Ask No Questions (2 page)

"Your wish is my command."

He poured the creamy top of the milk into Kim's mug and stirred three heaped spoonfuls of sugar round in the rich brown brew.

The cream
, he thought, gazing into the milk jug.
I'll give you cream. No. Stop this.

He handed the mug to her and she sipped, loo
king up at him with lively interest.

"You don't have the internet either?"

He sat down opposite her.

"No."

"You're a hermit."

"Not a hermit," he protested. "I see people. I go to the market, I do business in town. I've been to a few things in the village
, barn dances and whatnot. When I can't get out of it."

"You're cut off from technology and the outside world and all that
, though. Do you even read the papers?"

"I read the
Farmer's Weekly.
And I listen to Radio Four. I'll admit, I'm a bit reclusive, but that's the nature of the life I've chosen. Anyway, why are we talking about me? I'm the one who was going about his business. You're the one who suddenly appeared in my barn like a very unsuitably dressed apparition."

She looked down, her open laughing face shadowed again.

"There's nothing to say."

"I can't
agree with that. What are you - on holiday? Camping somewhere?"

"Something like that. Just needed a break."

"Well, are you or aren't you camping somewhere? Where are you staying?"

"I don't know." Her voice was low now, with a bite of defiance in it.

"What, you haven't decided yet?"

She chewed on her knuckles, holding the tea on the arm rest with her other hand. She looked extraordinarily tense and something in her eyes alarmed him.

"Can I stay here?" she said in a sudden burst. "I'll pay you."

Rhys didn't know h
ow to answer. His instincts screamed 'yes', however strenuously his common sense counselled against it. She could be anyone. She was obviously running away from something or someone. She could bring no end of trouble to his door.

She had beautiful blue eyes and the way she wore his jumper gave it an allure the most devastating Dior gown couldn't match.

"Why not?" he said.

Her gratitude was disproportionate, chest heaving, little panting gasps coming out with the 'thank you, thank you so much'. He imagined her saying those words, just like that, as she rode the wave of orgasm beneath him, her face flushed scarlet, her hands in his hair…
Jesus, man. Keep your head
.

"So, do you have a car parked down the lane somewhere? Shall we go and fetch it?"

"No." She shook her head. "No car."

"Well, then…where's your stuff? Clothes?"

"I didn't bring any."

He tried to draw further revelations from her with the intentness of his gaze, but she fielded it, fidgeting with her pigtails, brushing the ends of them over and over her mouth.

"OK," he said softly. "I'm not going to ask."

"Thanks," she whispered.

"If you don't mind," he said, standing and putting his empty mug back on the tray, "I'm going to get on with some work. The spare room's upstairs, left at the top. Make yourself at home."

"Cheers. I might take a nap, actually. But I don't want to get up from this chair. And this fire." She yawned. "I could sit here forever."

He smiled, but his cheek twitched a little, and took the tea things back into the kitchen.

He put down the tray and braced himself over the sink, his hands gripping the ceramic edge while he stared out at the rain.
He'd never thought of himself as lonely, always prided himself on his self-sufficiency and independence, but this mysterious girl-from-nowhere had managed to rock his foundations, just by turning up on his doorstep. When she'd asked if she could stay, the sheer elation and hope that had swept through him had shocked him so much his hands shook. He
was
lonely. Bloody lonely.

Fuck, what now? What have I done?

Chapter Two

When Rhys came in from fixing the chicken coop in the rain, Kim was still in the armchair, curled up and reading a book. Although the sun hadn't yet set, the low cloud had darkened the day and she was bathed in lamplight.

Several hours of hammering nails
, chopping firewood and performing similar manual tasks hadn't had quite the weakening effect Rhys had hoped for. He still had plenty of strength left in him for…other things. Damn it.

"I'm going to put the dinner on
now," he said. "Lamb hotpot, maybe? Is that all right with you?"

"God, yeah, I'm starving. I'll help you."

She put the book aside and followed him into the kitchen.

"It's OK, I don't need any help," he said, waving her aside. "It's all in the freezer. I just need to put it in the oven."

"Oh, right."

She watched him take two individual dishes out and put them in the microwave.

"I guess when you live alone…" she said.

"No point cooking every night for one," he finished the thought. "I make a big pot of something and freeze it all down." He looked over his shoulder at her as he got knives and forks out of the drawer.
"You don't live alone then?"

"In a way I do," she said evasively. "I eat out a lot though. I'm not much of a chef."

"
In a way
you live alone? What kind of way is that then?"

"I've got my own flat. I just don't spend much time there. I'm really…
busy. Most of the time. I travel a lot."

"Right. But your flat's in
London?"

"Yeah."

"And what do you do down there in London?"

"Oh, you know. Nothing much. Work and stuff."

He held her eye over the table as he laid it, determined to worm a bit more out of her than she was willing to give.

"Work
and stuff
. " He brandished a table knife. "What's that? Why do you travel so much?"

"I'
m, uh, a sales rep. I sell…things."

She was so transparently lying he almost took offence. But there was no point shouting at her or trying to force the truth. It would come out in time. For now, there was company to be enjoyed, and he meant to enjoy it.

The microwave pinged and he took out the dishes and laid them on the place mats. He took a bottle of wine from the pantry too and poured them each a glass.

"Dig in," he said, sitting down. "Or should I say grace?"

She laughed. "No, that's OK. God, this smells good. Is it one of your lambs?"

"As a matter of fact it is."

"Aww. Poor little lamb. Did you kill it yourself?"

"Yes."

She shook her head over the dish. "I don't think I could do that."

"Just as well you aren't a sheep farmer then."

"I suppose." She gave the food a dubious look then seemed to overcome her scruples, spearing a chunk of meat on the end of her fork. "It's lush, though," she gave her verdict as she chewed.

"Thanks." He smiled, watching her eat, enjoying her obvious relish. He liked a girl with a healthy appetite. Made you think she might be just as voracious in…other areas…

"Have you always lived here?" she asked, taking a slug of her wine.

"Me? No
. I bought it the year before last."

"Seriously?" She put down her knife and fork. "I thought this must be your family farm, passed down from father to son and all that."

"No, no. Farming isn't in my blood at all."

"What the hell made you decide to do it then? What were you doing before?"

"I lived in London. I worked in advertising, would you believe."

Kim laughed and shook her head.

"No. I don't believe you. You just…you look like a farmer. All rugged and manly and all that. You so don't look like an advertising executive."

He liked the bit about being rugged and manly, curling his lip flirtatio
usly at her before he even realised he was doing it.

"Well, y'know. Appearanc
es can be deceptive, as they say. I think we used that as a slogan once. An ad for some chilli-flavoured rice snack or something. Cliché or what? I didn't like it, but the top brass overrode me."

"I just can't see you in a suit."

"We didn't wear suits, love. We were creatives."

Oh, he'd called her 'love'. It had just slipped out somehow. He watched for a reaction but she seemed oblivious, still tucking in to the hotpot with gusto.

"But you're local," she said. "Aren't you? You come from around here. I mean, you've got the accent and everything."

"Actually, I don’t have the local accent. I come from
Swansea. This is mid-Wales. So I'm a foreigner hereabouts."

They smiled at each other, and the eye contact seemed to last a frighteningly, wonderfully long time.

She was the one to break it.

"Do you speak Welsh?"

"Of course."

The conversation over the meal turned to the language, Rhys teaching her some elementary phrases amid much laughter and tormented pronunciation, until the food was eaten.

They took the bottle of wine into the living room. Rhys found a pack of cards in a drawer and they sat cross-legged in front of the fire playing gin rummy until Kim, too often defeated, threw the cards in the air and lay down, her head by Rhys' knee, looking up into his face.

"This is like holidays when I was little," she said softly, smiling up – was she smiling at him or the ceiling? Her eyes were misty and faraway.
"In a caravan in the rain. Playing cards because there was nothing else to do. But then, it's not like that. We aren't playing cards because there's nothing else to do, are we?"

"You've had too much wine," said Rhys, holding the near-empty bottle aloft and squinting at it. But his heart raced and his throat was dry, not just from th
e slightly bitter aftertaste of the Merlot.

"Maybe. But it's like stepping off the edge of the world, into a lovely, lovely…I don't know." Her head moved closer, almost nudging his thigh.
"Don't you ever get lonely?"

"I chose this life," he said, putting the bottle down. "I can't complain.
I don't know any women who'd take to getting up at four thirty to bottle feed the lambs either."

"You do, then?
Lonely Mr Farmer." She began to sing. "The farmer wants a wife, the farmer wants a wife, E-I-E-I, the farmer wants a wife."

"You've got a
nice voice," he said, but the compliment seemed to sour her mood.

"Thanks," she said,
looking away from him, back to the fire. When she looked back at him, she had wiped the pensiveness away and switched on an impish smile.

"So you prefer sheep to women, then, do you? Is it true what they say?"

It seemed the natural thing to do, to take hold of a pigtail and wrap it around his fist in mock-threat.

"And what might that b
e? Would you care to tell me?"

"One man and his sheep. A relationship of equals." She snorted with laughter, then squealed as he yanked the pigtail and descended towards her, lying propped on his elbow, his face an inch from hers.

"Say that again, and see what happens," he whispered, his knuckles grazing her neck as he held the hank of hair fast.

"Sorry," she squeaked, her eyes gleaming with exhilaration.
"So it's not true then? You prefer women to sheep?"

"Do you want proof?" The tip of his nose touched hers. She was so close and she smelled of wine and roses.
And what was the harm, anyway? How could it hurt?

She nodded and he sensed the tension in her body, the breath held, the muscles furled.

Permission.

He r
eleased her pigtail and slid his hand underneath its tight plait, palm on the side of her neck, fingers reaching around to the nape. Warm, female skin beneath his touch – something he had thought he could live without. What a fool he was.

Her lips were soft with a trace of some lipstick that tasted of those violet sweets he used to get in a mixed bag as a boy.
He kissed them and he felt her response, a flutter then a flood. She clung to his neck and pulled him in. At first it was so delicate that he wanted to keep it that way, just to skim the surface of this huge well of sensuality that lay in his reach. He wanted to take it slowly, savour every tiny scrap of sensation, draw it out infinitely in case it never came again.

Their lips brushed, breaths mingling, noses rubbing, until the teasing lightness of it made them both wild for more
. Now he wanted to show her what she could have. He put his free hand beneath her chin and held that too, so she could do nothing but give in to the increasing pressure of his kisses. Not that she seemed to want to do otherwise. She put a hand on his waist, climbing up him, wrapping a leg over his hip and holding him tight.

He put a thumb beneath her lower lip and pulled it downwards, opening her up for the eager penetration of his tongue.
Inside her warm mouth it pushed its way, into a dark place of sighing and softness. She let him in, no struggling, just sweet acceptance. He had forgotten kissing could be so maddeningly sexy. He was far, far gone on the addictive deliciousness of it, pushed over the boundaries of restraint. No sense or reason could prevail against the shocking re-emergence from his depths of pure lust.

He felt he could never get his tongue deep enough or his lips hard enough, however close he came. Kim had her hands in his hair now, her fingers wound tightly in his dark curls, and her tongue pushed just as avidly
as his, as if she wanted to scoop out his soul with it. He rolled over on top of her, and then back again, and then she lay on top of him while they writhed against each other like fury, seeing if they could burn each other's clothes off by friction alone.

They
kept this up for what seemed like hours, until they rolled too far towards the hearth and Kim's hip was crushed against the tiled surround, causing her to yelp into Rhys' mouth.

He broke off. "You OK?" he gasped.

"Fine, just a bump."

"No, I mean, are you OK? With this?"

She looked dazed, as if she didn't understand the question.

"Are you serious?" she said, her voice broken and husky. "You're the best kisser I've ever met. You're like…I don't even know what you're like."

His furrowed brow relaxed and he grinned, feeling like a king.

"You're not so bad yourself," he said.

"Wasted on those sheep," she said.

"Watch it," he growled and they were back for round two, mouths locked on once more.

If he never kissed another woman, he thought, deliriously mixed up in the lascivious languor of it all, at least he would know that he had been the best kisser this beautiful girl had ever known. He would always have that now. He plunged back in, nipping at her lower lip, licking at her teeth, giving and taking away. Her fingers curled and gripped at him while she ground her pelvis against his, teasing his erection with cruel efficiency.

He lifted his head again and gazed down at her with brooding intent.

"I think you've let yourself in for a lot more than a kiss, my girl," he said.

"Oh good," she said, with a pleasurable little shiver. "I was hoping you'd say that."

He wedged his knee between her thighs and set to kissing every inch of her face, taking it slowly, across her hairline, behind her ear, on the tip of her nose, while the warmth of the fire licked over their bodies.

"Mmm," she said, holding on to his shoulders, wriggling suggestively against him.

"What's the rush?" he chided, testing the limits of his restraint by taking everything at this perfectly lazy pace.

"Ohhh," she moaned, grabbing his arse and squeezing.

He took her wrist and removed the over-eager hand, holding it out to the side.

"You'll have to wait, madam," he said. His lips reached her neck and he feasted on the pliant flesh, knowing how this had always turned his ex-lovers on. Kim was no different. She sounded almost in pain, the most gratifying little whimpers pouring out of her as he worked, slowly, diligently, towards his ultimate aim of driving her to lustful distraction.

"You're still wearing my jumper," he said, reaching the neckline of that garment. "Perhaps we should take it off."

He pulled her upright by the shoulders and she lifted her arms obediently.

"I like wearing it," she said, watching him throw it into an armchair. "It smells of you."

"Oh yes? Well, so do
I. And I'm still here."

He nudged her back down and began work on her slinky silver shirt, undoing the buttons while he knelt over her, shadowing her.

He kissed her collarbone when it was revealed, then the hollow at its base, then the gentle slopes of her breasts as they emerged from her black satin balconette bra. He eased the shirt all the way off and looked down at the mouthwatering expanse of her, all of it kissable, from her shoulders to her pierced navel. Most of all, he wanted to slide his thumbs inside those bra cups and see what he could do to her nipples. So that was what he did.