Chapter 17 Shannon
Shannon
I breathed a sigh of relief when I woke up this morning and saw Barney had gone.
I had a feeling he wouldn’t hang around when he saw Wesley the second he opened his eyes.
Now here we are, just the two of us, no one left to get in our way.
Him, standing there, dressed like he’s hell bent on messing with my head.
I see right through him, and his gorgeous manly self.
He’s a walking, teasing temptation.
The sort who rolls out of bed, pulls on a pair of jeans and a fitted t-shirt, and somehow looks rugged and rough around every perfectly handsome hard edge of his.
His feet shoved into a pair of boots that have seen better days, but still give him grit.
The British version of a lumberjack.
And the way he’s looking at me… let’s just say, if he were on the breakfast menu, I’d order him ten times over… and lick the bloody plate clean.
I had a huge list of jobs I wanted to do today, but now I can’t think of a single thing I would rather be doing… than him.
Jesus, Shannon, snap out of it.
I mean, spending time with him… Obviously.
He’s thoughtful, and somehow, that made him even more attractive.
Last night, I saw what a bear would look like protecting what’s his… only we don’t have bears in the UK, not anymore. We have blokes, built like Wesley. Big chests and thick thighs, and messy hair with beards. Jesus, he could charm my knickers right off me.
The man standing in front of me.
He wasn’t just good to look at.
He picks up his mug, those large, tattooed fingers wrap around it as he swallows down a huge gulp, and all I can think about is how those hands would feel gripping my hips. I’ve got more than enough for him to handle. Wesley wouldn’t have a problem handling me that’s for sure.
I clear my throat, dragging myself back before my mind whisks me off to uncharted territory. Not that I’m afraid to go there with him, but I need to get a grip, calm myself down.
Something crackles between us, charged with heat and tension. I know he feels it too.
“I’ll just grab a quick shower,” I say, trying to sound like I’m not freaking out. He nods, then gestures to the porch.
“I’ll be out there, take your time.” I watch him walk away with his cup in hand; he sits on the step, stretching out his long legs. I practically skip to the bathroom the moment the door closes and rejoice in a little happy dance.
Stripping off, I hop into the shower, careful not to wet my hair.
I’m in and out in a flash, drying off as quickly as I can, the sound of voices has me wrapping my towel around me, praying Barney hasn’t come back. Cracking open the door and popping my head out, I call out, “Who is it?” Stretching my neck, trying to get a glimpse.
“You’ve just had a bed frame and sofa delivered. They are in the living room.”
Shit I’d completely forgotten they were coming. “Thanks, I won’t be long.” I sneak out the bathroom, tiptoeing across to my bedroom.
Luckily, he doesn’t notice me, he’s too busy flicking through a magazine, sitting on my front porch like he lives here.
I open my suitcase, which I’m still living out of because I’m yet to order a wardrobe, and pull out my denim cut-offs and strawberry sweetheart corset top with the pretty ruffled sleeves.
It’s flirty, without trying too hard. I rake my hands through my hair and twist it up into a messy bun, tugging a few pieces loose to frame my face.
If Wesley can turn up looking like he does, then so can I.
Grabbing the tub of Sicilian lemon body lotion, I smother my arms, legs, and chest, not just to make me smell nice but hopefully keep the insects from eating me alive.
Taking a deep breath, I pull open the door. Wesley’s still sitting on the porch, but the second he hears me, he turns then stands, sliding his hands into the pockets of his jeans. He does it a lot, must be his way of settling his nerves.
His eyes roll over me slowly, from my feet, then even slower on the way back up to my face. I should feel self-conscious, from time to time it rears its ugly head, but the way he’s looking at me now… I feel anything but.
His eyes linger, warming my skin. I can feel him everywhere, but he hasn’t moved from the spot.
He opens his mouth to speak then quickly clamps it shut.
I reach up, fingers lifting the little ribbons dangling below my cleavage, his eyes follow the movement, watching me intently as I loop them together forming a small bow.
Wesley swallows hard, dragging his hands from his pockets and adjusting his stance, feet planted slightly parted.
I’m aware this top emphasises the size of my already large boobs.
But I do really like the way he’s looking at me.
I lower my eyes to his boots, they’re tattered and worn, the laces undone, but there’s something about the way he wears them that has me tugging my lip between my teeth.
Like how some men want the woman to keep her heels on when they’re fucking, I’d one hundred percent not object to Wesley banging me with his dirty boots still on, and nothing else. Maybe we will work towards one of my many fantasies.
“You…” he starts, as he grips the back of his neck, dragging his eyes down the length of my body.
Maybe it’s too much. “Should I… change?” I whisper. He flinches slightly, holding his hands up. “No… shit, sorry. You look beautiful, Shannon.” He blushes, but he doesn’t realise the compliment hits me right in the chest, because he genuinely means it.
“Are you ready to go?” My voice comes out a little husky. He nods and I step forward, reaching out to him. “Let me grab a blanket.” I pat his arm, needing to touch him, before grabbing the blanket from one of the fold-up chairs.
“Oh.” I stop in my tracks as something bright yellow catches my eye, wrapped in plastic. “That’s not ochre,” I mutter, pointing to the brand-new, fifty percent off sofa.
And now I know exactly why it was a bargain.
“What’s wrong?” Wesley says. Walking over, his face scrunches up like he’s just caught a whiff of a bad smell in the air. Okay, there’s no need to make it so… obvious, but he’s got a point. “It’s… erm.”
I cut him off. “Bright fucking yellow?”
Wesley bites his lip, trying to come up with something nice to say. “You could always chuck a few blankets over it,” he offers.
“Jesus, it’s hideous,” I say turning away from the offending sofa. It would be more at home on Wesley’s building site, matching the bloody hi-vis he’s always wearing.
As if to prove my point, a tiny thunder bug lands on the corner, probably sending out a signal to its mates. I grab Wesley’s arm. “Come on. It’s making me feel sick.” I catch the flicker of a laugh, but he manages to keep it down.
I don’t want him to hide it, if he finds something funny, then laugh.
I want to see all sides of him.
We head outside and Wesley takes my keys while I squeeze my feet inside my ankle length strawberry wellies. Not that it’s the weather for them but they look cute.
Wesley locks the door and grabs the bag of food, then tries to take the blanket from me, but I need something to do with my hands. “I’ve got it,” I say, and he smiles down at me.
I clench my thighs together, trying to rid away the ache.
We traipse across the gravelled stone towards the back fields.
Wesley walks in front of me, his long legs stretching wide with each step over the soft dirt and grassy banks surrounding the edge of the field, while he’s eating up the distance between us.
I’m already panting like a dog on a hot day, but trying my hardest to keep up with him without sounding out of breath.
Everything about Wesley is fit, the last thing I want is for him to see me struggling behind or wiping the sweat dripping off my forehead.
Slamming on my brakes, I throw my hands on my hips.
“You do realise I have shorter legs than you?” I call out as he turns to see me curling my hands around my mouth, my best impression of a megaphone.
Okay, he’s only four feet away and I’m exaggerating the distance, but it’s not a race.
“Shit, sorry.” He walks towards me, holding out his hand to meet mine.
“It’s been a while since I’ve walked here with anyone.
I’m on autopilot.” The word ‘pilot’ reminds me I’ve still not mentioned my drunken purchase, and in my head the longer I leave it the better it will sound when he’s disturbed by a huge truck coming up my driveway.
I’ll just say I forgot or even better, it’s not mine.
Wesley glances down at my feet, his mouth turns up into a huge grin, he has a gorgeous smile and perfect teeth. “I think it’s safe to say I made a good choice with strawberry cupcakes.”
“You did,” I reply, returning the smile. “They’re my favourite.”
The path ahead is uneven in places, but Wesley doesn’t let go of my hand, gripping it tighter when he feels me losing my step.
Every time he touches me, a flicker of something sparks between us. I know he feels it too.
We carry on sticking to the edge of the field, avoiding the tall hay stretching across the middle. It’s July, the farmers around here wait till the middle of July to cut it and bale it.
He nods towards a narrow opening, pointing off towards the wooded area.
“There’s a small stream just on the other side.” He glances back at me. “We can sit next to it. There’s a couple of fallen trees,” he says, like he’s a frequent visitor.
“Do you come here often?” I realise how corny it sounds once I’ve said it, like I’m trying to pick him up on a night out.
He laughs. “As a matter of fact, I do.” I don’t miss the flirty undertone in his voice, as we reach the edge of the small woods. Birds fly overhead, diving in and out of bushes.