English Lord On Her Doorstep. Marion Lennox
was totally still in his hold, yet not passive. She wanted to be held by him. There was a dog between them but he knew she wanted to be as close to him as she possibly could be.
Because she was scared. For no other reason. This was a frightened woman and he was comforting her.
But she was gorgeous.
There was that word again. It was as if the word itself had seeped into his head and was changing something inside him.
Gorgeous.
Another clap of thunder shook the house and he felt her flinch. If it was possible, dog and woman clung tighter.
From back in the bed there were six terrified whimpers.
What was a man to do?
‘Come to bed, sweetheart,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘You and me and seven dogs. We’ll ride out this mother of a storm together.’
‘Together...’ He felt the war within, the fear of the storm, the fear of the stranger.
‘We can do this,’ he said. ‘One bed, one man and one woman might be a problem. One bed, one man and one woman and seven dogs... I doubt there’s a problem at all.’
* * *
She slept and there were seven dogs between her body and his. There was one clap of thunder too much, though, and at some time in the night, even in her sleep, her primeval fears must have overridden every other consideration. She woke and she was spooned in a stranger’s arms. Totally spooned. She had her back to him, his arms were around her and her body was curved into his chest. His face was against her hair. She could feel his breathing.
She could feel everything else.
He was wearing boxers.
He wasn’t totally naked.
He might as well be.
Her nightgown was ancient lawn and flimsy, and she could feel his body against her. His chest was bare. His arms, muscled, strong, were holding her tight. Bare arms against bare arms. Skin against skin.
She could see chinks of sunlight through the drapes. Flossie was lying at the end of the bed—she could feel her warm, welcome heaviness across her feet—but the rest of the pack had obviously taken off to check out the day. The storm was over.
She should tug away, out of this man’s arms.
She’d wake him and he’d been so good...
It was more than that, though.
She really, really wanted to stay right where she was. For the moment the world had stopped. Here was peace. Here was sanctuary.
Here was... Bryn?
A man she’d known for what, twelve hours? Most of that had been spent sleeping. Oh, for heaven’s sake... Get up, she told herself. Check on Flossie’s leg. Go face the damage of the day.
But she didn’t. She lay and let the insidious sweetness of the moment envelop her. She could lie here and imagine there were no problems. That Grandma wasn’t dead. That she didn’t have debts to her ears. That she didn’t have to worry that she had no clue how to rehouse misfit dogs that she couldn’t keep.
That she hadn’t been betrayed by a low life herself, and that there seemed no one in the world who she could trust?
‘Nice,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘You think if we stay here for long enough the rest of the world will disappear?’
So he was awake. And he had problems in his life, too? Well, didn’t everyone? That made him...more human still.
Nice? No. Nice didn’t begin to cut it. His body...if she didn’t move soon...
And he got it almost the moment she did. ‘Charlie, if we don’t part I may well not be responsible for my actions,’ he said and there was all the regret in the world in his voice. But she felt his body stir—where she most definitely didn’t want his body to stir—and the fantasy had to end. As if in agreement, Flossie wriggled at the end of the bed and the day had to begin.
His arms released her. He shifted back. She struggled to sit up and it felt like the greatest grief...
Which was ridiculous. Her body was responding to the heightened emotions of the last weeks, she told herself. It had nothing to do with the body of the man pushing back the covers and rising to his feet...
Dear heaven, he was breath-taking.
Last night he’d said he was a farmer and his body confirmed it. He looked weathered, tanned, ripped, as if he spent his life heaving hay bales or shearing sheep or hauling cattle out of bogs or...whatever farmers did.
Which reminded her...
‘There’s probably stuff to do,’ he said as if he’d read her thoughts. ‘Dogs to let out? To feed? Other animals?’
‘Cows to attend,’ she told him. ‘And chooks to feed. That is, if they’ve survived the night. But there’s no need for you to stay. If the ground isn’t too wet you can run your car over the back paddock. I can cut the wire and let you out to the road.’
‘And leave you on your own to cope with the mess?’
‘It’s my mess. I’ve kept you long enough. Where were you headed last night? Melbourne?’
‘I was,’ he said, ruefully, reaching for his trousers. It was such a domestic thing to do. She was lying in bed while the man beside the bed was dressing. It was discombobulating. Weird. ‘I was heading for the airport.’
‘Then you’ve missed your plane?’ She sat bolt upright and stared at him in horror. ‘Because of Flossie? Oh, no.’
‘There’ll be other planes.’
‘Will you forfeit your ticket? I can... I’ll...’ Yeah, right, pay for another airline ticket? With what?
‘Charlie...’ He must have heard the panic in her voice because he leaned over and put his hands on her shoulders. It was a gesture that was meant to steady her, ground her, and in some ways it did. In other ways she felt not the least bit grounded. What the feel of this man did to her... ‘I hit your dog,’ he said, softly but firmly. ‘This is my responsibility.’
‘Flossie should never have been out on the road.’
‘How did she get out?’ He flicked a glance down at Flossie, who was curled against Charlie’s legs as if she never wanted to leave. Maybe he could see her point.
‘When Grandma had the heart attack the paramedics left the gate open and Flossie disappeared. That was three weeks ago. I have no idea where she’s been since then. I’ve hunted everywhere.’
‘You weren’t here when your grandmother died?’
‘I was in Melbourne. I did make it to the hospital before she died. She wanted to know about all the animals. I told her they were fine. I told her... I’d look after them.’
‘So what’s happening to them now?’
‘I’m finding homes for them,’ she said, with more certainty than she felt. ‘I’m trying to fix the farm up so I can put it on the market...’ Her voice faltered at that. It wouldn’t be her putting it on the market, she thought. It’d be the bank, trying to scrape back anything it could. ‘But now...your plane...’
‘It doesn’t matter. For now it seems we need to feed animals, feed us and then take a look at the damage outside.’
‘You don’t need to stay.’ The thought of him missing the plane because of her... How could she ever make it up to him?
‘You mean you’re not offering me breakfast?’
‘Don’t you want to...just leave?’
‘Without breakfast? That was great soup last night but it didn’t cling to the sides. I saw your fridge last night.