Page 55 of Rescuing Rosie
‘Rosie, I don’t have … I mean, are you–’
‘On the pill, yes.’
His hands went to her waist and he lifted her against him, locked his mouth on her breast, sucking, licking, lingering for a while before lowering her gently, sliding easily into her, letting out another groan as he did.
She ground herself onto him, wanting him to fill every last little space inside her, arching her spine, throwing her head back, then began to move up and down, her moans growing louder. His hands were on her waist, those strong arms helping her; his lips moved back to her breast and he nibbled, sucked, bit gently, sending her quickly to the brink and then she came in a fierce, hot rush, crying out, and the feeling was more powerful than anything she’d ever experienced. Feeling her shudder, he let himself go with a visceral grunt, pushing himself as far inside her as he could, before the tension left his body and he fell back against the sheets, pulling her down with him.
They lay quietly in each other’s arms, and Rosie wondered what he was thinking. Was this his first time since Gemma had died? Perhaps not; maybe there had been the odd hook-up, a grateful rescuee or two, wanting to thank him properly.
‘Well, Mr Hill,’ she said quietly, ‘I’d never have known you were out of practice.’ When he didn’t reply, she looked up at him. He was fast asleep.
She dozed, and every time she came to, she couldn’t quite believe what had happened. As she ran through the recent past, she imagined she detected a magical thread: the strange little pink-haired lady with her black cat, insisting the boots were ‘so you’, giving her that discount.Her name’s Lucky. I expect yours to change.Lysander and the padlock:BEN & ROSIE. The quaint old village with its gingerbread shop. More boots, this time fitted by Ant – Ben – who’d demonstrated their magic on their rock. The storm, the cave, the rescue. Madison, the most unlikely of fairy godmothers, opening a new door in Rosie’s career. Ashley. In fact, maybehewas the fairy godmother. Or maybe it was justlike he said, that when you lived in a place like this, you cared about what happened to the people around you.
Ant stirred. ‘So, Rosie,’ he mumbled into her hair. ‘Do you think you might take the flat?’
She kissed his cheek. ‘I’d love to,’ she said, ‘but only if I get serviced every day.’
He laughed. ‘Rosie, you’re disgraceful, and yet I find myself smiling.’
She trailed a hand down his chest, his stomach …
‘Perhaps twice a day, on special occasions,’ she said.
Chapter Twenty-Two
During the rest of her week at Grasmere Heights, Rosie worked on her article, interviewed Madison, relaxed, and hung out with Ant, and sometimes Dale too. Her ankle made a swift recovery, and by Thursday she was able to walk small distances – mostly across the village to Hill and Dale, where the boys were sorting out the flat for her. She loved to sit in the little lounge overlooking the green, the roof and chimneys of Grasmere Heights visible above the trees, the smell of gingerbread drifting in through the open sash window.
She took Wainwright for slow walks, to build up the strength in her ankle, and sat in Tennyson and the lounge-library drafting and redrafting her piece, until she was happy with it. She submitted it on Friday, and after gaining a big tick from Amara, it went off for approval to Ashley, Veronica, and Madison’s crew.
The paperwork for the book was sorted, and on Madison’s last night she hosted a celebratory dinner for Ashley, Ant, Dale, Rosie and Lucas at the hotel. Rosie had several hours of interviews, and had been busy transcribing the notable quotes, of which there were many. Lucas was already putting out teasers for Madison’s book, title to be confirmed. Amara had approved Rosie’s reduction in magazine hours and was fine with herremote working for the next few months. The editor had struck a deal with Guy for exclusive extracts, so everyone seemed happy.
Rosie had taken a deep breath and phoned Reuben, asking him to remove his stuff from the flat as she’d be leaving it soon. No, she didn’t know where she’d be going after this stint in the Lakes. And no, there was nothing more to say. She tried to explain how being in the mountains had made her see life differently, but his only comment was that she was clearly being brainwashed by the mindfulness nonsense she had to write about forHolistic Health.
On Saturday, Rosie was packing, ready to move into Hill and Dale’s upstairs. Next weekend she’d be taking the train down to London to sort out her flat there, and her parents would be driving her back up with her things. They would be staying at Grasmere Heights, and Rosie couldn’t wait to introduce them to Ant, who was taking her father trout fishing. She supposed she’d be left to entertain her mother – they could take in Grasmere’s art gallery, tea shops and the gingerbread shop, and Rosie wondered if, when she sat her mother down over a cream tea and attempted to explain the recent changes in her life, she would understand. She’d love Ant, of course. I mean – who wouldn’t? He was the nicest person on the planet. Planet North, as Amara had called it. (‘That’s not remote working, Rosie – that’s interstellar working.’)
She pulled her holdall down from the top of the wardrobe and opened it, ready to pack her clothes. Something rattled in the bottom, and she peered inside.
Strange.
It was the broken padlock.How on earth?
She took it out and traced the lettering:BEN & ROSIE.Curiouser and curiouser – not only had theREUdisappeared, so had the little penguin and the date.
Rosie slipped it into her pocket – she’d show Ant later.
It took a while for Rosie to check out of Grasmere Heights. Ashley, it turned out, was on his final week here too. Rosie was horrified. ‘But you’re my friend! I thought we could do Helm Crag, now my ankle’s nearly better. I thought we could hang out in the bar, go for special packed-lunch picnics …’
He put an arm round her. ‘My work here is done, Rosie. I get itchy feet; I never stay anywhere for long. But you won’t be rid. I’ll be stalking you on social media, emailing you to see how you’re doing. It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, and I’m thrilled with your piece, what a clever writer you are. I do love it when a plan works out –’ he did a chef’s kiss, ‘– perfectamundo! As Jono would say.’
The photographer had returned to London immediately after the weekend.
‘Jono,’ she said. ‘Will you keep in touch?’
‘I’ll pop up in his life from time to time, no doubt. One more thing –’ Ashley went over to the reception desk and from behind it produced … the cat umbrella. ‘A memento of your time here,’ he said, passing it over.
‘Oh, thank you!’ she said, hugging it to her. ‘If it hadn’t been for this–’
‘Indeed,’ said Ashley, with a wink. Perhaps Ant had told him about their first encounter.
