Rich Pickings (20 page)

Chapter Twelve

The next week flew past in a blur. I miss Dan, I think. When I remember to. Most of the time I’m frantically busy. Nathan spent a fair bit of time with me in the first couple of days, explaining to me the various projects that he and Tom have in hand. He provided me with a long list of their key contacts—solicitors, accountants, surveyors, bankers, research teams, marketing, PR, and instructed me to make myself known to them in my new capacity as Projects Manager with Darke Associates. He had a meeting with the company lawyers on my second day at work and insisted I accompany him. He also introduced me to the firm of accountants who handle our business, with instructions I be added as a signatory to the current account.

I’ve spent hours and hours reading through files and familiarizing myself with the day-to-day workings of the company. I’m to concentrate on the music festival, primarily because that’s such a big project, a lot of money is tied up in it and it’s very high profile. The local community has mixed feelings. Local traders naturally welcome the influx of visitors who will all want feeding, accommodating, entertaining, but there will no doubt be complaints about traffic, noise, litter. It all needs managing carefully if the parish council are to remain supportive. Nathan insists that we need to keep the locals on side.

“We live in this community. These are the parents of Rosie’s school friends, and Isabella’s too in a couple of years’ time. It’s bad enough that Tom and I can’t get served in the local pub because of the wind farm proposal, I don’t want Rosie banned from the Brownies.”

Excellent public spirited sentiment. I make a note to suggest offering a reduced price entry ticket for local residents to come to the festival. I’ve been doing my research about wind farms too, and I’ve discovered that there would need to be a community levy, a percentage of the revenue to be invested in local projects to help offset the nuisance of it all. The sooner we start talking to the parish council about how that should be spent the better, I reckon.

Meanwhile the wind farm planning application needs to be prepared and submitted. We are using a firm of planning specialists, but they need instructing and chasing to maintain the momentum, especially now that the finance aspect seems to be resolved. Max Furrowes, Freya’s personal banking consultant and fund manager, has been in touch, confirming his client’s interest in investing in the scheme, so I’ve been liaising with the legal advisers to get the contracts drawn up.

Ashley’s pet scheme of establishing Greystones as a wedding and events venue is also a key priority, and that will be starting from scratch. She only mentioned weddings and parties when we spoke before she headed off on her honeymoon, but I’m wondering about training events and conferences too. I’ve started to look into the public liability implications, checking out insurances and so on. By the time Ashley gets back I’d like to be able to show her some detailed and costed proposals, and perhaps a timescale for getting the project started.

Maybe I’m trying too hard, and I probably can’t maintain this pace for very long, but I really do want my new employers to be impressed. I feel this job just sort of fell into my lap at exactly the time I needed it, and I don’t want anyone to regret employing me. I’m determined to give Darke Associates their money’s worth.

And on the plus side, as a result of this frenzy of industrious activity, I’ve had almost no time to brood over Dan Riche. Almost no time at all to count down the days until he can be back. He didn’t say exactly what day he’d return in any case, but it shouldn’t be long now. Not that I’m fretting. Not much.

Yeah, right.

The day of the bed delivery is momentous. I’m watching from the office window as the Classic Beds’ van lumbers up our drive and circles the gravel forecourt before drawing to a halt beside Nathan’s garage. I spot them arriving from my desk in the office and rush out to direct them up to the flat. Grace joins me, and between us we supervise the unloading and humping up the stairs of my beautiful four-poster. It’s come in lots of separate pieces, thank goodness, and the delivery men seem quite unfazed by the stairs. I suppose they usually do find themselves manhandling these things up at least one flight. They pile all the bits in the middle of my freshly carpeted bedroom floor, and set to assembling them. An hour later, all is in place, the solid posts dominating my spacious room, the lofty cross pieces crying out for curtains. And maybe the odd hook or metal loop. I think we may be adding those later. I doubt they come as standard.

The poor delivery crew are looking slightly jaded as they head off across the courtyard toward the main house to start all over again under Eva’s eagle-eyed supervision.

Grace disappears as the van crunches off back across the gravel, only to re-emerge up the stairs ten minutes later carrying a pile of curtains. She drops everything on top of the new mattress and tells me to get started trying to figure out how to hang the drapery around the bed. On closer inspection I note that the bed hangings match the curtains at my bedroom window, a delicate pattern of light greys and lilac. It’s feminine, but not oppressively so.

Grace disappears again, but is back after a few minutes carrying my bed linen. The sheets and pillow cases are in a soft lilac shade to tone perfectly with the curtains, and the duvet cover is a beautiful pearl gray. The whole lot will lot gorgeous when the bed’s made up.

Hanging the drapery from the posts is not a simple affair. That project takes us a whole hour to accomplish as neither me nor Grace have ever dressed a four-poster bed before, but we figure it out between us. When we eventually get the sheets fitted, the duvet wrestled into its cover, and the whole lot prettily laid out, it does look quite stunning. Grace will be a dab hand by the time she gets stuck in to Eva and Nathan’s bed.

“Oh yes, I was right about this. A four-poster is perfect for in here.” Grace stands back to admire her creation,

I can’t help agreeing with her, though I suspect my approval owes little to the finer points of soft furnishing

* * * *

It’s been nine days. He’ll be back tomorrow. Probably. Dan didn’t promise, he wasn’t specific, but he said ten days and that takes us to tomorrow.

I’ve moved into my flat now. Yesterday I slept here for the first time. My kitchen is fully installed, my fridge well stocked from the Black Combe larder. Grace does all the shopping, for everyone. A mountain of groceries is delivered by a Tesco van which trundles up here about once a month. Grace orders enough to feed a Third World country and stores it in the massive walk-in fridge at Black Combe. Tom and Ashley help themselves to whatever they need, and leave a hundred quid or so on the kitchen table. This system apparently evolved when Tom lived on his own at Greystones and Grace was convinced he couldn’t look after himself. I doubt he was ever that helpless, but it’s suited everyone to just carry on with it, even though Tom’s no longer living alone. I daresay we get the economies of bulk buying, and Grace thinks it would be easiest if I just join in too. I have to admit the system has its attractions. I’m not that fond of supermarket shopping, and I’m not much of a cook really. Freya tended to deal with all that side of things when we were in Kendal, and when I’m by myself I just sort of muddle through.

Obviously I’ll need to buck up my ideas once Lucy and Maisie move in. I can’t put off that conversation with my mother for much longer.

It’s just after six in the evening when I close down my laptop in the office. I stop off in the kitchen for a cup of tea and a chat with Grace before ambling across the gravel to my own flat. Grace invites me to eat at Black Combe this evening. I’ve taken all my evening meals with Grace, Eva and Nathan since I arrived but this time I decline. It’s kind of her, and I don’t suppose anyone would really mind if I was there all the time. Now that I’m over my initial intimidation at the size of the house, and got to know its occupants, I’ve come to realize that Black Combe is a busy, friendly place, full of chatter and laughter. But I have my own flat, and I want to spend my evening here. I’m putting down roots.

I kick my shoes off inside the door and head for the shower. It’s been a hard day, enjoyable, demanding, satisfying and utterly exhausting. But I made a lot of progress and I’m quietly pleased with myself. I’m getting established as the face of Darke Associates—people ask for me on the phone, send me emails. I’m humming as I dump my clothes in the linen basket, thinking I might fill the automatic washer later. I turn on the jets and I step in, sighing as the hot water cascades over me. The strains of a day spent laboring over a hot laptop are rinsed away with the streaming water. I lean my forehead against the tiles, the chilly surface warming under the hot spray, and reach for the shampoo.

“Let me.”

“What!” I whirl, to find myself caught, pulled against a solid, naked male chest and soundly kissed.

Dan! How? Where?
My head abandons the effort. I give up trying to process and simply accept that he’s here. Naked with me in my shower. Kissing me.

A day early.
Oh. My God.

Coming Soon from Totally Bound Publishing:

A Richness of Swallows: Rich Promise

Ashe Barker

Released 3
rd
October 2014

Excerpt

Chapter One

I step back to lean against the solid, tiled wall, Dan’s warm, wet chest pressing against me, pinning me in place. I reach up to loop my hands around his neck, abandoning any questions for now, simply caught up in the joy of seeing him again. Dan’s tongue slips between my lips, and I open to welcome him. His hands are on my bum, lifting me up to straddle him. I wrap my legs around his waist, loving the solid nudge of his cock against my pussy.

“I want to fuck you. Now. Are you ready for me?”

“I’ve been ready for over a week. Do it.”

“I need a condom.”

“No, do it now. I’m on the pill.”

No more words, I squeal as he enters me, hard and fast.

“Christ, Summer, you feel good. So tight.”

“More, please…”

“More, please,
Sir
…” He punctuates his words with sharp thrusts, slamming me against the tiles with each stroke.

“Sir, Sir,
Sir!
” I scream as he fucks me, clinging onto his shoulders with my hands, my ankles locked together at the small of his back. Every thrust is perfectly angled to hit my G-spot. He knows the geography of my body so well.

“This won’t take long. Are you close?”

“Yes, Sir, I think…”

“Not close enough.” He reaches between us to stroke my clit, sending my pussy into ecstatic spasming.

I squeeze down, gripping him hard, my heels drumming against his buttocks to encourage him to go harder, faster, deeper.

“Now. It’s now, Sir. Oh God…”

“Come for me, Summer. That’s it. I want you to unravel. Now.”

“Yes, yes, yes. Oh, Sir…” My orgasm hits me, catapults me into a rhythmic, pulsing release as Dan continues to pound into me, his cock thick and solid, filling me completely.

“Holy fuck, girl. So hot, so tight…” His curse is accompanied by one last, deep, driving thrust, then he holds still, his body rigid as the hot wash of his semen spurts inside me.

Neither of us speaks for several moments. The only sounds are the constant splashing of the water as it streams over our heads and shoulders, and the harsh whisper of labored breathing. I hang onto Dan, my body wrapped around his. He doesn’t withdraw, just lowers his hands to form a seat under my bum, taking my weight as he turns to lean his back against the tiles.

“Welcome home, Sir.” I manage to whisper the belated greeting, my words muffled against his slick shoulder.

“It’s nice to see you too. Do you want to see blood tests? Proof I’m clean?”

“What? We’re both clean. We’re in the shower, for heaven’s sake.”

“Unprotected sex, girl. A risky business. And I’m normally more risk averse than this.”

I bury my face in his shoulder. “Me too, Sir. I don’t know what came over me.”

“It was me, and I came in you. That’s the problem.”

“I don’t think it
is
a problem, Sir. I won’t get pregnant. I trust your word. And I swear to you I’ve never done this before…”

“Okay. I trust you too. So, have you been good while I was gone?”

“Yes, Sir. I think so.”

“Pity. Still, I daresay I can come up with some reason to spank you.”

“Would you do it just because I asked you, Sir? I’d say please. I’ll kneel and everything.”

He chuckles, the sound low and sexy. My toes curl, and my pussy clenches around his still semi-erect cock.

“Oh yes, you’ll kneel for me, girl. And you’ll say please very nicely. And will you thank me too? Afterwards?”

“Of course, Sir. Would you like me on my knees now?” I nuzzle his shoulder, and I’m seriously considering licking his nipple. I wonder if it would have the same effect it has on me?
One way to find out.

“What a tempting prospect, you slutty girl. And Christ, that feels good…” He shifts and flexes as I flick his hard, flat nipple with the tip of my tongue. My ministrations don’t entirely distract him though. “But no, not quite yet. First I’m going to wash your hair for you, and rub lather all over your gorgeous body. Then I’ll rinse you. And after that, you can go and kneel in the middle of that perfectly splendid bed of yours and wait for me there. You chose well, by the way, love. I like it.”