a cottage and a bed. Bea was both grateful –what woman wouldn’t be? –and annoyed by Golly’s interference. Apart from a couple of conversations about how it was time to get back on the dating horse, and that lack of orgasms caused wrinkles, Golly generally stayed off the subject of Bea’s love life.

Bea’d never, not once, expected her to go to these lengths to push her and Gib together! And hell, gratitude and annoyance were uncomfortable bedfellows. But the thing with Golly was, if you gave her an inch, she took your whole arm. Sometimes a kidney. And half of your spine.

She definitely needed to be reined in! Where was she? They needed to have a word. Or six hundred. Bea looked around and spotted her on the other side of the dancefloor, talking to a tall man with a shock of white hair. He looked vaguely familiar, but Bea couldn’t be arsed to work out who he was.

‘Tell Gib I’ll be right back,’ she told the Two Jacks. ‘And if I murder your friend, tell everyone I had a justifiable cause!’

Bea slipped around people, and stepped up to Golly’s side and gripped her forearm. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but can I have a minute?’

‘ Bea-darling !’ Golly cried, her eyes glassy from too much wine. Well, Bea hoped that was all she’d had. Again, it was another of those ‘don’t ask unless you really, really want to know the answer’ questions. ‘Do you remember Llewellyn Baker?’

Bea smiled at Golly’s friend. ‘Would you excuse us? I need to talk to Golly.’

‘You’re her goddaughter, am I right?’ Llewellyn took her hand and lifted it to his lips. Some men managed the old-fashioned action with aplomb, but he wasn’t one of them. It took a lot of effort to not yank her hand from his damp fingers.

‘Sort of,’ Bea replied, half turning her back to him. She widened her eyes at Golly, and she finally took the hint.

‘Lew, darling, fuck off,’ Golly told him. When he was out of earshot, she cocked her head to the side. ‘Now what is so important?’

‘He’s a sleazeball,’ Bea told her. ‘He made the hair on the back of my neck rise.’

‘He has a title,’ Golly shot back, taking a whisky from a waiter with flashing dark eyes. ‘Thank you, darling. Keep them coming.’

‘Then he’s an aristocratic sleazeball.’

Golly wrinkled her nose. ‘You’re not wrong, I recall he was very handsy with his staff when he was an MP. The PM had to talk to him about it a few times. He should’ve been fired, but that was a long time ago, and thank God there are different rules today.’

‘Right,’ said Bea. Unfortunately, the issue of legislating against matchmaking old ladies had yet to be given the attention it deserved. ‘I’m very cross with you!’

Golly didn’t look remotely fazed. ‘For ordering the psychic? I wanted to hire some male strippers, but Reena said you’d be furious.’

‘She’d be right. And no, hiring a psychic is fine, and she’s very popular. She’s booked up for the rest of the night and has bookings for tomorrow and Sunday.’

‘I know, I booked the two o’clock slot.’

‘I thought you saw her earlier?’ Bea asked, perplexed. ‘And what do you want to know? You’ve been everywhere and done everything, as you keep telling me.’

‘Not for me, for you .’

Oh, hell to the no!

‘I’m not seeing your psychic, Golly.’

‘Why not?’ Golly asked, genuinely perplexed. ‘Why wouldn’t you want to know what your future holds?’

‘I’m hoping my future will be the same as it is right now. Writing, reading…’ Bea folded her arms and tapped her foot, instantly irritated when Golly stuck her finger in her mouth and mimicked gagging.

Bea knew she was going to regret her next question but couldn’t stop it leaving her mouth. ‘And what is wrong with my life?’

‘It’s more boring than watching bowls,’ Golly retorted. ‘You don’t see anybody, you don’t date anybody, the only person you ever really talk to is me…’

‘I talk to other people,’ Bea protested. ‘I’ve been remarkably social this weekend.’

‘When I say talk, I mean open up. We’re not meant to be alone, Beatrice, we need friends, and you, more than most, need someone to confide in.’

She’d talked to Gib and opened up to him a little. Huh. So that was weird. She didn’t second-guess herself with him, talking came naturally. He knew more about her than most. More, in some ways, than Golly did.

‘And, child, I’m happy you are having your engine revved. I was worried your guava had closed up.’

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was why Bea never touched that particular fruit.

Bea looked around, hoping that no one had overheard Golly’s observation. Her lady parts weren’t something she wanted to be discussed in public. Or anywhere. Ever . ‘Will you please keep your voice down? And stop commenting on my sex life!’

‘You haven’t had a sex life up until this week.’

Gaaaah!

Golly grinned, placed her palms together and bowed. ‘When blue-moon events happen, they will be spoken about.’

‘Oh, shut up !’

Golly laughed, delighted she’d managed to rile Bea. She sipped her drink and raised one perfectly pencilled-in eyebrow. ‘What did you come to talk to me about, Bea-darling?’

Bea closed her eyes, trying to remember why she’d stormed across here. Oh! Right. The bed situation. Man, this was going to be fun.

It was her turn to act, just a little. ‘I’m so sorry to hear about your couch, Golly.’

Confusion. Excellent. Exactly what she was aiming for. ‘What couch?’

‘The delightful Art Deco one that was in the cottage? Jack was just telling me his assistant made a mistake and instead of ripping the fabric off another couch, he ripped the fabric off yours and binned it,’ Bea lied, without blinking. After all, she’d been trained by the best.

Golly’s red lips dropped open, utterly dismayed. ‘ No! I love that couch. It took us years to source that fabric, it was printed in the thirties and inspired by Sonia Delaunay’s designs. You have to be mistaken, Bea-darling, Jack would’ve told me.’ She looked around for Jack, a little frantic.

Got you!

Bea placed her fists on her hips. ‘So you didn’t burn the couch because it had woodworm?’

Golly’s mouth snapped closed, and she wrinkled her nose. It was her classic ‘I’m busted’ look. ‘Um…’

‘Um … you lied to me?’ Bea said. ‘Um … you had the couch removed from the cottage to ensure that Gib and I shared a bed? Um … you’re a matchmaking, interfering old hag?’

Golly sniffed and lifted her nose. ‘Matchmaking and interfering I’ll agree with, but I object to you calling me a hag!’ She gestured to her outfit, a scarlet wraparound ballgown that highlighted her incredible cleavage. On what planet was it fair that Bea’s seventy-year-old godmother had better boobs than her?

‘What were you thinking, Golly?’ she quietly asked.

‘I thought I’d give you and Gib a little push. He’s a lovely boy, and you’re a lovely girl and you both need a bit of fun.’ Golly’s smile turned wicked. ‘And judging by what I saw on the dancefloor, pushing you together seems to have worked. So, how did it happen? Did he barge in on you in the shower? Did you see him in a towel? Did you find yourself spooning in the night?’

Yes, yes, and yes. But that wasn’t the point!

‘You’ve read, and edited, far too many romances!’ Bea cried. ‘We’re both in our thirties and we’re perfectly capable of managing our own affairs!’

‘Him, sure . You? Not so much,’ Golly said, dismissing her statement with a languid wave of her hand.

Bea released a low growl, her irritation levels soaring. ‘Golly, stop interfering. And let me make something very clear, I am never, repeat never, getting involved again!’

Golly looked genuinely perplexed. ‘Who’s talking about involvement? Not me! I just want you to have great sex for as long as you can get it.’

Well, Bea was certainly getting that.

Before she could find an adequate response, or any response, Golly patted her cheek. ‘As per usual, you are putting the horse before the cart, Bea-darling. You’re creating obstacles where there are none, and dreaming up complex, probably-won’t-happen scenarios. Has he asked you to date him, move in with him or marry him?’

Her question shocked Bea to her core. ‘No, of course not!’ They’d met a week ago, for the love of all that was holy. And, in Golly’s case, what wasn’t holy.

‘Exactly. Live one day at a time, dammit.’ Golly patted her cheek, a little harder than it needed to be. ‘Now, you are being incredibly boring, darling, and I refuse to be bored at my own party.’

‘I … you…’

‘And when you see your handsome lover, tell him he owes me a dance. I’m desperate to get my hands on his tight arse.’

Dear God. Bea did a quick mental calculation to see how much money she had in her current and savings accounts. She might, if she had a nice judge, be able to scrounge up enough money to post bail.

* * *

Gib, about to walk behind the bar, turned to look for Bea – he couldn’t keep his eyes off her –and saw her in an animated conversation with Golly. Her back was to him, but he immediately noticed her shoulders were up around her ears.

Great, one step forward, a hundred back.

The barman lifted his hand. ‘It’s quietened down so you don’t need to serve yourself. Thanks for doing that by the way. So, what can I get you?’

He had been about to order another glass of wine for Bea, but decided she needed something stronger, so he ordered two tequilas, and two beers. While he waited for the drinks, he watched her approach him, her expression suggesting she was pissed.

What the fuck had happened now? Bea caught his eye, jerked her head, veered left and stomped down a path. OK, he’d follow. Picking up the two shot glasses and shaking his head at the bartender’s offer of lemon slices, he hooked the two beer bottles in his fingers and followed Bea. He walked for a little while without catching up to her, and then she disappeared. He was about to call her name when a hand shot out from the path and gripped his arm. The glasses holding the tequila wobbled and the liquid ran down his hand.

‘In here,’ Bea shout-whispered.

‘In here’ was a narrow slit between the bougainvillaea hedges, and Gib had to turn sideways so as not to hook his shirt or pants on the spiky thorns. When he was inside the grassy circle holding a bench and a dry fountain, Bea carefully rearranged the long branches of the hedge to cover the entrance. If you didn’t know it was here, you’d walk right past the hideaway.

And that was, he realised, the point.

‘Is that tequila?’ Bea demanded.

Before he could answer, she snagged a glass from his hand and threw it back. OK, then . He offered her the other, but she shook her head, taking a bottle of beer instead.

‘What’s got you so riled?’ he asked, swallowing the other shot. He took the glass from her and placed the shot glasses on the grass beneath the wooden slats of the wrought iron bench. He sat down and stretched out his legs, prepared to listen to Bea’s explanation. He liked listening to anything she had to say; she was endlessly entertaining and always interesting.

‘My bloody godmother!’

Yeah, he’d gathered that much. ‘What’s she done now?’ he asked.

Despite holding her beer bottle, she managed to slap her hands on her hips. He very much approved of the way her gold dress showed off her long legs and hugged the curves of her body. He hoped he’d get to pull it off her later. He needed Bea, in the most biblical way possible, naked and screaming.

‘Did you know she was matchmaking by making us share the cottage?’ Bea demanded. She waggled her finger between them. ‘She arranged to have the couch taken out of the cottage to nudge us into sharing a bed.’

She was only just realising that now? He hadn’t believed one word of that story Golly spun them about the bed and the lack of hotel rooms and him needing to stay in the cottage. Oia was less than two kilometres away for God’s sake! ‘It was pretty obvious.’

‘Then why didn’t you say something to her?’

He took a sip of beer, enjoying its crisp taste as it slid over his tongue and down his throat. ‘Why would I say something to her? When someone arranges for me to share a beautiful woman’s bed, why would I say no?’

Bea blinked, her jaw dropping a little. ‘You think I’m beautiful?’ she asked. He’d heard other women ask the same question as a way to fish for compliments, but Bea didn’t do coy. She genuinely looked surprised.

He tipped his head to the side. ‘Something shines deep within you, Bea, a light that makes people look twice. Then again.’

She placed her hand on her throat. ‘Oh. That’s a lovely thing to say.’

He held back his smile and lifted his bottle to her in a small toast. She wasn’t comfortable with compliments, and he wondered why.

Bea shuffled from foot to foot in her heels. He knew she’d love to kick them off and go barefoot, and wondered why she didn’t. ‘I’ve lost my train of thought … what were we talking about?’

‘Your godmother,’ he helpfully replied, enjoying her adorable confusion.

Bea frowned. ‘Right, her . She’s an interfering old hag. Do you remember her telling us that the couch from the cottage had woodworm and she had to burn it?’

Vaguely.

‘Well, it’s not a pile of ashes, it’s sitting in Jack’s warehouse!’ Bea resumed her pacing. She winced slightly with every step. ‘Woodworm was just an excuse to get it out of the cottage so that we’d be forced to share the bed.’

A decision he thoroughly approved of. He patted the bench next to him. ‘Come and sit down.’

‘She’s got no right to interfere in my life,’ Bea muttered. ‘I can sort myself out, I don’t need her to do it for me.’

There it was, the essence of what was bugging her. He suspected it was also linked to Golly pushing her to find a new agent, to step out from behind her pseudonym. He’d started reading the first book in her series yesterday, and caught her watching him, the side of her bottom lip pulled between her teeth. She obviously wanted to know what he thought but couldn’t ask him. As far as he could tell, and he wasn’t an expert, the book was fabulous. Fast, funny and, most importantly, she didn’t talk down to young readers. He’d expected to be bored, but found himself entertained.

He really wanted to know why she hid behind her pseudonym, why she was so desperate to stay anonymous. They were good books, and she should take pride in them.

And yes, he was conscious of the irony of wanting to get to know her motivations and backstory, while not giving away any of his own. In fact, he’d told her more than he’d told any woman, ever, about his past, home life and family.

But that was all she was going to get from him. He wondered if she, or anyone, would understand that he couldn’t, physically, form the words to explain the cause of his reticence. As a teenager, a psychologist suggested he had a very mild form of alexithymia, or, in normal people’s terms, difficulty experiencing, identifying and expressing emotions. He’d researched the condition and discovered it was often caused by traumatic situations, and he reckoned his mom’s insane prying, his parents’ death and his guilt over the fleeting relief he experienced on hearing they were dead might’ve pushed him into a slight dose of alexithymia-tinged PTSD.

At the core of it, keeping his emotions locked away was a hard habit to break.

He looked up at her, saw her wince again and decided enough was enough. ‘Bea-baby, take a load off.’

Bea sat down next to him, rolling the beer bottle between her hands. ‘Drink your beer,’ he told her, bending down to pick up her foot.

‘What are you doing?’ she demanded, frowning.

He turned to face her, her foot in his hand. ‘Shift back.’

When she did, he looked at her shoe, trying to ignore the soft, fragrant skin under his hands, and found the tiny buckle above her heel. His big fingers couldn’t pull it apart, so he pulled the strap down and eased off her shoe, dropping it to the grass.

His fingers dug into a pressure point on her instep and she groaned, in part agony, part ecstasy. Her eyes brightened with that sexy combo of lust and need, and his cock hardened at the pleasure-pain expression on her face.

Yeah, he’d never needed a bed more.

‘So good,’ Bea murmured.

She’d used the same phrase last night, her voice thick with want. God, he craved her. More than he needed to keep breathing. This woman tied him up in knots, and he needed to loosen one or two. Making love to her was the only option. In a day or two, these weird feelings would fade, and perspective would stroll back in. If it didn’t, he was in deep shit.

‘I presume you gave Golly a mouthful for her attempt at matchmaking?’ he asked, pushing those uncomfortable thoughts away.

Her eyes flew open, and irritation flashed. ‘I told her we were old enough to sort ourselves out,’ she told him. She swung her other leg onto his lap, silently requesting that he rub her other foot as well. Because her dress was so short, he caught a flash of her panties. He thought they were red, or a deep pink. He sighed. He loved women’s lingerie, loved taking it off even more…

‘I know I am, but she thinks you need help. Why?’

Bea scrunched up her nose, something she did when she was thinking. Golly did it too. ‘Ah. That might be because I haven’t dated much lately. She’s worried I’m a dried-up, born-again virgin.’

He looked at her, unable to resist pressing her foot against his hard cock. He needed to do something about it before it split his pants. An exaggeration, maybe, but he was straining-his-underwear hard. ‘You are definitely not dried up, Bea-baby.’

She swallowed, her eyes turning darker, obviously remembering his mouth on her, the way she came on his tongue and then on his fingers. ‘But she’s right, sort of. I haven’t dated much, or at all, since my split with my ex.’

The pain in her eyes told him how committed she’d been to the relationship, how much it hurt when it ended. ‘How long were you together?’

‘A few years,’ she admitted.

Huh, talking about her ex was an excellent way to make the blood drain out of his cock. Good to know.

‘Why did you split up?’ he asked, conscious of the burning sensation in his gut. Was that jealousy? He couldn’t be sure since it wasn’t an emotion he was familiar with. He didn’t get jealous, firstly because he never cared enough, and secondly because he thought it was a waste of time and energy. But Bea made him feel new things … strange things.

She also had him asking questions, questions he’d refuse to answer if they were directed at him.

‘Let me think … maybe because he was a man-child, a serial cheat, a terrible partner and someone who couldn’t hold down a job.’

He relaxed at her description of her ex. He was a fully functioning adult, he had a decent job, and he only slept with one woman at a time. He had no idea what type of husband he’d be, but since he believed in equal effort from both parties, he didn’t think he’d be awful at it. Not that he intended to check himself into that institution, he didn’t have the time or the energy. Or the courage.

‘Is that all?’ he teased her, wanting her to lose the pinched skin between her eyebrows. ‘Don’t you think your expectations are a bit high?’

She pushed her big toe into his ribs and handed him a reluctant grin. ‘Anyway, Golly thinks I should be out there sowing my wild oats. She’s disappointed at how staid and boring I am.’

He bent his head to kiss her sexy big toe. He lifted his eyes to hers, still holding her foot. ‘You’re anything but boring, Bea. That being said, I am happy to help you sow some of those oats for as long as I am in Santorini.’

That was sensible, right? He couldn’t promise her anything more. This was a holiday fling, a way to have a little fun.

‘So we’re having an affair, Gib?’ Bea quietly asked.

She didn’t play games and he liked that. ‘I think fling is a better word,’ he corrected her. ‘I’m single, and as I’ve said a few times, I intend to remain that way.’

Bea swung her legs off his thighs and placed her feet on the grass. She gripped the edge of the bench and turned her head sideways to meet his eyes. ‘I’d love to keep having a fling with you, Gib. As long as Golly hasn’t forced or manipulated you into it.’

Nobody forced him to do anything, ever. Not in business and not in his private life. ‘This is between you and me, and our attraction. Let’s leave your godmother, and anything and everything else out of it, OK?’

She grinned. ‘Gladly.’ She pushed her toes into the grass and shifted down the bench to move closer to him. Her thigh rested gently against his, and her small shoulder pushed into his arm.

‘Sex with you is, God … amazing . I can’t stop thinking about it,’ she said, and her husky voice shot blood back into his cock. Harder than before, he shifted, trying to get comfortable.

How would it feel to take her here? Now? Her back to his front, her hands gripping the back of the bench, her lovely butt in the air and his thick cock buried deep inside her.

He wanted her. In every way a man could want a woman.

His fascination with her should’ve worn off a little by now, but it burned as bright as it did when he first saw her standing by the car, the wind plastering her dress to her body. The body he now knew intimately.

Bea waved a hand in front of his face. ‘Earth to Gib?’

‘Sorry, I was miles away, thinking about fucking you.’ Would she object to the word? To his blunt way of talking?

She stilled, and the air between them started to shimmer. ‘That’s pretty direct.’

‘Do you have a problem with me telling you what I want?’

‘No, it saves time.’ She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘In case you were wondering, I’m happy to leave and head back to the cottage. We can come back to watch the fireworks at midnight.’

Leaving to return to the cottage was a good idea, sensible. But fuck being sensible.

‘I couldn’t possibly wait that long.’ But, because he didn’t want any misunderstandings, he issued another reminder. To her, but mostly to himself. ‘I need to say this again… I don’t do relationships, I don’t do commitment. I don’t talk. I’m going back home next week. I can’t give you more than another week.’

‘So very direct,’ Bea murmured, placing her hand high on his thigh, her nails digging in. Gib swallowed his moan. He’d never been so turned on, and so quickly, by anyone before. Why this woman? Why was he so crazy attracted to her?

‘Where and when?’ she asked him.

The blood rushed from his head. ‘Here. And now .’

She was going to say no, of course she was.

‘We’re in the middle of a party, Gib,’ she pointed out, but not sounding shocked. ‘Guests will walk past us. We might get caught.’

The thought of the danger ramped up his excitement. He’d never been one of those people who liked getting it on in cars, alleys or semi-public places, and he’d never understood how the thrill of getting caught heightened pleasure. He did now. He glanced at the covered entrance to this hideaway, and it looked impenetrable. If they were quiet, nobody would know…

Gib rose to his feet and moved to stand in front of her. She sent a nervous glance at the entrance of the hedge, and he sighed, disappointed.

‘If you want to, we can go back to the cottage,’ he told her. Because, really, he was lucky to have her any way he could get her, and he was adult enough to wait the five minutes it would take them to get back to the cottage. Two minutes if they sprinted.

Instead of answering him, she tipped her head back to look up at him and grinned. His cock strained against the zipper of his pants, and she ran a finger down it, slowly and deliberately.

Gib’s eyes didn’t leave her face, but he didn’t push. Like before, he felt the need to give her control of the moment, of what happened next. But it took all he had not to kiss her. He wanted to taste her mouth, to nuzzle his nose into her long neck, and make a long and leisurely exploration of her body, then do it again later. Tomorrow, next week, next mon?—

No! This was about sex, about getting each other off and living in the moment.

‘Got a condom handy?’ she asked. He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a condom and handed it to her. She put it on the bench and, dropping her eyes, pulled his soft leather belt apart. She undid the clasp on his pants and slowly pulled down the zip, and lightning buzzed through him as her knuckles brushed his hard cock. She looked up, her gaze slamming into his.

Bea sent him a slow, naughty smile and in that instant, he hopped aboard Hurricane Bea, eager to spin and be spun. Bea pulled down his boxer briefs and slid her hand behind his shaft to pull him free. Her thumb drifted across his broad head and ran down the thick vein running up the side of his cock. He was at the perfect height, and he wanted her to take him in her mouth, to taste him in the most elemental way.

‘You smell like sunshine and sex, a wild, wild wind,’ she murmured against his skin, her words drifting up to him. She nuzzled her nose against him, sucking the skin of his shaft between her lips.

Taking him into her mouth, she let him rest against her tongue before starting to suck. He groaned, loving every moment of this, trying not to grind himself into her mouth. She was a little clumsy, charmingly unpracticed. But he wouldn’t swap her enthusiasm for skill. Her kissing him wasn’t a chore, a tick on the list … her appreciative murmurs reassured him she was loving the act, enjoying him. She worked her tongue, then her lips around his tip, licking him like an ice cream cone, and he knew he couldn’t hold on much longer.

About to blow – so not cool, as he rarely lacked control – Gib pulled back. A couple of things happened at once then, or in quick succession. He yanked her to her feet and reached for the condom. Ripping it open with his teeth, he pushed his pants and briefs down, sat his bare ass down on the bench, and quickly, competently, rolled on the condom. He reached for Bea, pulled her onto his thighs, shoved her dress up her hips and palmed her bare ass, his thumb sliding under the thin cord of her thong.

‘Sexy panties, Bea-baby.’

Bea wrapped her legs around him, trying to rub her clit against his cock, desperate for contact. Gib, panting heavily, pushed his hand between them, his thumb dragging through her wet warmth, and pulled her panties to one side.

‘You are so fucking gorgeous,’ he told her. He gripped the back of her neck, pulled her head down and sighed when her mouth landed on his. His cock pushed inside her at the same time as his tongue entered her mouth.

There were no words to describe the rush of heat, the hit of need. For the first time in his life, he was fully, emotionally, in the moment, driven to give her everything to make this experience unforgettable for her. He wanted the memory of him to slide into her mind every time her mind drifted to sex. He filled her completely, stretching her.

‘Are you OK?’ he demanded, needing to know whether his size was too much, or if she was uncomfortable.

‘I’m amazing,’ she panted, her eyes wild. ‘Don’t you dare stop.’

Amazing worked for him. He rocked, she moaned, he panted, she pushed. Heat and light, sensation overwhelmed him and everything, but her warmth and scent and incredible body, faded away as he fucked her on this bench, rudely, passionately, thoroughly. Gib had no idea how long it took her to come, a minute, maybe less, but she flooded him, her body vibrating and her inner walls clenching his cock. Bea buried her face in his neck, sobbing with relief, need and a desire for more.

He wasn’t done with her, not yet.

‘Again,’ he told her, pumping into her. ‘Come again.’

‘I can’t,’ she sobbed.

‘You can.’ He shoved his hand between them, found her clit and rubbed and Bea arched her back, moaning his name.

‘You don’t have to, I’m good with one,’ she murmured.

‘Fuck that,’ he replied against her mouth, flicking her clit gently before stroking her again. When she was close, he slapped his hand over her mouth, muffling her muted shout, trying not to groan as she tightened against him. She fell apart on his cock and his fingers, and he moved his hands to her hips, his fingers digging in as he pistoned into her. Sensation rocketed from his balls and up his spine, and he came on a low, drawn-out groan, feeling like he’d run a marathon. She held on as their shivers subsided, as they gradually gathered their shattered wits and the present faded back in.

Placing his hand under her butt to support her, Gib withdrew and he stood up. He held her as her legs dropped to the ground, not letting her go until she was steady on her feet. Unembarrassed, he pulled off the condom and tied it off before shoving it into the pocket of the pants he pulled on. He zipped them up, smiling as Bea adjusted her panties and smoothed down her short dress, looking thoroughly disorientated. Anyone with sexual experience would instantly realise she’d just had a mind-blowing orgasm.

She had that dozy, what-the-hell-was-that expression on her face. And he’d put it there, making him feel like a sex god. Smiling, he buckled his belt.

‘How are you doing, Bea-baby?’ he asked, as she swayed on her feet.

‘Good,’ she replied, pushing a hand into her hair. She handed him a shaky grin, and then her hand. It disappeared into his, and he was once again assailed by the feeling of how right she felt. Whether it was her hand in his, his cock in her, or simply standing here, smiling at each other in a secret garden hideaway.

‘I want to drop to my knees and prostrate myself before Golly for manipulating us into sharing that bed,’ he told her.

She laughed, and the sound rushed through him, hot and bright. ‘Please, please don’t. She already thinks she’s ridiculously brilliant and needs no encouragement.’

She pushed her tongue into her cheek, her expression mischievous. ‘Shall we head back to the cottage and do that again, but in a bed?’

Along with the invention of the wheel, contraceptives, the internet and email, that sounded like the best idea ever.

They didn’t make it back to watch the fireworks.