Chapter 49
‘Flora, the order’s arrived.’ Dylan was swamped with all the equipment they’d purchased. ‘I could do with a hand shifting some of it.’ He intended to move as much of it as possible to the new stable yard. Half of the stables were built now, plus his office, so he planned to store most of it there.
‘OK. I’m out at the moment. I’ll be at yours for six-ish.’
Out where? He felt compelled to demand, and who with? Instead he bit his tongue.
‘Right, see you then.’ Probably off gallivanting with bloody Ben, he fumed. He kicked a water bucket down his drive in frustration. He’d received two text messages from Samantha. One asking for a date to move the horses, the other wanting to know when they would be meeting up. He was beginning to imagine he’d have his hands full with Samantha, quite literally. The woman was blatantly starved of action and craved as good a ride as her horses. Dylan had started to have second thoughts about the whole thing, but then he remembered just how much her husband was prepared to pay him for training his two thoroughbreds. It wasn’t to be sniffed at, plus he was eager to get his stables fully occupied. He’d arranged a provisional date to collect the horses and avoided the second question. Luckily she hadn’t pressed him.
Flora had gone into town to the chemists. She had a banging headache and was in dire need of some tablets. Bending over to pick up the packet of paracetamol she saw blackness closing in and came over a little dizzy. Blinking, she steadied herself and paid for them. As she drove home the bright light of the sun shining in her face made her wince in pain. She managed to make it back, just. Once inside, she rushed to the kitchen to pour a glass of water and swallow two tablets. After half an hour she felt marginally better, although a fine film of sweat covered her body. Deciding to skip supper, she went to have a quick shower to freshen up. In the shower her headache came back with vengeance. A nauseating sensation overcame her. She got out of the pounding water that had been battering her head and wrapped herself in a towel. Slowly making her way into the kitchen for another paracetamol, lights started flashing across her eyes. Flora dashed to the sink and only just made it, vomiting the entire contents of her stomach. She was now perspiring and shaking badly. Reaching for her phone on the kitchen table, she managed to press Dylan’s number before passing out.
‘Flora? Flora, are you there?’
There was no answer. Dylan frowned. Where was she? He looked at his watch. She was late. He picked up his car keys and drove to her house. He rang the front doorbell. No reply. He went round the back and hammered on the back door. Still nothing. He looked through the kitchen window and saw Flora slumped over the table in a towel. ‘Flora!’ he shouted, rushing back to the door. Turning the handle he realised it was locked. With adrenaline pumping through his veins he pushed hard again and again at the door, but it wouldn’t budge. In the end he elbowed the glass partition and put his hand through to unlock the door from inside. He cut his palm slightly turning the key. His heart was thumping wildly. ‘Flora!’ he cried again rushing to her. He picked her body up from the table. She started to rouse slightly. He manoeuvred her onto the kitchen chair, holding her shoulders.
‘Flora, talk to me, it’s Dylan,’ he spoke urgently. Her skin was red hot. She half opened her eyes. ‘Flora, can you hear me?’
‘Sick,’ she murmured. Dylan hastily fetched the washing up bowl from the sink and placed it before her. She bent her head into it and vomited again. Dylan tried to think straight. His immediate reaction was to ring an ambulance, but as Flora finished throwing up, she seemed to be gaining consciousness. He stood behind her, holding her forehead and shoulders. Slowly she eased herself back into an upright position. ‘I… I think I fainted.’
‘You did. I saw you out cold over the kitchen table.’ Dylan put his arm round her. ‘Let’s get you into bed, you’re shivering.’ He carried her up the stairs. Flora was oblivious to the towel slipping further down her body, exposing most of her chest. Dylan tried to concentrate and averted his eyes. ‘Which one’s your bedroom?’
‘First on the left,’ she answered faintly. He placed her gently on the unmade bed and carefully covered her with the duvet, again at pains not to run his gaze over her now bare body. He plumped up the two pillows and rested them behind her head.
‘How are you feeling now, Flora?’ His face was etched with concern.
‘Better for throwing up, I think.’ She looked so utterly vulnerable, almost like a child. Dylan swallowed hard. He so wanted to look after her.
‘Can I get you anything?’
‘A drink of water, please.’
‘Will do.’ He shot off downstairs into the kitchen and hurried back. ‘Here, let me help you.’ He held the glass to her lips and watched her gulp it back. ‘I think you’re dehydrated. Drink some more.’ She did as she was told, then rested back onto the pillows, bleary eyed. ‘Flora, I’m staying here with you tonight.’
Expecting her to object, he was startled when her eyes filled.
‘I want…’ Her chin wobbled slightly. He stopped and stared at her. If she said Ben he’d be gutted.
‘Who do you want, Flora?’ he asked quietly.
‘My mum,’ she whimpered. Kneeling down next to her he stroked back her hair.
‘Shall I ring her for you?’
‘No,’ she finally replied, ‘they’d only worry.’
‘Sure?’
‘Yes. I just need to rest.’ Her eyes started to close.
‘I’ll be right here.’ Dylan went into the next bedroom to collect pillows and a duvet. He was going to sleep on the floor next to her. Entering the room he saw a single bed with blue football bedding. Various posters hung from the walls: a New York City skyline, Oasis and Red Hot Chili Peppers. There was a notice board displaying a collage of photographs of a teenage boy with long hair, sporting a hoody, sticking two fingers up at the camera with his mates. Dylan also clocked the sign on the door: ‘Ben’s Room’. Hmm, interesting, he thought wryly.
He entered Flora’s bedroom and laid the pillows and duvet on the floor next to her bed. She was fast asleep. He looked down at her, so pale and angelic, ethereal like. His chest tightened with the image of her slumped over the kitchen table. For a moment he had thought she was dead. The thought made him cold. He bent down to hear her breathing faintly and watched her chest slightly rising and falling. Flora, his feisty, stubborn, angelic creature.
He turned out the light and settled down on the floor. Unable to sleep, his eyes adjusted to the dark and flicked round the room. It was full of horsy paraphernalia: pictures, photos, rosettes, trophies, certificates, all documenting her achievements and love of horses. His room had been the same years ago, when he was her age. The age gap once again troubled him. Was he being selfish wanting someone so young? Would she be better enjoying herself with other twenty-year-olds, instead of holding a responsible position with a thirty-year-old lusting after her?
His phone bleeped in his pocket. Digging it out of his jeans, he saw Samantha’s name flash up. Oh no. His eyes widened at the text message.
Hungry for cock.
