Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Fiona and Will on the Shelf

She felt him shift behind her, and his left hand softly lay on her shoulder.

"How's your head?" he asked quietly.

"Much better," she said.

She untied her scarf, and he suddenly picked it up from around her neck. His knuckles brushed at her nape, and she shivered. He unceremoniously dropped the scarf on the floor. She took off her hat, the small curls sprung from under it, into a cloud around her head. She heard him unzip his jacket, and then it fell on the floor with a soft heavy sound. He was so close behind her that she could feel the heat of his body. She unzipped her coat and opened it, and then suddenly his hands were on its collar. He slid it off her shoulders, and she moved her arms helping him. It followed the other clothes. She felt him lean to her, and then his lips brushed at her left ear. Fiona closed her eyes. She felt the tips of his fingers stroke the side of her throat, and the little hair on the back of her neck stood up. She knew he was watching her, and she pushed her right hand behind her, seeking his. She heard the thud of his cane hitting the floor. He intertwined their fingers, and led their arms around her, pulling her in even closer to him. His breath fluttered on her left cheekbone, and she let her body soften against his chest.

She pulled her hand out of his grasp, picked up his, and lifted it to her lips. There was a bookshelf in the bedroom full of novels of an Olivia Dane, and it was a much more palatable reading material to Fiona's taste. She'd taken one downstairs and had read a couple of chapters before bed the night before. It described the hands of a male protagonist - and Fiona had mused about his, while lying on the floor of the empty room. He had narrow strong wrists, and coarse back hair covered the backs of his palms and his forearms - but just as Olivia Dane so lovingly described, there was surprisingly tender skin on the inside of his wrist. Fiona pressed her lips to it, and the grasp of his left hand on her shoulder grew tighter.

"We should stop," he whispered.

"Alright," she agreed.

"You're married," he said.

"I am," she agreed.

She kissed the inside of his wrist again and pressed her cheek to it.

"Fiona..."

"Yes?"

"We should stop."

"Alright," she repeated.

"Stop agreeing with me," he gritted through his teeth.

"Alright," she said softly. "I'll start arguing with you," she murmured, and let go of his hand, and tried to turn around. Would it feel as wonderful to hug him around his middle as she imagined?

He didn't let her, holding her shoulder firmly.

"Don't," he said coarsely. "I won't stop if–"

Fiona froze. "Alright," she said once again, lowering her arms along her body.

He released her shoulder and took a step back from her.

"Why can't we–" she started asking, but then bit her bottom lip. "Unless if you don't want to, of course. I understand if–"

"Fiona."

There was an almost reproach in his voice, and she lowered her eyes.

"I'm sorry. You said 'no,' I shouldn't have offered again," she whispered.

"What are you even–" he said coarsely, and his voice broke. "What are you offering? You can't see it clearly, you just got out of– And actually, you haven't even started getting out– And– Shit, I just–"