“Where are you going?” Silver called after me, laughter in her voice.
Vixen.
“Music to play!” I called back. “Places to fucking be that are not near you,” I muttered. “Bloody death of me. Fucking forty years old, for fuck’s sake.”
“All right there, Ramsay?” Annie called out to me from a cheese stand. Amusement twinkled in her eyes.
“Fine.”
“An awful lot of angry muttering going on there,” she insisted, her eyes darting toward the antiques seller’s tent. “Someone got you in a bit of a tizz, has she?”
I bared my teeth at her in more of a grimace than a grin and strode off toward the stage.
Her laughter trailed behind me.
Bloody small-town living.
Why did I think moving here was a good idea?
24.Tierney
Our mingled panting filled Ramsay’s bedroom as we came down from our energetic sex and subsequent mind-blowing orgasms.
I’d felt his sexual tension all day, to the point where he’d avoided me the rest of the festival, and then practically dragged me back to his boat like a caveman. As soon as we stepped inside his house on Stòr, he was on me. I didn’t even get a chance to ask to see the dresser he’d apparently built for me.
Now, my inner muscles wouldn’t stop quivering from the strength of my climax.
“Oh God,” I moaned, pushing my hair back from my damp hairline.
The bastard Scot had brought me to the brink of orgasm so many times before pulling back until I was begging the asshole to make me come.
When he eventually did … holy fucking fuck fuck.
Yeah, I was ruined.
He’d ruined sex with other men for me for the rest of my goddamn life, and I didn’t even care. The experience with him was worth it.
Turning my head on the pillow to look at him, an aching pang lit across my chest. His eyes were closed, one arm flexed above his head on the pillow. He’d trimmed his beard so I could see all his rugged angles.
Ramsay McRae was the most beautiful man I’d ever met.
He’d scoff at that descriptor. Other people might even raise an eyebrow.
But to me he was beautiful.
And safe.
I thought of that Welsh dresser in his barn.
Maybe he wasn’t as detached from me emotionally as he’d like to make out. I threw myself out of bed and chuckled at the way I swayed a little. There was a familiar throb between my legs, and I thought of that Ariana Grande song “Side to Side” as I crossed the room to pull on Ramsay’s T-shirt.
“Where are you going?” His voice rumbled from the bedroom. He sounded relaxed. Content.
I loved that I could give him that.
“To check out my Welsh dresser.”
Ramsay groaned. “Can it not wait?”
