Книга - Love is a Four Letter Word

Love is a Four Letter Word
Zara Stoneley


Georgina Hampton lost more than a mother when her parents split up, she lost the life she loved. But Georgie is grown up now, and she’s ready to fight to get it back.But the cost of winning could be a high price to pay, when the man standing in her way is bad boy Jake Hardcourt.Her knight in shining armour.The one man who might be able to show her that love doesn’t have to be just another four letter word…










Love is a Four Letter Word


Zara Stoneley










A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)




Contents


Zara Stoneley (#u482886d1-ba07-57c2-8823-0d372a746e87)

Dedication (#u6328a1ee-feff-563e-b194-000d39c1a0ff)

Chapter One (#u8aacd3b2-a93c-5785-9fd2-a66c63b3955c)

Chapter Two (#u4e2ec206-b073-513b-8138-ac3112930dea)

Chapter Three (#uc1717ca9-3633-5676-b690-84ebcc25d408)

Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




Zara Stoneley (#uf34131e3-43f9-5592-9dc0-3729a3617af3)


I’ve been writing stories for just about as long as I’ve been reading them – it’s rumoured that I’m related to Elizabeth Gaskell, so maybe it’s in the genes!

I live in a country cottage in the UK with a naughty mouse catching, curtain climbing cat, my wonderful guitar playing, video making, Minecraft mad teenage son and a wine drinking, sun loving, master chef in the making, sexy alpha hero.

I love my family, sexy high heels, sunshine, wine, good food, cats, horses, dogs, music, coffee, writing and reading - but not necessarily in that order! And I like my heroes just how I like my coffee – hot, strong and moreish.

You can find more about me, and all my contact details at www.zarastoneley.com. Please stop by – I love to meet new people.


To the man in my life - who knows that being a little bit bad can be good …




Chapter One (#uf34131e3-43f9-5592-9dc0-3729a3617af3)


“Which bit of no don’t you understand?”

“From my side of the table it looked pretty much like a yes, darling. Come on, admit it, you want it.”

“If I wanted it I’d ask, okay?”

“Oh, you were asking, babe.”

Georgie cringed. She was nobody’s babe; he’d been watching the wrong type of films. She crossed her arms across her chest and tried to stare him down, but from the glassy look in his eyes he was too inebriated to register anything, let alone a put down, unless it involved a minor act of violence. “I was just being polite.”

Surprisingly strong fingers gripped her arm before she had a chance to move further away, digging into the bare skin, leeching the colour away. The gasp had to be her, but being manhandled wasn’t on any wish list she’d ever had. Well, not like this. And it hurt.

“Hey, let go.” She was drunk, but obviously not as drunk as he was, because when she pulled away he staggered.

“There’s a word for girls like you.”

Georgina Hampton took a step back and turned away. “And there’s more than one word for dicks like you.” She was glad she’d only muttered it under her breath, because when she glanced back over her shoulder, he looked like he wasn’t about to give up.

Yeah, she’d been friendly, even flirted a bit. But that was her job. And since when was there a rule that said if you had a laugh with a guy he was entitled to get into your knickers?

As Georgie pushed open the door that separated the loud, claustrophobic heat of the club from the real world a sudden wave of exhaustion swept over her. It had been a long day, she’d had one too many vodka shots, and unwanted male attention was the last straw. She concentrated on keeping her high heels both going in the same direction as she headed for the door, not sure if it was tiredness or drink that was playing havoc most with her balance. One thing she did know was that every step was another one closer to home and her bed.

“Off early, can’t stand the pace?” One of the bouncers grinned at her, he knew that exiting at this time wasn’t her normal form, and as he swung the outside door open the rush of cool night air almost knocked her off balance. “You okay?” He was giving her a weird look.

“Yeah.” She tried a grin. “Had a shitty day, that’s all.” She didn’t know his name and he didn’t know hers, but she was at the club often enough for the professional distance to have dropped, just a bit.

“Hey, stop.” The drunken idiot had followed her all the way to the door. “Georgie, I said stop.”

“You sure you don’t need a hand, love?”

She shook her head at the bouncer. She didn’t want trouble. Not again. Carol would have a fit, a major prima donna explosion if there was even a hint of a bad smell this week. What was it with step-mothers that thought just because they had your dad under the thumb then they had the right to ruin your life as well?

“I’m fine, thanks.” She took a step out onto the pavement and almost instantly regretted turning the offer down, as Sebastian, ‘but you can call me Seb’, sent a wave of alcohol drenched breath down her neck. Good job she didn’t feel queasy or that really would tip the balance.

Yes, she knew his name. But that was the absolute limit of the relationship. Which sadly he didn’t get. He’d been one of a group of guys, rich guys, who had rolled into the restaurant that night where she was front of house. He’d flirted, and she’d done what she did best back. Avoided his hands, but caressed his ego. It was her job, and she was damned good at it. Trouble was, the stupid twat had presumed the service extended after hours and he’d followed her to the club that the staff had headed to when the restaurant had closed.

His hand was on her waist and she felt like retching, and her heart had hitched up a beat. She’d had him down as wet, but even a complete drip was strong when they were fuelled with beer and chasers. Stronger than her.

“Get your hands off me.” She fought to keep her voice even and low. Gritting her teeth helped.

“Didn’t I tip well enough darling? I thought it would be plenty for a girl like you.”

“Fuck off, okay. Is that clear enough?”

“Or what?”

Shit, with his arm still clamped around her waist he’d somehow managed to propel her past the frontage of the club, to the edge of the deserted car park and suddenly it hit her. Or what? Damned good question.

His clammy hand had tightened around her, the damp warmth seeping through the thin fabric as though it was skin on skin. She was going to be sick. A mix of shots tumbled around in her stomach, hit the bubbles of Prosecco, and mingled with the slightest trace of fear. She swallowed down the tang of bile.

“Just get your hands off me, okay? I’m not your type.”

“Let me be the judge of that, gorgeous.” She would have liked to have slapped that leery smirk right off his face, but keeping her balance in the killer heels and working out whether to knee him in the groin, stamp on his toes or ditch the stilettos and run was priority at the moment.

He pushed her a step back, further into the dark shadows that draped the side of the building. Then his hand closed round her wrist. A band of iron, fingertips digging into her skin as she pulled back, burning. He snorted and the mix of beer fumes and stale cigarette filled her lungs as he leaned in closer. Close enough to kiss. Close enough to make the knot in her stomach pull just a bit tighter, and her heart pound like it was about to burst free.

Think, Georgie, think. She turned her head away as his other hand came up, at the side of her, against the wall, blocking her escape. Not that escape was on the agenda until she managed to drag her wrist free from his grasp. He swayed closer and even with a sideways glance she could see his gaze was fixed on her mouth. If she stayed here a second longer it would be too late. She twisted, bent down, dodged under the arm that held hers, hoping he’d loosen his grip so she could break free, but instead as she ducked he did the one thing she hadn’t expected. Twisted her arm up behind her back. Pressed her cheek hard against the damp, darkness of the wall, until sharp splinters of brick bit into her skin. Georgie shut her eyes.

“Oh, so that’s how you want it is it. Kinky one, eh?” The heat of his breath was fanning her neck, his heavy, suffocating body close against hers, and she was grimly aware of his rock hard erection, pressed against her. “Like it from behind do you?”

Fuck. She had to get away. She just had to. Being groped against a wall was so not how her life was supposed to be working out. She took a breath, opened her eyes, and then kicked back with all her strength, raking her heel down his shin, stamping down hard on his foot for good measure as he loosened his grip slightly. All she had to do was get his hands off her. He was pissed, he wouldn’t be able to run after her.

“Bitch. Christ, what the fuck was that for?” He reached instinctively for his leg with one hand, but it still hurt like hell as she pulled back, dragged her arm from his grasp, feeling the burn of friction, his skin against hers.

There were a whole shopping list of things she could have answered with, but she didn’t trust herself to say a word. Keeping her mouth shut was safer for more reasons than one.

Georgie staggered back, one step, another, turned to run.

“You got a problem?” The deep drawl stopped her short, and she could have sworn literally stopped her heart for a beat.

“A problem? She’s fuckin’ psycho that one, you’re welcome to her.” She hardly felt Seb push his way past her, was only dimly aware of the scatter of stones as he staggered back towards the road, finding a new swear word with each step he took across the rough parking lot.

“I said, are you okay?” There was a guy, and he was staring at her, like she was stupid. She stared back, because she couldn’t not. Dark curls, green eyes, a dimple in the middle of his chin, a stud in his ear. Black motorbike leathers.

Georgie swallowed, cleared her tight, dry throat. Wow. The dark knight. In a parking lot in Cheshire. Stared a bit more. Whatever they were serving in there was stronger than she’d thought. “Sure. Erm, no problem.” Well, only one. Him. And he was the kind of problem she liked. She hoped she wasn’t licking her lips, but she probably was. “I’m fine.” Once I remember how to breath normally again. And work out if I’m hallucinating or not.

She took another steadying breath, to replace the oxygen she’d lost while she’d been holding her breath. This wasn’t a weak chinned, clammy handed type of idiot like Seb. The type who slobbered over you and pawed. Oh, no. This guy was trouble, with a capital T. Otherwise translated as yum, with a capital Y.

“Good. I’ll leave you to it then.”

“No.”

He slanted his head slightly, probably because she’d shouted it out like a weirdo.

“Don’t go. I mean, hang around for a bit, will you?” It could have been a residue of adrenalin from being pinned against that wall, but whatever it was her heart was hammering and her body had this strange buzz resonating through it, and she was pretty damned sure it had nothing to do with fear.

He chuckled and the sound fingered its way down her spine. “I don’t think he’ll be rushing back for seconds. So, are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Psycho.”

“I’ll let you decide that.” She took a step closer to him, which just about took her to the spot where she could smell the mix of spice, wood and musk. Earthy. Nice. “Not that it would bother you, I’m sure.”

“Are you now?” He let her close that gulf of ten inches between them, let her reach out to rest a finger on the top of the zip of his leather jacket. Cold metal against warm, the tang of leather and oil layered over the tantalising scent of pure male.

“Very sure. Can I see your ‘bike?”

He looked faintly amused, but from the way his stance had widened and those gorgeous eyes had darkened she knew she had him. Hers for the taking. But he’d kept his hands jammed in his pockets, like he was determined to make her do all the running.

“And there I was thinking it was me you were interested in.”

“I am. You and the bike, together.”

“You’ll have to promise not to rake those heels down the tank.”

It was then that she recognised him. It was the way he said it, that ever so slight judgemental edge to his voice. Jake Harcourt. He’d been like that when he was cocky sixteen. Daring, in control. Leader of the pack. And she’d been the podgy teenage girl in her carefully ironed blouse and spotless flat shoes. If she’d not had a drink or five maybe she’d have clicked earlier, maybe not. It was a lifetime ago. And he wasn’t a lanky tearaway teenager now. He was a man. Boy, had he grown into a man.

Back then was another time, of schoolgirl crushes, of secret Valentine’s cards being pushed into lockers, of wanting the rough tough poster boys and knowing it was a step too far. Then. Bad had been plain bad back then, now it was good.

“I won’t leave a scratch. I promise.”

He raised an eyebrow and just like that he’d gone from a little bit naughty to full on bad, and Georgie felt her throat dry as the anticipation swirled into a knot of excitement in her stomach.

“No scratches at all?”

The smile twitched at her mouth. “Well, not from the heels. And not on the tank.” She rested the very tips of her nails on his jawbone, let them drag across the rough stubble until they rested under his chin, then she leant in, let her breasts rub against the smooth hide of his jacket, closed her teeth around the fullness of his lower lip and pulled back just far enough so that she could glance up, see the look in his eye.

Jake met the coy look she shot through those long eyelashes and wondered if his luck was in or he’d just gone stark staring mad. He’d kicked up the motorbike from pure frustration, barely paused to grab his helmet, and then gunned into the centre of town looking for something, but not knowing what.

Maybe he’d found it.

He’d skidded into this car park because it was quiet. The lull before the 2am outpouring of drunken bodies. And for a brief moment he’d thought about parking up and getting slaughtered before hitching a lift back home. Until he’d heard the voices, and the girl with the cut glass tone had done her best to out-stride her toff of a boyfriend.

For a second he’d thought she was in trouble, which was why, against his natural inclination, he’d stuck his nose in. But she’d handled it, despite the fact that even in the dark he could tell the colour had leached from her face, he could smell the fear, hear the tightness in her words. When you’d got into tight spots like he had, you developed a second sense that told you if you were going to win or lose even before the trouble started.

But after a few seconds of staring at him like he was the man from Mars she’d recovered. Which was as fast a recovery as he’d seen in a long time. Now she was looking at him like he was a prime cut, and it seemed as good a way to burn off his anger as any. He recognised the adrenalin rush, a dance with danger that could send you high before you fell back down. She was ready to ride that wave, ready for the next challenge, and he was just lucky enough to be the one nearest. He wasn’t kidding himself that it was anything more than that. Tomorrow she might wonder what the fuck had got into her, but tonight…

Her cool, elegant fingers were on his chin sending an urgent shiver of a message to his already tingling groin, then she leant in and nipped his lip with sharp teeth. Any more of that and he’d been groaning like a randy teenager. He pulled back, half turned in the direction of his ‘bike and her gaze followed his line of sight.

“Can I have a ride?” She dropped the seduction routine, and her hands, like a switch had been flicked.

“What kind of ride did you have in mind?”

Those dark brown eyes were gleaming. He knew her type, used to getting what they wanted, when they wanted. And right now, if she wanted him it wasn’t a problem. She wanted the fast ride, the rough and tumble. The danger, the explosion. Then she’d walk away. Perfect. For both of them.

She stared at the motorbike, forgot about teasing his lips and headed straight for the machine. “Fast. I want to go fast.” She broke her pace briefly to throw the words over her shoulder and then she was there. Running the ruby red talons over the black paintwork.

He’d not had a pillion rider for a long time. He’d never had one with a dress so short it barely needed hitching up, legs that long and heels that high. So, they weren’t going far, whatever she had in mind. Now wasn’t the time.

“You’re not exactly dressed for a ride.”

She chuckled, and he hadn’t been expecting a sexy low vibration like that.

“It’s my work gear.” She grinned, for the first time, and through the mask of a sexy siren slipped a mischievous girl out to have fun, which made up his mind. He wanted her. Now.

“Some job.”

“I’m front of house at The Veneto.”

Which explained a lot of things, including the groper. Including the confidence. Jake had never been in The Veneto, it was the type of place he’d cross the road to avoid. A top end restaurant, full of the rich and famous, swilling away their fortunes on expensive wine and eating their way through enough carbs and fat to fuel an army of people who actually did something with their lives.

He let his gaze drift over her lazily again. A black sheath dress that fitted where it touched, caressing every curve of her toned body. It was modest at the neck, but dropped low at the back and where it sat high on her thighs it was just crying out to be nudged that inch or two further. There wasn’t much left to the imagination, but enough. Enough to make him desperate to go there. Explore. She didn’t need the extra height of the heels, and although he’d never have called himself a leg man this pair were doing something to his body that they shouldn’t.

And running his hands up from her indecent shoes, all the way up those silk covered calves to the soft, warm flesh he knew he’d find under her skirt was something he wanted to do. Now.

“Sure you don’t want to go back and make up with the toff?”

“You’re funny.” She’d straddled the bike, slid her hands along the tank until she was stretched out on the machine then smiled at him. “People like that bore the pants off me, they haven’t a clue how to live. You going to join me and prove you do?”

“I don’t need to prove anything.” He handed her a helmet. “You know what? You talk too much.”

“I know.” She smiled. “Why don’t you try and make me scream instead?”

“Your wish is my command.” He gave a mock bow, then gunned up the engine before either of them could have second thoughts. The rumble threaded through his body and her thighs tightened around his hips as they took off. He could have sworn he could feel the damp heat between her thighs pressed against him, could feel her breasts pressed against his back as she leaned in and her hands snaked around him, slipped down lower between his thighs.

She was light on the back, moving with him as he headed out of the town and took the narrow road that threaded its way up to the forest and, before he’d even decided where they were going, her hands had slipped lower, touching him with a need that matched his mood. He wasn’t going far, because for what he had in mind he didn’t want to warm the engine up too much, and the way she was messing with his body was already interfering with his mind.

Jake slowed the machine, turned off the road. And she was still when he pulled up, apart from the feather light touch from her fingertips. When he turned she just looked at him, then matched his moves as he undid his helmet and dropped it to the ground. He stepped slowly off the bike, leaving it on the stand, engine ticking over.

Georgie froze astride the ‘bike, feeling vulnerable as he stepped off, not quite sure what was going to happen next, but knowing that the air that had been whistling around her, the heat of him between her legs and the gentle, almost unbearable throb of the engine was turning her into a quivering mass of need.

“Now you, darling, are going in the driving seat, but don’t presume for one moment you’re in control.” His voice was soft against her ear, the warmth of his breath fanning out over her cheek as he lifted her forward onto the seat that was still warm from his body. “Lean forward, hold the handlebars.” She stretched forward, the heat and tremble of the engine teasing nipples that were already hard, tormenting her swollen clit as his hand rested in the small of her back, pressing her closer to the machine. She could feel it already starting, the slow relentless climb of an orgasm, the rolling need radiating out from her centre.

He kept one smouldering hand resting on her for a moment, then turned his full attention back to his leathers, cursing as he fought with them. Then he was back on the bike, behind her. “You can rev it up you know.” There was humour in the dark soft voice. His hands slipped up her thighs, round her hips, under her dress, his fingers tracing along her knicker line, either side of her mound, his thumbs circling with a pressure that told her he wasn’t going to mess. One hand slipped between her legs, traced along her slit until he found her clit and she groaned as he touched her. Whimpered as he increased the pressure, as one finger slipped inside her. “You really do want it don’t you?” He lifted her slightly from the seat. “Hold on tight, darling.”

She was holding her breath with need, but when he sank inside her she still screamed. Screamed as the weight of his body against her pressed her throbbing clit into the shudder of the bike, screamed as she came with urgent pulses. “Oh. My. God.” She could barely get the words out.

He waited, held still as she shuddered around him and then as her body subsided he started. Full long strokes that filled her. Georgie clung onto the handlebars, trying desperately to control the slide of her body against the bike, to control the friction as he gripped her hips with firm fingers and slammed into her. She lifted her head, stared unseeing at the trees that surrounded them, and the animal sounds had to be her as she growled and cursed, writhed against him, as her body fought the vibrations, willed the orgasm to build higher, higher. And then she couldn’t hold that moment any longer. She was unfurling inside, her body pulsing more urgently this time, and he seemed to expand inside her as she closed around him. Gripping, wanting, needing, until he swore, pulled her savagely back against him. And then nothing. Silence apart from the sound of their breathing, panting. Dark.

He pulled out. Gently flicked her knickers back into place with one finger. Eased her up with strong hands until she was leaning back against the warmth of his chest and it felt weirdly familiar as he held her. Then he seemed to realise. Slowly dropped his arms away and she could almost feel him setting the distance between them.

“You okay?”

She nodded. Tugged at her lower lip with sharp teeth, because she didn’t know what else to do.

And he was off the bike, passed her a helmet wordlessly and they were back on the road heading for the town before she could think of a single thing to say to him. He weaved his way round the edge of town and pulled up outside her home, the old family home that she’d just returned to after years away, without even asking where she needed dropping.

Georgie clambered off the bike. Stood awkwardly on the kerb and he reached out, straightened her dress down. Flipped his visor up.

“Who said I lived here?”

“Who’d have thought sweet little Georgina would turn into such a naughty girl?”

Georgie stared at him. She’d never even thought he knew her name when they were at school, and she’d not been back in town for years. The witch called Carol had made sure of that. She’d sweet talked Alfie into alternating between keeping her in the mouldy mansion in the back of beyond and sending her off to a stuffy boarding school to wear big knickers and starchy shirts. Anywhere that meant they didn’t have to do anything, could just ignore her. Georgie refused to think of him as ‘Dad’ any more, he was Alfie. Carol’s conquest. Carol’s puppet. Well they couldn’t ignore her now she was big enough to say no.

“Is that what they teach you at posh schools these days?”

It was like he’d read her mind. “Better than learning how to balance a book on your head.”

“Can you do that too?” He looked grave, serious. Was studying her like he thought he’d made a mistake.

“Not at the same time.”

This time he ignored the flippant comment, didn’t join in with the banter. “Don’t let having it all fuck you up, Georgie girl.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“There’s nothing wrong with nice.” Which was even more confusing.

He flicked his visor down, so all she could see was the dark shadow of his eyes.

“Do you want to come in?” She hadn’t meant to say it, she never said it. But it just came spilling out.

“No thanks. You got what you wanted, better to leave it at that, eh?” He revved up the bike hard, swung it in a tight circle and she was left standing on the pavement with the smell of exhaust fumes acrid in her nostrils.

Prick. Georgie slammed the door behind her, dropped her purse in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. He’d got what he wanted as well, hadn’t he? Wasn’t that what it was about? She glanced at the bottles of white wine that lined the fridge, then with a sigh reached for the bottle of water.

It was the way he’d looked at her. A mixture of anger and concern. A bit like the look her father used to give her when she’d been naughty and he’d been asking her why. He was one hundred per cent sober, unlike her, but he’d had this restrained anger about him that made her want to call him back. Ask him why. But she never did that. Never asked. Not any more, not these days.

And he was wrong, whatever he meant. There was a hell of a lot wrong with nice. Being nice, having nice. Nice had left her with a shit life and no-one who gave a monkeys about her. Nice was a one way street.

She tipped what was left of her drink down the sink. At least being bad meant she got something back.




Chapter Two (#uf34131e3-43f9-5592-9dc0-3729a3617af3)


“What has got into you?” Ella put her feet up on the glass topped coffee table so that they could both admire her new shoes. “Pissing off is one thing, but you never even answered my texts.”

Georgie could hear a note of hurt and felt an instant stab of guilt. “I’m sorry. Really sorry.” She knew what it felt like to be ignored so she didn’t often do it. Well, not to friends. She picked at a loose thread on the cushion she was holding. “He’s an ass. An insufferable jerked up ass.”

“So you said.”

“I’m sorry. But how can he be so fucking sanctimonious about being nice? I mean, since when did he do what he was supposed to?”

“Exactly.”

There was a dry edge to her tone and Georgie glanced up sharply. “Meaning?”

“What is it about you and bad boys?”

“You should try it.” She felt the grin creep onto her face. “That motorbike—”

“Georgie!”

“Sorry, just saying.”

“I mean, if you’re doing it for the kicks then fine, I suppose. But you’re really doing it to piss off your dad and Carol, aren’t you?” She paused. “Aren’t you?”

“Can we drop the lecture? I’ve got a bad enough headache as it is.”

Ella sighed. “Fine. So, why did you leave so early?”

“That dick from the restaurant was hassling me, and I was tired.”

“The city wanker?”

“That’s the one. I wish I’d just poured the contents of the ice bucket over him after he’d paid the bill, they were just so pissed up and loud I’m sure all the other customers would have thanked me.”

“At least a guy like that wouldn’t use you.”

“Just fuck me you mean?”

“You know what I mean, at least you’d know he wanted your body and not your money.”

“Ella, I can’t believe you just said that. He was a complete slime-ball.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine him slobbering and pawing all over you?”

“No, I can’t believe I said it really.” Ella sighed. “But those down and out guys you keep flirting with just screw you around.”

“I like being screwed.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean. You pay for everything, they get the high life, then—”

“Then I dump them, if they really try it on.” The only time she’d really got burned was with the guy who’d managed to nick her credit card and run up a mega bill before it had even occurred to her that it could be him. And she wasn’t falling for that one again. She had thought there was something a bit shifty about him, but the way he’d pinned her to the bed and made her do exactly what he wanted had turned her on something rotten. He’d been rough and he’d talked dirty, telling her just what he was going to do to her. Her body started to liquefy just at the thought. Nice. Well, it had been for a while. Until the novelty had worn off and he’d stuck his grubby fingers in her purse.

“But don’t you want a nice guy, one you’re not looking for an excuse to dump?”

“No, Ella. Now stop sounding like grumpy old Alfie. When I’m ready to give up on life and settle down with some rich namby-pamby mummy’s boy and breed, you’ll be the first to know.”

“Really?”

“Don’t hold your breath though, it could be a one way trip to asphyxiation.”

Ella shook her head. “I give up. Are we supposed to be working?”

“Yeah.” Georgie picked up the sheet of paper that was on the sofa at the side of her. “Finding a location for this shoot, and a list of models. I mean, what is it about the great outdoors, what’s wrong with a nice city shoot?”

“For country stuff?” Ella giggled.

“But it isn’t proper country stuff is it? It’s country stuff for city people so they can pretend they’re having a relaxing time. Not that the country is relaxing. Latte and shoe shopping sounds a much better deal to me.”

“Says the country girl.”

“Reformed.” She stared blankly at the sheet of paper. “And can you honestly think of a male model we’ve used recently who looks rugged? He’s even put ‘modern day John Wayne’ in brackets after it. Good job it’s in fucking pencil then I can rub it out, I mean, what the hell does that mean?”

“Rugged.” Ella wriggled and settled deeper into the cushions. “A real man, with abs and muscles and… how about your biker boy?”

“Jake? Piss off, I am not asking Jake. Stop looking at me like that. No. No way, and he’s not a model.”

“But Toby doesn’t want a model, he wants a real man. A bad boy, and he knows you’re the expert.”

“Will you stop keeping saying real like you’re saying alien.”

“It would give you a chance to see him again, you know you want to.”

“No, I don’t. You can’t even look me in the face when you say it, wimp.”

“Where does he live? Have you got his number?”

“How should I know where he lives? You’re sounding like catty Carol now.”

Ella didn’t rise to the bait. “You’ve got a pic? We can flash it around town, we’ll soon root him out.”

“He’s not a fox gone to earth.”

“People will know him if he’s half as sexy as you say, well the girls will anyway.”

“You’re beginning to sound like a stalker, and no I haven’t got a photo. Was I supposed to shout ‘smile’ while he was shagging my brains out on a motorbike?” Georgie closed her eyes. Let’s face it, he was exactly what Toby was after. A dark, brooding figure in the background. A guy who’d look sexy in torn dirty jeans and a T-shirt in a way that none of the models they could afford would look. She didn’t want to see him again. He’d given her the orgasm of a lifetime, but hey, how much of that was down to a few drinks and the thrum of the engine? No, she definitely didn’t want to see him again. But, if they used him on the shoot he would just be a hired hand. He wouldn’t get a chance to wind her up and be rude to her. Not that he’d been outright rude, just courteous in a rude way that got under her skin.

“So, what is it with you and this Jake? Did you snog behind the bike sheds at school or something?”

“No.” More’s the pity, except I was a dull little mouse back then. “We were at the same school but we might as well have been on different planets.” For all the notice he took, except he did remember me, which is a weird one. “He was one of the bad boys and I was one of the good girls.”

“Yeah.” Ella laughed. “Sure you were.”

But she had been. She’d worked hard, been happy. Until her parents had split up, and she’d been shipped off to a crappy boarding school in the back of beyond.

“Okay, maybe I wasn’t that good.” She forced a grin onto her stiff face. Ella didn’t know what her life had been like. Ella only knew the person she’d turned herself into. The girl who knew what she wanted and went out and got it. On her own. With as many thrills and spills crammed in along the way as she could manage. “But Jake was definitely bad. I didn’t recognise him at first, it was a long time ago. And he definitely didn’t have a big beast like that ready to be unleashed when we were at school.”

“You are so rude. So?”

“So, what?”

“Is he the real deal? Are you going to go dig him out so we can all have a look?”

“I don’t know.” She nibbled the side of her nail.

“I’m sure Toby will sort something out if we can’t, I mean he’ll understand that you can’t always deliver.”

Georgie shook her head slowly at Ella. She was winding her up, challenging her because she knew Georgie didn’t like to fail. Ever.

Ella raised an eyebrow, sensing victory. “It’s your call.”

And yeah, he was the real deal. “I’ll try and find him, ask him.” He’d say no. What was it he’d said? Don’t let having it all fuck you up? Something told her that Jake didn’t want it all, he never had. He’d always shunned the rich kids at school, kept his distance and kept his pride. And she had a horrible feeling that even flashing her posh frocks and posy job made him angry. He thought she was a rich, spoiled brat who just used people. He hadn’t had to say it, it was in his eyes, in that slightly judgemental tone he’d tried not to let creep into his voice. He’d taken her out on his bike because she’d asked, and because he’d wanted her as much as she wanted him. But he didn’t want anything else to do with her.

Which could make this tricky. But she wanted to know why. Which made it even trickier. What did she care? He was a thug with a chip on his shoulder. Except he wasn’t a thug. Bugger.

She tried not to grin, look like she didn’t care either way. “If he says no, then it’s your turn to think of someone, Ella.”

“If he says no, then you’re losing your touch, wild child.”

“Thanks.”

“Welcome. So where do we start?”

“We?” Georgie raised an eyebrow.

“We.” Ella folded her arms. “What does he do?”

“Do?”

“Can we cut the monosyllabic responses George, I know you’re smarter than that. What does he do, you know, for a job?”

“How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“So what did you two talk about then?”

“Talk?” She raised the eyebrows as high as they could go and looked at her friend as though she’d sprouted an extra head. “This wasn’t supposed to be the start of a beautiful relationship, Ella.”

“Sorry, I forgot for a moment there who I was talking to.”

Georgie stared at the ceiling. One thing she’d liked about this place when she was growing up was that everyone knew everybody else. And their business. Which she hated now, but… “I know somebody who is good at talking. Mrs Bea. Come on, we’re going for a walk.”

“Walk?”

Georgie grinned at the way Ella was staring at her feet. Beautifully encased in her new, totally impractical, designer shoes. “Now who can’t string a sentence together?” She still wasn’t entirely convinced this was a good idea, but the damned man seemed to have taken residence in her head, and the only way to evict him was to see him in broad daylight when she was sober. Then he wouldn’t be the bad boy super stud she’d imagined. He’d be normal, boring and not in the slightest bit interesting at all. He probably had a weak chin, and spots. And a bad haircut. And he was probably so rough at the edges he wouldn’t even do for the shoot. “Let’s go hunt us down a biker boy.”

***

The sweet shop wasn’t quite how she remembered it. The bell still pinged when you opened the door, but that was about it. Obviously, just selling plain old sweets didn’t cut the mustard these days, you needed to sell them labelled as sugared candy or ‘Olde Worlde’ and replace the pocket money prices with wage packet ones.

And cuddly Mrs Bea had been replaced by a sullen girl with long, straight, blonde hair and a scowl. If she’d been in earlier she’d have known, but somehow since returning to the town sweets hadn’t been high on her priority list. Men kept the pounds off the hips, well at least the type she’d been after did, sugar put them on. So she’d concentrated on the boys.

“Wow, look at these George, I’ve not seen candy necklaces since I was a kid.” Ella was dangling a string of sweets from one finger, a wide grin on her face. “Hey, and sherbet dips, and have you seen this they’ve got gobstoppers.”

“Now I know what the expression like a kid in a candy shop really means.” Georgie rolled her eyes in what she hoped was a theatrical, and not a sarcastic, fashion. But Ella didn’t care, she was too busy skipping from one new delight to the next. Literally.

“Well my, if it isn’t little Georgina Hampton. And haven’t you grown up?”

Georgie spun round at the sound of the familiar kind but firm tone of Mrs Bea. Her hair was shorter, slightly more curled and the grey that had been creeping in last time they’d met had taken over. But the round face was instantly recognisable, the twinkling eyes surrounded now by a few more wrinkles. And the broad grin was the one she remembered. If Father Christmas had been a woman, he’d have been Mrs Bea.

Beatrice Stone and her sweet shop had been a childhood treat that no amount of hard knocks could make her forget.

“I’d heard you were back in town, dear.”

See, she’d been right. That was just typical of this place, everyone over the age of thirty probably knew where she was working, how long she was staying (even though she didn’t herself) and who she’d been talking to. And what she’d been doing on a motorbike last night. She felt the colour rise to a glow in her cheeks and felt like some naïve kid who’d been caught out kissing behind the bike sheds. Not that she’d ever actually done that when she was at school.

Mrs Bea chuckled and the temperature went up another notch, if that was possible. She was not, was definitely not, going to let coming back here send her back to her teens. She was stronger than that, she’d changed. She was who she wanted to be.

“So, you’re back at the old place then?”

“No, in the apartment.” She picked up a lollipop, turned it slowly in her fingers. “I didn’t want to stay in the house, it’s too big.” Not that it was hers to stay in any more. Bea would know, but Bea probably just wanted to know more. She glanced up and the older woman was watching her closely. “And they—” she wasn’t going to say the witches name again, “--had rented it out anyway.” She shrugged. Carol had been thrilled, almost orgasmic in her ecstasy, if that was possible for a woman her age and mass, when she’d told them she was going back home for the summer. And Alfie had looked totally relieved. He’d passed a half-hearted ‘are you sure that’s what you want’ then hadn’t waited for a response. Oh yeah, they couldn’t wait to get rid of her and the only fly in the ointment has been the fact that they’d put the house, her home, out on long term rent. But then he’d remembered it had an annexe, and he’d moved heaven and earth to get it cleaned up, decorated and aired for her. Amazing how fast people could move when they really wanted to get rid of somebody. Not that they knew why she was really going back. She’d wondered who the germ of an idea that had been growing in her head would frighten more, if she ever mentioned it, her or Alfie. He’d probably clam up, head her off if he knew. Like he always did when she mentioned anything to do with the past.

“And how are your father and Carol?”

“Fine.” She put the lollipop back, and ignored the question on Bea’s face. She wasn’t going to talk about them. It had been a long overdue parting of the ways, and she would have moved earlier if she’d had the money to do it. But she’d flunked school, so he made her stay on until she had at least some qualifications to her name. And, after that, the first year of her art course had been great, but then Carol had kicked up such a fuss that he’d forced her into some stupid college where she was supposed to learn some ‘life skills’, yeah how to woo and wed it should have been called, before finally giving up and letting her choose how she wanted to live her own life.

She could almost feel the scowl forming on her face. She hated him for giving in to her step mum and not letting her finish the art course. She’d actually liked that one, but after the incident with the teacher… She sighed inwardly, it wasn’t her fault he was hot and wanted a muse, well was it? Artists were like that.

Being stuck in the sticks with boring old Alfie, Carol and their brood of boring kids hadn’t been her idea of fun. Working for them in their crap company wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life either. Being back here for the summer was marginally better. They didn’t want her in their hair, any more than she had the urge to be there. But the stupid old fart had to get the last word in, if she hadn’t got a job sorted and a plan for the future by the end of the summer then she had to go back – to ‘discuss things’. Well, to hell with them. She’d walked into The Veneto just as the front of house was walking out. It had been perfect timing, fate. And with her upmarket, boarding school background, the polished finish that the stupid college course had given her, and clothes to match the clients, she’d slid into place like she’d been there forever.

And on the second day at work she’d bumped into Ella and her mates doing a shoot at the restaurant. She’d watched them for a while, then tentatively suggested a different, much better spot to take photographs and before she knew it she was unofficial location scout.

So ancient Alfie and catty Carol could take a hike. She’d got two jobs. And that was just the start.

“Fine?” Bea was studying her carefully.

Fine, as long as she could keep the fifty mile gap between her and them. She nodded.

“Well, it’s lovely to see you back, dear. I’ve missed you. Oh my, your friend has got a sweet tooth.” She chuckled, and Georgie turned to see Ella depositing an armful of sweets on the counter with a sheepish grin. The sullen blonde had miraculously transformed into the epitome of customer service when Bea had appeared. All smiles and ‘how can I help you?’

“They aren’t all for me.” Ella had realised they were watching her unloading her sugared bounty.

“Sure, I believe you.”

“They’re for the crew as well. Honest. They will love them.”

The crew. She was here for a reason, here because Bea knew everyone and everything that happened in this place.

“Mrs Bea, Bea, I was wondering, you don’t know where…”

“Rowena.”

“Sorry?”

“He’s out at Rowena’s place.”

Fuck it was worse than she’d thought. Bea probably did know about the bike. And everything that had happened. Oh Christ, she resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands.

“I wondered when you’d get round to asking.”

They had to be a coven of witches. They just had to be. All these respectable looking old women must get together around their modern day cauldron, or crystal ball, or whatever and watch what everybody was up to.

“On Marsh Lane.”

It took a moment to register. “Marsh Lane?” She stared blankly at the older woman. He couldn’t be there. He just couldn’t.

Bea opened the door for them. “Yes, dear.” She patted Georgie on the back. “I’m sure that place brings back memories, doesn’t it? I remember you going down there every spare moment you had.” Her voice was soft. Georgie stared, incapable of speaking, her throat tight, and her stomach hollow. She just stood there not sure what was supposed to come next, Ella nudging with her elbow, her hands full of enough sugar to put every kid in the village school on a high until Christmas.

“Sarah Dixon saw him dropping you off last night. Now you take care, won’t you? And pop in again soon. And you watch yourself with that Jake Harcourt, although he’s not the hell raiser he used to be.”

Georgie tried to push the shock of where he was aside. Concentrate on what was really important. Okay, maybe they weren’t witches, maybe just curtain twitching nosy neighbours. Thank Christ she hadn’t kissed him, or, she gulped. She’d asked him in. Heaven help her if he’d said yes. They’d have made the front page of the local newspaper and given the town enough ammunition for the reverberations to get all the way back to Alfie.

Except she was an adult. She was allowed to ask who she wanted in. And if she wanted a wild ride on his motorbike then she was perfectly entitled to do that too.

Bugger.

“Georgie, Georgie.” The sharp elbow in her ribs brought her back down to earth with an ouch. “What was all that about then? And can you grab some of these sweets off me please, pretty please?”

“You do realise you’ll explode if you eat this lot?” Georgie put a handful of the sweets in her pocket and stared at Ella, determined to focus on her, and not an image of Jake on his motorbike, on Marsh Lane.

“Have you seen these—?”

“I don’t want to see. I put on pounds just looking. I’ll walk back with you, then I need to get the car.”

“I’m coming too.”

“Nope.” She shook her head slowly to make sure Ella got the message. This was a trip down memory lane she had to take on her own. Firstly, because it was Rowena’s place which could stir up feelings she was sure she didn’t want to acknowledge, second because she had a horrible feeling the only plan she had for the future was about to be cocked up in a terminal way, and thirdly … well, thirdly she didn’t quite know what to make of the bad biker boy any more.

“Spoilsport.”

“You got it.” Next time she laid eyed on Jake Harcourt she wanted to be on her own, because every time the thought of that bike entered her head, which was pretty often, she felt an indescribable urge to be bad. Very bad.

***

Georgie had ditched the high heels in favour of a pair of old wellingtons she’d found in the outhouse and she’d pulled on an old sweater, jeans and a beret to keep her warm. The thick long scarf was because she hadn’t got a baggy enough jacket to go over the rest. So not front-of-house.

She sauntered slowly up the lane feeling liberated in the flat boots. When was the last time she’d walked anywhere? When was the last time she’d pulled on scruffy old clothes and just relaxed? She couldn’t remember. Life wasn’t like that anymore.

One kick of the crisp brown mottled leaves in the air and she was thrown, instantly, painfully, back to being a child again. A laughing, joking Georgie being chased by her father down this lane. Thrown up in the air until she squealed.

Swallowing the pang of sadness down, she blinked hard to clear the mist from her eyes. It was too long ago, she shouldn’t let an autumn day and walking down this oh so familiar lane affect her like that. It was just a road. It could be anywhere. But when she glanced up, the white puff balls of cloud scudding across a clear blue sky made her ache inside. A lump that hadn’t been there for a long time clutched at her chest, tightened her throat until it was hard to swallow.

One day it had been normal. The next it was screaming and tears. She’d never heard her parents swear before, or even argue, but now they’d used up a lifetime’s quota over the explosive week that it lasted. Then nothing. One last door banging and the war was over. A ghostly quiet and a father who systematically, scarily, smashed every plate in the house.

She’d wanted to yell at him to stop. But she didn’t. Instead she ran away. Hid at the bottom of the garden under the safe canopy of trees until he came to find her. The next day he packaged her up like some unwanted gift that needed returning to the store. Took her away from her home, from her school, from her friends. Installed her somewhere bright, shiny and new. With the man who overnight had changed from the laughing dad into the alien Alfie and, too soon after, she’d been introduced to his dotty wife-to-be Carol.

She’d never even said goodbye to anyone or anything. That day he’d walked down the steps and put their suitcases in the boot of the car, rattled the gate to check it was secure then driven away without a backwards glance. The house that was her home had been locked up, locked out. Forgotten.

Her mother had never meant to get pregnant again, if she hadn’t she probably would have never said she was leaving with her toy boy. The man who made her feel wanted. The man she bought a plane ticket with and never looked back.

But shit happens, and sometimes it keeps happening.

Georgie opened the eyes she hadn’t realised she’d shut and looked down at the leaves round her feet. She stooped, picked up one of the shiny brown conkers from the road and rolled it round, the still waxy surface tacky against her fingertips, then closed her hand tight around it and shoved both her fists in her pockets. Slowing down to think about things was bad, ploughing on into the unknown, every day a different challenge was good. Kicking her way out of the crap that had closed in around her. She gave a last kick at the leaves, but this time it was an angry jab, that sent a pain though her toe. Great, just what she needed, a broken toe. She hobbled a couple of steps, at least this was a proper pain. Kicked her boot off and wiggled the toes experimentally, they moved so they couldn’t be broken, could they? She pulled her wellie back on with a sigh. Dawdling was just putting off the moment when she’d get there. Have to face him again and work out how to get what she wanted. It was time to kick ass, if her foot was up to it.

“Bit of a coincidence isn’t it? Twice in one week after not seeing you for years.”

“How could I stay away?” Keep her tone light was one thing, keeping her eyes off him was something altogether different. No-one should be allowed to look like that, Georgie decided. But at least the dread in her stomach when she’d turned into the place had been replaced with little fingers of anticipation that were reaching down a bit lower.

From the shadow on his chin he couldn’t have shaved since she last saw him, and the curls on his forehead were damp with perspiration. So was the T-black T-shirt that was clinging to his torso, just like she wanted to. He was gazing at her through dark lashes and the quirk to the corner of his mouth could have been amusement or something her dirty mind had made up.

Bugger.

“Did you forget something?” He’d ignored her comment, obviously used to being lusted after. But she was more than happy to up her game if she needed to.

“Call me nosy. I wondered what you got up to these days, when you weren’t handing out rides.”

This time he half grinned. What she was after, she supposed, except those little fingers in her stomach were firming up into more and tugging at something deep down in her stomach. Promising.

“I don’t tend to hand out seconds.”

“Arrogant bugger.” She laughed and the other side of his mouth joined in with the grin.

“If you’ve got it, why deny it?” He held out his hands wide, as though in submission and chuckled. Lord that chuckle was dangerous, it was practically making her toes curl, and causing all kinds of other havoc on its way down there.

“So, what do you do?” She glanced around, so that she had an excuse not to carry on staring at him. Being lured in, she needed to control this. Not just jump the man. There were neat fields either side, a barn at the end of the track and not much else from what she could see. The same old place that she remembered from all those years ago, but tidier. The same post and rail fence, still with the teeth marks.

Exactly the same teeth marks. She stared. This was worse than she’d thought. Her fingers curled, tight in her pockets until her nails bit into the palms of her hands. He shouldn’t be here, in this field. He should be in the next one along, nearer to Rowena’s, further from her memories. This wasn’t his place, it was hers. She bit the inside of her cheek and forced herself to stop looking at the stupid fence.

Looked at something new. A neat white line of electric tape around the gateway to stop it becoming a muddy morass. Not that mud had bothered her last time she was here.

“I fix horses.”

“Fix? Come on, you’re not a vet.” He didn’t even like horses, he’d never liked horses or she’d have noticed when they were kids. They’d been her whole life back then.

“Wow, as sharp as ever I see, Sherlock.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets and stood square. Damn, she was back to staring at him. “I fix their heads not their bodies, it’s all in the mind as they say.”

“What is?”

“The bogeyman, the monster hiding in dark places. That irresistible urge to run hard and fast.”

There was a trace of something darker in his voice, maybe something bitter, maybe just plain old irony. It wasn’t there long enough to pin down, but she sensed it. He shrugged, dispersed the tension she was sure she hadn’t imagined.

“Sometimes it can be a good idea to run.” She tried to make a joke out of it, but his face didn’t lift.

“Messes with your head if you don’t know why you’re running.” His eyes narrowed, sending out a fan of fine wrinkles towards his temples.

And she knew if she came out with it straight, why she was there, he’d be the one running hard and fast. She hadn’t quite worked out how to get round him yet, but the longer she looked at him the more she wanted him in the shoot. And she wanted it here too. It was part of him, and she didn’t want to separate the two. And it was part of her, a part that the ache inside her might want back. A sticking plaster for the soul as her gran would have said.

“So, where are the horses?”

“She’s in the barn.”

“She? As in one horse? That’s a bit crap isn’t it, as businesses go?”

“It’s how I work.” He paused. “One at a time.” Stared.

Now, was that a threat or a promise? He enunciated each syllable, slow and clear in that quiet, low tone of his and she suddenly knew that now might be the time to cut and run. To get away while she still wanted to. If she still wanted to.

Forget the whole thing. It was better to go somewhere else, get away from this stupid place. It was easy to find a man, a guy who looked good in dirty jeans, a grin and not much more. Very easy. A man with a dimple in the middle of his chin, and green brown eyes that you wanted to sink slowly into. A man with a firm body that you could wrap yourself round. Easy.

“I’ve got a proposition for you.”




Chapter Three (#uf34131e3-43f9-5592-9dc0-3729a3617af3)


He wasn’t going to like this. She didn’t like it. What in the world had made her say it? Well she knew the answer to that one. He turned her on. He intrigued her. Having men like Jake in her life was what kept her going. He was unpredictable and just looking at him gave her a thrill, oh yeah, and just imagining what he might do to her next, that was what made her determined not to let him disappear from her life yet.

“Shall I just say no now, and shortcut the process?”

“No, let’s not. Don’t say anything. Just listen until I’ve told you what it is.”

He leaned back against the fence, stretched one leg out, so that his thigh muscles lengthened, long and taut against the worn denim of his jeans. She could run her hand down that thigh and it would be rock hard. Like something else by the looks of him.

“I’ve got another job.”

“Busy girl.”

She ignored that. “I scout for this agency that does photo shoots.”

“No.” He straightened, folded his arms across his chest and everything about him said no. “You’re not bringing them here.”

Why bother denying it? “Why not? They’ll pay. It’s good money.”

“You’ll disturb the horses.”

“Horse.”

He shrugged.

“We pay quite a lot.” Safer to work on the location bit, then bring in the trickier ‘him being in shot’ bit later.

She’d called in to see Rowena on the way up, checked that Jake would be where she thought he was, and it had been nice to see the older woman. She’d been made to feel welcome, wanted, a feeling she hadn’t had for a long time. Rowena had laughed though when she’d told her why she was there. “I’ve no objections to your friends taking a few photographs up there, love. But I can’t speak for Jake and as he’s paying the rent, he does have the last say, despite the past.” She’d put a finger under Georgie’s chin and studied her for a moment. “He’s no pushover though, not even for a pretty face. You go ahead and ask, it might do him good.” It had been on the tip of Georgie’s tongue to ask what she meant, but she’d bit it back. She didn’t want to get into discussions about the past. And she hadn’t liked the ‘good luck’ and chuckle thrown after her as she’d pulled the gate shut.

Jake gave a short humourless laugh. “However much it is, it’s not enough.” He held up a hand to stop her objection. “Not everyone has a price, Georgie. I thought you’d have learned that by now. You can’t just buy your way in, I’m not for sale.”

“Ahh, come on, name your price, it doesn’t have to be money, anything.” There had to be a way, he had to agree, let her do the shoot here. “Just a couple of hours, a few piccies.”

“You can’t afford me, Georgie girl.”

“Try me.” He would let her. She could almost taste victory. He’d moved on from the straight no.

He met her stare, his eyes dark, hooded. “I thought I’d done that.”

“Funny. Stop giving me your horny look and stop trying to change the subject.”

He laughed out loud then. “I wonder just how far you’d go, to get your own way?”

“You won’t know unless you ask.”

He was looking amused now, almost like he’d realised he could have fun. It should have made her apprehensive, but come on what could he possibly come up with that could be that hard to sort? At least he’d given up on the grumpiness and gone back to the happy go lucky Jake she loved. She thought.

He was smiling, broad, real with a hint of tease. “I remember you when you used to spend all weekend playing with ponies.”

Huh-huh. Slight change of tack in the wind.

“And?”

“I could do with a hand, well more like a nice pair of legs and a sticky bum.” He grinned, all wolfish and bad. His gaze drifted over her body, slowly oh so slowly down her legs and she fought the impulse to fidget. He was getting into this. “Okay, here’s the deal. Let’s see you do some grafting for a change.”

She shrugged. Refused to rise to the bait. She grafted, he’d no idea the hours she’d put in, maybe not with physical work like he did. So what? Hard work didn’t have to involve breaking your back and ruining your fingernails.

“You give me a hand with the horses, just for the next few weeks. Say six? I know you can handle them, I remember that black mare you used to have and the amount of bouncing about you did on her.” He was still grinning, his head tipped to one side. “And off her.” There was a challenge in those gorgeous green eyes.

Boy, yeah, she remembered that mare. She’d never been thrown off an animal so many times in her life, bouncing just wasn’t the word for it, but she’d kept going back for more. And in the end they’d reached a truce. “Horse. You’ve only got one to help with.” This could be a win, win. She got her shoot, a sexy guy on tap for a while, and a chance to exorcise the last unwanted part of this place from her brain. But let him think he was driving a hard bargain.

“I’ve got a long list of people waiting and I do home visits as well. I can get through them quicker if I’ve got a,” he paused, raised an eyebrow as though challenging her, “groom to help.”

“Don’t push it, I’m nobody’s slave labour.” But she needed to know there’d be something to do or she’d be bored rigid. And wound up about being here. I mean they couldn’t just shag all day, could they?

He grinned. “No, can’t picture you as a willing slave, maybe an unwilling one.”

“Stop it, you’re doing it again.”

“I could just do with another pair of hands, some of these horses are tricky and the owners are worse than useless. That’s if you don’t mind a hard ride?”

“Hard suits me fine.” She smiled back, she couldn’t help it. “Oh well, at least I rank above worse than useless, maybe at just useless?”

“Your choice.”

Don’t rush it. Play hard to get for once. Count to ten, well five. “Four weeks. And I’d need to work it round my other jobs.”

“I know. But it’s six weeks, I’ve got jobs lined up that need clearing before the weather gets tricky. Take it or leave it. I’m sure I can find someone else if you’re not interested.”

“Five weeks,” wait for it, don’t lose it now, “but I need you to do something else as well.” She wasn’t going to smile, not yet.

“Five weeks without the something else, six weeks with.”

Shit, since when had bad boy Jake turned into Mr Unyielding businessman? “Done.” She held out a hand before he could change the rules, ask about the something else.

“And I get to do the horny look whenever I want.” He moved off the fence, wrapped his warm, firm fingers around hers and she stared straight into those mossy eyes. Oh yeah, she could cope with the horny look. “And to think about you being my unwilling slave.”

“Do all the thinking you like buster. I do the six weeks, we do the shoot here and,” she resisted the urge to cling onto his hand, “you are in the frame.” She tried not to giggle or whoop.

***

“And what the hell does that mean?” Jake knew he was frowning, and had a horrible feeling he was glaring. He’d come up with the stupid deal on the spur of the moment, not really thinking, just sure that working with the horses would be beneath her. At school she’d been different. Quiet, unassuming, despite the fact that her family obviously had more money to throw around than he’d ever see in a lifetime. But she’d changed, hardened and he didn’t know how deep it went. He’d admired the way she’d handled her horse, but not been under any illusions, for all he knew she’d had an army of grooms at her disposal. But, he wanted her to know that getting what you want sometimes had strings attached. He wasn’t the pushover she was used to, however much she batted her eyelids and thrust those slim hips his way. She was desperate to use this place, he’d seen it in the clenched fists, the casual tone that wasn’t. Which struck him as odd and he had to admit he was curious, even though he had a rule never to be curious about anything.





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