Sebastian dropped to the ground and blasted out a few dozen press ups, his taut body sinking deep and slow. He then jumped back up to his feet, pushed weights above his head, muscles flexing like well-oiled machines. All that power … All that strength and tightly controlled energy coursing through his rock-hard body … That steady, pounding rhythm …Oh, be still, hormones.
But it’s been years!Her hormones wailed back.
Mouth dry, she continued to watch him, the memory of last night’s PDA not doing anything to calm her racing pulse or the tug between her legs.
When he was done, Sebastian rolled onto his back. Helen couldn’t tell if he had his eyes closed, or if he was staring at the patchwork of clouds in the sky. The hens gathered around him. He sat up and studied them like they were studying him. After a few minutes, he picked up his weights and placed them neatly by the woodstore. The red cloud he’d been shrouded in, banished. Calm restored.
Helen understood his need to burn off whatever had got him so riled.
After years of taking out her own stress and anger on the punchbag, she’d become an expert in recognizing that longing for release, that need to expel the demons that clung to one’s soul.
Sebastian’s footsteps were a lot lighter when he made his way back to his room. Helen glanced at her laptop. Alexa wasn’t in a hurry for this work, so she saved her files, then changed out of her pajamas into shorts and a T-shirt. She had to get out. She needed a walk, fresh air—and to be away from Sebastian and his pumping muscles.
She went to open the door, then halted. Sebastian was coming downstairs again, heading for the bathroom. She didn’t want to see him, and doubting he wanted to see her, she waited until he locked the door and heard the bath taps running. The cottage’s lack of a shower would likely piss Sebastian off even more now he was in a bad mood.
As the tub creaked under his weight and water splashed, Helen scurried past the bathroom. Yep, she had to get out. She couldn’t listen to him washing, imagining him naked—how did his huge body even fit into her tiny bathtub?
In the kitchen, Helen searched for a pen that worked and was in the middle of writing Sebastian a note when he walked past wearing nothing but a pair of shorts and a towel draped around his neck which did little to cover up his bare chest and ripped abs.
He stared back at her as he raised the corner of the towel and dabbed his forehead, his hair still wet and dripping. This wasn’t the first time she’d seen him shirtless, but her bolshie mouth—always ready with a sparky quip in times of awkwardness—had chosen to stop working. Helen could no longer gawp at his naked chest like she’d done that time at the hotel. Something had changed between them. Something she couldn’t address because it smacked of Big Fat Mistake, and she’d recently made too many of those.
“I was writing you a note.” Helen picked up the piece of paper as proof that she hadn’t been standing in the kitchen waiting for him to walk by semi-naked. “I’m going for a walk.”
Sebastian glanced at the note then back at her, his eyes a mixture ofleave me alone but don’t.
She wanted to ask if he was okay, but of course, he’d say yes even though he clearly wasn’t. “Want to come with me?” she asked.
“I was about to get breakfast.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s fine, I just thought …”
“But if you can wait a few minutes, I’ll get dressed and grab something quick.” He disappeared back to his room, his footsteps swift and light.
Waiting outside, the fresh air settled Helen’s swirling stomach. Man alive, she fancied the pants off him!
But Sebastian wouldn’t be the man to end her sexual drought and thinking that he ever would be was nothing short of …unprofessional.
And Sebastian Clarke didn’t dounprofessional.
When he joined her a few minutes later, he held an apple in one hand and a bread roll with what looked like cream cheese and cucumber in the other. He took a large bite of the roll and had practically demolished it by the time they reached the bottom of the garden.
Helen pulled the gate open. She was still curious to know what had him so riled earlier, but suspected this was one time he’d want to stick to that personal-boundaries clause.
Keeping to safe topics, she asked about Michael Adams. “Has his wife had the baby yet?”
“I haven’t heard anything from him since yesterday.”
“Please give them my best wishes when you speak to them. I hope everything goes well.”
“Thanks, I will.”
Helen led the way toward the river, taking them across the lower field. One of her favorite routes. Last week’s rain had turned everything lush and green. Buttercups formed a yellow haze above the tall grass and the bright white clouds looked almost tangible, like paper cut-outs stuck onto the deep blue sky.
“Who maintains these apple orchards now?” Sebastian asked.
“They’re leased out to farmers.” Helen picked a long stem of meadow foxtail and wrapped it around her fingers as she walked. “I was reading how swimmers have to swim almost every day so as not to lose the feel of the water. Is that true?”
“Yes.” Sebastian took a bite of his apple. “Back home, I train six days a week.”
