Page 8 of Boats, Moats, & Root Beer Floats

“Nosy thing, aren’t you?”

“Okay.” I’d had enough. “I’m tired, achy and I’m rescinding my comment about manners. I want my bed back. Now.” My voice grew whiney, and I hated it. “No using the ghost door without knocking or announcing yourself. I’ll attack you with paint brushes if you step foot near my bed while I’m sleeping.”

Covin had the decency to look alarmed at that last and spread his hands before him in supplication as he scooted backward off the bed. “No creeping up on you whilst asleep. Promise made.” He gathered half the snacks, leaving the rest on a small table near the foot of the bed and headed for the gap in the wall.

Suddenly the room seemed…empty.

Cold.

“Covin?” I called.

He stopped, but didn’t turn back in full.

“Is your bedroom next door?”

“Yes, Lindy. I’m right there.” He shouldered the bag, and pointed to the wall behind my head. “If you need anything, anything at all, knock on the wall or yell your head off. I’ll hear you. Alright?”

He did turn this time. The gentle expression on his face warmed me more than the touch of his hands and the whiskey port combined.

“Goodnight, Covin.”

“Goodnight, Lindy.”

He slipped between the space in the walls, either a servant’s or a lover’s entrance that no doubt had a story I’d never discover, lost to time. I fumbled with the light string, and prayed the whole contraption wouldn’t come down on me.

The idea of screaming out Covin’s name—either for help or some other reason—gave me the giggles. Immature, maybe.Drunk? Probably. The room effectively blacked out, I rolled over and laughed myself silly into my down pillow until the alcohol wore off. Only then did I roll back and stare at the sky through the arched freaking lancet windows that faced the small town beyond Witnot Castle.

Small lights reflected the palest glow. Stars sparkled in the clear, cold sky above as I sank into the fluffy, cuddly bed. Before I could properly catalogue my first confusing day in a castle or the Dustman who fed me, I was asleep.

CHAPTER FOUR

COVIN

I woke to a rattling that sounded like a percussion band had taken up residence inside my head.

Surely I didn’t drink enough of the damn port to give me that sort of hangover.

My resident artist was rubbing off on me. It couldn’t be more than half an hour after daybreak—a truly dishonorable time to be awake according to the locals who considered rising any time before nine a.m. improper.

The moment I moved, the sound stopped. I strained to hear anything, but whatever made the noise, I had disturbed its origin. That bothered me on several levels and I knew I hadn’t finished the port off by mistake.

It had been a close thing after the way Lindy stretched in front of me. The lithe artist clearly had no idea how she looked, swathed in all those clothes and scarves that pulled and clumped to her sweaty figure. All that loose material hid a form curvy in all the right places and long and willowy in others. I suspected that, like me, Lindy got lost in her work and forgot to eat at times.

Perhaps the castle was the perfect refuge for both of us. The image of her in the shape of a human pretzel curled on the floor did nothing for my morning wood situation. I groaned, my hand drifting downward to grip my cock hard. When her mouth hit the floor the night before and she moaned into the carpet I nearly lost all control.

It had been too long since I had a reaction to a female—to anyone, my tastes weren’t limited to strictly one sex or identity—but the sounds and shapes she made on that floor were burned into my mind.

Lost in my daydream, I rubbed myself gently, a long groan drawing from my throat. So fucking close, enough to?—

“Did you hear it? Like a wounded animal! What the hell was it?” Lindy’s voice came from practically on top of me.

No, not her voice. Just her, climbing on my bed.

“The fuck–” I groused, ripping my hand from my cock and out from under the sheets. “Are you doing in my bed, woman?”

“Didn’t you hear that? Or was it your alarm clock? Do you have a bear in here?” She peered around and reached for the blankets, reading to check beneath them.

“No,” I said firmly, yanking them down. I blinked several times, clearing my eyes of grit. My vision blurred, then the creature of my fantasy became the real thing crouched on my bed right next to me. Brown eyes stared at me from beneath a halo of messy curls that hung about her head. Pink lips she’d been biting were wet and swollen and inviting. Their color matched the stain on her cheeks. “Gorgeous, what are you doing in my bed?” I muttered, snagging her waist and pulling her closer, albeit on top of the covers before I could think the process through.

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