Zara Stoneley - Summer of Surrender

‘You’ll scare the horses wearing that.’ The outline of small, perfectly round breasts drew his eye, her nipples hardening as he watched.

‘Really? Will I?’ Her eyes had widened, for a moment the doubt creeping back.

‘Well they are part-way to colour blind, but I don’t think even a horse could miss that.’

She laughed, genuine humour flooding a face of innocence and hope, which for a moment made him feel jaded. ‘I could take it off.’

‘You could.’

She coloured slightly, just enough to make her seem a tease, but not a temptress. ‘So you’ve spoken to Marie?’

There was a note of challenge in her voice and he tried to stop the curve of his lips. Nothing like a direct approach, attack mode. ‘I have.’ He unlatched the stable door and she backed off, a nervous filly, unsure whether flight or fight was the preferred option.

‘And?’ It was slightly belligerent, like she was building herself up for a fight if he said the wrong thing.

‘She forgot to tell me you were coming.’ He gave a wry smile. Marie was a great boss, brilliant at her job and loving and giving, but she was scatter-brained. Except this time, he had a feeling she’d forgotten on purpose. She’d just been a touch evasive when he’d rung her last night. And when he’d put the phone down all he could hear was the soft strum of Kezia’s guitar; a haunting, melancholy sound that pricked at the conscience he didn’t want to have and made him wonder if his summer solitude was about to get well and truly gate-crashed. ‘So you met at the yoga place?’ Marie had told him the story, but he wanted to hear the other side of it to see if he could persuade her to change her mind. Or at least go away and come back in five weeks.

She seemed a nice enough girl, although he wouldn’t say harmless. But this summer was about time on his own. He liked time on his own. There was always an air of peace and other worldliness here, even when the business was up and running, but it wasn’t enough.

They’d all agreed that closing for the summer was the best tactic. Business was slack. No one needed lessons in sex in the summer, they were too busy doing it. Sun-drenched bodies on beaches, booze by the bucket-load, inhibitions thrown out along with long work days and stress. When you’re feeling good about your newly toned, slimmed, buffed and tanned body you don’t need a helping hand to orgasm. So Marie and Dan had buggered off to Barcelona, or wherever it was they hid out, and even Saul and Roisin had hung up their boots. And he was happy to be stuck here. Alone. With a big sign on the gate saying ‘No entry’.

Until someone decided to ignore it.

Someone who could talk for Britain.

Kezia was waiting for him to look at her again. He moved along to the next stable and flung open the door. He’d already fed and turned out the horse, and now he was looking forward to the physical side, building up a sweat as he mucked out. In peace. ‘Yoga? Italy?’

‘Yes.’ It was hesitant. ‘You don’t like me, do you?’

‘Nothing personal, I expected to be here on my own, that’s all.’

‘Diplomatic.’ She stood in the doorway, watching as he picked up a pitchfork. ‘She was in Capri a couple of months ago, at the retreat and I was working there. We got on, that’s all. I didn’t ask for a job you know.’ She sounded defensive.

‘Nothing wrong in asking.’

‘But I didn’t. She asked how long I was working there, and I told her that they were about to shut down for their holidays. So she said had I thought about coming back to the UK.’ She paused, not filling in the gap that he knew existed. Marie had said the girl needed a base, was upset and needed friends who cared. ‘She told me to come here and work the summer, then if I liked it I might be able to make it more permanent. I’m not really used to permanent.’ She gnawed at her lip and he dumped a fork-load of muck in the barrow and paused.

‘You get sacked a lot?’

She grinned and her whole face lifted and lightened, including the large sad eyes. ‘Don’t be daft. No, we-I’ve, always travelled, done different things in different places, you know.’ She was looking down again and he wondered who the ‘we’ was. Not that it was any of his business. He was stuck here for the summer and he didn’t need company. And definitely not the kind of company that needed a friend.

‘So you don’t plan on hanging around long then?’

‘Maybe.’ She shoved her hands in the pockets of her shorts and watched him through long eyelashes. ‘Can’t I help?’

‘Suppose. Have you mucked out a stable before?’

She shook her head and the light caught her dark hair, glancing off the red and blue streaks. ‘But it can’t be difficult can it? I mean, it’s only shovelling shit.’

He held his pitchfork out. ‘There you go then, lady, start some shit-shovelling.’ She flinched slightly at the weight and then stuck the fork deep into the bed.

‘Christ almighty it’s heavy. How the fuck…?’

‘For a traveller you’re clueless.’

‘I’m not a traveller, or a gypsy.’ She looked like she was trying to give him a haughty look, and not succeeding. ‘I’m a free spirit.’ Then she giggled as she tried to move the fork and failed.

He smiled. She was tiny, and she’d just tried to dig up half the bed. ‘This stable’s got a deep bed. Just take it off the top, here.’ He stood behind her, put his hands over hers, skimming the muck off the top of the bed.

Her back was warm, pressed against the front of him, her tiny hands disappearing beneath his and a tremor of awareness ran through her as he swung to the side to empty the fork in the barrow. She glanced up at him then, dark hair framing the delicate features, a tinge of blush along her cheekbones and she was all trust and innocence, like she’d been when she’d first appeared this morning.

He bent his head and kissed her. Just one light kiss on those cute rosebud lips, and it drenched his senses with her smell and her need. He didn’t mean to do it. He shouldn’t have done it. But there was something in her, and James didn’t know what the hell it was, but it had just dragged him right in where he didn’t want to go.

He’d not had a sweet kiss for a long time. Not since Chloe had gone. And he hadn’t intended on having it again.

She eased her grip on the fork just like he knew she would, half-turned in his arms, stared at him with need, and moved her hands up to his chest.

Fuck. He let go of the pitchfork like it was molten metal and took a step back. Why the hell had he done that? He hadn’t exactly banned kisses from his life when he moved out here, but he’d firmly limited them. The platonic kiss on the cheek and the passionate kiss during sex. He liked the taste of a woman just before she came, her kiss told him far more than her words ever did.

This was neither.

She was still in the same spot, swaying slightly, a quizzical expression on the face that had been clear.

‘That didn’t happen. I’ll get another fork.’

‘Sure.’ Her tone was light, but more confused than hurt.

There was a fork across the yard, but he didn’t pick it up. He gritted his teeth and walked to the bottom of the row of stables, took a breath and wondered why the hell he had a raging hard-on and why the hell he’d let himself touch her. More than that, kiss her.

It was that look of innocence, probably, a look he found hard to resist. She was a mixture of tease and doubt, of the unconventional and a need to fit the norm. But he wasn’t here to reassure her, to teach her. He picked up the heaviest pitchfork he could see and strode back, wielding it like a weapon. A harder workout might help. This girl was not staying around, she was going before they’d got to the end of the day if he had anything to do with it.