It feels so good to be here with her. To say what I want to say in her ear, instead of hiding my desires behind a frown and adjusting my trousers under the breakfast table.
‘I want to see what they look like. I want to know how they feel in my mouth. I want you so badly.’
She shudders, hopefully with desire, as my hand meanders over her chest, her stomach. Her hand presses down on mine. Her back is still arched; she pushes the side of her face back against my shoulder.
‘Miles. I want you, too. So much. How soon can we leave?’
‘I know. I can’t wait to get out of here.’
‘No, I’m serious.’ She shimmies against me again. ‘How soon can we leave?’
CHAPTER 21
Saoirse: Friday 17 December
Inever thought I’d be in a rush to get away from Seb Macleod, of all people, but right now there’s only one man for me, and damned if I won’t do everything in my power to get Miles Montague to myself as soon as humanly possible.
But he was right. It is magical here, and when we reunite with Bea and shed our coats and head into the vast Oast House, I’m struck again by the thoughtfulness of this man who invited me along to Sorrel Farm because he knew I’d be in raptures over it.
Okay, I may have an inkling that it wasn’t the only reason he invited me. That he had an ulterior motive is now looking more likely. When he wrapped me up in his arms and pulled me into the warm cradle of his body, I thought I was in heaven.
Then, when he whispered my name, his breath hot against my cold ear, and kissed me with a need and hunger and passion that was so deliciously different from his grim-faced everyday persona, Ireallythought I was in heaven.
And then, when his hand crept inside my coat andbehaved as if he already had me naked, showing me how he planned to touch my body later, I wasn’t just in heaven but floating in some parallel universe of pleasure.
But it was when he saidthatthing—just wait till I fucking get you home—that every part inside me that made me female clenched, and the throbbing between my legs kicked in, and it hasn’t stopped. I squirm in my seat and resign myself to the fact that it won’t stop until I get Miles to myself.
Later.
Right now, the promise of that will have to be enough, because I’m at a beautiful party in a magical resort, and the primary, non-sex-brained version of myself is fan-girling over the decor—the enormous eucalyptus wreaths and the ivy-print covered tables, with their tapered candles in tall, slim lanterns adorned with dusky pink velvet bows. So simple, and so perfect.
And I can’t be frustrated when little Bea is in raptures over the endless delicious food, and the presents on every place setting, and the number of deeply fabulous people who drop by and gush over how much Bea’s grown and how stylish she is.
I certainly can’t be frustrated when Miles sticks to me like glue. We’re careful to avoid full-on PDA in front of Bea, but he’s by my side the whole time, he holds my hand under the tablecloth through dinner, and he introduces me to Seb Macleod, and his gorgeous ex-wife, Evelyn, and to lots of other fabulous people as hisfriend.
We see Astrid too, and she insists that a photographer takes a photo of me and her together, and she compliments me once more on how well the dress suits me, and I can’t help but notice the sly side-eye she gives me and Miles. Almost as if she suspects her beautiful dress may have worked some magic.
But when dessert is over, and we’ve had a little dance with Bea on the shiny dance floor at one end of the OastHouse, and we’ve tracked down Dave and handed over a huge platter of Sorrel Farm sausage rolls and other goodies for him to tuck into on the way home, and I’ve slunk into the middle of the back seat between Miles and Bea in her car seat, I breathe a sigh of relief.
Miles presses a button, and the partition between Dave and us closes. He leans towards me and whispers in my ear. ‘He can’t see or hear us now. And I give Bea five minutes before she’s passed out.’
I glance at Bea. We’ve tucked her favourite blanket around her, and she’s sucking her thumb and rubbing the satin edge of her blanket against her face. Her eyes are drooping comedically. I stroke the back of her hand, and within a few minutes, she’s out cold.
It’s just me and Miles.
I turn to look at him, and he twists around in his seat. Slides a hand behind my neck. His eyes slide to my lips, and I lick them automatically.
‘Did you have a good time?’ His voice is low and husky.
It’s hard to focus on anything but the reaction of my nerve-endings to his fingers sliding up and down my neck.
‘It was the best.’ I put a hand on his thigh. It’s like rock. Mmm. ‘Thank you so much for taking me.’
‘My pleasure.’ His face is so serious, but not unhappy serious; more like intense.
‘It will be.’ I smirk, and he lets out an anguished breath, rests his forehead against mine.
‘Temptress.’
