Heidi Rice - Bedded for His Pleasure - Bedded by a Bad Boy / In the Gardener's Bed / The Return of the Rebel

Jessie smiled at the low rumble of Monroe’s voice. Lying on the small stretch of private beach next to Linc and Ali’s property, she could feel the familiar warmth that had nothing to do with the early-morning sunshine.

She sat up, dipped her sunglasses off her nose and shot Monroe a flirty look. ‘You’re too late. I plastered myself in cream before we came out.’

‘And this would be relevant how, exactly?’

Seeing the mischievous twinkle in his eye, she giggled. The sound was light and girlish, just how she felt. ‘Okay, you’ve persuaded me.’

Pulling the cream out of her bag, she threw it to him and turned over on the towel they’d arranged on the sand.

She could hear the rhythmic churn of the Atlantic behind them, but there was no other noise. Apart from the occasional jogger, the beach—reserved for use by the four houses on the promontory—was as good as deserted on a Sunday morning.

It was their last day alone together before Ali, Linc and Emmy returned from NewYork. As much as she wanted to see her family again, Jessie couldn’t help feeling sad that the intimacy would soon be broken. The two weeks since she and Monroe had first made love had drifted past in a romantic haze.

They’d settled into a routine that had meant sunny, sexy afternoons and hot, insatiable nights. After their picnic at Montauk Point they had got in the habit of going for motorcycle rides most days once she finished work at noon. Discovering parts of Long Island she had never seen before. They had romantic dinners by the pool most evenings. Sharing companionship and passion over seared tuna and white wine when she cooked and steak and beer when it was his turn. He touched her in ways she’d never been touched before, drove her to ecstasy and beyond. And every night she fell asleep, exhausted, content, her love swelling stronger in her chest with each passing day.

She adored watching him paint most of all, both proud and in awe of his talent. Had woken up only last Sunday to find him sketching her naked while she slept. She’d been horrified at first, but once he’d plied her with kisses, caresses and a shattering orgasm, she’d sat for him most of the afternoon and evening.

She’d asked him about his art. Why didn’t he let Mrs Bennett take a look at the paintings? Didn’t he know how good they were? Didn’t he want to pursue his art as a career?

But he hadn’t really answered any of her questions.

If she was being honest with herself, she had begun to feel a little uneasy about his unwillingness to talk about that or anything else more personal.

Ever since that first picnic he had been careful to keep everything light, relaxed. He hadn’t asked her any more questions about her dreams, about her plans, her past or her future, and whenever she tried to ask him any about his own he brushed them off. Jessie had let him, scared to break the feeling of contentment, of unity, that cocooned them.

Propping her head on her hands, Jessie watched a lone woman stroll past in the distance, an energetic young puppy jumping at her heels.

Jessie closed her eyes, willed the doubts away. What was wrong with her? She was being silly. She and Monroe were in the first flush of their relationship and she should just lie back and enjoy it. All those big, serious questions could wait for another time.

The warm sun lotion sprayed onto her back and she stretched like a contented cat.

‘Heck, this stuff’s like house paint,’ Monroe remarked from behind her.

‘Factor fifty-five, otherwise I become one big freckle.’

His lips buzzed her shoulder blades. ‘I like the freckles.’ His hands began to massage the heavy cream in. She could feel the large, callused palms on her skin. She pictured his beautiful hands as she’d seen them late last night, stroking her into a frenzy. His hands, she decided, were the first thing that she’d fallen in love with.

Maybe she should tell him tonight how she felt? It was probably a record for her to have kept it a secret for this long. She’d already promised herself she wouldn’t be hurt if he didn’t tell her he loved her back, straight away. Didn’t men always take longer to figure it out?

‘You like that?’ he said. She could hear the seductive smile in his words.

‘I certainly do,’ she murmured. ‘Even though it’s completely unnecessary.’

‘Well, now,’ he said, running his fingers under the strap of her bikini top. ‘That’s what you think.’ Deftly, he unhooked the clasp.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Turning sharply, Jessie grabbed her top and held it to her breasts.

His knowing grin turned devilish as his eyes flicked down to her bosom. ‘I thought, seeing as you’re European, you might find that unnecessary.’

‘I’m not that European,’ she replied tartly as she rehooked the bikini top. ‘And neither are the families that live around here.’

He shrugged, keeping his eyes trained on her bikini top. ‘You can’t blame a guy for trying.’

‘No, I suppose not.’ She grinned back at him. ‘Here.’ She whipped the bottle of sun lotion off the sand, did a quick twirling movement with her finger. ‘I think it’s my turn.’

His lips quirked, before he turned over and stretched out on the towel. ‘You know what? That was the other thing I was fantasising about,’ he said wryly. ‘Except in my dreams you were a lot more European.’

She laughed, pouring a generous dose of the heavy cream into her palms. She studied the lean, hard expanse of his back. The muscles had bunched up under his shoulder blades where he was resting his head on his arms. Spreading the liquid across the warm, tanned skin, she heard him give a low moan. She began to dig her fingers into the firm, smooth planes of sinew and muscle. He felt wonderful, she thought, and imagined what she was going to do with him that evening.

‘You’re too good at this.’ He groaned. ‘Don’t forget this is a public beach, Red.’

She was having trouble doing just that, when the familiar ridges across his shoulder blades rippled beneath her fingertips. In the bright sunlight, the thin white scars stood out more prominently than ever.

‘Did you get these in prison?’ The question popped out before she’d thought about it. She regretted it instantly when his shoulders tensed. Her hands went still.

His past was one of the subjects they never talked about. From the little she knew about it, she guessed it was something he didn’t want to be reminded of, so she had tried hard not to pry.

‘No,’ he said finally.

‘I’m sorry, Monroe. I shouldn’t have asked that.’

He rolled over, studied her.

She sat back on her haunches. What had she done? ‘I really am sorry, Monroe. I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories.’

Seeing the stricken look in her eyes, Monroe reached out, took her hand in his. ‘Don’t look so scared, Red. You’re curious. You’re entitled to ask.’

‘I didn’t mean to. It just sort of slipped out.’

She hadn’t asked, he thought, although he knew she was curious. By not asking, she had given him her unconditional trust. And he hadn’t done the same for her.

He’d told himself over and over that keeping things light, keeping things easy, was how it had to be—especially after their conversation at Montauk Point. He couldn’t be her dream man, he didn’t want to be, so there was no use pretending that they had anything more here than great sex and a good friendship.

But in the last two weeks he’d been more settled than he’d ever been in his life. He didn’t know how it had happened, but gradually the restlessness that had been a part of him for so long had disappeared.

He’d fed off Jessie’s compassion and her generosity, had basked in her approval and had revelled in the passion they’d shared. But underneath it all had been the tug of guilt and the knowledge that, when it ended, leaving her was going to be harder than he could ever have imagined.