She had started with a van. But somehow it had opened her up to so much more. And now she wanted that real life that she felt she had been missing out on, that she felt other people got a shot at while she sat quietly in a corner being nice.
She pressed herself against the wall of the barn, feeling the warmth of the ancient stone on her back. The sweet smell of freshly gathered hay was thick in the air, golden strands breaking off and drifting down from the loft above. Lennox’s shirt was half unbuttoned in the tumultuous heat; his chest was hairless.
Nina blinked and realized she’d been wondering about it for weeks. Thinking about it. Dreaming about it. But she hadn’t been able to admit it to herself; couldn’t admit it to anyone; was scared that it was just her imagination running away with her again, a foolish fantasy about a man she barely knew.
But all she knew now, the one thing taking over her brain completely, was that she wanted—needed—to touch him, and soon. And that there was no one here to judge her or be patronizing to quiet little bookish Nina.
“Do you want a drink of water?” she found herself saying, and her voice was breathless and lower than usual.
Lennox advanced into the barn and she held out the bottle of water, condensation running down the outside, and looked straight at him. She tried to smile, but she couldn’t. She couldn’t move.
His eyes gave nothing away as he advanced toward her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, smell the fresh, clean sweat. It made her dizzy. She swallowed hard. He took the bottle without a thank-you, and drank from it without taking his gaze off her.
There was a split second to decide, she knew. The tiniest split second in which she could take the bottle, turn away, remove herself. Instead, she did something she wouldn’t have known she was capable of: she pressed herself, defiantly, even farther up against the wall and stared brazenly right back at him. Her heart was pounding and she couldn’t trust herself to speak. She needed the wall to brace herself, in case her legs gave way. She looked at his outline against the brightness of the day, in the cool, quiet sanctuary of the barn, and realized she’d never wanted anything or anyone more in her life, and to hell with everything else: Kate, Marek, the consequences, what might happen next.
She held his gaze in a single timeless, endless moment, an instant trembling in the heat, as though the world had pressed pause, as though she were a shy ballerina waiting to take the stage.
Then Lennox took a brief step backward and pushed the barn door closed behind him with a loud bang.
What happened next was so quick, it took her totally by surprise, even though she had decided, had clearly and deliberately chosen to be provocative, was thinking of nothing but the fact that this was what she wanted.
But even with that, the speed and ferocity of his kiss was overwhelming. He kissed her skillfully but hard, insistently, as if there was some biding fury in him that he had to work very, very hard to control.
It was by a vast margin the best kiss Nina had ever had. She kissed him back, furiously, realizing that up to this point in her life, kisses had always been a prelude, a tease or an exploration, a precursor to what might or might not happen next.
This was not the case here. This kiss was several steps down the line from that; this was serious and purposeful, it was the real thing, and Nina felt the thrill go through her down to the bones.
And when they stopped, momentarily, with a huge rush of disappointment on her part, she felt sure he would apologize, like the gentleman she knew him to be, step back. Everything she knew about Lennox and his taciturn ways made her think that what came next would require discussion, negotiation, embarrassment, possibly; dinner, probably, and her heart sank.
Instead she simply whispered in his ear, “More.”
“Oh God,” she heard him groan, and he pulled back, breathing heavily, looking at her. Outside, there was noise.
“I have to . . . I have to see to the workers.”
Nina nodded, still staring at him.
“Later?” he said shortly, and she wondered why, all along, she had bothered about how little he spoke to her. It didn’t feel to her like they needed words at all.
Chapter Thirty-one
The high tea was agony. Or rather, in other circumstances, it would have been entirely marvelous.
The early sunset went down slowly in a bright blaze of pink and gold, and many of the farmhands’ wives turned up with extra plates of food to share—great shining pies and sides of ham—as the hungry men and women came in from all around for the party. Huge jugs of cider were filled to the brim and emptied equally quickly; hunks of thick homemade bread with farm butter and local cheese were consumed on the side. Ben and large numbers of other local children ran in and out of the house, chasing the farm cat, who was unimpressed, giving food to Parsley, who was delighted, and stealing nips of cider.
Someone had brought a fiddle, and couples danced up and down the courtyard; songs were sung and jokes were made. Nina and Lennox simply stared at each other, utterly oblivious to everything around them, clumsy and unfocused. Nina felt sure everyone could guess exactly what was going through her mind; she found herself blushing at regular intervals, utterly unable to concentrate, always aware of where he was standing and which way he was facing and how long she would have to wait until the instant they managed to steal themselves away.
At last the dishes started to be cleared away, and by mutual agreement, as soon as was even vaguely polite, they left the revelers and headed to her barn, with its windows facing away from the farmhouse and other prying eyes.
Nina wondered briefly if the sight of the flouncy curtains, the expensive kitchen, the immaculate Scandinavian bed might not make Lennox broody and sad, but still he said nothing; the second they were inside, he grabbed her again and kissed her breathless. Then he led her upstairs and took off her clothes, quickly, expertly, and when they were both naked, he laid her down on the bed.
“You,” she said in surprise, staring at him. “It’s you.”
He held her gaze and looked back at her, his hands caressing her body.
“I think it is,” he said wonderingly, almost as surprised as she was. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean this to happen. I just . . . I can’t stop thinking about you. Everything about you.”
He held off, his hands on either side of her face.
“The look you get when you’re reading in your van, and your feet are up and you sit so still, and your face is alight, and I don’t know where you are; you could be anywhere, so far away, off in a part of your mind I’ll never get to . . . It drives me crazy. The way you just came here, just got up, changed your entire life . . . I mean, my family’s been here for four generations. It would never have occurred to me to do what you did, just to start over and do something different. Amazing. You’re such a tiny thing . . . you’d never think you had it in you. And that train driver . . . that drove me crazy. I’m sorry. I was jealous.”