Page 90 of Summer At Willow Tree Farm

She captured a lungful of his scent with her indrawn breath. He didn’t stink, he smelled delicious, the salty, seductive aroma making the pheromones fire through her bloodstream.

‘We’ve got a three-hour window of opportunity.’ His thumbs slid down her throat to toy with the thin straps of her summer dress. He eased a strap off one shoulder blade. ‘Let’s use it.’

Her stomach started fluttering like the wings of their butterfly

guide. ‘I didn’t come here to have sex.’

His lips quirked in a challenging smile, before he kissed the tip of her nose. ‘Your loss.’

Then he turned and ran towards the lake, yelling as if he were trying to wake the dead. He cannonballed into the water, his naked buttocks bunching as he tucked his legs to his chest, before he shattered the glass-like surface with a resounding splash.

Ellie gasped, as chilly beads flickered across the burning skin of her collarbone. The surge of heat powered through her body.

Oh sod it. She toed off her pumps, then shucked off her dress and dumped it by the picnic basket.

This was madness, but it was divine madness. And it was only for one afternoon. She would have lots of time to be a grown-up later.

Her bra and knickers followed, before she raced towards the water’s edge, the butterfly flutters sinking deep into her abdomen when he splashed her.

‘Come on in, Princess Drama,’ he yelled. ‘The water’s perfect.’

Pinching her nose, she jumped. She hit the frigid water and sucked in a startled gasp. As she plummeted beneath the freezing surface, her stomach plummeted with her.

*

‘Don’t get ideas, Dalton.’ Ellie batted away the lazy touch of Art’s fingertip as he teased the edge of her belly button. ‘I’m stuffed and shattered, you’re not getting an encore.’

She heard him laugh, that deep lazy chuckle, before his shoulder nudged her as he lay down beside her.

‘Killjoy,’ he said.

She opened her eyes to stare at the waterfall branches of the willow tree shading them from the afternoon sun.

She was stuffed – stuffed full of the array of salads and mini quiches and filo pastries and chicken she’d bought from the shop. And completely shattered.

They’d made love in the open air, the lake water drying on chilled skin, after mucking about in the water like a couple of kids for what felt like hours.

So shattered, she was finding it a little hard to breathe. Her chest felt tight at the thought they were unlikely to get another day like today before she left.

She eased over onto her side, and propped her head on her elbow, to study the man who had always been such an enigma. He lay with his eyes closed, relaxed and approachable. His thick lashes fanned across his cheeks. As her gaze drifted down to the strong column of his throat, and the pulse punching his clavicle, she noticed his workman’s tan wasn’t as visible as it had been earlier in the summer. He must have been working outdoors with his shirt off. Dark curls of chest hair defined the flat discs of his nipples.

Her heart battered her ribs in a haphazard tattoo. Why not admit it, it wasn’t only the sex she was going to miss.

He let his hand drop to rest on his belly, drawing her gaze to the jagged scar.

She touched the raised flesh with a fingertip. He tensed, his belly muscles quivering. But his eyes remained closed, and his hand remained still on his stomach, making no move to push her away as she traced the wound over his hipbone – her belly clutching at the thought of how badly he’d once been hurt.

‘How did you get this scar?’ she asked

His eyes opened, and his mouth curved in a wry smile. ‘Why does it matter?’

The words echoed in her consciousness, reminding her of something he had once said to her mother, and she realised the disturbing truth that she’d never had the guts to acknowledge.

‘Because you matter to me,’ she said.

Apparently she had the guts to acknowledge it now.

*

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