Page 109 of Under Arthur’s Protection

That thing in my chest squeezed so hard, I almost had to acknowledge it.

Except she rolled off the bed, gloriously naked, and swayed her hips all the way to the chair where she’d left her messenger bag. She dug through the side pocket and came back with a small box, tossing it onto the bed beside me.

“You are a fucking brilliant woman.”

“I know.” She climbed onto the bed next to me and pulled my sweater over my head. She paused at the bruises on my ribs. Her fingers hovered. “Does it hurt?”

“Not enough to stop me.”

Her lips brushed the edge of the bruise, featherlight against my skin.

I should have been thinking about Tintagel. About how we’d approach it, how I’d keep her safe, how Rick was out there with people behind him. But Gwen’s fingers were working my belt open, her mouth was on my neck, and I was about to give my woman another orgasm.

I’d deal with Tintagel later.

Chapter 33

Arthur

“God, you smell good.” Gwen leaned across the center console and pressed her nose against my shoulder. She was making the cake noise again, the same sound that had kept me up far too late last night, and my grip on the steering wheel went soft.

“You’ve said that three times since Portsmouth.”

“Because it’s true.” She settled into her seat but kept tracing lazy patterns on my leg. I remembered her hot mouth on my cock and her fingers making those same slow circles.

Focus on the road, Penn.

The Peugeot bounced over uneven ground as I drove between trees in the back of the property. I was pretty sure a rough track had run through here a decade or more ago, but I’d begun doubting myself. Ethan was going to lose his mind when he found the ruts through his grass.

I should have been checking the security feeds on my phone, scanning the tree line, thinking about approaches from the lane. Instead I was driving with Gwen’s hand in my lap, running on three hours of sleep, and hoping my neck hadn’t bruised from the attention she’d given it on the ferry.

Worth every minute of lost sleep.

The cottage rose through the bare trees. I slowed, aimed for the rear entrance, and parked behind the low stone wall separating the yard from the Victorian garden. “Should we tell Lance?”

“That might be a little weird.”

“He may have already figured it out.”

“How?”

Because he knows me better than I know myself, apparently. “I’m not sure.”

“Is that your way of saying you told him?” Her fingers moved higher, and my dick woke up. She raised one mischievous eyebrow, and in response, I narrowed my eyes at her.

“I didn’t.” I pulled her hand onto my cock, showing her how hard I was getting. “But if I sneak into your room tonight, he might⁠—”

“Arthur!” came a voice from outside.

We sprang apart so fast that Gwen’s elbow hit the console and my knee cracked the steering column. She dove into her messenger bag as though her life depended on finding something at the bottom of it.

Lance hopped over the short wall wearing a shit-eating grin. Had he seen us?

I cut the engine and adjusted myself.

Smooth, Penn. Very smooth.

Lance was at Gwen’s door before she had a chance to open it. He was rested and alert, dressed in tactical blacks he’d likely packed when we originally left the States. He flung the door open and wrapped his arms around her. “I shouldn’t have let you two go off without me.”