Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

Griff: "Dare you to poke it with a stick." 

Ben, considering the hornet's nest for a moment: "All right."

(B & G conversation on wisdom 11 years prior)

Heather Griffiths harrumphed wordlessly, a sound that conveyed much vexation, before folding her arms across her bosom and considering the two adults sitting on the kitchen bench before her like guilty children.

"Nothing really changes with the two of you, does it?" she said, her words flavoured with disapproval.

Oliver could hardly suppress his amusement. Even if his skin was burning and itching with thousands of red welts from a nasty plant, he was hard-pressed not to grin especially with Amy beside him looking so damn contrite and mussed. She squirmed uncomfortably, also covered in the damning red welts from the venomous plant they had tumbled into, though her composure was far less subtle than his own.

"This is exactly like that time the two of you had the brilliant idea to disturb that hornet's nest," Heather said scoldingly, "and now look. You'll be sporting these welts for days to come, no matter what salve I provide you to relieve the discomfort." She looked pointedly at Amy then. "And it is quite clear what the two of you were doing."

She blushed furiously and squirmed some more, her hands clasped together tightly against her thighs. Rumpled, her dark curls tousled irreparably, lips swollen from his kisses, and most damning of all, the bodice of her gown hung loosely from her shoulders, creased and slightly open against her breasts. She looked rather delicious.

"Mother," Amy whined softly. "This is rather embarrassing."

"Indeed!" Heather scoffed. "Would you care to explain how you came about those rashes then? And you better think of something plausible other than what is obvious before my very eyes."

Oliver recalled the events of their morning, the memory pleasant and notched up to one of his best yet with Amy, even if they had the unfortunate luck of rolling into some sort of prickly, vicious foliage in the woodlands that had not reacted too kindly when it made contact with their skin.

He had come across Amy that morning reading Paradise Lost to the chickens outside the coop at the back of the cottage (according to Amy, a read aloud 'calmed' the hens) and promptly been accosted by Henevieve. After a brief tussle, Oliver coaxed her away on the premises to meet with his guests at Gravewood, but instead of escorting her directly to his estate, he led her into the surrounding woodlands at the back of her property, towards the stream where they would often skip flat stones in their youth.

It hadn't taken Amy long to realise they were alone and he had contrived it so. Something marvellously devilish and mischievous had come over her, and he was hardly one to compel her otherwise.

She had drawn to a halt suddenly, laughing as she leaned back against the trunk of a large oak. Her eyes were glinting and beckoning, her lightly freckled cheeks high with colour, and she folded her arms behind her back while she considered him. In that moment, she had quite possibly taken his breath away. It was wonderfully liberating cavorting and flirting with her, and Amy appeared to indulge in it as much as he.

She wore a fetching white frock with a forest green pelisse, teal ribbons cinching her waist and coiffuring her hair. And as he stepped into her, her hands slipped against his flanks, fingers trailing over the golden brocade of his waistcoat and slipping under his coat. Her touch, now more than ever before, made his skin flex and shiver with sensation and he marvelled over the changes.