An Uncommon Sense (8 page)

She watched, heart hammering, as he kicked them off together with his boxers, and she stared as he returned to hold her by the hips, his desire for her now fully evident. “You really are a god, aren’t you?”

He chuckled and kissed along her jaw. “Just a man, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re definitely a god, a Viking god.” She closed her eyes in ecstasy as he touched his lips to the pulse in her neck and tasted her skin. “I’d slay goats in your honour, if I wasn’t a vegetarian.”

He laughed and pulled her to the edge of the worktop. “That won’t be necessary.” He moved the strip of silky fabric between her thighs to one side, and pressed the tip of his erection against her. His lips hovered over hers again, and he slid his hand behind her head and stroked the nape of her neck. “We’ll take it slow, okay?” he murmured.

“Okay.” He’d felt her tense. God, she wanted him so much, but she was terrified. Inwardly, she cursed the bastard who’d been so cruel when she’d offered herself so willingly, desperate for some warmth and affection. It had been her first one-night stand, and she’d been so nervous and eager to please, but it had all been so cold and mechanical. In the end, he’d mumbled something about her being “frigid” and “cold as a fucking icicle”, and he’d left without asking for her number, scarring her for so long she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back in the saddle.

But then she hadn’t expected to meet someone like this. A man who was so gorgeous it made her throb just to look at him, but who was also tender and affectionate, who held her as if she were one of the bubbles still floating around the kitchen, as if afraid she’d break in his hands. She waited for him to push forward into her, but he cupped her face again and began to kiss her, brushing her tongue with his own, one hand dropping to stroke her breast and squeeze her nipple gently, until she couldn’t stop herself pulling his hips forward so he slid slowly inside her.

“Oh.” She groaned, tipping back her head as he filled her up, stretching her. Gently, he slid her forward on the worktop until she was almost impaled upon him, and she sighed. “Oh my.”

“Absolutely,” he agreed, holding her steady with his strong hands resting on her hips, looking down at her with desire-filled eyes. “
Du er vakker
, Miss Fox.”

“What?” She could barely concentrate as it was, let alone try to figure out another language.

He kissed her. “It’s Norwegian for ‘you are beautiful’.” He kissed her again, a hand on her thigh, sliding gently in and out of her.

Grace let him kiss her, touch her, whisper in her ear, and felt beautiful because of the way he held her, his hands so gentle she could have cried. Slowly and carefully, he aroused her until her whole body seemed to throb for him, and all she could think about was the sensual slide of him inside her, the brush of his lips on hers and the soft touch of his fingers as they caressed her face, hair and breasts.

He increased the pace of his thrusts, and she knew he could sense she was beginning to lose it. His careful, gentle embrace began to turn rougher, his tongue plunging into her mouth, and she gasped at the heat of his passion, his overwhelming desire for her.

Eventually she could bear it no longer, and the welcome bliss of an orgasm began to build inside. “Ash,” she gasped, and he held her tightly as he thrust even deeper inside her.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” he said hoarsely, the muscles of his back going rigid beneath her fingertips.

“I…oh…” She clutched hold of the edge of the worktop as heat radiated out from her abdomen, and everything tightened in short, sweet, exquisite pulses of pleasure. She tipped back her head, arching her back as she squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “Oh…fuck!” The exclamation was out before she could stop it.

Ash’s fingers dug into her hips, and he pulled her closer, shuddering as his own climax swept over him. It was only as the wave receded that Grace felt his arms close around her, and she heard him chuckle in her ear. “Swear-out-loud sex, Miss Fox? Perhaps you should start believing in predictions.”

She let him give her a cuddle, felt his hands in her hair, heard him whisper tender words in her ear.

And that was it. She burst into tears.

Ash sighed. This woman was such a puzzle. He withdrew from her gently and reached over to pull a couple of tissues from the box on the worktop. He put them in her hand, slid his arm beneath her knees and lifted her, carrying her into the living room.

He went over to the cream sofa and sat with her on his lap and then turned and lay back, tucking her under his arm.

Grace sniffled for a while, but gradually her tears stopped. Eventually she pushed herself up onto an elbow and blew her nose, then finally raised her eyes to meet his.

“Hey,” he said.

She blinked, saying nothing, lowering her gaze again.

“You want to tell me what that was all about?” he asked gently.

She studied his chest, playing with the hairs around his nipples. “No.”

“Okay. But if I’m going to—ouch!” He winced as she plucked out a hair by mistake.

“Sorry.” She dropped her hand and pushed herself up. “I’d better go.”

“Hey, wait!” He caught her wrist, sitting up. “Grace…don’t go yet.” He slipped a palm beneath her chin and turned her to face him. “Do you regret what we’ve just done?”

“No,” she said immediately, following it quickly with, “Yes.” She put her face in her hands. “I don’t know.”

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.” She stood up. “I promised myself I wouldn’t get involved with another lunatic again, ever. And you’re a lunatic.”

“I’m really not,” he said, amused.

“What was I thinking?” She walked off to the kitchen, muttering to herself as she dumped the tissues in the bin. “Really, Grace, honestly. What are you, prehistoric? One glimpse of a muscled chest and you turn into a complete trollop? What the hell’s he going to think?”

“He thinks he’s the luckiest man alive,” said Ash, following her into the kitchen and leaning against the doorjamb. “Will you stop for a minute?”

“I—” She stopped mid-sentence as she turned and saw him standing there, completely naked. “Oh dear Lord, please put some clothes on.” Blushing scarlet, she turned away and began to get dressed.

Ash studied her with amusement, admiring her trim backside in the white body. “Grace, what are you upset about, exactly? Apart from sleeping with a raving lunatic?”

She zipped up her skirt, still looking down. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have said that. I meant—”

“I know what you meant.” He handed her blouse to her and watched her slip it on. How could he make her feel better? “It’s only sex, Grace. You’ve not pledged your undying love to me or anything.”

She stopped and met his gaze for the first time since entering the kitchen. “No. I suppose I haven’t.”

He smiled. “There’s no need to panic.”

She studied him for a moment. Then her gaze dropped and her cheeks flushed again. “Please, Ash. Put some clothes on. Just looking at you makes me want to jump you again.”

He laughed. “And that’s supposed to make me want to get dressed?” He held up a hand as she went to protest. “Okay, okay.” He picked up his boxers and jeans and pulled them on. “Better?”

She cast him a quick glance as she buttoned up her blouse. “No. Put your top on. Your muscles are distracting.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Smiling, he pulled on the blue polo shirt. “Now. Can we have a conversation?”

She folded her arms across herself defensively. “I just…” Her voice trailed off as he moved close to her and put his hands on her hips. “Ash…”

“Mm?” He nuzzled her ear. She smelled divine. “I told you that given the right man you’d be exceedingly good in bed. Even if we didn’t get to the bed.”

This time she couldn’t stop a smile creeping onto her face. “You think so?”

He kissed her. “There is no doubt in my mind you are the sexiest woman alive.”

She blushed. “You’re just saying that.”

“Sweetheart, how can you be in any doubt with the kind of books you write?”

She stiffened in his arms.
Shit
. He hadn’t been thinking. She pulled back and looked up at him, startled. “
What
did you say?”

“Ah…” He couldn’t think how to get out of it. He decided to try to make a joke of it. “Can I read them? I might learn something.”

She went absolutely scarlet and backed away from him. “How did you know about my books?” she whispered. “Did Mia tell you?”

“Mia who?”

She stared at him. “You must have spoken to Mia. Nobody else knows I write. Nobody. Not even my family.”

He shrugged. “Your dad knows. He’s very proud of you, by the way.”

She said nothing, rigid with anger, embarrassment and possibly, he thought, fear.

“I’m sorry.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I’ve put my foot in it, haven’t I?” Still she said nothing. His brow furrowed and he sighed, tipping his head, confused. “I don’t understand. Why are you embarrassed?”
 

“I…” She swallowed. “Not everyone thinks writing erotica is something to be proud of.”

He studied her. “Who disapproves?”

“My mother would, if she knew.”

He surveyed her for a moment. Then he let his lips curve. “Mothers are supposed to be disapproving. That’s their role in life.”

“She wouldn’t just disapprove of me, Ash. She would outright criticise me. She’s incredibly moral, and extremely religious. She has a strict sense of principles and a long list of Pastimes Appropriate for a Respectable Daughter. Unsurprisingly, writing erotica is
not
on the list.”

“And you care what she thinks?” He watched the hurt simmer behind her eyes.
Yes, she cares, idiot. Very, very much.
Grace clearly wanted approval from her mother, and writing erotica—and getting involved with a medium—wasn’t going to earn her that. He didn’t blame her for wanting her mother’s admiration. Didn’t everyone want praise from their parents, even when they were adults? However, he didn’t like the thought that her mother’s possible lack of approval was contributing to Grace’s regret over what they’d just done.

He kept his voice calm, though. “You should be proud of your achievements, love. It’s a rare gift, to be a storyteller.”

Her eyes went suspiciously glassy, but she said, “I’m hardly going to win the Pulitzer Prize.”

“Do you want to win a Pulitzer? Is that what matters to you? Or is that what you think will earn you approval from other people?”

She looked down. “Is it so terrible to want approval?”

“It is if it means you’re ashamed of yourself,
kjæreste
.” When she looked up at him, he added, “Sorry. It means ‘sweetheart’.” He sighed. “What’s so embarrassing about writing erotica, anyway? It’s not like you’ve had nude photos taken.”

“Some people would think it was as bad as that. I’m a teacher, remember? A writer in the States recently lost her job because she wrote racy romances in her spare time.” Her eyes widened with alarm. “Ash, promise me you won’t tell anyone. I can’t afford to lose my job.”

“Of course I won’t,” he said, frowning. “But I meant what I said. You should be proud of what you’ve achieved. You’ve had a whole shelf of books published, haven’t you? Your dad showed me. There must be at least twenty.”

This time she went pale. “I think I should go now.”

Shit. For God’s sake, Ash, stop putting your size twelve in it.
“Grace…”

“Jodi will be home soon. I have to go.” She walked past him to pick up her glasses, sliding them on, then collected her bag and papers. He followed her out into the hall and watched as she put on the red scarf, holding her stuff while she slipped on her jacket. “Thanks.”

“Grace?”

She took her bag and papers from him. Her gaze rested on his chest. “What?” she whispered.

“Thank you.”

Her gaze lifted and her eyes met his. They were a deep chocolate brown behind the glasses, warm and sensual, a testament to the sexy, passionate woman he’d known she would be when he prised her out of her protective shell like an oyster.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she whispered.

“Like what?” he murmured, lifting a hand to stroke her cheek.

Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t trust you. I’m confused.”
 

He let his hand fall. “I know.”

“I shouldn’t have… I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.”

Her gaze lingered on his mouth. “It
was
nice, wasn’t it?”

His lips curved. “It was.
Very.
”

“And I wasn’t terrible?”

“You were so un-terrible I’m considering ripping the buttons off that sexy little blouse and dragging you back into the kitchen.”

Her eyes went wide and she backed up hastily, meeting the wall with a bump.

“Grace, I’m kidding.” He shrugged. “A little.”

She opened the door. “I have to go.”

“Will you come back next Sunday?” He studied her. “Or have I ruined Jodi’s education?”

She turned to face him. The wind whipped hair across her face, but a small smile touched her lips. “No, I’ll be back. It’s not Jodi’s fault I’m…”