Northern Rebel Daring in the Dark - By Jennifer Labrecque Page 0,105

the V of his body, as if it had been custom designed just for her. Her back curved against his belly and his chest, her head resting between his shoulder and his neck.

Despite their earlier flirtatious patter, Simon seemed equally content to enjoy the moment. She closed her eyes and absorbed the sensations. The rhythm of his heartbeat echoed against her back, his arms were strong yet tender around her. She’d had a boyfriend once who, when he’d put his arms around her, it had been like being locked in a vise grip. Eddie could take a lesson or two from Simon, who definitely knew how to hold a woman. He smelled enticingly of sex, sweat and his own scent.

Candlelight danced across the walls and ceiling. She was living one of those perfect, wildly romantic moments portrayed in movies and glossy magazines. She sighed, happy to be here, in this moment, now.

“Comfy?” he asked.

“Mmm. Very. You make a nice bath pillow.”

“Great. Now I’ve gone from puppet to pillow,” he groused.

Tawny smiled and pressed a kiss to his bicep. “But you’re a very sexy bath pillow.” Never had her dreams been this good. She was at the head of the line when it came to appreciating great sex, but there was also much to recommend this lazy, comfortable teasing with an undercurrent of anticipation.

He nuzzled his lips against her hair and Tawny could have sworn warm butter replaced all the bones in her body. She melted against him.

“There’s a place near my grandparents’ farm that my cousin Reg and I used to go to. There’s a pool in the middle of the woods with a small waterfall. The pool’s shallow enough that the sun heats the water. You can stretch out and sun on this huge flat rock. The water’s clear and the air’s sweet. When we were young, we thought fairies lived there.”

He’d painted such a picture, she could see the place. She also saw a young, intense Simon looking for fairies. A warmth that had nothing to do with physical desire filled her. She knew from the amount of time she’d spent with him and through the things Elliott had divulged about Simon that he was an intensely private man. Maybe it was just the craziness of the night or the unusual circumstances, but she was certain he’d just shared a part of himself few had been privy to before her. And the notion of a young, romantic boy who believed in fairies didn’t surprise her nearly as much as it would have at one time. He was a complex, complicated man. She’d wanted him in her bed, but now she found she wanted to know more about the man himself.

“It sounds lovely.”

“It is. You’d like it.”

“I’m sure I would.” Take me there. The idea sneak-attacked her. “Do you go to England often?”

“I used to go once a year in the summer. Now I get over a couple of times a year. My father’s parents died several years ago. My mother’s parents still live in Devon. They’re amazing. They’re in their mid-eighties and they still keep a small farm going.”

“You’re close to them?” She’d only ever known her paternal grandparents, and they were even more starched and conservative than her father.

“As close as you can be with an ocean separating you. I spent glorious summers there when I was growing up.” She heard his smile.

“Do you go with your parents?”

“No.” The sudden chill in his tone was a stark contrast to his earlier warmth. His body tensed against her back, his arms tightened slightly. She intensely disliked Simon’s parents even though she’d never met them. By virtue of how little he said, she had a pretty clear picture of two self-absorbed, self-important people who didn’t make time for their son. She might be the odd man out in her family, but she still knew they loved her even though they often disapproved of her.

“I can’t imagine you on a farm.” She deliberately interjected a light, teasing note.

“I’ll have you know I’m quite proficient at gathering eggs and milking a cow.”

“No way. That I’d like to see.” Despite her teasing, it was true. She’d like to see Simon unplugged. “Did you have a girlfriend there?”

“No.”

“What’s wrong with the girls in England? I can’t believe you didn’t have a girlfriend.”

“Devon’s not exactly a metropolis like New York or London.”

“Are you telling me the countryside was totally devoid of young women? You never wowed a milkmaid one farm over with your egg-gathering