And ten seconds later she was sliding over him, sliding him into her, closing her eyes and gripping him while he rumbled, ‘Urrr,’ as if there wasn’t enough air.
She lost track of herself. Moving on instinct, swapping places, changing pace, holding him hard, stroking him gently, as the slow lovemaking built and built until her orgasm ripped through her like an eruption.
Finally, she lay against him, her breathing no longer rasping in her throat, her muscles mush, her body heavy and happy. Voice low, he said, ‘You don’t bring men here?’
‘Never.’ She touched a kiss to his collarbone, then licked it.
He didn’t press her further, but she felt as if he were smiling to himself that he was different. She smiled in the darkness too, but wistfully, counting the ways in which he was different. A man whose parents she worked for. A man who by no means had his own life sorted out. A man with kids. She’d even cooked for him. Holy shit.
A man who was leaving.
Later, when she awoke, he was nibbling her ear. ‘Mm,’ she mumbled, thinking he was waking her to make love again, but when she reached for him, her questing fingers found jeans and a shirt. ‘Dressed?’
He kissed her. ‘I need to be home before the kids wake up.’
‘Oh.’ She kissed him back. ‘In that case, I hope the snow stopped. I don’t want to drag myself from this lovely warm bed and help dig out your car.’
He chuckled. ‘It was only half an inch of snow. I think I’ll cope.’
‘’Kay. Then you’re on your own.’ She closed her eyes again.
‘Are you busy with your family the whole weekend?’ His fingers traced the line of her shoulder, as if his hands couldn’t help touching her.
She shivered contentedly. ‘I’m meeting Valentina and co at Overlook Cottage in the morning. And dinner later, I think.’
‘OK.’ He eased the duvet down to kiss a breast. ‘Would it be bad if I took Alvin and Astrid to the beach tomorrow and, if I happened to see you, came over to say hi?’
‘It would be good,’ she assured him. ‘Barnaby’s about the same age as Astrid and he loves the beach too.’
After one last kiss, she listened to him treading down the stairs, imagining him pulling on his coat in the hall. The front door opened and closed. A faint crunching meant snow beneath his feet. She pulled the duvet around her and shuffled upright, then to the window, easing back the curtain to watch him sweeping snow from the Volvo in shimmering arcs. He was right that it was a light covering, but enough to make the street glow like moonbeams. Fence posts wore sparkling white hats and his footprints were the only things not painted white.
Finally, he stamped snow from his shoes, slid into his car and drove steadily away. She realised she should have told him not to carry on to Bridge Road before turning back along Friday Furlong to reach the road above, because Friday Furlong was steep and narrow. But then his headlights described a smooth circle where Chapel Road met Bridge Road and Creag an Lolaire, and he drove back past her cottage.
Finally, when he was out of sight, she shuffled back to bed and flopped onto the mattress, smiling as she waited for sleep to return. Tomorrow – or was it today? – felt full of promise.
