Текст книги "Knight and Day"
Автор книги: Kitty French
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Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 15 страниц)
Chapter Twenty
The club went from strength to strength over the following few weeks, as did Dylan and Kara’s love-in on the Love Tug. Every day she fell a little deeper for the laidback American’s charm, and he fell a little harder for her English sense of humour and disarming honesty. They worked hard, and they played hard, from sunny afternoons around the pool with Lucien, Sophie and Tilly to long steamy interludes that made the Love Tug rock despite the serene seas.
They found things they shared in common: a love of Thai food and horror movies.
They found things they were never going to agree on: the merits of reality TV and punk music.
But most of all they found solace in each other’s arms, and peace in each other’s body. Each new act of sex bonded them closer. Sometimes slow, intimate and intense, other times red hot sexy rip-your-shirt-off-and-fuck-me-right-now, but always consuming.
Dylan’s skin turned a deeper shade of gold lying out on the deck with Kara, and he lowered his guard enough to feel insulated from the worries of his old life.
Settled. Happy, even.
It turned out to be the biggest mistake of his life.
Chapter Twenty One
A stranger on a hired moped followed Kara’s red Mustang along the coast road, his face obscured by a helmet.
He watched as she and Dylan parked the car and disappeared into the closed up club just after lunchtime.
He watched Kara leave again half an hour later and contemplated following her, catching up with her first instead. That would make for a very illuminating conversation. Tempting as it was, given the way her luscious ass had looked in those cut off denim shorts, he decided against it. He had more to gain from going inside.
He walked around the perimeter of the club, noting the dusty Estrella beer truck unloading, with professional interest. He slipped soundlessly into the unlocked cellar with the ease of a practised thief, waiting for a few minutes after the sound of the delivery truck’s engine faded away before he unfurled himself from behind the crates. Helping himself to a bottle of beer, he knocked the lid off and drank deeply. A second beer followed the first, for Dutch courage. Now he was ready.
Upstairs in the office, Dylan worked on the staff rosters for the coming month, deep in concentration.
Downstairs behind the bar, Lucien flicked through the morning’s mail, an espresso on the bar beside him. He’d left Sophie at home with Tilly for an afternoon of wedding planning with Kara, or more likely a wide-ranging chat over a glass of wine, if Kara had anything to do with it.
A sound behind him had him instantly on high alert, and he looked up a second before the man appeared through the door at the end of the bar.
“Who the fuck are you?” the stranger blurted, clearly not expecting his company.
“That’s a fairly fucking audacious question, given the circumstances,” Lucien said coolly, placing his cup down as he watched the smaller man with shrewd eyes. The guy’s attire suggested that he was a holidaymaker, and a vain one at that. Cheap shorts, vest cut to show off his physique, a flashy identity bracelet and a thick chain around his wrist. Aggression emanated from him in waves, and only some vague familiarity in his face stopped Lucien from removing him by force from the premises without bothering to ask any more questions.
“Get your boss down here, man,” the guy said. “And I’ll have a Southern Comfort while I wait. In fact, make it a double.”
Lucien made no move, considering the intruder’s American accent. The stranger mistook his silence for trepidation, and reached arrogantly for a glass.
“No? I guess I’ll just get my own then.”
He had misread the situation. Big-time. His hand froze half way back down from the shelf as Lucien took a step towards him and said, his voice laden with menace,
“No you won’t. Put my glass down and get the fuck out of my club.” The stranger blanched and took several steps back and around the bar.
“You have precisely ten seconds before I post you home to your mama in a series of blood-stained envelopes,” Lucien added, conversationally.
The guy slid the glass he’d snagged back onto the bar and swallowed hard. Then, both turned sharply at the sound of footsteps jogging down the stairs. A couple of seconds later, Dylan emerged through the staff doorway.
“Lucien, do you know whether…” Dylan’s words died in his mouth as he caught sight of the visitor.
Lucien watched Dylan’s expression go from easy to stricken, and the pieces tumbled into place. The man was a stranger to Lucien, but not to Dylan. Now he knew why he’d had the sense of recognising something in his face.
“Hey big bro,” the guy said, oily now that he felt he had the upper hand again. “Long time no see.”
“Justin.” Dylan could not have loaded the word with more despondency if he’d tried. He threw the paperwork in his hand down on a nearby table. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
His heart thumped uncomfortably behind his ribs. How long had Justin been here? What had he said to Lucien?
“That’s no way to welcome your little brother, is it?” Justin said, the same sly grin on his face that always irritated the hell out of him.
“How did you find me?” Dylan said flatly. He hated the fact that Lucien had to hear this.
Justin practically sneered. “Because you couldn’t help sucking up to mom, even from thousands of miles away." It figured that their mother would have trusted Justin around her computer. She always wanted to think the best of him. "Hey mom, I remembered Billy’s birthday,” Justin said, affecting a mocking, whiney voice.
“Hey Matthew, you’ve always been a good boy, Justin’s always been the bad boy. Stay in Ibiza and enjoy yourself while he rots,” Justin went on, an awful impersonation of their mother that hit the mark anyway. “Just like you let Billy rot.” Those weren’t their mother’s words, they were pure Justin.
Dylan’s heart constricted with pain at the low jibe. He looked at his brother for several long, silent seconds, searching for something worth loving and coming up with nothing. As kids they'd shared little in common, as men even less. There was an underhand slyness to his kid brother that had made Dylan's skin crawl his whole life.
“Go home, Justin. You have no place here.”
“And yet it seems you do, Matty.” Justin gestured around the club, the bracelets on his wrist clashing against each other in the quiet room. Dylan flinched at the sound of Billy’s nickname for him, his eyes sheering away from Lucien’s unreadable ones across the room.
“Maybe I see what you’ve got going here and I want in. I saw that hot piece of ass you were with earlier.” Justin cut an hourglass shape in the air with his hands. “Maybe I want in on that, too.”
It was debatable who reached him first. Within a second he was surrounded, Dylan on one side, Lucien on the other, fury white hot on both faces. Like prey caught between two prowling lions, Justin’s eyes darted for an escape route, knowing there wasn’t one.
“Okay, okay,” he said nervously, holding his hands up. His bravado had dissolved once again. “At ease, boys.”
Neither Lucien nor Dylan moved a muscle.
“For mom’s sake, I’m going to let you walk out of this place alive,” Dylan said, his voice low and steady.
“And for Matthew’s sake, I’m going to give you until night fall to leave the island before I send out for those envelopes,” Lucien said in his ear, his fist itching to smack into their intruder’s jaw. Hearing his emphasis on the name, Dylan couldn’t meet Lucien’s eye.
“And I came all this way just to deliver your mail,” Justin said, rallying slightly, drawing a beige, official-looking envelope out of his back pocket. Dylan took it from him, not even glancing at it.
“Get out,” he said heavily, feeling the fragile new life he'd built for himself unravelling thread by slow thread.
He watched his brother leave with Lucien close on his heels. He sank down onto the nearest chair, shoving the envelope addressed to Matthew McKenzie into his back pocket and dropping his head into his hands.
Outside, Lucien pinned Justin up against the wall with a hard shove. Edgy and rigid with fury, he towered over the other man in both stature and power. In that moment, he wasn't Lucien Knight, lover and father. He was Lucien Knight, loyal friend, the man you'd want in your corner when the chips were down. The man you really didn't want to be on the wrong side of.
“You speak to no one, or I will know. You go straight to the airport, or I will know. You board a plane, or I will know. Set foot on Ibiza again, and I will know.” He leaned his arm against Justin’s wind pipe, his face inches from the other man’s. “Have I made myself clear, or do you need me to fucking spell it out?”
The shifty fear in Justin’s eyes answered for him. He was on his way. He was a low life of no substance or worth, and he thought too much of his charmless face to risk its rearrangement by such a formidable foe.
Lucien watched the younger man walk away, certain that he would never lay eyes on him again.
Justin made his way back to the airport, his pride stinging and his throat sore, but satisfied that he’d thrown a grenade into his brother’s life in the form of a screwed up, beige envelope.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Lucien walked back into the club, passed by Dylan’s table, and strode straight to the bar. Two glasses and a bottle of vodka in his hands, he returned and pulled up a chair at the table.
“Do you mind if I stick to Dylan?” His tone was neutral. “I’m kind of used to it.” He poured two good measures and pushed one across the table.
Dylan scrubbed his palms into his eye sockets. “I’m sorry, man.” He didn’t have any words to explain the weight his brother’s unexpected appearance had dropped back onto his shoulders. His hard won peace had dissolved around him like ice on a hot day, showing up his life on Ibiza for the cheap illusion of smoke and mirrors it was.
There was a long silence. They both drank a measure, not meeting eyes.
“So. You’re nothing like your brother,” Lucien said, eventually.
Dylan swallowed the remaining contents of his glass in one mouthful.
“That’s just about the best thing anyone’s ever said to me.”
Lucien refilled Dylan’s glass.
“There were three of us. Billy. Me. Justin.” Dylan didn’t raise his eyes from the bottom of his glass. “Billy was the best of all of us. Now there’s just me. And him.”
“What happened?” Lucien watched Dylan’s face as he searched for the right words, and he recognised the expressions that twisted his features. Grief, and guilt. He recognised them because he’d shouldered the same emotions for too many years himself over someone he’d loved too.
“Billy… he was my big brother, and… my best friend. Sunshine followed him into every room, you know?”
Lucien didn’t know. Not when it came to family, anyhow, but for the first time he was learning it now about a friend. Dylan had brought a new aspect to his life that he hadn’t even known had been missing. Brotherhood.
“He got himself into trouble… gambling… debts he couldn’t make… I missed the signs. Too busy on my way up to notice, and he was too proud to come to me.” Dylan swirled the vodka in his glass, and Lucien sat still, in silent solidarity opposite him.
“They found him hung by his own belt out in the woods behind his house. Open and closed case.” Dylan shrugged, his face etched with disgust.
“Was it?”
“Hell, no. Billy was no coward, and no matter how much shit he was in he’d never have broken our mother’s heart that way, on purpose.”
Lucien’s affinity with the man opposite increased with his every word. Both of their lives had been overshadowed by loss and consumed by guilt. The difference between them was that Lucien had worked his way out the other side, thanks to Sophie. Dylan was still living in his own version of hell, and his brother’s appearance had just turned up the heat to unbearable levels. To Lucien’s eyes, he looked very much as he had the first time they’d met. Beat.
“Justin has been spoiled his whole life. He grew up with a sense of entitlement, for no good reason. He was always going to get himself in trouble, and I was always going to be the one who had to bail him out. I think he gambled too just to prove he could succeed where Billy failed, to be the big man. Except he wasn’t. He got in way over his head, debt on debt, and then he came to me with his hands out. ‘They’re going to kill me, they’re going to take mom’s house.’” Unconsciously, Dylan adopted his brother’s drawling tone, his expression miserably disgusted. He shook his head, his eyes still downcast. “So I bailed him.” He shrugged. “It took my club and my home, but I did it, because I couldn’t fail a brother again.”
“And then you came here?”
Dylan nodded. “I didn’t plan on lying.” He knocked back the vodka. “I just wanted to be someone else for a while. To get away. Just…” He tailed off.
Lucien sighed heavily. He could understand that.
“Seems to me that you’ve pulled it off pretty well up to now,” he observed.
“I was a fool to think I could make it work.” Dylan’s tone was savage, castigating himself.
“Way I see it, nothing has changed.”
Dylan’s laugh held no trace of humour. “I don’t think Kara is going to see it that way. She deserves so much better than another liar in her life.”
“She told you, huh?”
Dylan nodded. “And trust me, I could not feel like a bigger shit than I do right now.”
“Look,” Lucien sighed. “I can’t tell you what to do, and I won’t lie to Kara and Sophie for you. But find your own way to tell her over the coming weeks. I won’t push you. And in any case, I don’t think that brother of yours is likely to come back any time soon.”
Dylan nodded slowly. He recognised the wisdom of Lucien’s words, and appreciated the trust he’d bestowed by allowing him to dictate the pace. His idyll had to end, but he could choose how and when. It was a bittersweet privilege.
“Don’t underestimate Kara,” Lucien said, leaning back on his chair. “She might just surprise you.”
“She already does. Every single day.”
Lucien nodded, cradling his glass in his hands. He knew a woman like that too, and he recognised in Dylan the signs of a man falling hard.
“About the wedding…”
Dylan looked up, his troubled expression clearing a little at the change of subject.
“We’re keeping it low key,” Lucien said. “Just a handful of people, and I… I kind of wondered if you’d be my best man.”
Dylan was unaccustomed to hearing Lucien sound anything but ultra confident, making the trace of nerves behind his question all the more noticeable.
“I’d love to, man,” he said, feeling the tension leave his body as he reached out and shook Lucien’s hand, clasping it with both of his own. “I’d really love to.”
The bond of friendship between the two men deepened as Dylan added more vodka to their glasses. Maybe there was hope, after all. Lucien would have been within his rights to ask him to leave, but he’d chosen instead to stand beside him, shoulder to shoulder.
“Thank you,” Dylan said. “Your faith in me means a lot.”
Lucien lifted a nonchalant shoulder. “Just don’t expect me to hug,” he said, pushing his chair back as he stood. “I like you, but this isn’t Brokeback Mountain.”
As Lucien walked away, Dylan couldn’t repress an inner smile, a feeling of warmth, despite the disagreeable events of the evening, as he gazed into his shot glass. He hadn’t only found a remarkable woman in Ibiza. He’d made a true friend.
At the villa, Kara and Sophie sat on the terrace beneath the shade of an umbrella, little needed now the evening had drawn in, an open bottle of chilled white wine on the table in front of them.
“Here in Ibiza? In a few weeks time?” Kara repeated Sophie’s words. “I was looking forward to a trip to the land of sexy Vikings.”
“Sorry. Blame my Viking. He wants to get married here.”
Kara shrugged with exaggerated resignation. “I’m probably not in the market for a Viking anyway,” she admitted.
“You’ve changed your tune,” Sophie grinned, topping up their wine glasses. “I take it that the divine Mr. Day is the reason for your change of heart?”
“God, Soph,” Kara said, feeling the flush of pleasure on her cheeks at the mention of him. “He really is divine. He’s like… I don’t even know how to put it. He melts me.” Kara ignored Sophie’s knowing smile. “I mean it, I’ve never met anyone like him before. It’s like… he really gets me.”
“And does he?” Sophie said, raising her eyebrows questioningly. “ Does he really get you?”
“Holy fuck. Yes. God, yes!” Kara laughed. “Does he ever.”
“Good. You deserve someone to make you feel like that,” Sophie said. “God knows, you’ve kissed your share of frogs.”
“You really think he might be my prince?”
“Any man who can make you blush like that gets my vote. I like him a lot Kara. I really do.”
Kara lay back and closed her eyes, a serene smile on her face.
Maybe it was time for her luck to change. Dylan Day was the first man she’d ever met who seemed to genuinely want her for who she was, without any hidden agendas, without any skeletons in his cupboards, without any secret girlfriends waiting to jump out on her if she let herself get in too deep.
Maybe. Maybe it would be okay.
Kara really wanted it to be okay.
She realised that she believed it could be.
It would be. Really.
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What shall we do with our night off, Sailor?” Kara twirled Dylan’s hair around her fingers, massaging his scalp as they lay baking on the deck of the Love Tug in the late afternoon sun.
Once a week, Sophie and Lucien gave them a precious night off together, and they did the same in return. Tonight was Kara and Dylan’s turn to play hooky, and she wanted to kick back and make the best of every moment. With each day that slid by beneath the warmth of the Ibizan sun, she became more aware of how little time they had until the end of summer. And she resolutely wasn’t thinking beyond that.
“Shall we take this little boat and sail off around the island?” she said.
Dylan rolled onto his side, his warm hand on her ribs as he looked down at her.
“Do you know how to sail this thing? Because lovely as it sounds, I don’t have the first idea.”
“Well that’s that plan scuppered,” Kara said. “Any more ideas?”
Dylan slid his hand down over her stomach, tracing his fingers along the edge of the triangle of her lime green bikini. “How ‘bout I help you get out of this and take you downstairs, show you who’s boss?”
Kara laughed. “Do you have handcuffs? Every good boss needs handcuffs.”
“No. You want me to get some?”
“I already have some, and I might just have to fetch them and show you who’s boss,” she grinned, catching his wrists and encircling them with her hands. He let her hold him down for a few seconds, his eyes lazily turned on. “I might bring my whip too,” she murmured, her chest against his as she slid her knee over his shorts-clad crotch.
“Will you wear black leather?” he asked, lifting his head to catch her kiss, letting his tongue flicker into her mouth.
“No." An amused glint lit her eyes. “You will.”
He laughed, rolling her over and pinioning her beneath him with ease.
“You crossed the line, English.” He restrained her wrists beside her head, his body deliciously heavy on hers. “You wear the leather, and I’ll take it off you.” He dipped his head and kissed her again, slow and easy this time, that world-class mouth of his stealing any argument that might have been in her. There were no two ways about it. She was wildly turned on by the idea of wearing leather for him and letting him take it off her.
“Soon then,” she said, when he let her come up for air. “But not today.” She stroked his back when he released her hands, enjoying his sun-warmed skin. “Take me somewhere new today. Take me on an adventure.” She ran her hands over his ass, and he rocked his hips into hers.
“You know that wherever we go, the plan involves fucking, yes?” he said, kissing his way along her jaw. It was an entirely unnecessary question.
“In the Mustang,” she whispered, grazing his earlobe with her teeth. “I want you to fuck me on the back seat.”
He lifted his head, and that lazy turned on look in his eyes had notched up to crazy turned on.
“Say that again.” The desire in his murmured voice turned her body inside out with lust. “Tell me again how you want me to fuck you.”
Kara’s smile took over her whole face as she wrapped her leg around his thighs tighter to bring his cock harder against her.
“Fuck me, Dylan Day. Drive me somewhere quiet and make me come all over the back seat of the Mustang.” She dragged her nails down his back. “I want you to strip me naked and bend me over the bonnet.”
Dylan ground against her, making her lips part on a sigh of pleasure.
“Where I come from, it’s a hood.”
“Call it whatever you like, darlin’. Just bend me over it and screw me with your big, hard cock.”
“You have a filthy mouth, English…” Dylan reached between their bodies and pushed her bikini top up over her breast so that he could roll her already rock-hard nipple between his thumb and fingers. “Tell me some more.”
Kara opened her mouth, and he dropped his face to hers, all the heat from their conversation spilling into their hard, hungry kiss. She moaned, writhing beneath him, not caring if anyone could see them because her head only had room for him in it. “Dylan…” she breathed his name, her eyes closed. “Plan B. Let’s not go anywhere. Take me downstairs.” She bit gently on his lip. “Take me to bed.”
He groaned into her mouth. “Much as I’d love to,” – his hand covered her breast, warm and massaging – “I can’t get the idea of the Mustang out of my head now.”
Kara lifted her hips, cradling his erection between her legs. “I’m too far down the line, Sailor,” she pleaded. “Don’t make me wait.”
He smiled, rocking himself against her. “It’ll be worth it, I promise,” he whispered, holding her face. “Next time you come you’ll be sitting up on that folded down roof with my head between your legs.”
Kara moaned against him, and he slid a finger into her mouth. “Can you see it, baby?”
She swirled her tongue around his finger, her eyes closed. She could see it, hell, she could feel it, but the fantasy just wasn’t enough. He was driving her slowly out of her mind.
He stroked her hair back from her forehead with his other hand, moving his hips into hers again.
“I’m gonna open you, and look at you, and put my mouth on you.” He slid his finger in and then back out of her mouth again, running the tip over her damp lips before sliding it back inside. “I love the taste of you,” he said against her ear. “Sweet as honey.”
She was so close, moaning on every laboured breath, and he just wouldn’t give her enough. “Please…”
“Beautiful girl,” he said, and when she opened her eyes, his were serious and so full of raw emotion that he took her breath away.
“Get the keys, Sailor. We’re going out right now.”
In the car ten minutes later, Kara’s body still burned hot for him beneath the cut-offs and vest top she’d thrown on over her bikini. He drove the Mustang with the same laid-back confidence he did everything else in his life, and as she watched his tanned hands on the wheel, she was already imagining them on her body instead.
She frowned when he turned down a lane and eased the Mustang into a parking space amongst a few other cars.
“I was hoping for somewhere more private,” she said, taken aback, glancing around at the smattering of shops and restaurants.
“You’re going to be hungry by the time I’ve finished with you. Let’s get dinner to take out.”
Dylan swung her door open for her, holding his hand out, and she grinned despite herself. “You know me too well.”
“I sure know you well enough to know how cranky you get when you’re hungry.”
“Not as cranky as I’m going to get if you don’t give me my orgasm soon.”
“I have it right here,” he said, running his finger across his mouth, catching her around the waist with his other arm. “It’s on the tip of my tongue.” He bent his head and kissed her, brief yet off the scale sexy. “Can you taste it?”
She nodded, barely. She could. He tasted of sex and promises as yet unmet.
He took her hand and steered her into the nearest store, picking up a basket as they went in.
There was something endearingly domestic about shopping with him for their post-orgasmic supper, and it heightened Kara’s anticipation even more. He ran his hand down her back as she placed water into the basket, and she kissed his cheek when he leaned down for potato chips from a rack near the till. She chucked in a few beers next to the warm cheese– and ham-laden pastries he’d added, then a punnet of fresh strawberries too. Dylan chose marshmallows and a block of chocolate.
“For you. You’re gonna need sugar for energy,” he said, dropping the last couple of things in and smiling at the woman behind the counter as he set the basket down.
“Big talk,” Kara murmured, adding a half bottle of brandy to the pile of provisions and watching him chat idly with the cashier as she rang their food through, packing it for him even though she hadn’t packed for the customers ahead of them in the queue. He had a way about him that made people do things they wouldn’t normally do. Women, anyway. He did it to her, to pretty much any other woman who crossed his path, and she was pretty sure he didn’t even know he was doing it.
Come to think about it, it wasn’t just women that Dylan Day charmed. Men and babies too, if Lucien and Tilly were any kind of yardstick. Lucien seemed more relaxed in Dylan’s company than she’d ever seen him with another guy before, and Tilly had fallen for him on sight. He seemed to sprinkle his magic wherever he went, and Kara just wanted to stay close and mesmerised.
Plus she wanted that damn orgasm from him a hell of lot more than she wanted chocolate or strawberries or beer. She wanted it more than she wanted pretty much anything else, and then she knew full well that as soon as she’d had it she’d want another. Greedy as she might be, she wasn’t planning on being selfish: she also intended to give Dylan Day some unforgettable memories of his own in return. That prospect in itself was seriously sexy.
The sun was starting to set as Dylan killed the engine on the Mustang, this time somewhere without any other cars in sight.
“This better?” He turned to Kara, who was looking out over the beautiful scene laid before her. They’d wound their way through a pine forest to a tiny, deserted beach. Dylan had parked the car on the fringes of the sand, and right in front of them the huge sun tracked low in the sky, casting long, peachy bands of shadow across the sea towards them.
“Better than that. It’s perfect.”
“I thought you’d like it.” There was the tiniest suggestion of smugness in his voice.
Kara slanted her eyes at him, her eyebrows raised.
“You think you know me pretty well, huh?”
“I’m enjoying getting to know you better every day, English,” Dylan said softly. With a slight change of tone, he added, “So, shall we walk for a while?”
“Or I could just climb into the back?” Kara was finding it hard to think about anything else right now.
“You could. There’s something I want to do first though.” He got out, coming around to open her door.
Kara gave in gracefully, swinging herself out of the car. “This better be good.”
Dylan took her hand and led her towards the trees. “We need to gather firewood.”
“Firewood?”
He nodded. “I’m gonna build us a campfire.”
“Are we playing Scouts and stuff?”’ Kara said. “’Cause I have to tell you here and now, I was thrown out of the Girl Guides.”
Dylan laughed, bending to gather sticks. “Why does that not surprise me?”
“Fraternising with the Scouts was frowned on, apparently.”
Dylan whistled low. “You’ve got me almost wishing I’d joined the Scouts, back then.”
“So why didn’t you?”
He sighed, and Kara felt his melancholy despite the fact that he wasn’t looking her way. “I guess we just weren’t a Scouting kind of family.”
She grinned when he turned towards her, anxious to restore his good humour.
“Thank God for that. You don’t learn to kiss the way you do by being a good boy.”
She stood on tiptoe to meet his mouth, his arms full of wood.
“Time to go back to the car yet?” she murmured when he let her up for air a few minutes later.
He placed the logs in her arms. “Soon. Go dump this on the beach. I’ll be there in a sec.”
Kara frowned, resigned. “You’re not expecting me to sing Kum Ba Yah or anything, are you?”
“Sing what? No.” He dropped his voice. “I’m expecting you to let me make you come by firelight.”
She was suddenly hot all over and completely on board with the fire idea. The Mustang plan had been a great one, but sex by firelight was compelling enough for her to set it aside, for the moment at least.
“Okay. So, go gather wood, Sailor. Quickly.”
