The Yuletide Child. CHARLOTTE LAMBЧитать онлайн книгу.
it’s gone. It was a wolf spider.’
Shuddering, she said, ‘A wolf spider? Why is it called that? Does it bite?’
Ross switched off his torch and put both arms round her, pulling her close to him, kissing her hair. ‘Of course not. Are you scared of spiders? There’s no need to be; there are no poisonous spiders in Britain. Wolf spiders hunt their prey instead of just sitting in a web waiting for it. And they eat other insects, not people!’
‘How was I to know that? I’m not up on spiders.’ She tried to laugh, lifting her face, and saw his eyes gleaming in the shadows. ‘Even you seem strange,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know you out here, in the dark.’
‘Then I’ll have to remind you who I am,’ he murmured thickly, his head coming down.
His mouth blotted out memory. She was lost at once, kissing him back passionately, her knees giving. Sliding her arms around his neck, she held him tightly, pressing closer, her body moulding itself to his.
Ross pulled her down into the long, whispering ferns and grass, the scent of the earth and the pines making her head swim. Without breaking off their kiss, they hurriedly began undressing each other with shaky hands. Dylan buried her flushed, feverish face in his naked chest, groaning with desire, her lips open on his skin.
‘I want you so much.’
‘Not as much as I want you,’ he muttered, sliding on top of her, and her breath exhaled in a strangled gasp as he parted her thighs.
‘Darling...oh, darling...’
Her arms around his back, she caught him between her thighs, arching up to meet that first, deep thrust. The need intensified into a frenzy as they moved together, their bodies totally entwined, riding fiercely towards the same intense pleasure.
Their deep moans of satisfaction floated up between the trees into the dark night sky. Afterwards they lay sleepily on their crushed bed of fern, still closely twined, his arm under her, her leg curled across him, staring up into the shadows where pale moths flitted, glistening with powdered wings.
‘I love your moths,’ she whispered, drowsily wondering how she could ever have felt uncertain about having married him. She had never been so happy in her entire life. It would be wonderful to sleep out here all night, naked in this forest, under the stars and moon, with the scents and sounds of the earth all around them.
Next day he was up at first light while she was still asleep. He woke her with a cup of tea and a slice of buttered toast before he left for work. Drowsily, she blinked up at him, sunlight on her lashes.
He groaned, bending to kiss the warm valley between her breasts. ‘I wish I didn’t have to go to work. You’re far too tempting in that nightie. Even sexier without it, of course.’ He pushed the deep lace neckline aside and buried his face against her breasts. ‘Mmm...you smell of honey and flowers.’
She stroked his dark hair, ran her fingertips into it, caressed the nape of his neck.
‘Get back in bed, Ross, I want you.’ She pulled him down closer and he laughed throatily.
‘I wish I could, believe me—but I can’t. We’re back in the real world and I have a job to do.’ Straightening, he sighed. ‘Got to go, darling. I can’t be sure what time I’ll be back, but there’s plenty of food in the freezer and the fridge. You’ve got my mobile number if you need me. I’ll have to take the car—I’ll need it to get from one part of the forest to another, with all my equipment and tools—but if you want to go into the village it’s only a couple of miles to walk, or you can get a lift there with the postman if he comes today. He often gives people lifts. Then you’ll only have the walk back to face.’
The distance didn’t bother her; she would enjoy a walk. ‘The exercise will be good for me. I don’t want to lose muscle tone. I have to keep supple, and walking is a very good way of doing that.’
‘I’ll help you keep supple—I can think of some very enjoyable exercises to do every night.’
She giggled. ‘I bet you can.’
‘When did you say your brother-in-law was going to deliver that object you call a car up here?’
‘Don’t make fun of my flower wagon! I love it. It may not go very fast but it is reliable, and it’s a thing of beauty! A one-off, unique. People always stare when I go by in it.’
‘I bet they do,’ Ross said curtly.
She had bought it secondhand from a car auction two years ago: a Mini car painted a metallic green. Michael had transformed it over a couple of weekends, painting a jungle all over it—palms and huge, exotic tropical flowers in extraordinary colours.
‘Phil hopes to bring it up here next weekend. He can’t get the time off during the week. He’ll have to take the train to London to pick up my car, then drive it up here and take the train back home to Penrith. It’s a long journey; it’s very good of Phil to offer to do it.’
Ross nodded. ‘Nice guy, Phil. I liked him.’
The emphasis reminded her that he did not like Michael, and never would. She suppressed a faint sigh. If only they could be friends. They were the two most important men in her life and she hated knowing that they resented each other.
‘And your sister’s nearly as gorgeous as you are,’ Ross added, smiling, then looked at his watch. ‘Must rush. See you, darling. Oh, and I left a couple of books on the forest for you, on the kitchen table.’
It was her first day alone in the house. She got up after she had finished her toast and tea, showered and dressed in jeans and a loose dark pink shirt, then sat down at the kitchen table and worked out a daily schedule for her housework. She had learned discipline in ballet school; you had to be organised or you got nowhere.
After making their bed and tidying the bedroom and all the rooms downstairs she went out into the garden to gather vegetables for supper. She would make a vegetable casserole, she decided, a layered dish of thick slices of carrots, potatoes, onions, parsnips, turnips and young broad beans. It was a meal she had often cooked before, in London, but there she had used vegetables from a nearby street market. They had not been as fresh as the ones she was picking from Ross’s neat, straight rows.
When it was nearly cooked she would stir in tomatoes and mushrooms and sprinkle the top with mixed fresh breadcrumbs and grated cheese to make a crunchy gold topping. She would serve lamb with it for Ross, but she, herself, would only eat the vegetable casserole. As well as exercising daily she would need to diet. For years she had been working out for hours every day, using up a lot of calories and energy. Now that she had stopped she would put on weight if she didn’t watch it.
Looking at her watch, she was shaken to see that it was only eleven! The day was dragging. What if Ross didn’t get back until six or seven? How was she going to cope with such long days alone, with nothing to do and nobody to talk to?
She left the trug of vegetables on the draining board, to wash later, and made some black coffee. While she drank a cup she sat down at the kitchen table and opened one of the books Ross had left her. It was easier to read than she had been afraid it would be—almost every page had a coloured picture on it and the text was direct and simple. She started with a section on the wildlife of a conifer forest, and read for twenty minutes with deep interest until she suddenly heard Ross’s voice outside.
Dropping the book, she rushed to open the front door, then stopped dead as she realised he was not alone. There was a woman in his arms.
Shocked, Dylan froze, staring—who on earth was she? Someone very sophisticated, with blonde hair the colour of a new-hatched chick and a figure with more curves than a switchback ride. Her high, round breasts were shown off by a tight white sweater which clung to every seductive inch, her slim waist was cinched by a black leather belt, and she had very long legs in tight jeans.
Ross turned to smile, his manner unworried and confident. ‘Dylan, this is Suzy Hale. She’s Alan’s wife—I’ve