Lyndhurst And Lydia

LYNDHURST AND LYDIA An Ellora’s Cave Publication, February 2005 Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc. 1337 Commerce Drive, #13 Stow, OH 44224 ISBN MS Reader (LIT) ISBN # 1-4199-0135-4 Other available formats (no ISBNs are assigned): Adobe (PDF), Rocketbook (RB), Mobipocket (PRC) & HTML LYNDHURST AND LYDIA © 2005 SAHARA KELLY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without permission. This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. They are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously. Edited by Briana St. James. Cover art by Syneca.

Warning: The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. Lyndhurst and Lydia has been rated S-ensuous by a minimum of three independent reviewers. Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (Erotic), and X (X-treme). S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination. E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. In addition, some E-rated titles might contain fantasy material that some readers find objectionable, such as bondage, submission, same sex encounters, forced seductions, and so forth. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry; it is common, for instance, for an author to use words such as “fucking”, “cock”, “pussy”, and such within their work of literature. X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Unlike E-rated titles, stories designated with the letter X tend to contain controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

LYNDHURST AND LYDIA

Sahara Kelly

Acknowledgement While in no way is this story autobiographical, it was inspired by a recent trip home to England, the land of my childhood. The sights, scents and sounds that Lydia experiences are those I grew up with, remember with affection, and yes—occasional bouts of homesickness. So it is with grateful thanks that I acknowledge the wonderful school friends who hadn’t forgotten me, and the fabulous time we spent together. If you’re traveling in Hampshire, I can recommend a trip to Lyndhurst, which is the capital of the New Forest. This forest isn’t “new”—it was created by William the Conqueror in 1079 as a hunting area. This hardly qualifies it as new anymore but, in whimsical British fashion, the name still persists. Nowadays, it’s a recreational area for walking, hiking and riding…such trips often ending in a Lyndhurst pub (a couple of which I have described, although with fictional names). Lyndhurst itself is a lovely town, still retaining the charm of the past, while offering so much to delight today’s visitor. Drop by the church to see the grave of Alice, raise a glass or two next to a warm fireplace in one of the ancient pubs and enjoy the beauty of the New Forest, ponies included. And perhaps meet a “Gareth” of your own…

Lyndhurst and Lydia

Chapter One “You can’t go home again.” Lydia Appleton snorted. Whoever said that had gotten it all wrong. She was living proof. Of course it had been too long. Too many years had passed since she’d breathed in the green, wood-smoky fragrance that said “home” to every fiber in her body. Too many years in a new country, building a new life, a new career and succeeding at both. Why haven’t I come home before? There were no really satisfactory answers to her question, since living life to the fullest often got in the way of indulgent self-satisfying plans to go home to the land of her birth. But now—after almost two decades of living abroad—she’d finally gone and done it. She’d taken that big step across the Atlantic and flown home. To England. And it smelled—right. It sounded right, looked right and, although much was strange to her, even more was familiar. Lydia sat silent, watching the sun as it rose over the impossibly old oak tree that towered just beyond the little veranda outside her hotel room. Streamers of clouds sprawled raggedly across the sky, touched from beneath by the brilliant pink fingers of the dawn. Rain later. She wrinkled her nose in amusement as she remembered reciting the old adage. “Red sky in the morning, sailor take warning; red sky at night, sailor’s delight”.

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So what? A little rain never hurt anybody. And if it wasn’t for the rain, she probably wouldn’t be sitting above a silky green expanse of perfectly manicured lawn—if the acre or so of grass could rather rudely be termed a lawn—watching the sun creep above the treetops. A raucous sound disturbed the quiet and Lydia racked her brains to recall the name of the large birds circling over the highest branches. Jackdaws. That was it. A step above the common crow and one more part of the youth she was rediscovering. And that was what this trip was really all about. Rediscovery. The completion of a cycle of her life that had started so long ago when the shores of England had been left behind and Lydia’s new life had begun. She’d made a go of it, too. She had friends, a good career, a lovely condo of her own and several intensely satisfying relationships on her lifetime resume. Not bad, really, for a girl who’d followed her family to a new world while still in her teens. But thus far, the presence of the perfect man in her life had eluded her. It was more a case of “Mr. Right Now” and less of “Mr. Right” as her friends liked to say. In the past, Lydia hadn’t really given the matter much thought. She was single, attractive, enjoyed sex and men, and the world—as they say—was her oyster. Like any selfrespecting pearl, she’d layered experiences over each other until she’d achieved what she considered a perfect nacre. A soft patina that combined a level of maturity with a variety of adventures. It had been fun. But nothing could compare to the emotions that filled her as she stared into the vivid sunrise, began to accept that she was really and truly “home” once more and, within hours, would be seeing the one person who had lurked invisibly at the back of her mind for so long he’d become a permanent fixture. Gareth.

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It had all begun with a transatlantic phone call little more than a month ago. “A reunion?” “Yes, seventeenth—eighteenth, whatever.” Daisy’s voice was as bouncy as ever on the other end of the phone. Lydia blinked at nothing in particular as she thought about it. “Honey, I don’t know…” “Oh, come on, Liddy—do. Please? It’ll be such fun.” Hmm. Lydia swallowed. “Define fun.” Daisy’s husky laugh crossed the ocean between them in a flash and came through as clear as a bell. “Look, dearie, you’re the successful producer on the telly, right? We haven’t seen hide nor hair of you in far too long. Come over. Spend a few days with the old gang. We’d all love to see you again.” Is Gareth going to be there? The question trembled on the tip of Lydia’s tongue but she bit it back. Don’t go there. Don’t ask. She settled for a more obvious response. “So when is this shindig going to happen?” Daisy laughed again. “God, you’re such a Yank, aren’t you?” Lydia rolled her eyes. “What do you expect? I’ve lived here for close to half my life, ya know.” “I know. Which makes it even more important you be here. It’s next month.” Daisy rattled off dates and times. “And I’ll book your room. All you have to do is get your sweet little arse across the Big Pond.” “God, you’re such a Brit, Daisy.” The two women shared a laugh and, once again, Lydia blessed a friendship that had endured time and separation. “You and hunky hubby going to be there, yes?” “You think Harry would miss it?” 7

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Lydia giggled. Harry and Daisy had met their first year of grammar school and hated each other on sight. They’d squabbled, bickered and dated other people all the way through to graduation, only to meet again three years later and realize they were head over heels in love with each other. It was a constant source of delight to Lydia, who’d been ecstatic to know that her best friend was so happy with her life. “How is the dear boy?” “Randy as ever. Thank the good Lord and the nice doctor for that tidy little snipsnip job. I’d have had half a dozen kids by now instead of the two brats I suffer with.” “Riiiiight.” Lydia drawled the word out, knowing how much Daisy adored her children. She had the photo albums full of more than twelve years’ worth of pictures to prove it. Daisy ignored her. “You’re changing the subject, darling, and I’m not going to let you do that. Not this time. So…you going to come? How about it?” Damn Daisy. The drawback to best friends was that sometimes they knew one too well. Daisy’s next words proved it. “Gareth’s going to be there.” “Gareth?” “Yes, Gareth Knightley. And don’t you dare try and tell me you can’t remember who he is.” Lydia was silent for a moment. “I remember Gareth.” Oh man, do I remember Gareth. “Well, he’s coming down from London especially for this—and you know what?” “What?” “He asked if you were coming.” Lydia gulped. “He did?” She tried very hard to keep her voice level. It wasn’t easy since her heart had just leaped into her throat.

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“Yes indeed. So he remembers you too. See why you have to come?” Daisy sounded complacent. “No.” “Grrrr.” Lydia chuckled as Daisy growled with frustration. It was time to put her friend out of her misery. “Okay, okay. I’ll look into it, all right?” “Brilliant, sweetie. I’ll be in touch with more details. Ta-ta.” Lydia was left with a dial tone in her ear and a bad case of goose bumps all over her body. Gareth. Oh God—Gareth. She closed her eyes and for once indulged herself in her memories, something she’d never thought she’d willingly do. It was too…painful, even after all these years. Too emotional, too gut-wrenching and too silly for words. Teenage passions burned like firecrackers, hot then cold, then explosively hot all over again. There was no level ground during those years. At least there hadn’t been for Lydia, anyway. But she was a woman grown now. She was different…more mature now. She was way beyond all that nonsense. Wasn’t she? Oh God. Gareth.

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Chapter Two It had truly been a “Midsummer Night’s Dream”. Loosely speaking, anyway. The end of her last year of school had coincided with the height of summer and it was still almost light enough for her to see her way clearly to the Field House where Gareth had told Lydia to meet him. It had been a whisper in her ear during one of their dances and her skin had shivered at the mere thought. They’d been dating for several months by then, to her enormous pleasure. She’d toppled head over heels in love with him on their field trip to the Isle of Wight early that spring. It had rained most of the time, of course, so the students had been forced into museums, teashops, Queen Victoria’s summer home at Osborne—twice—and had finally been granted one sunny day. They’d seized the opportunity to head for the Needles, a distinctive rock formation ending in a lighthouse that marked the very tip of the island. A dozen or so young faces had stared respectfully at the sharp chalk cliffs, and gazed in awe at the grey-blue water churning at their base. Gareth had slipped his arm around Lydia’s shoulders, her heart had thudded sharply and, from then on, they’d spent every moment together, holding hands, seizing kisses and exploring the newness of it all. It had been idyllic, damp, and still made Lydia’s throat close when she thought about it. But until the end of term, it had not progressed to its inevitable conclusion. Romantic and passionate, Gareth was sweeping her into a place where she was a stranger and yet it was a place she wanted to be. Like any teenager in love, Lydia found herself wanting Gareth with a heat that almost overwhelmed her. She thought about him every waking moment, dreamed of 10

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him, wrote his name in her essay book, over and over and spent recesses snuggled next to him. They seized as much time together on weekends as their parents would permit. Movies, concerts, picnics and trips to nearby beaches to freeze themselves in the icy waters of the Solent—they’d done it all. Except for the one big thing. Sex. Full, thrusting, penetrating sex. And that, Lydia knew, would happen tonight at the end-of-term dance. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind. They’d already progressed beyond hot kisses and touching. Youth being what it was, sensual exploration had made its way into their necking sessions. Gareth seemed to love her breasts. He loved holding them, touching them, sucking them and teasing her nipples with his fingers until she was a sobbing mass of need. And she’d discovered the mysteries of his cock. With his full cooperation, of course. Both virgins, Gareth had professed himself amazed at her fascination, groaning with delight as she had tentatively stroked the silky solid length of him. He’d laughed when she’d raised stunned eyes and asked how the hell that was supposed to fit. “It will, you’ll see.” His cock had pulsed and jerked in her hand in agreement. And this was the night she fully intended to put that statement to the test. Lydia had made him come a couple of times with her hands, loving the throb and heat of his cock as it exploded within her grasp. She’d even daringly made him erupt in her mouth recently, swallowing without a blink. None of the “yucky” factor her girlfriends talked about—perhaps there would have been if it had been somebody else—but not with Gareth. Lydia was lost in him. She adored him with every ounce of her existence. She was seventeen and totally, completely in love as only a seventeen-year-old can be. She loved his kisses, his increasingly bold touches and, when he’d begged her to let him go further, she’d stripped off her panties without a blink. He’d explored her,

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caressed her and finally put his mouth on her, sending her screaming into an orgasm that shook her world. For the longest time, masturbation ceased to be a viable option, since her own hand couldn’t compare to Gareth’s mouth and tongue. And yet, by some sort of silent mutual consent, they’d both held back from the final act, the final claiming of one another. Content to play, they’d done so with enthusiasm, their sexual needs fulfilled by each other’s hand, mouth and lips. But as time progressed and their love showed no signs of diminishing anytime soon, both Lydia and Gareth knew the final threshold would be crossed together. And this would be the night. In preparation, she was carefully shaved, bikini line smooth, powdered and barely concealed by the skimpy lingerie she and Daisy had blushingly bought together on a recent shopping trip. The two friends had giggled in the store as they browsed the racks of sensual laces and, when Lydia finally made her selection, Daisy had raised a knowing eyebrow and looked steadily at her friend. But, true buddy that she was, she’d said nothing. Lydia and Gareth had been a couple for so long—in school terms—that such a purchase might lead to speculation but not gossip. Not from Daisy, anyway. Daringly black, the panties kissed her skin sensually as she put them on and the feeling made her shiver, as much as thoughts of the night to come. So it was here. The dance underway, the romances beginning and ending and the pain of parting from one’s friends offset by the excitement of the new lives that lay ahead. And Gareth was here, too. In the darkness of the Field House, where he’d said he’d be waiting for her. She could smell his scent, the cologne she loved so much when mixed with the unique essence of Gareth. It rose above the familiar slightly sweaty fragrance of damp gym equipment, and the woody odor of the building itself. The noise of the party in the auditorium faded into a quietly throbbing bass beat as she carefully picked her way through the lengthening shadows around the school to her appointed rendezvous. 12

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“Gareth?” It was a whisper full of excitement, need and a healthy dose of lust. “Over here.” He was lazing on top of the gym mats, piled neatly into a soft—and very convenient—bed. “I still can’t believe you filched the key from Mr. Sanders.” She giggled as she crossed the room, trying not to get her spiked heels stuck anywhere in the irregular wooden floor. “There are some advantages to captaining the cricket eleven, you know.” Gareth chuckled. “I didn’t even have to filch it. Just told him I wanted to check to make sure I hadn’t left anything behind.” “And have you?” She settled onto the mats beside him. “No. Not yet.” He touched her cheek. “But I may leave a little bit of my heart here tonight.” That was all it took. They slid into each other’s arms with the ease of long time lovers and, within moments, Gareth had them both naked. So much for those panties. Lydia froze at the unaccustomed sensation of another body, another person’s skin, touching hers from breast to toe. “Oh God, Lydia…” Gareth seemed awed too, reverently moving his hand from her knee over her thigh, up past her hip and over her waist to cup her breast. His cock was hot and hard, a solid weight lying between them and burning where skin met skin. “I want you so badly, sweetheart…” He played with her breasts, kissing the nipples as he suckled them and toyed with them. “I want you. I want to be inside you. To finish what we’ve started. And yet I’m kind of afraid… I don’t want to hurt you. I want it to be good for you…” His mouth left her breasts and moved to her lips.

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Their kiss was hot and hungry and Lydia pulled his head hard against her face, forcing his lips wide and plunging into his mouth with her tongue. She wanted her body to tell him how she felt, rather than struggle to find the words. In that moment, she probably wouldn’t have been able to form a coherent sentence anyway, let alone find the right way to encourage him. This was a much better method. Needy, hot, ready—Lydia was all those things. How the hell could they be described? They could only be felt. Gareth rolled his weight on top of her, solid, wonderfully crushing, touching so much more than just her skin. Her thighs parted instinctively, allowing his cock to settle in the vee of her crotch, brushing against the wetness of her pussy and making her shiver with excitement. It felt so right. So perfect. They fit like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, two land masses that had drifted apart only to reform into the whole they were meant to be. They kissed again, passionately, sweeping themselves into a new world, a vortex of sensations, blind to everything but their powerful desires. Lydia learned Gareth with her fingertips, stroking down his back to his hard buttocks, already showing the strength of the man he would become. Or perhaps already was. He’d certainly held on to his self-control thus far but it could only last so long. “Liddy… Jesus… I want to be inside you…” “Then do it, my love. Do it. Now. Please…” With gentle care, Gareth positioned the head of his cock against her pussy lips, seeing entrance to the tight cunt that was already shimmering in readiness for him. “There?” He thrust forward a little. “Yes— No— I don’t know. For God’s sake Gareth, just do it. Fuck me now.” He did. With a groan, Gareth pushed his hips forward. His cock plunged in and Lydia gasped as a slight burning sting signaled the loss of her virginity. She probably should

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have paid more attention to that transitional moment in her life, but her whole body was reacting with joy at the incredible sensation of Gareth’s cock, now buried deeply within her. So full, so stretched—and yet so perfect. “All right?” Gareth’s strained voice startled her and she opened her eyes, scarcely realizing that she’d closed them. A heat burned in his dark brown gaze, visible even in the shadows that blanketed them. “Oh yes. Gareth. I’m more than all right. I’m… This is… It’s wonderful.”

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Chapter Three Lydia jerked her thoughts out of the past and the green lawns of Lyndhurst rematerialized before her. She was astounded to feel a hot wetness between her thighs, just from the memory of that night so long ago. An hour or so must have passed while she daydreamed, since there were now one or two people and a few dogs gamboling on the grass. Lydia grinned. She’d forgotten what a nation of devoted dog lovers this was. Small terriers yapped and skipped around a huge black Newfoundland, who completely ignored them. He seemed content to badger the humans for scratches and rubs behind his massive ears. An Australian sheepdog leaped into the air, unerringly catching his favorite toy, and Lydia watched, fascinated, as he did it again and again, never missing and always returning to his master, dropping it politely at his feet. It was one of the reasons why, although she loved them, she’d never own an Aussie. Terrible to live with a dog smarter than oneself. With regret, she eased her cramped limbs from the little chair and took her coffee cup back inside her room. Of course, using the word “coffee” was, all things considered, somewhat inaccurate. The instant brew she’d concocted from the tray graciously supplied by the hotel had borne little resemblance to her personally ground and French-pressed Arabica beans. And to Lydia’s horror, there wasn’t a damned coffee shop in sight, either. Truly a hardship for a woman who spoke the language of “half-caf double latté” fluently and often. She pondered the financial success that might result from opening the first of a chain of real coffee houses in Lyndhurst. But then again, this was—fundamentally—a nation of tea-drinkers. The gift shops offered the most awe-inspiring collection of teapots she’d ever seen. Could one really 16

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make a decent cup of tea in something that was shaped like Buckingham Palace? At least the shortbread cookies—or, as she’d remembered to call them, biscuits—were excellent. She grabbed her cosmetics bag and squeezed into the bathroom to figure out the long-forgotten mysteries of English plumbing. One face full of water and a seriously damaged shin later—these bathtubs were deep—she stood beneath a less-than-scalding shower that had only taken five minutes of twiddling to achieve. Yay. Success. The plan for the day was to meet for drinks and lunch at a nearby pub, then squeeze the guys into one or two cars and send them off to the nearest golf course. The girls would do what they did best. Talk. Or perhaps shop and have tea. God bless tradition. Lydia grimaced as she poured her shampoo into her palm. Shit, I miss my large vanilla coffee with extra cream. An entire chain of donut shops might well fail during her absence. She often felt she single-handedly kept her local one in the black. Even her car sort of drove itself into the parking lot every morning on the way to work. She spared a brief thought for the studio and her colleagues. It would be…uh…five hours behind. Still probably all asleep. Unbidden, the image of blue eyes crept into her head and she blinked as water streamed over her face. Sam had kissed her goodbye as he’d dropped her off at the airport and there had been something in his touch that had made her sad to leave him. She lathered her hair, dismissing it. This trip was about her. And, of course, Gareth. Her shampoo frothed. Rather enthusiastically. And then it frothed some more. “Oh good God.” Lydia’s voice was muffled by the nimbus of lather that was now billowing around her body, threatening to overflow the tub and probably take over Lyndhurst and a good part of the surrounding New Forest.

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She spat out a mouthful and cursed at her own idiocy for not remembering that some English water systems featured softening devices. Mysterious things that turned regular hard water into a clean, pure stream, guaranteed to take the merest drop of soap and transform it into a mountain of cleansing lather. Lydia had used more than a drop. She’d used her usual dollop and now stood hipdeep in the result—Mount St. Shampoo. Which was erupting with vigor. She sighed and spent the next ten minutes patiently beneath the shower, waiting for the flood to subside. Of all the times. Just when she wanted to look her best, too. Daisy hadn’t been sure if Gareth would arrive in time for lunch but he certainly had a room booked. Somewhat mischievously, Daisy had added the information that it was a single and had made sure that Lydia knew it within minutes of getting out of the airport. Lydia had chewed over that information on the drive down to Hampshire from London. She’d done so in between closing her eyes and swallowing down her screams as Daisy drove on the wrong side of the road and added insult to injury by doing it from the wrong side of the car. “So he’s not married then?” Lydia tore her attention away from the disorienting drive to ask the question that couldn’t stay still in her head. “Divorced, I think,” answered Daisy casually. “Some London bird. Didn’t last more than a year, was what I heard. Mark Devlin ran into him at a conference a few years ago. You remember Mark?” Lydia grinned. “Sure, I remember Mark. He cheated off me in History and really wanted Sally Trowbridge in the worst way. Chatted her up every chance he got.” “That’s right, he did, didn’t he?” Daisy chuckled. “Ooh…Liddy…d’you remember the play we did…”

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And in a flash the intervening years dropped away from Lydia. She was seventeen again, gossiping with her best friend. Almost as if everything that had passed from then to now had vanished. Or never happened at all. Except the fact that Gareth had been married.

***** That thought was still rattling in her mind as Lydia pushed open the heavy doors to the Royal Hart Pub. Her heart thudded with nerves, although she did her best to hide it. She’d done her best with the hair, the makeup and the clothes. Her pants were neatly pressed and her sweater a lovely pink cashmere that brought out the warmth of her coloring. It was an outfit that usually gave her confidence. Pity it didn’t work this side of the Atlantic. The unique smell of the pub drew her in, an appealing and distinctive blend of beer, old wood, fires, time and people. Polished brass fixtures dazzled her as the sun shone through ancient mullioned windows, making rainbows out of everything. Putting on her professional smile, she moved through the room toward the back where she could vaguely see Daisy. For some stupid reason, her vision had blurred and faces were indistinct all of a sudden. Oh God, I’m gonna faint. “Aaargh. Liddy.” The scream came from a woman on one side of a long table and heads turned. Lydia wished for a split second that she was riding a yak in Outer Mongolia instead of facing friends she hadn’t seen in close to two decades. They’re gonna hate me. I’m fat. I’ve aged. Who the hell are these people? But then chairs scraped on the stone floor, laughter and exclamations rang out loud in her ears and she was enveloped in warm and enthusiastic hugs.

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“Liddy, darling…how bloody marvelous.” “Lydia sweetheart. Lovely to see you after all these years…” “Liddy. I can’t believe it. You really did come over after all…” Almost before she knew it, she was tucked onto a smooth bench between Mark, the history cheat, and Roger Dimsby, with a “half” of something-or-other foaming in a glass on the table in front of her. To her amazement, she was suddenly chattering like a magpie. They remember me. Too coooool. But there was one notable absence from the merry gathering. Gareth wasn’t there. Lydia bit back her disappointment and let it go, enjoying her first chance to catch up with many years of gossip. It didn’t last too long, though, since the men were golfhungry and Daisy clearly wanted to spend time with Lydia. “Did I happen to mention that you look bloody gorgeous, you bitch?” She hugged Lydia as they strolled down the narrow and aged main street of Lyndhurst. “Bless you for that, honey. I’ve been sooo scared I’d look like a dried-up old heap. You guys have all seen each other off and on. I’m a bit of an unknown quantity here and I didn’t know what to expect.” Lydia tucked a wisp of hair behind one ear and carefully negotiated the steep sidewalk as they idly browsed the shop windows. The others had all decided on their varying choices of entertainment for the afternoon, leaving Lydia and Daisy exactly where they wanted to be—together. The afternoon sun warmed them, the air was soft against Lydia’s face and she was with her best friend. All was right with the world. For this brief instant of time, anyway. “You? Dried up? Good lord, no. You’re back where you should be. With your old school friends. Now if you want to talk frumpy messes, you should see Margie Woodhouse.” Daisy giggled. “This way. We’ll stop by the church.”

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The two women turned and headed up the hill toward the old red brick steeple that towered over the village of Lyndhurst. “Daisy, you cow. That’s an awful thing to say.” Lydia scolded. “Um…” Her curiosity got the better of her. “What happened to Margie?” The story unfolded as they climbed, Daisy’s narrative coming to an end as they panted at the top of a flight of concrete steps. Lydia looked around. “Well, this is nice. Er…Daisy? Why did we come to the church?” Daisy grinned. “Hidden charms, luv. Something I never knew. Come on, I’ll show you.” Heading around the side of the old building, Daisy led Lydia between ancient gravestones, their carved sentiments all but erased by the passage of time. It was quieter on the other side, the road noises blocked by the building behind them, and once again Lydia was struck by that feeling of familiarity. The uniquely peaceful and tranquil air that seems to settle over very old English graveyards. She’d tried to explain it once but it had come out all wrong, sounding macabre rather than calm. She’d given up. It was something that had to be experienced to be fully understood. As Lydia paused in front of a mass of rose bushes, she let the peace sink deep into her bones. The late summer blooms were dying now but there were enough left to fill the air with a hint of fragrance. “Mmm.” She sniffed. “Lovely indeed.” “Do you know who this is?” Daisy looked amused. Lydia noticed a small square stone marker in front of the roses. “Mrs. Something-Ican’t-read Hargreaves? Reginald Hargreaves? No. Doesn’t ring a bell.” “How about if I tell you her first name was Alice?” Lydia frowned, searching her brains for anyone she’d ever known by that name. “Nope. I’m coming up dry here.”

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“How about Alice in Wonderland?” “Huh?” Daisy grinned. “Yep. This is the grave of Alice—Alice Liddell. The girl we have to thank for all those wonderful trips down the rabbit hole.” “You’re kidding.” Lydia gaped. “Here? She’s buried here? In Lyndhurst?” “Right again. I never knew that, did you?” “Hell, no.” She shook her head. “All those years I lived so close and I never had a clue.” She looked at the roses again, with a fresh eye. “So much history here, Daisy. So much charm, beauty…and yet we never appreciated it.” Daisy reached out to Lydia and touched her arm. “Perhaps that’s why it was time for you to come home. To make sure you did appreciate it. To look at all of it from adult eyes that can really see things like this, not the eyes of a child.” Lydia sighed. “Yeah.” She tugged her camera from her bag and snapped the obligatory photograph. “I do appreciate it, too. I’m learning things, Daisy. Not just about Alice, either. It’s all about finishing stuff, tying up loose ends…” “I know, sweetie. I can see it in your face.” She hugged Lydia and they turned toward the street once more. “I’m so glad you’re home.” Lydia blinked back tears. “So am I.”

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Chapter Four “So tell me about Sam.” The muted clink of teacups filled the little café, and provided a deliciously British backdrop to Daisy’s question. Lydia raised her eyebrows. “Sam?” “Yes. Sam. You mentioned him a couple of times on the phone. He was driving you to the airport or something, wasn’t he?” Daisy had caught her by surprise, Lydia realized. She’d been so wrapped up in the past and her memories that her life in America had sort of faded into a distant mist. The question jerked her back. “Not much to tell really.” “Oh?” The word was a drawl of curiosity. “That’s not what I heard in your voice when you told me about him.” Lydia laughed. “Damn you, Daisy.” She split her scone and slathered butter on it. The hell with the calories. This was a vacation, and there was a plate of shortbread biscuits on the table as well. “So?” “Sam.” She mumbled the word around her food. “Hmm. He’s cute.” “Well that goes without saying.” Daisy snickered. “Blue eyes. Tall, that sort of thing.” “You sleep with him yet?” “Daisy!” Lydia widened her eyes. “What a question.” “Sweetie, after being married all these years, I have to live the hot sex life of a single woman vicariously. Just because I love my hubby doesn’t mean I don’t want to know all the details about what other folks are up to in bed these days.” 23

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Lydia giggled. “You’re such a perv. And no, I haven’t slept with Sam yet.” She sipped her tea. “But…” “But you think it’s a possibility?” There was silence for a moment, broken only by the politely proper mutterings of English-accented conversation-over-tea. Lydia realized it was another unique sound she remembered. She returned to Daisy’s question. “Yes. There is a definite possibility.” Well, hell. I only just realized it myself. She continued. “He’s a videographer. We met up for one of the nature specials I was working on a few months ago. Very sharp guy—bright, intelligent… He makes me laugh, too. We’ve dated a few times… I don’t know, Daisy. He’s…” “Different?” Daisy’s gaze remained on her friend’s face. “Yeah, I guess. Nice. Hot. There’s something there…” Lydia wrinkled her nose and reached for the plate of biscuits. “I just didn’t really have time to explore it, since you dropped this whole reunion thing on me like a load of bricks…” “And all you could think of was Gareth.” Daisy nodded complacently. “I understand.” “Hey. Wait a minute here. Gareth and I— Well, it’s been nearly seventeen years, Daisy.” She nodded in response. “I know, Liddy.” She paused. “But do you?” “Huh?” Lydia absently washed down another biscuit with tea. “God, these biscuits are fabulous.” “There you go again. Mention Gareth and you find a way to worm out of the subject.” Daisy pushed her cup and saucer aside and folded her arms resolutely in front of her. “Okay. It’s real talk time. You had a lot of unfinished business here, Liddy. Your parents caught you completely by surprise when they whisked you off to the U.S. of A.

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No warning, no chance to prepare yourself…just whoosh. Gone. In what—three weeks?” Lydia swallowed. “Yeah. Something like that. I don’t remember. It was all too awful.” “I know. I was there. God, how we cried.” “We did, didn’t we?” “Buckets.” Daisy laughed ruefully. “But my point is, you never got—what’s that word you Yanks love—closure.” She nodded, pleased with herself. “That’s it. Closure.” “I got closure.” Lydia defended herself. “I’ve made a good life for myself, managed very nicely over the last seventeen years. Good career, nice income…plenty of romance…” “And not one has been able to replace Gareth in your mind.” Lydia thought about that. “I wasn’t trying to, Dais.” “I know. That’s the whole point, luv. Gareth has always been there, in the back of your head, and still is for all I know. The thing with memories like that, is that without even realizing it, they overshadow the present. Every romance, every man, gets held up against the way you remember Gareth. The way it was with Gareth. That magical time that’s frozen in your brain like a movie that’s broken and one frame is all you see.” “But But—” Lydia stared blindly at the table. Could Daisy be right? “Jesus, woman. You take psychology or something without telling me?” Daisy leaned back. “All right. Lecture over. Just think about it, Liddy. Think carefully.” A chime from Daisy’s cell phone interrupted them and she grabbed it from her purse. “Text message. Oh good. The guys are on their way back to the hotel. We should go change for dinner, I guess.” Regretfully, Lydia pried her fingers away from the last shortbread biscuit. “Okay.”

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They left the teashop and stepped out into the late afternoon sunshine to begin the short trek down the hill to their hotel. Daisy hugged Lydia. “Don’t worry. It’ll work itself out.” Lydia snorted. “You sure about that?” “Absolutely. It’s inevitable.” Daisy looked smug. “The rest of that message was about tonight.” She glanced over at her friend. “Gareth’s arrived.”

***** Lydia’s hands still shook as she dried off from her second—and more successful— shower of the day. She needed it, too, since, in spite of the cool English breezes, she was sweating like a pig. Stupid, stupid woman. He probably barely remembers you. She let her head scream insults at her heart, which refused to stop pounding like a rock band drummer high on crack. You’re gonna poke your eye out, at this rate. Wincing, she tried once more to get her mascara on her lashes and not on her nose. She glanced over at the small dresser where her curling iron was warming up, and gave thanks her international adapter hadn’t blown every fuse in the hotel. Apparently it was possible to mate voltages and not cause a breakdown in the European power grid. The basic black cocktail dress lay on the bed, waiting for her to slip into it. It was fashion security personified, although with a deep cleavage to show off the breasts that had obligingly developed to nice curves over the years. Would Gareth notice? If he still had that same fascination for female mammary glands, he probably would. Lydia swore at herself as her nipples hardened. Shit. Get a grip, woman. You’re almost thirty-four years old now. Not a seventeen-year-old in lust.

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Makeup completed, she struggled into the black lacy bra that had promised heavenly curves. Hmm. Not bad. With a wriggle that women everywhere had perfected since breast-enhancing devices had been invented, she settled herself into the embrace of the cups and let her “heavenly curves” swell above the trim. When covered by the dress, she actually felt pretty damn good. Certainly her body had changed—seventeen years did that to one. But not too much had softened or thickened—Gareth might just recognize her. After all, they’d been each other’s “first”. And it was true—you never did forget your first. A few judicious touches with the curling iron, a spritz of her favorite fragrance, and Lydia was ready. She had a brightly colored wrap to toss over the dress, since vibrant colors gave her confidence and made her look less like a widow on the way to a wake. Basic black was all well and good, but did need a splash of something to liven it up a bit. The phone next to the bed jangled. “You almost ready? We’re about to head off to the pub. They’re waiting for us.” Daisy sounded excited. “Yep. Meet you in the lobby.” Sure, Daisy was excited. She wasn’t the one about to face a man from her past. For one of the few times in her life, Lydia wished she smoked. She sure could’ve used something to settle her nerves. A drink might help but then again she knew perhaps getting too relaxed wasn’t a good idea. Visions of throwing herself on an unwilling Gareth flitted through her brain and sent a flush to her cheeks. Determinedly, Lydia grabbed her purse and stalked out of the room. Enough. Let’s get this over with. “Hell, luv. You look fabulous. I think I really should hate you after all.” Daisy’s grin belied her words as she hugged Lydia.

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Harry made his presence known with a hug of his own, and planted a big kiss on her cheek. He was very careful not to muss her makeup or her hair. Daisy had him welltrained. They chatted casually on the short walk to the pub but, about what, Lydia couldn’t say. Her attentions were focused on the night ahead and the moment ahead. The one that had, in all honesty, haunted her for so long. She’d come to the conclusion that Daisy’s sharp observations might well be right on the mark. One night from her youth had stayed with her. Buried deep in some filing cabinet in the basement of her mind, but there nevertheless. And tonight, she was going down those basement steps, turning on the light, tugging the drawer open and removing the file. Harry swung the doors open for Lydia and Daisy and a blast of sound met them head-on. Laughter, chatter, the orders for drinks and the snap of a fire lit against the evening chill in a huge old brick fireplace. For a second, the world around Lydia froze. She blinked, looked inside and met a deep brown gaze fixed on her face. Gareth.

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Chapter Five He walked to her without hesitation, ignoring everyone else, getting closer by the second and with a warm smile curving his lips. Oh God, he hasn’t changed at all. Then she was in his arms, being hugged to a hard chest. Yes he has. He’s a man now. “Liddy, it’s been too long. Much too long.” His arms were solid, surrounding her, squeezing the breath out of her. Or perhaps it was just his nearness that did that. Whatever it was, it took the power of speech away from her for a few moments. She swallowed her emotions and fought for some semblance of control. “Gareth. It’s so good to see you again.” Stupid, frickin’ stupid. Like a business meeting for Chrissake. But her heart had never pounded like this in any business meeting. Ever. The moment ended abruptly when Mark thumped Gareth on the shoulder. “Hey, you two. Now the gang really is all here. What’ll you have, Liddy?” Gareth’s hold on her relaxed and their bodies separated. Lydia sighed, but thanked her stars for the interruption. Without it, she might have done something really stupid, like rip his shirt open and lick his chest. He grinned down at her. “Yes, what are you drinking these days, Liddy? Probably not that awful cheap wine anymore.” Grateful for the normalcy of the question, she grinned back. “I’ll have a scotch. With ice, please.”

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Orders placed, Gareth led her to the large table where their friends were already seated. Glasses glittered messily on the stained surface. Apparently the others had a head start on the party. Without thinking about it, Lydia slipped into the chair next to Gareth. It just seemed the natural place for her to be and nobody even blinked as he tugged the chair a little closer to his own, where a smart jacket draped itself over the back. Lydia took a moment under cover of the general conversation to study him. Yes, Gareth had changed. The enthusiasm and apprehension of youth had made way for the assured bearing of maturity. It was clear in his eyes. The sparkle of amusement was still there, but tempered now by life, the business of being an adult, with all its associated experiences. She wondered if her own eyes had changed much. Not if that wrinkle cream is worth what I paid for it. His arm brushed hers, warm and firm beneath his light cotton shirt. Tingles started low in her belly and Lydia fought down the urge to squirm. Damn. Some things never ever changed. Wrenching her mind off the man beside her, she opened her ears to the chatter around the table. “So there were these two whales…” That was Roger, starting a joke. “How do you work this bloody thing? It keeps turning itself off.” Further down the table, Tim Matheson was fiddling with a state-of-the-art digital camera. And frowning ferociously at it. “Do you remember that woodworking class where I nearly lopped off Mr. Short’s finger?” She lost track of who was speaking, but clearly they’d struck a chord with the guys, to judge by the roar that greeted the question. Lydia felt Gareth’s laugh as it rocked him. He too was enjoying the banter and reminiscences that flew fast and furious amongst this small group of old friends.

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Her drink arrived and, thankfully, she took a sip, letting the burning liquid slide down her throat and warm her stomach. It was comforting in a way, familiar to her, and she held on to that sensation while the rest of her world teetered precariously on the edge of insanity. I am sitting next to Gareth, in an English pub. It was—unreal. Unbelievable. Pinching herself might well be in order. The feel of his arm as it slid along the back of her chair to touch her shoulders did the trick very nicely. This is actually happening. Faces blurred, and only Gareth remained in clear focus. He was comfortable in his skin, relaxed, joking with everybody, chatting, and it took Lydia a moment to realize that she was doing the same thing. Somehow, she was functioning, in spite of the emotions that seethed in her belly. She even managed the odd question or two, asking about his job, casual comments that invited participation from everyone at the table. I can’t touch him. I’ll die if I touch him. He grinned at some observation about their old teacher and hugged Lydia casually. “Hey, don’t blame me for that. Liddy did all my Shakespeare homework.” She smiled. I have no clue what that was all about. Her mind had taken a short vacation at the feel of his body pressed against hers. Roger finished his joke. “So the second whale said… Look, a blowjob is okay, but when it comes to swallowing seamen…” More laughter erupted. Lydia joined in. She didn’t know what the punch line meant, since she’d lost the thread of that conversation. She’d lost just about everything except her awareness of the man beside her. And her scotch, which thankfully was settling her nerves. At least she thought so. Then Gareth spoke. “Well, folks, dinner awaits.” He moved his arm from her chair to her shoulders. “And I’m hungry.” As the others stood and

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chattered while they gathered up their belongings, he leaned to Lydia. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so hungry in my life.” The whisper for her ears alone started a shudder in her spine that refused to go away. Once again the years fell away and she was swept back into that maelstrom of desire that only Gareth had ever created. She was seventeen again, next to the body that drove her wild with the promise of many wonderful things to come. She knew damn well what he was hungry for. She was developing an almost painful appetite herself. One that no amount of Indian food would sate.

***** They sat around a huge table and discussed the intricacies of ordering. Lydia had forgotten how intensely the British took their Indian food, and tried to focus on the difference between spicy and extra-spicy Vindaloo, as opposed to the Tiki Masala. Papadum bread appeared and disappeared with amazing speed and she choked a little as she realized she’d absently spread the hottest relish on her small slice. Through some chance, she’d ended up across the table from Gareth, rather than next to him, which was in many ways a good thing. His nearness confused her, and muddled her thought processes. But then she looked up and met his amused brown eyes as they gazed at her. He pushed her water toward her with a grin. She gulped down a swallow, extinguishing a few of the fires that had erupted in her throat. “Thanks.” “Don’t mention it.” His smile was just as she remembered and a heat began to flower inside her that had nothing to do with spices. Maybe sitting opposite him wasn’t such a good thing after all.

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As his attention was caught by Roger and Tim, Lydia took the opportunity to study Gareth. The brown eyes—oh yes. They were still as hot as ever. And his dark brown hair— shorter now, of course, but still thick and curling over his forehead. That unruly wave had been a severe trial to him and a delight to her. Lydia’s fingers curved involuntarily as she remembered how many times she’d run that particular lock through her fingers as his head lingered at her breasts. How clear it was now that she let herself recall the details. She realized she’d denied herself this pleasure for a long time—and wasn’t that a surprising thought. He’d filled out very nicely, she mused. Shoulders were broad, legs a tad longer, but it was the air of masculinity that surrounded him—something essentially male—that Lydia remembered most. It had been there when they were teenagers but now it was an entrenched part of everything he did, from sipping his beer to eating his Indian food. She sighed and tried a mouthful of her own dinner. God only knew what was on her plate because she certainly didn’t. Fuck this shit. I’m acting like a seventeen-year-old in heat. Just as she had done all those years ago. She gritted her teeth and once again wrenched her attention away from Gareth. This was too bloody ridiculous for words. For the next hour or so, she devoted herself to not thinking about the man across from her, and joined in the wonderful conversation that roamed through their school years, their teachers, the amazing things she’d never known and the inevitable “where are they now” stuff. And as she did, her eyes wandered over her friends. They reached for their glasses to check out the menu. They answered the occasional cell phone call, and whipped out digital cameras, to Tim’s endless confusion. They had become grown-ups, adults with all the trials and tribulations maturity brings along for the ride.

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There was an unexpected jolt in the realization. For Lydia, perhaps time had indeed stopped the day she’d left. But for these people sitting with her tonight, it obviously hadn’t. They laughed and joked and posed for photographs. Lydia swiped her tongue surreptitiously across lips. If she was going to get slapped up onto somebody’s website it damn well wasn’t going to be with chicken Tiki Masala stuck between her front teeth. Inadvertently, her gaze crossed Gareth’s. He was watching her tongue. So much for being cool, calm and collected. It got even worse when she moved uneasily on her chair and her ankle hit something solid—and warm. He winked, and gently rubbed against her skin before pulling his leg away. She burned at his touch, seared both outside and inside by a bolt of—of something that almost robbed her of breath. From that point on, the meal was a blur of laughter, conversation and Gareth. She vaguely knew she’d pulled some colored bits of paper from her wallet and contributed her share of cash toward the cost of the meal. She’d joked with Tim, swapped history test reminiscences with Mark and smiled a dozen times over for photos. And every now and again, she and Gareth would exchange a look. A look that made Lydia shiver from the base of her spine to her eyebrows.

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Chapter Six There was music. And not just the hum and rhythm of Lydia’s heart, either. The whole party had returned to the hotel bar, to conclude their evening with afterdinner drinks. A party of some sort was going on in one of the hotel reception rooms and the music spilled out over Lydia and her friends. Daisy tugged Harry to his feet. “Dance, darling.” Harry sneezed. “Uh, Dais—” She would have none of it. “Sniffles or not, sweetie, you can manage. It’s been too long since we got a chance to dance and I’m not wasting it. I’ll get you a nice hot toddy later…” She grinned wickedly. Of course the others took their cues. Pretty soon, the small room was filled with couples swaying and laughing, not unlike their final night at school. The dresses were more expensive now, and the suits better quality, but the people wearing them were still her old classmates. Lydia’s smile faltered as a strong arm slid around her waist. “Come dance with me, love. Like Daisy said—it’s been too long.” “Okay.” Right. As if I could say no. Gareth swept her against his body and Lydia closed her eyes, losing herself readily in his embrace. Warm and strong, his arms gathered her to him, ignoring the traditional dance posture and going straight to the pre-necking position. His palms burned hot against her spine and her whole belly throbbed as she felt him growing hard beneath his pants.

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He pushed slightly, making sure she knew there was a solid and lengthening cock responding to her touch. “You still turn me on, Liddy.” The whisper was hoarse next to her ear. How to respond? Lie? Be honest and sound like a slut? While she was considering that issue, Gareth continued to move them around the floor. “You still feel perfect in my arms. Just the right height, the right shape. We still fit, Liddy.” His hips pushed forward slightly. “I think we always will.” She eased her head back and glanced up at him. “I hear you were married, Gareth?” He returned her look steadily. “Yes. Several years ago now. She was a nice girl but…it didn’t work out.” “Why?” He sighed. “Different interests, I suppose. Different goals. I wanted one thing, she wanted another. We didn’t have kids—one of the issues—so we just sort of drifted into divorce.” “I’m sorry.” Lydia leaned back against him again. She hadn’t learned much but she knew one thing—he’d been honest with her. Gareth never could lie well and he wasn’t lying now. She was as sure of that as she was of anything right this minute. “Don’t be. All part of life’s experiences.” He chuckled, his chest vibrating against hers. “How about you? No husband? No multi-divorces under your belt like all Americans are supposed to have?” She grinned back, attempting to match his lighthearted mood. “Nope, not a one. I don’t marry them. I just drain them dry and move on.” “Leaving them with a smile on their faces?” She laughed. “I hope so.” “I’d put money on it.” Gareth’s voice lowered. “And I’d win.” In a flash the humor had been replaced by heat, arcing between them with a sudden devastating intensity. 36

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Her senses swam with his scent as she recalled the times she’d drained him dry. And the stirring of his cock as it nestled into her body told her that his thoughts were pretty much in the same place. A place she wasn’t at all sure about revisiting. Shit, you lying bitch. You want him with every damn particle of your body, up to and including the fillings in your teeth. Lydia closed her eyes and let the pleasure of the moment sweep her into bliss. All the feelings that had been so intense so long ago welled back through her head—and other assorted body parts. She responded to Gareth as quickly and as thoroughly as she had all those years ago. What the hell was it about him? Did he have some secret pheromone busily attaching itself to her scent receptors? Was there something in his laugh, or perhaps his eyes? This would make a great television special. Seeking out and identifying the process whereby one man could reduce one woman to a hot, wet puddle of sexual desire. And she could make a frickin’ fortune if there was some chemical involved she could bottle. A grin slipped over her face as she considered the possibilities. “My turn.” A tap on her shoulder made her jump and she realized that Mark was about to cut in. Gareth’s arms held her tight for a moment but then he gracefully released her. “You know, men have been shot for less than that.” “Tough, mate. You’ve had a dance. Share the lovely Yank with the rest of us, okay?” Mark laughed as he swung her from Gareth to his own arms. Lydia went willingly. She needed breathing space—to touch the earth with her feet again, and get her head back into some kind of balance.

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A dance with Mark was just what the doctor ordered, although whether it would cure her, she had no idea. She was certainly coming down with something—and it looked like it was going to be a bad case of Gareth. The night went on, images flashing into Lydia’s brain like still photos from an album. Roger laughing as he twirled Daisy frantically beneath his arm. Gareth and Mark slapping each other on the back at some joke as they leaned companionably against the bar. Other friends sharing stories, passing drinks…it became a golden blur to Lydia. She’d done her own share of reminiscing, dredging up memories and stories, and listening to old friends as they told of their lives over the past years. She was coming to understand that they had, in fact, had lives. In a lull between conversations, Lydia discovered something strange about herself. She’d held on to an image of this country, these people, that had been frozen in time. As if this world had stopped still at the moment she’d left it. It had taken this night, this dinner, this party, to force her into the realization that of course everybody’s life had continued. That, while she was busy learning to be a good American citizen, her English friends had continued with their own lives, growing into the adults they were today. She blinked at her scotch glass. Had she overdone the booze? Nope. She’d had her usual two shots. No more. There was definitely something to this train of thought. Something she’d have to sit down and figure out. Soon. But right now, the numbers were starting to thin and plans were being made for the next day. And Gareth was leaving. “Yep. Me too.” Mark sighed. “Can’t stay up all hours like I used to.”

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It was the signal for everybody to gather their belongings. The typical end-of-theevening confusion ensued as those staying in the hotel groped for their keys and others said goodnight. Lydia was hugged and kissed but not by Harry, who was coughing and sneezing instead. “Oh jeez, Harry…” She grimaced. “I know, luv. Sorry.” He wrinkled his nose and sneezed again. “Don’t worry. He’ll be fine.” Daisy patted him on the shoulder. “It’s just a bloody cold.” She glanced at Lydia. “I’ll give you a call in the morning and we’ll make plans, all right?” Lydia nodded. “But you take care of that man of yours first. Promise?” Daisy rolled her eyes. “Always do, sweetie. G’night.” Making her way up the carpeted stairs, Lydia chatted with the few people who were heading to different floors. Goodnights were exchanged. She reached her own door and turned the key, very aware that Gareth hadn’t been among them. He hadn’t said goodnight to her. It took her three tries to unlock her room as she trembled at a thought. Maybe he wasn’t ready to say goodnight. Perhaps the evening hadn’t quite ended. But then again, maybe it had. Riddled with self-doubts, she snapped the security lock home behind her and sighed. This is so stupid. I’m not here for an affair. Liar. Slut. Shaking off her inner dialogue, Lydia methodically stripped off her finery and slid into her absolutely non-seductive pajamas. A T-shirt and loose flannel shorts. She snorted as she removed her makeup. If Gareth did deign to show up at her door, he wasn’t going to find a sex-mad siren waiting for him. 39

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Well, okay. She might be sex-mad but she wouldn’t be dressed like a siren. Fuck. I should’ve brought my black lace teddy. No I shouldn’t. Any more of this futile conversation, and Lydia knew her evening was going to end with nothing more than a crashing headache. She gave up and unlocked the glass door leading to her balcony, appreciating the soft cool air as it touched her bare limbs. She breathed it in—that lovely fragrance of grass and leaves that only an English night could produce. And jumped when a knock sounded on her door. With her heart thundering someplace in her left ear, Lydia cracked it open a smidgen. Mark was standing there, grinning at her. “You left this on the bar, Liddy.” Her camera dangled from his hand. “Sorry to disturb you but I didn’t want to risk leaving it or forgetting to give it to you in the morning.” “Oh.” She gulped back a choke of disappointment. “Thanks, honey. You’re a peach.” She took the camera. “Sleep well.” Mark nodded. “See you for breakfast.” “You bet.” She closed the door, squeezing her eyes shut against tears of disappointment and frustration. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Another knock sounded. What had she forgotten this time? She opened the door once more. “Hello.”

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Deep brown eyes crinkled into a smile. “I hope you don’t mind.” Gareth glanced down at a rather nice paper bag bearing the elegant motto of an expensive package store. He moved his arm. Something in the bag clinked. “I thought you might like a nightcap.” What I’d like is…uh…never mind. He’d taken off his tie and jacket, and stood grinning at her, hair rumpled now, shirt half undone. She swallowed. “Lydia? Do you think I could come in?” Oh yessss. She swallowed again, realizing she was staring at him with mouth agape. “Sure. Sorry. You caught me by surprise. Mark just dropped off my camera…” She widened the door for him to enter then closed it behind him, aware that she was babbling. “I know. I passed him on the way here. Not too discreet, but at this point in our lives I don’t think we have to worry too much about the gossip, do you?” He was unpacking the bag at her desk, sliding her makeup aside and producing a small bottle of very nice scotch along with two glasses. “Gareth…this is very sweet of you…” Lydia nervously brushed her hands down the front of her pajamas. “Sorry about the informal getup here…” He looked over as he poured the liquor. Slowly, he put the bottle back down and let his eyes drift up her legs, her body and finally to her face. Her nipples hardened from the force of that gaze and she felt the heat spread through her. “Don’t apologize. I like it.” He held out a glass. “You do?” She snorted back her embarrassment and took the drink with fingers that felt like sausages. Clumsy and awkward. Christ, woman. You’re not a teenager now. Get a frickin’ grip. She sat down on the edge of the bed, uncomfortably aware that it was really the only place to sit. And sure enough, Gareth followed her.

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“Liddy, are you nervous?” He sipped his drink and watched her intently. “Hell no.” She raised her chin. “Okay. Yes. Possibly. A bit. I don’t know.” “Why?” “Jesus, Gareth.” She lowered her eyes to her own glass and took a hefty swig. “Grow a brain here. You. Me. Us. After all these years…” She squirmed a little. “And this…thing…this heat between us. Finding that it’s still there…” Another swallow firmed her courage. “Here we are, sitting on a bed, alone in a hotel room, drinking scotch…hell, no. I’m not nervous at all.” He let one hand drift to her bare thigh and just touched it lightly with his fingertips. “You’re not? Funny, because I am.” The liquor was burning its way down into her stomach as Gareth’s hands were burning a brand into her skin. She bit her lip. “You’re nervous?” “Yes.” “Why?” “Because of all the things you just said. Every single one.” His fingers splayed wide and his palm pressed into her thigh, sliding fractionally higher. Fucking hell. She could feel the moisture beginning to flood her pussy. “Plus one you forgot to mention.” A fingernail grazed the hem of her shorts. Her hand shook so much she had to put the drink down on the bedside table. “What? I forgot something?” Gareth leaned across her and put his drink down as well. “Yes. You did.” He straightened, leaving one hand on her thigh. The other he raised to cup her face, turning it to his. “I’m hornier tonight than I’ve been in years. Because of you.” Lydia’s throat clogged. “Oh?” The word was hoarse as she choked it out. “And I want to fuck you so bad I’m aching with it.” She closed her eyes as his lips brushed hers. “Really?” She turned her head to one side, letting his mouth trace her jawline to her ear. 42

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“Really.” He nipped her earlobe, tugging it gently between his teeth. “I’ve never forgotten how it was with us.” His tongue ran down her neck to the edge of her shirt as his hand dropped to cradle a breast. The other had moved beneath her shorts and was stroking the flesh of her upper thigh, making her sigh with pleasure. “It was…good, wasn’t it?” She almost moaned out her delight. “Oh sweetheart. It was more than good.” He pushed her back onto the softness of the bed, covering her with his body and holding her still. “It was the best.” And then he kissed her. Really kissed her. And Lydia kissed him back.

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Chapter Seven Need welled up inside her, a tidal wave of desire the likes of which Lydia couldn’t remember experiencing. She devoured his mouth, sucking his tongue deep and thrusting her own crazily into the hot wet depths. Their teeth clashed in their hunger for each other, bodies tightly clasped, hands roving and lips flattened as their faces merged, blended and merged again in a different, better way. She tasted him, familiar yet new, some of the old Gareth still there, but tempered now by scotch and time. His tongue played with hers, teasing, flicking in and out, only to return as he pushed his mouth hard to hers, a shudder racking his body as he took her breath from her. Her breasts ached from the wonderful pressure of his chest and her thighs spread wide in silent invitation. Gasping for air, she tore her face from his. “Gareth…” She panted, trying to fill her starving lungs. “Wait…” His hands were busy beneath her T-shirt, sliding it upwards so that he could find the softness of her breasts. “For what?” “This…so fast…” Lydia couldn’t think, could only feel and choke back a cry of pleasure as he found her nipples and tugged on them. Taut buds of sensation, they were eagerly anticipating his touch, his caresses—his mouth. “Yes, Liddy…oh God yes…” He tore her T-shirt off over her head and slammed his head down to her breast, sucking hard. She gave up the attempt to hold back. A moan erupted from her, shattering the quiet of the room.

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Her fingernails scrabbled at his back, his shirt, anything that would anchor her to the ground. If Gareth kept this up she’d be flying three feet off the bed in no time at all. And she’d waited nearly seventeen years. Too long to rush. “Your shirt…” She yanked at the fabric. “Off. Now.” Regretfully, Gareth let her breast pop free of his mouth. He smiled, eyes hot and heavy lidded. “Anything else while we’re at it?” “Yes.” Shamelessly, she reached for the fastening of his pants, undoing the button and tugging at the zipper. “Easy. I’m on a bit of a hair trigger here.” He lifted his hips so that she could slide his pants and his underwear down his thighs. Lydia gasped with delight as his cock tumbled heavily onto her body. Full and engorged, it was a thing of beauty. Hard, ridged and larger than she remembered, her mouth watered as she watched him struggle to kick free of his clothing and hold himself above her. “Jesus, Gareth. How the hell is that going to fit?” She couldn’t help the words. An echo of the ones she’d spoken so long ago. He laughed. “I remember.” He efficiently stripped her shorts from her body and sucked in a breath as he stared at her pussy. “And I remember telling you not to worry. That it would fit perfectly.” His finger reverently brushed the swollen folds and parted them, spreading her moisture around her skin. “And it did.” His gaze met hers. “Right here…” Slowly, with care, he slid two fingers into her cunt, making her eyes roll back and her mouth fall open on a sigh. “So hot, Liddy. Always so hot and so tight.” He worked his hand a little, letting his cock rub against her skin as he did so. “And so ready for me. Are you still ready for me, Liddy?”

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Firm fingers teased the inside of her cunt, withdrawing to play with her clit then penetrating her again, driving her up the face of an endless cliff. “Ahhh…yesss…” She writhed, aching and on fire from his touch. “But slow down, Gareth…” It was a cry from her heart. She wanted desperately to make this moment last forever. To stay like this, with Gareth’s fingers deep inside her, his eyes staring into hers, trembling with arousal. Slowly he pulled his hand free, bringing it to his face and licking her juices from his fingers. “You always did taste like sunshine.” He lifted himself from her, letting his gaze rove over her body. “So lovely, Liddy. So very, very lovely.” “And you tasted—” She paused, lost for words. He rolled onto his back, cock jutting away from his body. “How? How did I taste?” Lydia followed him, straddling him and running her hands over his chest. “Like…um…like you, I guess.” She found the small discs of his nipples and played gently with them, enjoying the feeling of them as they swelled into nubbins beneath her fingers. “Mmm.” He twitched as she flicked a fingernail across one sensitive bud, and then leaned down, rubbing her own nipples against his hair. “So maybe you should refresh your memory too…” He gently raised his hips. “My thoughts exactly.” She grinned, sliding downwards to rest between his legs. Gareth sighed, lifting his arms and crossing them behind his head, watching Lydia settle herself. Yes, he’d changed. He was a man grown now, and to pretty impressive proportions, too. But as Lydia lowered her mouth to his cock and tentatively ran her tongue over its head, the scent and the taste that was uniquely him roared back into her brain like a freight train on a fast track to heaven.

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She trailed her lips down to his balls, extending her tongue and licking them with light touches. She could feel the shiver that ran through him as she explored. “Jesus fucking Christ, Liddy…” He groaned and spread his thighs wide apart. She assumed from his movements that he wasn’t voicing any objections to what she was doing. Grasping his cock with one hand, she licked the head once more, letting her lips linger at the tiny slit where a bead of moisture was oozing to the surface. The salty tang tickled her taste buds, fueling her desire for this man. A desire that had never really died, just stayed dormant like a pocket of sleeping magma for so long. And this particular volcano was about ready to erupt. She sucked his cock into her mouth and moved, matching her rhythm to that of the hand firmly clasped around the base. With her other hand, she cupped his balls, feeling them shudder and tighten within their delicate sac as she all but swallowed him deep into her throat. His muscles hardened and shook around her, thighs clenching and legs twitching as she brought him higher, nearer his peak, and found new ways to arouse him even more. Daringly, she slid one finger to the spot between his balls and his ass, teasing then pressing into what she’d read was an exceptionally sensitive spot. Her research proved correct. “Shit.” Gareth nearly leaped off the bed. Eyes wide, he pulled her away from his cock. “Do that once more and we’re finished, sweetheart.” His hands clenched in her hair. “And I don’t want to finish. Not yet. Not until I’m buried inside you.” “Okay.” Lydia smirked. God bless research. She straightened her body, leaving his cock shaking and hard, shining with the moisture she’d slicked over him from her tongue.

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“C’mere.” He patted the bed beside him. Obligingly, she slipped from between his legs and lay next to him, loving the feel of his body rubbing against hers. It was one thing she’d remembered quite vividly and the memory hadn’t been half as good as the reality. When he moved over to settle between her legs, a few more things flashed back into her mind. “My turn.” He pushed her thighs apart and leaned in, nipping the flesh of her belly beneath her navel. “I want my mouth on you. My tongue in you. I want to drown in you, Liddy. Always did.” So go ahead. The pool is overflowing. No lifeguard on duty tonight. Lydia was completely on board with Gareth’s intentions. His had been the first mouth to touch her—there—and she wondered if she’d been measuring everybody since then against the standard he’d set. And she also wondered if he was as good as her memories. His lips trailed down over her mound and found her clit, hard and aroused, protruding now between her swollen folds. She could sense every breath he exhaled, every twitch of his face. She was so goddamn sensitive she might come if he blinked twice in a row. “Ahhh…Liddy—Liddy…sweet pussy…so sweet…” Gareth put his lips to her body and sucked. And she cried out at the feel of him, shoulders hard between her thighs, hands grasping her ass cheeks, holding her tightly, raising her to his mouth. He played with her, teasing her, finding each and every nook and cranny of her pussy lips, and suckling the moisture she knew was flooding from her cunt in readiness for him. Delicately he flicked his tongue across her clit, making her clench her teeth against the onrush of her orgasm. “Shit, Gareth…”

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He backed off, plunging his tongue lower, finding the entrance he sought and ringing it with firm strokes. Her toes curled. Her fingertips scratched for anything to grasp—his hair, his ears, the bedclothes—anything to hang on to. Lydia’s neck arched back as her spine bowed, hips upthrust to meet and welcome Gareth’s knowing mouth. It was as wonderful—no, better—than she remembered. And she had no idea how long she could take it. “Gareth…I’m gonna come…” He pulled back and blew gently on her pussy. “No you’re not. Not yet. You can go higher, sweetheart. Trust me. This is one fuck we’ll both remember forever.” Lydia’s eyes crossed as cool air met hot flesh. Holy trembling-on-the-brink. He continued to breathe against her, as she felt his fingers digging into her ass. They tugged and parted her cheeks, providing Gareth with the opportunity he was apparently seeking. One finger slid into her crevice and found the tight ring of muscles that was alive with nerve endings. He massaged it gently. “Fucking hell…” She gasped out the words, amazed at the sensations he was creating. Gareth huffed out a grunting laugh. “Ever tried anal, Liddy?” His voice was hoarse as he continued to rub the little ring, adding a swipe or two with his tongue to her clit. Lydia grappled for her brain, which had apparently decided to take a long nap some time ago. Thoughts tumbled untidily in her head and it was with great difficulty that she managed a coherent answer. Such as it was. “Yeah. Couple times.” “Good to know. Don’t move.” Suddenly Gareth was gone. Oh fuck. What now? She was gonna get reamed up the ass? When she’d said a couple of times, she’d literally meant twice. First time and last time. It hadn’t done

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much for her but, then again, she hadn’t known what sort of sensations Gareth could arouse in her, either. At this point, she was pretty close to beyond caring. Any which way would do. Just as long as she came before she exploded into minute particles that would vaporize immediately. Death by orgasm. She heard a sound, and managed to open her eyes long enough to see Gareth at the desk. He was digging out a box, pulling a small package free and putting on a condom. She blinked. “You came prepared.” It was more of a growl than a comment. He turned, cock sheathed and swollen. “We’re not seventeen any more, sweetheart. Back then, you were on the pill and we were both virgins. Now…” His voice trailed off as he stared at her. “Now we’re all grown up and a lot smarter.” Lydia mentally smacked herself. He was absolutely right. She nodded. “Yeah. All grown up.” “And now we get to the really good part.” “We do?” Lydia gazed at him as he lowered himself over her. “Yeah.” His cock burrowed between her outspread thighs and he sucked a nipple, rolling it between his teeth. “Okay.” She closed her eyes once more, loving the touch of his mouth. “Open your eyes, Liddy. Watch. Watch us fucking. It’s been seventeen years. You don’t want to miss it…” Like that was gonna happen. She was soooo there, so into the moment. But she opened her eyes anyway, just as Gareth slid his cock into her cunt. Slowly…oh so slowly…he filled her, never looking away from her gaze. He stilled as their bodies met, pressed hard against each other. “Good, huh?” Sweat was breaking out on his forehead and a vein throbbed at the base of his neck. “Oh yeah.” She could scarcely breathe. 50

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“Ready?” “Yes.” Gareth eased away from her, stroking her cunt with his cock, then thrust back, hard this time, starting a rhythm that would send them both over the edge. His hips were strong, his thighs solid and he put everything he had into his movements, pounding against her as he hammered deep inside her. She sobbed with the feel of it, of him, his cock touching the neck of her womb with each penetration, deeper and still deeper, reaching places she’d never known she had. His groin thudded into her pussy, abrading her clit with every downward stroke. She fought toward her orgasm, meeting him thrust for thrust, raising her hips and bracing her legs to take all he had to offer and give it back with interest. They took each other, she realized, each giving and each taking. And it couldn’t last. “Fuck it, Liddy…fuck me…” Gareth’s rough command sounded over the noise their bodies made as they slapped together on the ride to ecstasy. “Yes…oh God…Gareth…now…” She screamed out senseless mewling cries, her orgasm thundering up her spine and sending her someplace…else. Gareth’s cry mingled with hers and dimly she sensed the throb of his cock as he burst within her, feeding the clamping spasms that were shuddering through her cunt all the way down her legs to her toes. Tight as a bow, her body arched impossibly and her vision blurred as she rode out the roller coaster ride that seemed to never end. Wave upon wave of ripples crashed over her, as every single cell in her body shuddered in time with the orgasm. Lost in the void, she spun helpless, aware only of the cock inside her and the man above her. “Aaaarrghhh…” Lydia screamed.

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The shudders eased, at last. Gareth dripped sweat onto her chest and Lydia realized she had neither the strength nor the will to brush the droplets away. “Christ, Lydia.” His voice was nearly reverent as he slid free and removed the condom, tossing it into the wastepaper basket. “Holy fucking Christ.” Part of her wanted to grin. A lot of her wanted to smirk and show him that seventeen years hadn’t made any difference at all, unless it was to turn her into an even better bed partner. But most of her was still tingling and exhausted from the best sex she’d had since…well, since whenever. She settled on the only thing she could think of. “Yeah.” Short, but to the point. Gareth pulled her close. “Yeah.” Her eyelids drooped, and nestled into his heat, Lydia slept. When she awoke in the morning, he was gone.

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Chapter Eight Apprehensively, Lydia walked downstairs to the hotel restaurant for breakfast. She couldn’t quite decide if she felt like some kind of slut, a well-satisfied woman or a seething mass of nerves. It was probably a combination of all three. She had a lot of twinges in her thighs, so there wasn’t much question about the satisfaction bit. And the thought that Gareth was probably already at the table certainly made her nervous. Strike two. But the slut issue…well that was something else. She’d tumbled into bed with a man after spending less than twelve hours with him. Did that make her a slut? Possibly. But it was Gareth, her first lover, and a man she’d known since he was a child. So she hadn’t seen him in many years. That fact ought to change the dynamics of the situation. Perhaps she’d just substitute “horny woman” for “slut”, and live with it. Sighing, she rounded the corner and stopped short. My God. Her friends were seated at a long table, in front of more food than she’d seen in years. “Holy shit. You people eat like this every morning?” Daisy looked up and giggled. “Nah. Only on special occasions.” Mark pulled out a chair. “Come on, skinny. You look like you need feeding.” Lydia sat down, still stunned by the huge array of dishes. Part of her noticed that Gareth hadn’t appeared yet, while the other had difficulty picking its jaw up off the tablecloth.

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There were platters of sausages, eggs—cooked to order, apparently—a mound of bacon that probably deserved its own zip code, fried tomatoes, baked beans, kidneys— kidneys, for heaven’s sake—and amongst this carnivorous debris were many pots of tea. And one glass of orange juice. Lydia gaped. “I’d forgotten about this.” “I hadn’t.” A cheerful voice sounded behind her and Gareth squeezed a chair in beside her. “Good morning. Damn, I’m hungry.” She swallowed. “Any chance of a cup of coffee?” Even the brownish stuff would be welcome right now. “Food and I agreed a long time ago not to co-exist in the mornings.” Gareth grinned. “Sure.” He waved the waitress over and ordered coffee. “Bless you.” Lydia’s sentiment came from the heart. Tea was one thing she’d never return to. Not at this hour, anyway. Thoughtfully moving the plate of kidneys away from her, Gareth helped himself to a modest couple of slices of toast and marmalade. And yes, the obligatory tea. Under cover of the muted conversation, she noticed his hair. Wet and slicked back, he’d obviously just showered. And she could smell the freshness of his soap as he munched his way through his meal. She shivered, glad for the warmth of her sweatshirt and jeans. It wasn’t the cold, of course, but still… “So. Golf today, gentlemen?” Roger posed the question. “I need a chance to recoup the money you lot stole off me yesterday.” “You need to find your balls is what you need, lad.” Mark laughed over at him. Roger bravely defended himself against such slander and many really awful golfing jokes flew over the emptying plates. Lydia looked around and frowned. “Daisy, where’s Harry?” Daisy grimaced over her teacup. “Sick as a dog, poor love.”

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“Oh no. I’m so sorry…” Lydia tipped her head to one side and studied her friend. “That damn cold?” Her friend nodded. “Yep. He’s sleeping right now. I’m going to check on him in a bit, maybe pick him up some cold stuff from the chemist.” Lydia chuckled. Chemist. Right. Pharmacy. She was getting used to doing little American-English translations in her head. “Too bad, Daisy. Perhaps the sleep will help.” “It happens.” Daisy shrugged it off with the matter-of-factness that arrives along with a husband and children and their assorted ailments. “Well…” Gareth put his empty cup down and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “I’m kidnapping Lydia for the day. No golf for me.” “Huh?” Lydia stared at him over her coffee. “Yes.” He grinned at her and slid his arm around her shoulders as he spoke to everybody. “If anyone asks, Liddy’s with me today.” Lydia’s stomach dropped, her heart galloped a mile a minute and suddenly she wasn’t in the least bit cold anymore. In fact her palms were sweating. She was back to being seventeen again. Gareth was claiming her in front of everybody, making it clear they were a couple, and the emotions that had filled her as a girl swept over the woman she had become, turning her into a useless lump of breathless anticipation. “Oh. Okay.” What could she say? There were no words to adequately express what she was experiencing at that moment and, even if there had been, she couldn’t have voiced them. Her throat, for some stupid reason, had completely closed up. Gareth’s words seemed to meet with approval from the others, who began a litany of places she ought to see while she was there, ranging from the practical—their old school—to the somewhat absurd—the place where their school bus had developed a flat tire once upon a time.

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Finding her equilibrium once more, Lydia listened and laughed, agreeing that some sights were better left shrouded in the past. Plans were made, discussions held about where to eat dinner that night, and at what time, and after another cup of the pretend coffee, they were ready to go. “Lydia…” Daisy tugged her aside for a second as chairs scraped on the floor. “I have to tell you…” “What? Is it Harry?” “No, no. He’s fine.” Daisy glanced around and moved closer to Lydia. “The big party tomorrow night?” “Yes?” It was the culmination of the gathering, a meeting of many more school friends than the handful who’d been enjoying each other in Lyndhurst. “Beatrice is coming.” Daisy swallowed. “Ah.” The word dropped out of Lydia’s mouth, which she promptly snapped shut. “I’m sorry…I only just found out. She messaged me this morning and said she could make it after all.” Lydia sighed. “Well hell, honey. What are we going to do? She’s a schoolmate too.” Daisy curled her lip. “Yes. And if you think I’ve forgiven her for stealing Derek Soames, you’re wrong.” Lydia patted her friend on the shoulder. “Look, Dais. Maybe she’s gained a hundred pounds or something. I’m absolutely not going to let Beatrice Willows, or the thought of Beatrice Willows, spoil my vacation with you guys.” “Right you are.” Daisy straightened her shoulders. “And if she makes a play for Harry, I’ll have him sneeze all over her. And her long blonde hair…” “And her mile-long legs.” Lydia grimaced. “Oh shit. Some things never change, do they?” Daisy sighed. Lydia shook her head. “Nope.” “A hundred pounds maybe? What’s that, about nine stone?” 56

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“I guess. Math and I never did well together.” “We can always hope, I suppose.” Both women sighed simultaneously. They parted, Daisy to tend to her husband, and Lydia to find Gareth. And shove the thought of the glorious Beatrice Willows right out of her mind.

***** She’d pretty much succeeded by the time she and Gareth reached the hotel parking lot. Knowing the eccentricities of English autumn weather, Lydia had run upstairs for a light jacket, and remembered to grab her camera. Then there’d been some lobby conversation about times and places, and more godawful golf jokes. Lydia had rolled her eyes. What the hell was it with guys and golf? Finally, they’d split up and she followed Gareth past the assorted vehicles to a sleek silver wagon. “You want to drive?” His amused question surprised her, until she realized she was standing beside the driver’s door. “Shit. Sorry. Force of habit.” With a shrug, she slunk around to the other side of the car, where British drivers sat their passengers, regardless of whether they were American or not. It was still frickin’ weird not to have a brake or a gas pedal beneath her foot, not to mention the decided lack of a steering wheel. Rotary traffic made her close her eyes in fright, she consistently looked the wrong way at intersections and even being on the wrong side of the road did nothing to help her adjust to being on the wrong side of the car. She was just going to have to live with it, she decided.

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“Must seem strange…” Gareth glanced over as he headed out of Lyndhurst and toward Beaulieu Heath. “What?” She stared out the window at the vaguely familiar terrain. “Driving on the left. Being home. Us.” She thought for a moment. “Yes. It is.” Lydia turned and looked at him. “All of the above. Funnily enough—oh look…” She leaned forward as a small horse and her foal stepped onto the road. “New Forest ponies. They’re still here. How lovely.” Gareth slowed to a crawl, waiting for the small family to cross the paved road. “Yes indeed. Probably always will be.” The road clear, he accelerated once more. “So you were saying…funnily enough…” “Yeah. The funny thing is, out of everything, you know what I find the strangest?” “No, what?” He flicked his indicator as he passed a pair of horses and their smartly attired riders. “Well, firstly that you all use your signals such a lot.” She laughed. “But actually, it’s this whole being home thing.” “Not us?” Lydia concentrated, trying to put some order to her thoughts and explain what she meant. Which wasn’t easy, since she wasn’t quite sure herself. “When it comes to us, Gareth, it’s…it’s natural. Easy. Like time has stood still between us. We just picked up where we left off.” He nodded, eyes on the road as he listened. He’d always been a good listener. “But being home…that’s harder. Yes, this is home, to me. Always has been. Living in America, I’ve always talked about home and this is exactly where I meant. Not where my house happened to be at the time. But here. England.” “Okay, I sort of understand that. So why are you saying it’s strange?” She sighed. “I don’t know. It’s familiar, but not. Some things are the same, many aren’t. Time has moved on everywhere, I guess, but somewhere along the line my brain

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didn’t accept it.” She shrugged. “That’s the best I can do right now. I don’t think I’ve worked it out in my head yet.” Gareth chuckled. “You always did think things to death, darling.” “Still do. And it’s got me where I am today.” The conversation moved naturally into “catch-up” mode as Lydia told Gareth about her career and Gareth returned the favor, talking of his life in London. He ran a small software company, pretty successfully from the sound of things, and as he talked, Lydia watched his face. She could see him in the big city. He was handsome, charming, could turn the smallest expression into something humorous, and was clearly a man comfortable in his own skin. Secure and self-confident, he drove easily, conversed knowledgeably and made her feel that his entire attention was focused solely on her. It was, of course, since they were the only two people in the car. But Lydia had matured enough to recognize this talent for what it was—an invaluable business skill. She tried to look at him through eyes not blinded by what lay between them. A hard thing to do, since she was incredibly aware of him on a fundamentally sexual level. But with some mental effort, she was able to view him a little more objectively. And found his personality very attractive indeed. And yet…there was something…something there, or perhaps not there… His voice interrupted her musings. “Don’t tell me you don’t know where we are.” The car turned down a steep lane and Lydia gasped as the ocean came into view. “Oh my God. Gareth. We’re at Calshot Beach.”

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Chapter Nine As soon as she opened the car door a wave of dizziness swept over her. Fuck—I should be getting used to this by now. The tangy salt-fresh fragrance of the sea air took Lydia back to her past with a huge thump of excitement. She vaguely recalled reading that scent was the strongest sense associated with memory and damned if she wasn’t finding that out every other minute. It was like living her life in flashbacks from a movie. “I can’t believe it.” She stared around her. “The beach huts—they’re still here.” “Yep. I can’t see them ever tearing these down.” Gareth pulled a blanket from the trunk—or, as she should be calling it, boot—of his car. Lydia looked along the grassy bank where they’d parked to see with delight dozens of neatly ordered little buildings. The space between them was just enough for a couple of people and a beach chair to squeeze through and, although it was autumn now, and cloudy, the variety of bright colors still brought a smile of pleasure to her face. It was like standing on a board game and being the same size as the little houses. “Come on then.” Gareth tugged her hand, leading her between two of them and onto the beach itself. She followed him eagerly, laughing as her sneakers crunched onto the pebbly shore. How many hours she’d spent here as a child. Struggling down over the stones into the freezing waters, squabbling with her friends over the few bits of soft sand that were revealed at low tide and learning to swim, sort of, buoyed by the salt water and rocked by the gentle waves.

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And how many hours she’d spent here in Gareth’s arms, cuddling beneath warm towels, splashing each other in the water and finally loving each other in a borrowed hut. His eyes were wandering up and down the beach. “Now, let me see.” He frowned. “Yeah, here we are. This one.” He strode off, feet rattling against the pebbles, to a brilliant blue hut, padlocked and boarded up now in preparation for winter. “Gareth?” Lydia followed him. “Where are you going? Wait up, I’m out of practice.” She panted as she clambered over the low stretches of pilings, implanted to prevent beach erosion. She stumbled over a pile of stones that had mounded against the hidden side and staggered to a halt. “What the hell?” Gareth was unlocking the beach hut, and opening the door. He turned with a grin. “I borrowed the key from a friend.” Lydia laughed. “You are a devil, aren’t you?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Won’t you step inside, Madam?” “With pleasure, kind sir.” She dropped him a little curtsey and moved into the shadowy darkness. Folded chairs were stacked neatly against the back wall of the hut and a round table filled one corner. There wasn’t much else to see, since smart beachgoers knew how much damage cold damp winds could do to personal possessions left in such inhospitable surroundings for months at a time. A stack of plastic-covered cushions stretched along one side and Lydia dropped her bag on top of it, as she bent to unlace her sneakers. “Um, Lydia?” Gareth raised an eyebrow in question.

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“If you think I’ve come three thousand miles and plan on going back the same distance without a good paddle, you’re nuts.” She stripped off her socks. “It’s the beach, Gareth. The beach.” He sighed and shook his head. “You’ll freeze your toes off.” She giggled. “That’s news?” Stepping back outside, she winced. Okay, so the soles of her feet had done a bit of softening up in the intervening years. But this was now a matter of principle. She was going to get that paddle in her own ocean if it killed her. Five steps later, that seemed a distinct possibility. Even though the sun struggled weakly through the overcast sky, the stones felt like shards of ice beneath her feet, each one determined to rip the flesh from her bones. “Fucking A.” The oath was forced out between her lips, mostly by the pain but partly by the snort of laughter she heard from behind her. Hah. I’ll show him, the smart ass. Determinedly, Lydia made her way to the water’s edge, sighing with relief as she reached a teeny patch of soft sand. Her toes scrunched into it and she rolled up the legs of her jeans as far as they would go. The water lapped noisily, splashing rivulets of foam onto the shore and dragging its prey back with it as it receded. And yes, it was fucking cold. Always had been, now she came to think of it. But had it been this cold all those years ago? Probably. Then, as now, she didn’t care. Feet numb, she stood ankle deep in the blue-grey liquid that was the Solent. Looking up, a strip of land across the water stared back at her. The Isle of Wight. Unchanged, still green, it was maybe two miles or so offshore, and yes…the yachts that were so much a part of this area still scudded across the water around it. Lydia breathed in deeply. This was why she’d come home. This very moment.

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To reassure herself, on a variety of levels, that her childhood had been real. And when she heard Gareth’s feet approaching, she knew she’d done the right thing. It had, indeed, been real. And so was he.

***** A slick strand of seaweed brushed her foot and Lydia yelped then laughed. This was…wonderful. “You’re certifiably nuts.” Gareth called out to her as she paddled around in the cold wavelets. “I know. Isn’t it marvelous?” She bent to the ground and automatically her hands sought the roundest, smoothest stone she could find. Ahh…that one. With a flick of her wrist she sent it bouncing across the water. “Hey, not bad. You’ve kept your hand in.” From the relative security of his position above the waves, Gareth began to do the same thing. It was the quintessential water sport. Skipping stones. Giggling and shouting out challenges to each other, they shed the trappings of adulthood and just played. Finally achieving the near-impossible five-skip, Lydia turned in triumph. “Aha. Beat that.” Gareth stood, hands on hips, grinning and watching her as she triumphantly raised her hands high above her head and kicked water into a little spray of droplets. “I don’t have to.” “Oh yeah?” She mimicked his stance, planting her hands on her own hips and staring up the beach at him. “How come?”

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“Because that’s going to do it for me.” He nodded at the ocean behind her. She turned—and gasped. The wash from a passing motorboat had traveled the distance between its powerful engine and the beach and the nice-sized wave was bearing down on Lydia. She stumbled, moved toward the shore and got thoroughly soaked when the water crashed up the backs of her legs. “Oh shit.” Gareth obviously struggled. Then he gave up the battle and burst into a roar of laughter that boomed along the deserted beach. Holding his stomach he released his mirth, oblivious of Lydia glaring wetly at him. She stepped gingerly from the water. “Very funny.” Gareth’s laughter eased. “Well, damn it, woman. You should’ve been watching the water.” “I would’ve been if you hadn’t…oh shit. It’s too late now.” Her jeans were soaked to the back of her knees and even her thighs bore sizeable splash marks. “Eeeuuuwww.” Wet denim was icky, especially when plastered to her skin by a cool breeze. “Come on, idiot. Let’s get you dry.” Lydia ground her teeth. How charming. Cursing herself, she picked her way over the pebbles to the relative comfort of the beach hut. A glint of sunlight beamed down on them between the clouds. Great. Even the sun’s having a chuckle. Gareth tugged her inside and pulled the lower half of the small door closed. “Here, let’s get these off you.” She swatted at his hands as he began to unfasten her jeans. “Gareth…what the hell?”

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“You can’t sit around in these sopping things.” He efficiently unzipped her. “We can hang them here on this line and pray the sunshine holds for a bit.” In seconds, her jeans were gone and her legs bare. She shivered, watching him peg her pants onto a convenient line, directly in the sunlight. Clearly she wasn’t the first one to need nature’s clothes dryer. “Now. Let’s dry you off.” He reached for the blanket and rubbed her legs hard. “Ow.” She sat down on the cushions with a thump. “That’s my skin you’re sandpapering there, Mister.” “I know.” Two words were all it took. Two words and a glance from hot brown eyes turned Lydia from a wet and chilly woman into a hot and needy ball of lust. Jesus H. I must be seriously sick. Gareth knelt down in front of her and pulled her foot off the floor, cradling it in one hand and rubbing the soft blanket over it with the other. It was…erotic. What he did next was even more so. Gently, he lowered his head and dropped a kiss on her arch. Lydia sighed, the warmth of his grasp a delight against her chilled feet. The touch of his lips sent heat up her legs in a rush, to pool between her thighs. Goose bumps appeared on her skin that had nothing to do with the temperature of the air. “Mmm.” Gareth settled himself to his task. Slowly he moved her foot even closer to her face. “Nice toes.” “Th-thank you.” The words choked out of her throat. He was opening his mouth and sucking her toes inside. Hot and wet, his tongue swirled around, focusing on the big toe, then moving on to the smaller ones. He sought out every crevice, every piece of sensitive flesh above, beside and beneath, flicking, sucking and licking—and driving Lydia into a state of quivering tension.

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“Gareth…” It was a sigh more than anything else. He ignored her, concentrating on his task and giving it his full attention. Lydia slumped backwards, supporting her body with her arms as her elbows rested on the cushions. “Gareth…you shouldn’t…” He let her little toe pop free of his lips. “Oh yes I should. I want to warm you up.” He transferred his mouth to her other foot, treating it to the same loving motions. “Is it working?” Oh, like he couldn’t tell. He shuffled closer, finished off her second foot with a long lick from heel to tip and proceeded to her ankles. She shivered. Who the hell knew there were so many sexually arousing erogenous zones in the ankles? She sure didn’t. Until now. Lydia tried to relax, to relish the feel of his mouth as he grazed her skin, nipping at her calf with his teeth while stroking her legs with hot palms. Thank God I waxed before this trip. Her thighs parted to give him better access, a move designed to encourage him. Yes, she was a slut of the worst order. And yes, she was enjoying every minute of it. Gareth took the hint. His mouth continued its voyage, traveling tenderly around the back of her knees, tickling her and bringing a flood of moisture to her pussy. Some motorboat deep in her belly was producing a wash that swamped her underwear as thoroughly as the ocean had soaked her jeans. She was throbbing now, fire licking its way to her clit from just about every nerve ending in her body. Lying half prone on the cushions with her sweatshirt still on while the rest of her was nearly nude, Lydia burned with an erotic flame. It was…unique, this feel of his shirt grazing her naked flesh.

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Oh—there—he nibbled at the inside of her thigh and she moaned. Her breasts ached, her vision blurred and she fought the urge to cup herself and relieve the need welling in her nipples. She lost the battle. Dropping flat on the cushions, she grasped the swells beneath the soft fleece and let them fill her hands. It was gratifying, but not enough. Not nearly enough. Gareth groaned in his turn. He moved back slightly and stripped off his sweater, rapidly unbuttoning the shirt beneath and pulling it away from his chest. “Liddy… Jesus, Liddy. You’re so damn hot…” He pressed his bare skin into her crotch, rubbing himself like a cat against the soaking patch of silk covering her clit. She gasped and squeezed her breasts to the point of pain, trying to distract herself from the possibility of exploding into an orgasm on the spot. “Here…let me help.” Gareth scrabbled for the elastic on her panties and ripped them away from her body without so much as an apology. Then he grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and pushed it up as far as he could, shoving her hands away and exposing her breasts barely hidden by the black lace of her bra. “Yes. Good. Oh yesss.” His hands delved beneath the cups, lifting her breasts free and letting the underwires support them. His abs squashed hard against her pussy, abrading it as he moved to suckle her nipples deep into his mouth. She could feel his cock, swollen and hard beneath his jeans. He rose over her, rubbing himself against her once more, only this time, his fly hit her pussy and ground hard against it. Her thighs tightened. “Shit, Gareth…” Lydia’s hips thrust forward. “Not yet. Wait.” For what? The next bus? I’m not exactly in control here, ya know.

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Gareth’s hands left her and she felt him fumbling for his belt. The darkness inside the small hut, combined with the intensity of her arousal, had nearly blinded her and she relied on other senses to tell her what he was doing. A metallic hiss of his zipper, the tearing sound of a small packet, and he was back, thighs bare now, hotter than hot against her own naked flesh. He pushed his sheathed cock against her body while he played with her breasts, mounding them, squeezing them and suckling the nipples, elongating them with his lips and teeth. Lydia squirmed and moaned beneath him, hands reaching for him and finding shirt over muscles. Their semi-nudity was an erotic thrill all its own. Her top was bunched above her breasts, a constricting band that somehow made everything else seem more…naked. If that was possible. Any thoughts of cold air had fled and Lydia wanted nothing more than his cock inside her. Right now. “Fuck me, Gareth, for God’s sake, just fuck me.” Gareth squeezed her breasts together and sucked them both, hard. Then let them go. “All in good time.” He slithered down to his knees once more. “I want something to eat first.”

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Chapter Ten Holy fucking tongue. With almost reverent care, Gareth began to feast on her pussy, licking his way around her sensitive labia, learning her anew. Her skin alternated between chilled where the moisture from his tongue mingled with her juices and left a cool slick, to boiling hot where he touched her. And he touched her just about damn near everywhere. Probing, pushing, wiggling the very tip of his talented tongue, Gareth proceeded to push Lydia past the point of any control whatsoever. He gingerly suckled her clit until she was sure she was going to orgasm right on the spot, then backed off, leaving her sobbing and taut with need. He buried his face in her, thrusting his tongue into her cunt and moving it around in a sensual intrusion guaranteed to bring a scream of pleasure sobbing from her throat. “Jesus Christ, Gareth. I can’t hold out—” Sprawled on the cushions, bare from the neck down, Lydia was lost in a whirling storm of passion. Her senses had narrowed down to focus on one thing only. Her overwhelming, lung-crushing, need to come. “No patience, Liddy. That’s your problem.” Gareth nipped at her belly. “No cock inside me. That’s my problem.” She dug her fingertips into whatever part of him she could reach, and tugged. “Demanding bitch in bed, aren’t you?” Gareth’s tone was light but his voice was distinctly rough around the edges. “We’re not in bed—yes, I’m demanding—and if you don’t fuck me now, I swear I’ll do it myself.”

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“Not a chance in hell, darling. Although hold that thought for another time, all right?” Gareth slid over her and reached downwards, making sure that his sheathed cock touched the opening to her cunt. It did. She groaned. Gareth thrust inside. At last. Within seconds, Gareth was pounding into her like a jackhammer on high speed. Her head thumped against the wall, her thighs ached and she loved every minute of it. Almost violent, exactly what she needed and overwhelmingly arousing. Like she needed to be aroused any more than she was already. His groin crashed into her pussy again and again, his balls slapping up against her ass with an audible smack. It orchestrated their fucking and added one more dimension to this entire surreal experience that was enough to tip Lydia over the edge. “Shit. Gareth…” “So—fucking—good—yes—Liddy…” Her name was a cry from his gut and Gareth froze, embedded deeply in her cunt as he exploded. She was already there, spasming frantically beneath him, around him, feeling the muscles in her cunt clamping down on his pulsing cock as it spewed into the condom protecting her. Another twitch, another round…the shudders quaked through her like massive aftershocks. She sobbed, cried out and locked her legs around his waist, refusing to release him until they were both drained dry. Or wet, as the case may be. Limply, they slumped, Gareth’s cock sliding free of her body on a stream of moisture. 70

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“Oh. My. God.” Lydia’s words broke the silence between them, alternating with gasps of breath and the sound of Gareth panting in her arms. “Damn. That was about as near to a religious experience as I think I’ll ever get.” Gareth rubbed his face against her neck and sighed as he pulled himself free. She watched him as he dealt with the condom. His pants were tangled around his ankles, his shirt askew, and he looked…well, probably like she did right about now. Well-fucked. And gorgeous. Lydia sighed with pleasure, then winced as her ass met cold plastic cushion. She blinked and reached for her underwear. “Shit. This isn’t going to help.” They were shredded into uselessness. “Sorry.” Gareth tugged his trousers back up and zipped the fly. He didn’t look sorry in the least. “Savage.” She found some tissues in her purse and did her best to set her body into some kind of working order. “That’s me. Around you, anyway.” Gareth pulled her jeans down from the line. “Here. They’re not bone-dry, but at least they’re not soaked anymore.” She snorted. “That’ll last all of about two seconds after I put them on. Without my panties, this ain’t gonna be a comfortable drive, you know.” “Oh come on, Liddy. It was fun. You know it and I know it.” Gareth was unrepentant. “Give me that.” He took the soiled tissues, bundled the condom in them and opened the door to the hut just as Lydia carefully fastened her jeans. She’d never found the idea of going “commando” appealing and, as she negotiated the tricky passage of metal teeth over pubic hair, she knew why. One false move and she’d be in big trouble.

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Running trembling hands through her hair, Lydia staggered to her feet. Her legs were still shaky and she held on to the door of the beach hut for a few seconds while she waited to see if her muscles would resume their normal functioning. Gareth was striding over the pebbles like nothing had happened and she envied him his stamina. He chucked the trash in a convenient bin and came back, buttoning his shirt as he walked. “Well, damn. Here am I quaking like jelly and you…” She pouted, then grinned. “Nothing like a good ride to put the roses in your cheeks.” He stepped past her into the hut, grabbed his sweater and pulled it over his head. Lydia shrugged. His recuperative powers were amazing. She took a moment to try and remember if he’d always been that way. To her disgust, she couldn’t find the memory. It was as if their adventure in the hut had washed away her earliest experiences of sex with Gareth. “I’m hungry.” He hugged her. “For food this time. How about lunch?” Pushing her thoughts aside, she smiled up at him. “Sounds good.”

***** The bar was warm, thanks to a crackling fire in the eons-old fireplace, and Lydia smiled with pleasure as the flames toasted her legs and took the last of the dampness from her clothing. They’d chosen the Little Station House pub for lunch, a place that she vaguely remembered as marking the start of Beaulieu Heath. It hadn’t changed much. Commuters could actually hop on a train for London, now and again, since it had become a functional station, but the parking lot was relatively empty when she and Gareth pulled in. They chose a table near the fire, and ordered wine to go with their “pub lunch”, a luxury for Lydia, whose lunch usually consisted of more coffee and a snack from whatever vending machine was nearest. And that, only if she had time. 72

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I don’t eat well. The thought crossed her mind as a young man served her with a large plate featuring an enormous lump of warm fresh bread, a healthy wedge of brie, and other assorted yummies. They included a heaping mound of homemade chutney, which made Lydia’s mouth water. The tart pickled relish had always had a place in her heart growing up and she tucked in with pleasure. Of course, if I ate like this every day I wouldn’t fit onto this bench. But as all good vacationers do, she threw calorie caution to the winds and devoured her food, along with Gareth, who cleaned his plate before she did. “Mmm. That was good.” He leaned back and drained his wine, with a satisfied grin. “Yep.” The last of Lydia’s bread disappeared. “So.” He gazed at her with a smile lurking around his eyes. “When are you going to come home?” “Huh?” The question caught Lydia completely by surprise. Up until now, she’d been swept off her feet into a wild affair with Gareth—Gareth, for God’s sake—but she hadn’t thought further than the next minute. Truthfully, she hadn’t been able to. Emotions had crowded into her brain and her heart. The sex, the sights, the sounds of her childhood home, the memories—there just hadn’t been time to simply think. Now, with Gareth’s casual question banging at her thoughts, Lydia realized perhaps she should take some time to do just that. Think. She opened her mouth to respond, when the pub suddenly seemed filled with people, all heading to their table. It was the golfers, disgusted with the drizzle that had finally turned their game into a soggy squelch and forced them indoors after only eight holes.

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“Wouldn’t you know it?” Mark brushed the dampness off his jacket. “I was just about to beat these chaps into the ground too.” “Hah.” Roger snorted. “You’d have had to find that last shot into the rough to do that, my lad. And when I say ‘rough’, I’m talking somewhere in Dorset. Or possibly even Wiltshire.” The conversation degenerated into friendly insults as chairs were rearranged, beers ordered and the group around the fire toasted each other and their toes at the same time. Lydia leaned back, enjoying the laughter once more. She was in the enviable position of being the only woman among all these men—these boys she’d grown up alongside. Boys who were now men with lives of their own. For a second, things clicked into place in Lydia’s brain, like the rusty gears in a cog that had slowed to a halt with disuse. Once more, she marveled at the experience. Tim was still frowning at his digital camera, then chortling as he finally got it to show him a photo. Of his feet. She joined in the roars of laughter with half her mind. The other half was busily churning over the odd thoughts and emotions she was feeling. They were adults. All of them, even Gareth. And yes, even her. Grown up to meet life head-on, with a shared base of school life, but diverse paths from then on. They’d moved into new avenues, jobs, marriage, parenthood…and once again, Lydia found herself oddly moved by the realization. Parts of her childhood were closing up. Sealing themselves, healing the gashes that her hasty departure had left raw and bleeding so long ago. Wounds that, until now, she’d never known she had. It was…zen, for lack of a better word. The karma of her life rotating into a new and disorienting perspective.

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Lydia sighed. She’d probably had too much wine, too much sex—if there was such a thing—and needed a nap. Not to mention a soak in that nice deep bathtub. As the level of the beer in the glasses went down and the noise in the pub went up, Lydia found her eyelids drooping. The combination of exhaustion, wine and the heat from the fire were all doing their part in kicking the knees out from under her. “Time to go rest, I think.” Mark shot a glance over at Lydia. “Somebody’s tired.” Lydia smiled ruefully. “Can’t decide if it’s the wine or leftover jet lag.” She grinned around the table. “It certainly isn’t the company.” Roger stretched. “I have to admit I wouldn’t mind heading back to the hotel myself. Spending eight hours a day at a desk doesn’t really get one in shape for two golf days in a row.” “Oh, so that’s your excuse?” Mark stood and chuckled at Roger. “Yes. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” The party broke up, found their cars and, before Lydia knew it, she was back in the hotel parking lot. “Thanks, Gareth.” She glanced at him. “Thanks for taking me to Calshot.” “It was my pleasure, Liddy. Believe me.” He wagged his eyebrows. “I believe you.” She wanted to keep this conversation casual and lighthearted but something, somewhere was buzzing at her, making her want to be alone. Her back ached, her thighs were tired and she wanted a bath. “I’ll see you later.” “You bet. We’ll be in the bar when you girls get back.” She nodded. For tonight, she’d be with Daisy and the other women. It wasn’t something she’d thought she’d look forward to with such pleasure. But then again, this trip was simply chock-full of surprises. The biggest surprise of all put his arms around her and gave her a hug. “Get some rest. I want you in good shape.” The hug tightened for a few seconds. “Aw, hell, Liddy. I just want you.”

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“Go away, Gareth. You…you…sex machine.” She mustered up a smile. “I need some seriously restorative sleep.” And some time to think.

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Chapter Eleven Both activities were curtailed. Lydia did manage to get in a nap but it wasn’t the most restful sleep she’d ever enjoyed. Odd dreams plagued her and, when she finally woke to find herself kicking frantically at a nibbling horde of invisible butterflies, she gave up. A voice echoed in her head. They’re not real, Lydia. She snorted. There was probably some sort of message from her subconscious there but damned if she could figure it out. The idea of a long soak in that mammoth bath called loudly and Lydia settled into the sudsy water with a sigh of pleasure. Now this was a vacation. She had her tea within reach, next to a couple of cookies. Her cell phone was next to the plate. The water was just the right temperature, the towel behind her neck cushioned her head perfectly, she could stretch out without bumping into anything… And the silence was broken by the chiming sounds of an incoming call. “Ain’t that always the way?” Lydia toyed with ignoring it, but… Yeah. There was always that “but”. She dried off her hands and flipped her phone open. “Hello?” “Hey you.” Lydia struggled to sit upright and not drown. “Sam?” “In the flesh. Or sort of, anyway. Did I catch you at a bad time?” His voice was so…so American and Lydia smiled at her soapy knees. “Nope, not at all. I’m just grabbing some downtime in the biggest bathtub I can ever remember seeing.”

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There was silence for a moment. “Uh…babe? It’s still morning here. I’m not sure if I can cope with the mental image of you in a tub at this hour.” There was a pause. “All slippery and naked and wet, huh?” The laughter was there, in his tone, in his words, and Lydia laughed back. “TMI, Sam.” “Too much information?” There was a gusty sigh. “No. Not enough.” Lydia shifted and the water lapped around her. “Sorry about that.” “Don’t be. I’m a happy, albeit frustrated, camper here. I’ll just make do with coffee. Lots of coffee. Some of it probably iced.” Lydia laughed again. “Sam, you goof.” “So. You having fun?” To her surprise, it took a moment or two before she could answer. “Yeah. Oh yeah. It’s…” “It’s what, sweetheart?” “It’s odd. Real odd. And yet it’s not. I’m home, Sam.” She paused, thinking about her words. “This is where I’m from. And where I would have grown up if things had been different.” Sam was silent, listening to her. It was one of his most adorable traits—he really did listen to her. “But it’s not where I grew up, anymore. It’s changed. The people have lives, families, jobs…” She faltered. “Time has moved on for everyone, hasn’t it?” “Oh yes, Sam. That’s it. That’s so true.” Lydia took a breath. Sam understood. He listened to what she was and wasn’t saying. “I miss you.” “You do?”

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Sam chuckled. “Yeah. I miss your laugh. I miss that look in your eye when you’re on a quest for coffee. I miss sharing wine with you after a long day. I miss being able to bitch to you when things go wrong. Yeah, I miss you, Lyd.” She blinked. “You know what? I miss you too, Sam.” “Was the trip worth it?” Good question. “All things considered, yes.” “Are you…how do I ask this without sounding like an idiot?” Sam’s voice crackled and wavered a little as some kind of transatlantic static echoed on the line. “Are you thinking of staying, Lyd?” That was an even better question. And Lydia surprised herself with the answer. “No, Sam. No, I’m not.” There was another sigh from the phone. “Look, I’ve got your return flight information. I’m going to be there at the airport to pick you up, okay? Lydia…I…” “Sam, you don’t have to do that. It’ll be late—” He cut her off. “I want to do that, so just cool it. I want to see you so damn bad I can nearly taste it. I want to move ahead with you, Lyd. I want to see if there really is some kind of special something between us. I know we’ve sorta danced around the edges of this thing and you had the trip coming up, and whatever…” Lydia swallowed. “Yeah. Whatever.” “But I’m damned if I’m going to miss out on the chance to get to know you better. A whole lot better.” His voice turned husky. “Like both-of-us-in-that-bathtub better.” “Sam?” “Yeah?” “I think I’d like that.” Lydia shivered at the thought. “I think I’d like that a lot.” “We both will.” Sam cleared his throat. “That’s a promise.” “Okay.”

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“I gotta go. You take care of yourself. Have fun. Do whatever you need to do. Then come home, Lyd. I’ll be waiting.” The line went dead. Come home. I’ll be waiting. Those words echoed in Lydia’s ears as she wallowed in the tub, then shivered as the water cooled. Sam would be waiting. Sam with his blue eyes, his laugh, his long stride that she never could quite keep up with—Jesus Christ. Sam. A man who shared her life. Her goals. Who understood her when she said “drugstore”. Who knew that chips weren’t French fries, but chips. A man who listened to her, laughed with her and cared enough to call three thousand miles to tell her he missed her. Goddamn. Lydia’s brain whirled around a new set of dynamics as she dressed for her night out with the girls. Suddenly, her world had shifted and settled onto a different axis. And she had no idea how to handle it. She almost wished she could pass on this “hen’s night”. Get some alone time to sort out the mess that was unraveling inside her head. But she was committed, she knew Daisy would have her “guts for garters” if she didn’t show and there were friends she wanted to say hello to. Yep. Gotta be there. Thinking was going to have to wait.

***** Lydia finished her third glass of wine and giggled. This had been such a great notion. The restaurant was quiet, except for their table, where half a dozen women chattered and laughed like the seventeen-year-olds they’d been when last they all met. War stories were swapped, revelations flew thick and fast—”You mean she was gay?” “No wonder I didn’t get an A.” “She wasn’t.” “Was, too.” 80

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Lydia lapped it up. These were women who shared a common bond, memories of school experiences that had linked them and helped shape them into who they were today. And she shared that bond. Something she’d never had or realized she’d missed since moving to America. And, eventually—as always happens when women get together—the conversation turned to men and sex. “So tell us, Liddy. American men. What’re they really like?” Susie Smith leaned over, just barely managing to avoid spilling her wine. “Are they fabulous in bed?” “Uhh…jeez, Suz. I haven’t slept with that many, ya know.” Lydia chuckled over the rim of her glass. “Aw, come on, sweetie. Spill the beans.” Daisy grinned at her. “Tell us about one or two of ‘em, anyway.” “Weeellll…” Lydia thought for a moment. “They’re all well-hung, of course. I’d say about—this long…” She held her hands at least a foot apart. “Or at least they think they are.” General laughter erupted. “Okay. You made your point. Men are men, no matter where they hail from.” Daisy shook her head. “With balls like coconuts…” continued Lydia. “Riiiiiight.” “And they know how to make a woman scream every single time.” She finished with a smirk at her friends. And, being the intelligent women they were, they didn’t buy a bit of it. Of course, much talk revolved around who was doing what with whom, these days. There had been quite a few divorces, several remarriages and not a few children born out of wedlock. “And then of course, she had that thing with Gareth…” Lydia’s ears pricked up as she heard the casual comment.

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“Hey, Lydia. You used to date Gareth, didn’t you?” Margaret Woods smiled at her. “Yep. Sure did. We were pretty hot and heavy too, right before I left.” Margaret nodded. “I thought I remembered that. Must’ve been funny seeing him again. He’s certainly kept his looks.” “Yes indeed.” Lydia kept her face relaxed and her voice friendly. What could she say? He looks even better naked? “So did you know he’d had a thing with Beatrice?” Lydia looked at Daisy, who looked back at her, obviously equally surprised. “Oh, I heard about that too.” Susie added her two cents. “It was in London, I guess, probably during or after college? I can’t remember.” “They were both there,” continued Margaret. “And I think they lived together for a bit. Somebody said they couldn’t keep their hands off each other. I was sort of surprised when he up and married somebody else, to be honest.” Daisy wrinkled her nose. “Well, damn it, just about everybody wanted to get their hands on Beatrice, didn’t they?” There was a communal sigh, as everybody remembered the gorgeous Beatrice, her long golden hair and the boys that couldn’t take their eyes off her. “Including Derek Soames.” Susie giggled. Daisy squinted at her and pointed a threatening finger. “Don’t even mention that. I never have forgiven either of ‘em. I’ve had no use for blondes ever since.” “Hey.” Margaret blinked, lifting a hand to her blonde hair. “You don’t count.” Lydia chuckled. “You have to be born blonde to make Daisy’s hit list.” “Ha, ha.” Margaret sniffed. “That’s right.” Daisy nodded. “And that also means you don’t have to explain to whoever you’re in bed with why there’s a significant color discrepancy in body hair. I

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never did buy that ‘oh, well, hair down there is physically different from the hair that grows on your head’.” “Guys do, though. Simpletons that they are.” Margaret laughed. “Men,” groaned Susie. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t shoot ‘em.” The women raised their glasses to toast that sentiment and, as Lydia embarked on her fourth glass of wine, she found her mind once again sliding down a new path. Instead of school friends, these were now adults. New friends, old friends—different, but yet the same. A complex concept. And not probably one she should even try and figure out after four glasses of wine. Yep, she was quite definitely drunk. Not tiddly, not slightly befuddled—she was comfortably, delightedly drunk. Three sheets to the wind, to use the nautical term. Or pissed to the gills, to use the non-nautical term. It was rather fun.

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Chapter Twelve “What the hell have you lot been up to, then?” Gareth closed the door behind him as he moved into Lydia’s room. “I could hear you all screeching from all the way down in the bar.” Lydia giggled. “Nuthin’.” His eyes narrowed and a wicked grin curved his lips. “Lydia Appleton. You’re snorkered.” “Oooh. I forgot that one.” She blinked as he closed the space between them and started undressing her. “That one what?” “That way of saying being drunk. Pissed to the gills. Three sheets to the wind. Rolling in the scuppers. Sailors get drunk a lot, don’t they?” She looked up. “I am, you know. Totally sloshed.” “And not apologizing for it, either, I see.” He stripped her top away from her and unclasped her bra. “Nope.” “I like that in a woman.” Gareth bent his head and licked her nipples. “I like these too.” She shuddered at the wet slick of his tongue. Always sensitive, her breasts responded to Gareth’s mouth instantly, swelling and heating at his touch. Rivulets of sensation tickled her pussy and she moaned as Gareth unbuttoned his shirt while keeping her nipple in his mouth. He tumbled them onto the bed. Damn. He was pretty nifty with this multi-tasking thing.

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His hands dropped to the waistband of her pants. An imp of mischief flickered to life inside Lydia, probably fueled by the wine and the dizzying feeling of Gareth’s hands and mouth on her bare skin. “Wait.” She raised one leg and planted her foot firmly in his chest. He blinked. “For what?” She pushed him away. “My rules this time.” She slid off the bed and stood in front of him, swaying ever so slightly. “I’m in charge tonight.” Gareth stiffened a little. “Oh, really?” “Yep.” He watched her curiously as she pushed his shirt off his shoulders, letting her nails drag over the chest she revealed. “This is something new…” “Makes you uncomfortable, does it?” He swallowed. “Not at all.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Lydia pulled his shirt away, dropping it carelessly on the floor. Gareth had always called the shots. He’d come to her room, initiated sex and, even though it had been with her full cooperation, he’d been in charge. It was time for a change. And fuck whether he liked it or not. This was her vacation. She circled him, studying the planes of his shoulders, the hair that drifted over the back of his neck, the line of his spine that led down to his belt. A belt that was going to have to go, along with the rest of his clothes. She slid her arms around him, pressed her breasts to his back and undid the buckle by touch alone. Hell, this was fun. Especially when he sucked in a breath as she rubbed herself over his skin. Her nipples were taut, hard pebbles of sensation and she knew damn well he’d be feeling them quite clearly. She released his pants and lowered the fly. “Better.” “What next?” There was a quaver in his voice. 85

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Good. She’d got him off balance for once. The power in the room had shifted. It was Lydia’s Choice tonight. And she chose to get him naked. “Now you strip.” She eased away from his back, crossed to the bed and sat, oblivious to her own semi-nudity. “You strip and I watch.” “Ah.” Gareth’s eyes lingered on her breasts as he awkwardly lowered his pants and stepped out of them, then slipped his fingers into the elastic of his briefs. He glanced at her and she nodded. “Yep. Them too.” A little self-consciously, he pushed his briefs down, then stared at her challengingly. “Happy now?” “Yes.” Lydia looked. Just looked at him, letting her gaze roam wherever she wanted. His chest was hard, not too muscled, but clearly belonging to a man who didn’t shirk when it came to workouts. His waist was smooth, his belly flat and his cock ready for action. Hard and protruding from the dark nest of curly hair, it shadowed his scrotum, hanging softly beneath. She rose from the bed and neared him, reaching between his legs to cradle the tender flesh. “Nice balls, Gareth.” There was a flash of something in his eyes. Temper? Frustration? She didn’t know. “Thank you.” He reached for her. “Uh-uh.” Nimbly she danced away. “Not yet.” “Jesus Christ, Lydia. Are we going to fuck or not?” His cock bobbed as he fidgeted and his body tensed. “I haven’t decided yet.” She circled him once more. He muttered an oath, but stood still, hands clenching and unclenching as she went back to her study of his form. 86

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His buttocks were nicely rounded. Very nicely rounded. Firm in all the right places, with a little indentation on either side. “You walk a lot, Gareth.” He grunted. Lydia surprised herself. She bent down and bit his ass. He yelped and jumped away from her. “What the hell—” She smirked. “Couldn’t resist it. You’ve got an edible ass, Gareth.” “You bit me, for Chrissake.” “Your point?” Gareth’s mouth opened and closed. He seemed at a loss for words. Lydia sighed. Time to get down to business. She stripped off her skirt and underwear. “On the bed, Gareth. Lie down.” His expression changed. “Now you’re talking.” With enthusiasm, and a quick rub to his wounded butt cheek, he flung himself onto the bed, settling in with a much more comfortable smile. “Let’s fuck, Liddy.” “All in good time.” He groaned. “May the good Lord save me from pushy women.” Lydia thought about that as she touched his feet absently. He had nice feet. Was she being pushy? Yes. Unquestionably. She wasn’t a passive lover, by any means, but she had a tendency to let her partner take control…to call the shots. She certainly had with Gareth, following his lead and enjoying every moment of it. But she had followed his lead. And it seemed he expected to lead. He wasn’t as comfortable when the reins left his grasp. Lydia wondered why not. “Don’t like it when a woman gets pushy, Gareth?” “I like it when she’s pushing her cunt down over my cock.” He squirmed as she straddled him, trying to demonstrate his point. Lydia held herself above him. “Not yet, Gareth. I’m not ready.”

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“I can make you ready.” He stared at her clit. “I can make you wet and ready, Liddy.” “I know.” She moved up over him, knees either side of his arms. “You have. Several times.” “You enjoyed every one of them.” He sounded defensive. “I know.” She said the words again, as much for herself as for him. “I did enjoy each and every time we fucked, Gareth. And I’m going to enjoy tonight too.” She moved even higher. “But this time, I’m calling the plays. And this time, you’re going to go at my speed. You’re going to fuck me when I say so.” She rested high on his chest. “You got a problem with that?” There was a moment of silence as Gareth stared into her eyes. “Jesus, Liddy. Where’d you learn this shit?” “I grew up, Gareth. As did you.” She lifted her body and slithered forward. “And I found out I like a man’s mouth on me. This way.” Lydia spread her legs wide. “Eat me, Gareth. Fuck me with your tongue.” She moved her pussy to within inches of his lips. “I don’t get you.” He looked puzzled. “You’ve changed.” “Yeah.” She rose a little, and slipped a hand between her legs, spreading her pussy lips apart. “I want your mouth here, Gareth. Or you can leave. Your call.”

***** Where the hell is this coming from? Am I channeling the ghost of some super slut from my past lives? Lydia’s head spun as the wine and her arousal blended into something new—a woman not afraid to demand what she wanted, when she wanted it. A woman who burned with odd emotions.

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There was lust, desire, a need to be fucked and also a healthy dash of anger at Gareth for making her feel this way. Plus a pinch of sadness. She was confused, all right. About as confused as a rat in a maze that had no end or any discernable beginning. Her past was strangling her, her future a blur, and her present was narrowing down to Gareth’s mouth, a mere breath away from her pussy. His lips curved in a smile. “I never leave a woman unsatisfied, Liddy.” Even Beatrice? The thought trembled at the edges of her subconscious, but vanished as he raised his lips. “Nearer. I can’t reach.” With a sigh of pleasure, she lowered her body to his mouth. For one of the few times ever, Lydia let herself go and simply enjoyed the sex. The feel of a hot and questing tongue driving her wild, hands gripping her ass, moving her, delighting her senses. No worrying about orgasms, somebody else’s satisfaction or whether she was doing it right. This was pure and simple fucking. She threw her head back and cupped her breasts, tugging on her nipples in time with Gareth’s suckling of her clit. It was wild, almost impersonal in a way. She was following where her body led this time. Shutting down almost all the complexities of sharing this experience with another, and drifting along on an incoming tide of pleasure. Gareth groaned as he buried his face hungrily into her hot flesh, his tongue finding every place she needed it to be. God, he was good. She gasped and shuddered, tensing now as he drove her higher up toward her peak. Her breasts felt swollen to her touch and her pulse was throbbing in her ears. “Enough.”

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She dragged herself away from him, enjoying the surprise on his face. “Any more and I’ll come. And that’s not how I want it.” Gareth wiped his hand across his lips. “You going to return the favor?” He lifted his hips suggestively. “No.” She slithered down, brushing her wet pussy along the length of his cock. “I want to come—and soon. But you’re going to be inside me when I do.” She positioned herself over him. “Shit, Liddy. Wait.” His fingers gripped her skin. “Protection.” “Ah…” Lydia blinked. “Right.” “In my pants pocket.” He nodded toward the piled clothing on the floor. “Can you reach?” Always thinking, always aware. Lydia scrambled to find the condom. Gareth never loses himself the way I do. She quickly sheathed him, enjoying the process and making him hiss through his teeth as she tugged the latex down with a less than gentle touch. Why am I angry? He’s right. This is an absolute necessity. Within moments she was over him once more, pussy poised above his cock. She looked into his eyes. “Gareth?” It was a question but she honestly had no idea what she was asking. Or even if she was asking him. Perhaps she was asking herself. She didn’t know. Wine, Gareth and sex were a lousy mix when it came to clearheadedness. “Yes. Fuck me now, darling.” He clenched his teeth. “Please.” She lowered herself slowly, encasing his cock with her heat, feeling him twitch and throb as he filled her. “Oh fuck, yesss…” Lydia watched him, his face, his expressions, his movements. She rode him, rising up only to sink back onto him, sometimes slowly, sometimes rapidly. 90

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His eyes were closed, his face tense, and he was certainly lost in the moment. Lost in the fucking. But not lost in me. A flicker of something at the edge of her vision distracted her. There was a mirror over the dresser and she could see herself astride Gareth. Fucking Gareth. She blinked, amazed at the sight. Erotic, yes, and sensual without a doubt. Two bodies linked in an ageless activity, enjoying the hell out of each other. But… Lydia realized that she was no longer lost in him, either. That blinding insight faded as her orgasm began and she rocked back, burying his cock as deeply as it would go. “Now, Gareth. Now.” It was a command, not a request. Her legs clamped to his body as she shuddered, electricity sparking from her spine to her clit and setting off the massive inner tremors of her release. She milked him, spasming around him as he gasped out his climax. “Shit, fucking sheeeiiittt…” Gareth’s neck muscles stretched taut and his lips peeled back from his teeth as he rode out his own internal explosion. She could feel him come, his cock rippling in her cunt while his balls shot hot jets into the safety net that sheathed him. He jerked and gasped, every single inch of him involved in the unique sensation of orgasm. And Lydia watched the whole thing. Strangely separated from herself, it was like some sort of out-of-body experience. She was finishing up a really great climax. She’d come most satisfactorily. And yet she could still watch the man beneath her, examining his responses, critically observing his movements, each flicker of each muscle or twitch of his skin. She blinked as his cock softened and fell limp between her legs. “Jesus Christ, Liddy. That was one hell of a ride.”

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Indeed. It had been one hell of a ride. Lydia moved away, freeing herself from Gareth’s cock and slumping onto the bed as he took care of the condom. She was tired to the bone. The wine was starting to gnaw at the base of her neck and she wondered if she had the strength to go get an aspirin. She knew she didn’t have the strength to think. And when Gareth returned and slid in next to her, she knew it could all wait. “You’re one fabulous fuck, Liddy. Just brilliant. God, we’ll have so much fun together.” He snuffled into her hair and closed his eyes. And once again, when she woke, he was gone.

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Chapter Thirteen The phone was ringing when Lydia emerged from the shower. “Did I wake you?” Daisy’s happy voice was a balm to Lydia’s soul. “Nope. Just showered. How’s Harry?” “Doing much better. But still resting. I figured I’d bother you for a cup of tea, or coffee or whatever it is you’re making.” Lydia smiled. “Come on up. I’d love the company this morning.” “Be right there.” Dragging on her clothes, Lydia felt a load lift off her shoulders. This was one time she really did need Daisy. A friend who would be honest with her. A friend who didn’t require two hours of setup or explanation. Seemed she didn’t need more than two minutes travel time, either, since barely had Lydia dragged a brush through her hair when there was a knock on the door. “Hi sweetie.” Daisy breezed in. “I swiped our breakfast biscuits for our feast. Harry still doesn’t have his appetite back yet, anyway.” She produced a plate with cookies on it. “Ooooh. You love.” Lydia’s mouth watered. “The pot’s hot. You want coffee or tea?” Shortly thereafter, the two women settled themselves onto the tiny veranda with their breakfast feast between them, enjoying the morning sun. “So…last day, huh?” Daisy sighed. “Yeah.” Lydia gazed out across the green lawn. “Can’t believe it’s gone so quickly. I probably should’ve stayed longer but it was hard to get even this much time out of my schedule right now.” “I understand. I’m just so glad you came, Liddy.” Daisy smiled over her teacup. 93

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“Me too.” “Are you? Really?” Lydia sighed. It looked like Daisy was going to go into psychiatrist’s mode again. Perhaps it mightn’t be a bad thing, either. “Yes. I am really glad I came.” “Are you really glad you came…with Gareth?” “Daisy!” Lydia choked on a cookie. “What a question.” Daisy was unfazed. “It wasn’t exactly rocket science, you know. The heat was there between you if anyone cared to look.” A blush crept over Lydia’s cheeks. “Shit. Now I’m feeling like a slut.” “Because you slept with the first man in your life?” Daisy snorted. “Don’t be silly.” She sipped contemplatively. “You needed to do this. To be with Gareth again and work things out.” “Uh…I guess?” “Did you work things out?” Daisy raised an eyebrow. “Um. Good question. I suppose…I don’t know.” Lydia thought about it. “Yes on some things, still working on others.” “Fair enough.” Daisy let her own gaze roam over the forest at the edge of the grass. “Don’t take this wrong, sweetie. But I really hope you’re not considering coming back to England permanently.” Lydia frowned. “Good lord, that’s…that’s not the politest thing you’ve ever said to me, Dais.” Daisy laughed. “I know. If I could’ve thought of any other way to say it, I would have.” She leaned over and put her hand on top of Lydia’s, giving it a little squeeze. “Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to have you back on home soil. Near enough to me that we could spend much more time together.” Lydia nodded. Friends were valuable commodities—too valuable to let slide.

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“But…” Daisy absently fingered her saucer. “If you decided to come back now, after this…this thing with Gareth, I’d say you were doing it for the wrong reasons.” “Really?” “Yes. Definitely really. Gareth is the wrong reason, Liddy. Gareth is, in my admittedly uninformed opinion, also the wrong man.” Lydia remained silent. What could she say? Did she want to know how Daisy had reached that conclusion? Probably not, not right at this moment, since she’d only just reached the same conclusion herself. “And that’s all I’m going to say right now. If I haven’t pissed you off completely, why don’t we just bugger off today, go to Hythe or something, and shop?” Lydia laughed. “As if you could ever piss me off. Shopping sounds fabulous. I need to get some souvenirs anyway. Some gifts for folks back home. Buggering off, as you so delightfully put it, is definitely a good plan.” She stood and gathered the empty cups. “Lydia?” Daisy’s voice stopped her. “What?” She glanced at her friend. “Do you realize what you just said?” “Huh?” Daisy smiled. “You said ‘folks back home’. And you were talking about America.” Oh God. Daisy was right. Well, well. Life sure can be strange sometimes.

***** Thanks to Daisy’s brilliant idea, Lydia spent a blissful day losing herself in the shopping experience. Postcards were purchased, some featuring New Forest ponies, others with photos of thatched cottages on them.

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“You do realize I’ll be home before these get there, don’t you?” Lydia giggled as she stuck stamps onto the hastily written cards. “So what? It’s always nice to get mail from overseas.” Daisy shifted her bags from one hand to the other. “There is that.” The friendly postmistress took the cards from Lydia’s hand and passed over assorted coins, which probably reflected the cost of said stamps. Shoving them in her pocket, Lydia grinned at the feel of the odd currency. “Now.” Daisy led them back out onto the small main street. It had been closed to traffic some time ago, and the two women wandered contentedly down the cobbled pedestrians-only road. “Time for some food and list checking. We can’t leave anybody out, can we?” “I’m good with that.” Lydia’s head swam with the assortment of merchandise she’d thumbed through. Calendars and pictures of Hampshire vied with tea towels and teapots, which—lovely though they were—wouldn’t travel too well. They delightedly shared a meal of fish and chips, Lydia laughing as she swamped her portion with the tart vinegar that was so much a part of this particularly English treat. “Sorry, but I missed this.” She licked her fingers. “And I probably wouldn’t ever eat it in the States, but here…” Daisy nodded, her mouth full of fish. “Mmm.” “Okay.” Lydia politely hid a burp. “Lemme see here.” She pulled out a hastilyscrawled list. “I’ve got just about everybody taken care of.” She chuckled. “Assuming they like keyrings, magnets and other assorted tacky stuff.” “Good.” Daisy polished off the chips. “I’ve only got one problem left.” She sighed. “Sam.” “Ah. Yes. What to get dear Sam.” Daisy wiggled her eyebrows. “Any ideas?” “He called me, you know.” “He did?” Daisy stared. “While you were here?”

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“Yep. Yesterday. I was in the tub.” “Hmm.” Lydia grinned. “Yeah. Hmm is right. He’s going to come pick me up at the airport.” “Are you all right with him doing that?” Daisy tilted her head to one side as she asked the question. Lydia chewed her lower lip as she thought about it. Then she raised her head. “Yes. I’m very all right with it. In fact, I can’t think of anyone I’d rather see. Of course, after six hours on a plane, whether he’s going to want to see me or not is another matter.” Daisy just shook her head. “I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. Things have a way of working themselves out just right. And that’s for tomorrow. We’ve still got to get through tonight’s party, the rest of our shopping, and you’ll have to pack.” She sighed. “I’m going to miss you so much, Liddy.” Lydia’s eyes filled with tears. “I know. I’m going to miss you too.” She sniffed. “Don’t you dare make me cry.” Daisy sniffed in her turn. “Sorry.” “Look, Dais, if ever you and Harry get a chance to come over to the States…” “Oh God, wouldn’t it be great?” Daisy’s smile returned. “You have no idea how much I’d love to do that.” “So do it. Make plans. Your mum is a great lady, she’d keep an eye on the kids for a week or so, wouldn’t she?” “She’d love it. She spoils those two rotten.” “Well, there you go. Please think about it?” Lydia felt a rush of warmth at the idea of showing Daisy and Harry her home. “I will. Then we could meet Sam, too.” She grinned. “Shit. Sam. I still haven’t gotten him anything.” Lydia’s mind jerked back to the problem at hand.

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“Well, come on, then. There’s got to be something out there that’s right. We just haven’t found it yet.” With the determination born in every woman who ventures on a shopping quest, Daisy wiped her fingers and gathered her bags. Following her from the café, Lydia was struck by a thought. Or rather not struck by a thought. She’d been focused on her shopping, her friend and Sam. Not once had she thought about Gareth. And for a woman who’d fucked him very enthusiastically the night before, that was quite a stunning revelation. Lydia searched her mind for the “Gareth” place. The warm spot that had held such cherished memories. Daisy had been right. Those memories had been part and parcel of every relationship she’d ever had. But now, that place was smaller, less inviting and no longer somewhere she wanted to go. Like a store going out of business, there was a mental sign in front of it. “Closing soon.” Next door to it was a new place. One she’d never been to. And she had a sneaking suspicion that Sam might be inside. If she could only find the right damn gift… Finally, Daisy dragged her in the door of a very expensive Gentleman’s Clothier. “Look, if we can’t find anything in here, we’ll just give up and you can shop Heathrow Airport’s duty-free mall, okay?” Lydia wrinkled her nose. “I soooo don’t want to do that. I want something…British. Something unique.” “Well, let’s look. You will certainly find British. I’m not sure about unique. And you’d better get ready to pull out that magic credit card of yours. Unique is going to cost you here.” Daisy looked shocked at some of the price tags. Lydia browsed. A sweater would be nice, but… A tie would be nice, but… She didn’t want “nice”. Not for Sam. She wanted something different, something that said

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“I really like you, I think you’re special, but we’re not quite into the buying–silkunderwear-with-hearts-on-it-for-each-other stage yet”. And then she saw it. In one corner was a rack of bathrobes. Or, as they were more correctly called in England, dressing gowns. The very first one screamed “Sam”. A subtle mix of greens and blues, the Black Watch tartan hummed gently, offset by the most gorgeous blue velvet lapels and cuffs. It would work so well with his coloring, it was about the most British thing she’d seen yet and it sent a message in the most graciously delicate way. “Daisy. I’ve got it.” She moved over to the rack and touched the robe with reverent fingers. “Look.” “Oooh.” Daisy joined her, stroking the soft wool. “Now that’s downright gorgeous. It’s just too damn Jane Austen for words.” The lapels were trimmed with a touch of gleaming cord, as was the velvet around the cuffs. There was a larger cord to hold it all together and it was the style of robe that British men had probably worn for several hundred years. It could double as a blanket or a smoking jacket with equal ease and panache. “My granddad had one of these.” Daisy smiled. “Not quite so fancy, but—oh gosh, Liddy. It’s bloody perfect.” Lydia nodded. “Sold.” The clerk was happy to assist the ladies and his courteous service made her wonder if he was on commission. He could probably take his entire family to France for a weekend on what he was making off this one purchase alone. Still, it was worth it. Finding the perfect gift for that special someone didn’t happen too often. Lydia scrawled her name across her charge slip, accepted the tissue-packed, impeccably folded and elegantly wrapped box and smiled her thanks. She couldn’t wait to give it to Sam. Oh God, I hope he likes it.

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The bell on the door jangled happily as they left the shop. Daisy sighed. “Thank goodness. I think that does it.” “Indeed it does. God, I can’t believe we found that robe. It’s just so damn perfect.” She threw her arms around Daisy, packages and all. “Thanks, luv. I’m thrilled.” Daisy hugged her back. “And I’ll just bet you can’t wait to take it off him, can you?” Lydia stopped. Oh Jesus Christ. What the hell was she doing? “Daisy. Oh my God. I am a slut. A tramp. Shit.” She slumped. “What kind of woman goes from one man’s bed to thinking about another the very next day?” Daisy nudged her with an elbow. “Sweetie, you’re not a slut. You’re confused, muddled, away from home and dealing with your past. You just needed to figure out what and who you really wanted, that’s all.” “Right. So I went and fucked Gareth’s brains out to get my own into some kind of order.” She snorted. “Darling,” drawled Daisy. “If you take a step back, you might see that Gareth doesn’t exactly have a large amount of brains to fuck out.” They’d reached the car and loaded their packages into the back seat. “I don’t get it. He’s not dumb, Daisy.” “No, he’s not.” Daisy slipped behind the wheel and fastened her seat belt. “But he’s also not the sharpest pin in the cushion, either.” Lydia sighed. “You lost me.” Daisy’s hand reached for the ignition then paused. “Look, honey. I know how you felt about Gareth. And Gareth certainly felt the same way about you. But with him…it’s all about the sex. Always has been. He went from you to Mary Hennigan. Only about three weeks after you left, too.” Lydia’s jaw dropped. “Really?”

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“Yes. Really.” Daisy started the car. “He’s a normal man, with normal instincts, I suppose. But I never got the impression he felt very deeply for anybody. And that, darling, I’m sorry to say, includes you.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” Daisy shrugged. “You had to find out for yourself. And it wouldn’t have done anything but made you more miserable if I’d written to you and said ‘oh, by the way, Gareth’s screwing Mary now’.” “And then there was the Beatrice thing,” mused Lydia. “Well, that came as a surprise to me, too.” She huffed. “It shouldn’t have, I suppose, given that it was Beatrice.” Lydia’s lip curled. “Yeah. Beatrice. God, how that woman haunted me. That image of what I wanted to be and wasn’t.” “We’ll show her.” Daisy drove back toward the hotel. “You got a hot dress for tonight?” Lydia laughed. “Yeah. You bet. We’ll show her.” Both women exchanged a glance and chuckled. The odds were slim on them showing Beatrice Willows anything whatsoever but it was a comforting idea.

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Chapter Fourteen It really is a hot dress. Lydia stared at the gleaming red silk affair, which hung from the door of the wardrobe. She’d splurged on the hotel’s cleaning service and had it pressed. Now it was an almost blinding splash of color, shining folds cascading down to the pointed hem. The bodice was tight and did quite excellent things for her cleavage, she’d found the perfect “come fuck me” shoes to go with it and the entire ensemble was wrapped with a chiffon stole, shot through with silver. Yeah. Take that, Beatrice. She grinned as she slid into her underwear. To think that she’d bought this dress to knock Gareth’s eyes out and now she was wearing it solely to show her nemesis, the blonde and beautiful bitch from her past, that she was a force to be reckoned with. Yes, life was funny. It twisted back on itself, looped crazily around, sometimes threatening to strangle, other times liberating. Lydia felt…liberated. The gears had clicked into the right place. The puzzle was almost finished, pieces interlocked correctly. Gareth was where he should be. In her past. Exactly when she’d arrived at this conclusion, she wasn’t quite sure. Maybe that moment when she’d looked into his face and then into her own as they fucked. Maybe all the times they’d fucked when she’d felt that there was something too polished, too prepared about Gareth. Maybe when he’d pulled out of her body and strode off up Calshot Beach like he’d just had a nice brisk walk.

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Maybe the confidence that made him pack condoms, secure that he’d be getting sex any time he wanted it. Although it was the politically correct thing to do. Perhaps she’d never really know. But she did understand that he needed to be put into a different and correct perspective. That she had hung on to that relationship, their short-lived love, for longer than she’d believed. She also knew that she’d found a new basis for herself, one firmly planted in reality, not some dream of long ago. It was a good feeling, it made her smile and gave her courage to face one last challenge—Beatrice. She was surprised to realize that she didn’t really care too much anymore about whether Gareth liked the dress or not. He probably would but it no longer mattered. And he’d probably expect to come to her room tonight for a farewell fuck. Lydia winced. That issue would have to be faced when or if it arose. She could handle it—now. She couldn’t have, just a short time before. But now? Yes. She could handle it. There. She was ready—as ready as she’d ever be. Ready to face her last night in England, along with Gareth, Beatrice and whatever else might arise. She had a hot dress, a cool head and a determination to enjoy herself. What more did she need? Oh yeah. Camera, hotel room key, money…she cursed herself. Let’s not get carried away with this superwoman thing. The music was blaring as she found her way into the hotel’s function room. There seemed to be thousands of people milling about, none of whom she could place. But then Roger was there, Mark right behind him, and, before too long, she’d been reintroduced to so many of her old school friends that her head spun. This was the one night where everybody who could make it had pledged to attend. No longer an intimate gathering around an old pub table, this was a full-fledged affair, featuring buffet tables, nicely arranged centerpieces and a small band.

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The dance floor already held several couples and Lydia found herself dragged out there by Roger. “Come along, Lydia. Don’t tell me you forgot our ballroom dancing lessons in the gym?” She laughed. “I think I got to partner you, too, didn’t I? What was it, the slow foxtrot?” He laughed back. “Don’t ask me. I was a teenage boy with a girl in my arms. You expect me to remember the steps?” They circled the floor, waving and chatting and circulating through the happy crowd. As the music wound to a close, Lydia saw Daisy waving from a table and steered Roger that way. “Nice job, you two. Very professional.” She grinned. “Why thank you, ma’am.” Roger bowed. “At least you do something better than you putt,” teased Harry. “I liked you better when you were sick.” Roger grimaced. “Lovely dress, Liddy. Just lovely.” Daisy pulled out the chair for Lydia. “It is, isn’t it? Flaming red. Just about hot enough for a hot lady.” The voice was velvet and the arms circling her waist told Lydia all she needed to know. Gareth was here. She turned. “Hi Gareth. Glad you like the dress.” She eased away from him a little. “And I’m really glad I wore it. Everybody’s pulled out the stops tonight.” He blinked, surprise flickering over his face as she moved to put a little space between them. “You look very nice too.” And he did. The dark green suit paired well with a soft green shirt. It was a good color combination for him. He did know how to dress. “Well let’s go show it off, shall we?” He held out his arm and nodded at the dance floor.

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Lydia swallowed. “Sure. We’re gonna look a bit like Christmas decorations—all this red and green…” “So go jingle your bells.” Roger chuckled. “Or whatever…” Lydia shook her finger at him as Gareth led her out into the midst of the gyrating couples. Thanking her lucky stars that it wasn’t a slow dance, Lydia swung her hips in time with the music. “So you’re really leaving tomorrow?” Gareth’s arms moved as he followed the rhythm. “Yes. I’m really leaving tomorrow. I’m going home, Gareth.” He missed the implication. “But you’ll be back, right? You’ve got to come back, Liddy. We’re too good together to lose it again.” A couple of dancers passed between them, separating them temporarily and giving Lydia a chance to formulate her reply. This was going to be difficult. She could shut Gareth off completely but, in all fairness, she’d been a fully enthusiastic partner in their bed. That would be unfair and wrong. She could give him false promises but that wasn’t her style. In the end, she compromised. “I don’t know, Gareth. I have a lot of thinking to do. This trip…” She waved her hand at the crowd. “Seeing all these people again, it’s been confusing and emotional, and a bunch of stuff I haven’t really had chance to deal with, yet.” He nodded. “I understand.” A smile spread across his face. “And what’s between us…” He leaned closer. “Well, I don’t mind telling you it’s set me back on my heels a bit, too.” Lydia smiled as the dance parted them once more. Daisy had been right. For Gareth, she was a hot fuck. A friend, a former girlfriend and a rousing roll in the hay. And yes, she’d enjoyed every minute of it.

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But that, sadly, was all it had been. Not only for Gareth, but for her. She wasn’t in love with him and he sure wasn’t in love with her. They’d tumbled quickly into lust—hot passionate lust. Which would, given enough time, cool down. And for Lydia, it simply wasn’t enough. It certainly wasn’t enough to make her pull up stakes and move three thousand miles back to England. She was about to say something when the dance came to an end. Coincidentally, there was a murmur of voices at the door, followed by a couple of squeaks of surprise. Beatrice had arrived.

***** “Well, so much for gaining weight.” Daisy’s voice was gloomy as she watched Beatrice making her way through the throng. “Yeah.” Lydia agreed with her. The woman was, in a word, stunning. No, make that still stunning. “She’s got to have that hair done professionally now. Nobody stays that blonde at our age.” Daisy hissed into Lydia’s ear. “Okay. I’m a bitch. But every time I see Beatrice I think of how I cried over losing Derek Soames.” “Is he here?” Lydia glanced at her. “Yes. Over there. The portly chap with the bald head and the greying straggly beard.” “That’s Derek Soames?” Daisy giggled. “Yes. And shut up. It’s the principle of the thing.” Lydia grabbed for her wine and took a hefty swallow. “Beatrice has no principles.” “No underwear either, by the look of her.” Lydia nearly snorted her wine out her nose. “Jesus, Daisy.” 106

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“Sorry. Just making an observation.” Lydia risked a glance at Gareth, who’d been chatting to Harry. He’d seen Beatrice, no doubt about it. He tensed and, if he’d had whiskers, she could swear they would have twitched. She nudged Daisy. “Look at the old dog. Ever seen a pointer scent a pheasant?” Daisy looked. “Christ above, you’re right.” Both women watched as he left the table and headed for Beatrice. Blonde, slim, beautiful Beatrice, in a black gown that looked like it had been spraypainted on by the hand of an artist. The smile they exchanged was warm and friendly and only Lydia noticed Gareth’s proprietary move as he slipped an arm around her waist to guide her to the dance floor. He’d done the same thing to her. Beatrice caught their gaze and waved at both Daisy and Lydia, mouthing “Hello” and “Be there in a minute” as she went to dance with Gareth. “I can hardly wait.” Daisy flopped down in her chair. “Just look at that. The shameless hussy.” Beatrice and Gareth danced together in a way that screamed “old lovers”. It was a way that Lydia knew only too well. But oddly, there was no pain. No regrets, no yearning to scratch Beatrice’s eyes out. Yes, the woman was strikingly beautiful, and probably always would be. And yes, she and Gareth made a stunning couple. But one look at Beatrice had told Lydia all she needed to know. She’d met the type often enough in her career—the hungry beautiful people who wanted to reach the top, regardless of who they stepped on along the way. Beatrice was who she was. And Gareth was welcome to her. “She’s not married, is she? Never had kids?” Lydia asked the question idly as she sat next to Daisy.

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“Hell no. If I hadn’t had two of the little buggers, I could be wearing that dress right now.” “Daisy.” Lydia glared at her. “Oh I know. I wouldn’t trade ‘em. Or Harry. But still—that is one fucking gorgeous dress.” “Yeah. And you have one fucking gorgeous husband and two fucking gorgeous kids. And you’re happy, Dais. Beatrice isn’t. Sticks out a mile.” “Think so?” Daisy looked hopeful. “Oh God, that’s an awful thing to say, isn’t it?” “Nope. Human. Yeah, she’s a hottie. But what’s she got to go home to? She’s a diamond, all right, but it’s a cold life, I’ll bet.” Lydia hugged Daisy. “I wouldn’t trade anything I have for that waist, or those legs, or that hair. And neither would you.” Harry returned to the table with more wine. “For my two favorite ladies, who’ve made me the luckiest man in the room. Truly a special vintage.” Lydia grinned. “See what I mean?” “Harry.” Daisy pointed to the chair next to her. “Sit down. I need to tell you how much I love you.” “Uh…” He looked confused. “This is a girl thing, isn’t it?” He sat down and peered hopefully at Lydia. “Does it involve the three of us getting naked?” Daisy snorted. “In your dreams, darling.” “Yes.” He grinned. “Forget it, Harry. Sorry. Not my scene.” Lydia held back a laugh. “Oh well. It was a nice thought while it lasted.” Harry put his arm around the back of Daisy’s chair. “Now. About this how-much-you-love-me conversation…” “Hey, sweet stuff.” Lydia jumped at the sound of Mark’s voice. “Hey back at you.” He leaned close to her ear. “Wanna have some fun?”

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She widened her eyes. “Mark Devlin. You’re a married man. You should be ashamed of yourself.” He grinned. “Darling, if I didn’t have the best wife in the world, I’d be sinning my balls off with you right now. But that wasn’t exactly what I had in mind…” “Oh?” Lydia raised an eyebrow and considered the wicked expression on Mark’s face. “You dance well. I’ve…er…taken a few lessons myself. Wanna show these folks a thing or two?” Lydia looked around, and caught sight of Beatrice and Gareth wrapped around each other as the dance came to a close. She looked back at Mark. “You bet.” She tucked her arm in his. “You ever do any dirty dancing?” “Oh, sweetie. All my dancing is dirty dancing.” He nodded at the crowd. “And I have a few scores to pay off from that fifth form field trip.” Lydia laughed at the memory of their school days. “Mark, you are a treasure. Let’s go get ourselves some payback. We’re long overdue.” She paused. “Is Sandra here?” “My Sandra? Nope. She’s whooping it up with a bunch of other pediatricians at a conference in Sunderland. Sends her regards, though.” “That’s nice. She was a couple of years behind us, wasn’t she?” They stood on the edge of the floor waiting for the next song. “Yep. She’s great. The best.” Mark grinned. “And she’s not here, so don’t worry. She knows I love dancing.” “Well, I hope she’s broad-minded. I have a few moves of my own, ya know.” Lydia giggled. “Brilliant. Let’s do it.” Beatrice and Gareth moved toward them just as the beginning drumbeat of an uptempo song blasted from the speakers.

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“Lydia, how fabulous.” Beatrice kissed the air next to Lydia’s ear. “Beatrice, you look marvelous as always. Lovely to see you. Isn’t this fun?” Lydia smiled at the woman who still held Gareth’s arm in a grip of iron. “And isn’t Gareth a wonderful dancer?” “Mmm.” Beatrice purred and shot a sultry glance at Gareth. Who had the grace to swallow uncomfortably. “Uh…Liddy…we were just about to go—” “Sorry, Gareth. Mark and I have a date with a dance.” Lydia waved her hand and quick-stepped over to where Mark waited. “See you two later.” Oh yeah. Payback’s a bitch.

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Chapter Fifteen A couple of smiles greeted Mark and Lydia as they stepped out onto the floor. A few more smiles and some curious glances came their way as they stood together, unmoving, ignoring the pounding drums. Mark turned Lydia, tucking her butt into his groin and wrapping his arms over hers, in front of her. Lydia giggled inwardly. That got people’s attention. Freeing one hand she stretched it high, angling it backwards to rest in Mark’s hair. And then Mark moved. Just a dip at first but, because of their position, Lydia went with him. Rhythmically, they ground against each other, one of Mark’s hands gently sliding down her waist to her hip and thigh, and back up again, dragging a handful of dress with him. “You okay?” His whisper in her ear brought a definite nod. “You bet. I’m with you all the way here.” “Good.” He released her, gripping one wrist and twirling her out to arm’s length away from him. Her skirt spun out in a flaming circle, she threw her other arm wide and then ran it through her hair, tumbling it every which way as she and Mark matched each other’s steps. He was easy to follow, letting his body do most of the impressive work and keeping the foot movements relatively simple.

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He cha-cha’d—she cha-cha’d. He threw in some salsa swings—Lydia answered with some of her own. She grabbed handfuls of her skirt and bunched it high on her hips, swaying and stamping her feet in the best flamenco style she could manage. Mark answered by raising his hands and clapping them above his head. He’d left his coat behind and Lydia knew they made a striking couple. His white shirt and black pants contrasted with the red of her dress—Hollywood couldn’t have set the stage any better for their performance. The song was vibrant, exciting—pounding in her head as she danced wildly, letting go in public in a way that was completely foreign to her. And one hell of a lot of fun. This was La Dolce Vita. La Vida Loca. La Hot Whatever. Lydia’s hips defied the laws of motion and Mark answered with pelvic thrusts of his own, leaving the onlookers in no doubt of what they intended their dance to portray. Both hands went to the back of her neck and she lifted her hair high, tipping backwards and gyrating her body sensually to the beat. Mark closed the distance between them, slipping an arm around her and leaning her backwards even further. Their hips moved together. “Christ, Liddy. You’re killing me here.” Mark was sweating and grinning for all he was worth. “But don’t stop, all right?” She was panting too and probably sweating as much as he was. But shit, this was fun. They slowly rose and Lydia broke the embrace, circling him as she reversed their initial positions. Now she was behind him, running her hands up and down his body as their hips kept up the soft swaying of the now-slowing tempo. He reached behind and grabbed her, pulling her body smack up against his and yipping as they touched.

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She laughed aloud, surprising herself even more. Why the hell hadn’t she ever danced like this in the past? So her hair was getting damp on the back of her neck, her feet were aching, her thighs screaming, but what the fuck? It was worth it. The rest of the floor had cleared to watch and she could vaguely hear the sounds of people clapping in time to the music. She was channeling the best music video dancer she could think of, mixed with a little Spanish style and a lot of Ginger Rogers to Mark’s Fred Astaire. She slithered down Mark’s body, closing her eyes as her hands wrapped around his leg. He turned and helped her slither back up again. Each move in time with the music, each move an erotic invitation of its own. “Time for the big finale.” Mark swung around, twirled her several times and brought her in close. “I’m going to do that once more, then lift you. Okay?” He hissed out the instructions and Lydia nodded. He could do one of those skating triple-axel things and she wouldn’t have cared. Not now. She was high on the dance, her adrenaline pumping double-time, and not a damn thing could stop her—not even gravity. She let Mark throw her out until the tips of their fingers barely touched, then whirled back into his arms—fast. He took her momentum and used it to lift her until his head was just beneath her breasts. She hung there, poised in his grip, blurred faces around her, applause ringing in her ears and her hands resting on his shoulders. For a second, she flew. And she was free. Then, very slowly, inch by inch, he lowered her, letting her rub over his body like a cat, sensually sliding her down, bending her as her feet hit the floor and finishing with her leaning backwards over his arm. “God bless you, darling. Thanks.” He kissed her in the style of the best romance novel hero.

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And in the style of the best romance novel heroine, Lydia swooned, letting her head fall back and her arms drop limply from where they’d been latched around his neck. There was silence and then a roar of approval filled the hall, applause and cheers deafening them. Mark pulled Lydia back to her feet and grinned. “Well, that was fun.” She grinned back. “You always did have a gift for understatement.”

***** Beatrice, however, was not amused. Lydia bit back a chuckle as she and Mark staggered to the table and ordered two gallons of water. “Throw in an oxygen tank, too, would you?” Mark wheezed as he collapsed into a chair. “I’m not as young as I thought I was.” “I should’ve known.” Roger shook his head. “That waggle thing you did while you were putting on the fourth hole yesterday? I figured you were unsticking your underwear. But you took dance lessons, you rat.” “No. You think?” Lydia fanned herself. “Well, that was certainly quite a show.” The icily caustic tones drifted across the table. Beatrice’s smile was thin. “It was, wasn’t it?” Lydia smiled back, showing lots of teeth at the same time. God, I do so love payback. Gareth’s face was worth a thousand words. He didn’t know where to look, or what to say, and he was slightly flushed. He finally cleared his throat. “Nice job.” Mark leaned over and hugged Lydia. “She’s a great dancer. What can I say?” “Thanks honey. That really was fun. Next time though, I think I’ll ditch the heels.” She winced as she rotated her toes.

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“Shall we, Gareth? I’m afraid I can’t do the sorts of things Lydia does but I do love dancing with you.” Beatrice rose and held out her hand to him. Lydia recognized the tone of command, and also the flicker of embarrassment that crossed his face. “Uh, sure.” He followed her onto the floor. “Bitch.” Daisy muttered. Lydia laughed. “Let it go, Dais. I have.” The two women exchanged glances. Daisy smiled. “Good for you, sweetie. Good for you.” And from that moment on, their table was the life and soul of the party. Lydia danced again, although much more slowly this time, since she could justifiably plead sore feet. Laughter was shared, jokes told, old friendships renewed and new ones begun. She even had chance to chat with a former teacher or two, although never quite managed to call them by their first names. To her pleased surprise, they remembered her. The time flew by as the gathering progressed to the relaxed stage of discarded ties, and unfastened shoes. And eventually, as all such evenings must, people began to leave. Lydia had scarcely had time to realize that, sometime during the hours she’d been circulating, Gareth and Beatrice had disappeared. It didn’t matter. It relieved her of the need to face him, say goodbye to him and possibly deal with his futile hope that she’d come back to England—and his bed. She spared him scarcely a second thought. There were too many friends to bid farewell to. She was hugged, crushed, kissed, even cried over a couple of times. Although that emotion was probably the result of the wine rather than her imminent departure.

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Mark was one of the last to leave. “Liddy, I’m going to miss you like crazy.” He put his arms around her. “If you don’t mind an old happily married man telling you this, I’d like you to consider yourself mentally fucked, okay?” Lydia hugged him back. “It’ll be our secret. And you must promise not to let on that I mentally orgasmed.” She grinned at him. “Twice.” He kissed her cheek soundly. “You’re a treat, luv. Don’t stay away so long next time.” “I won’t. Take care of yourself, Mark, and give my best to Sandra.” Daisy, Harry and Lydia walked out together, none of them wishing to end their time together, but knowing it was inevitable. “Look, I’m just going to go upstairs.” Lydia’s heart was full. “I’m not good at goodbyes, I’m hoping you’ll both come visit really soon, and if I say anything else I’ll start to cry and embarrass the crap out of all of us.” Daisy sniffled. “Okay.” Harry crushed her tight. “Thanks for coming, Liddy. Our house is your house. Any time.” Daisy took his place. “You call me the minute you get home, you hear?” Her shoulders shook. “God, I’m going to miss you.” Lydia swallowed hard. “Me too.” She pulled back a little. “This was the trip of a lifetime for me. Thank you.” Her eyes blurred and she barely managed the stairs to her room. Tiredly, she stripped off her dress, let it flop into a pile on the floor and collapsed on the bed. She had packing to do but it could wait for the morning. She had things to think about but they could wait for the morning as well. For once, she was going to have a solid, uninterrupted night’s sleep. And she welcomed it. A thought flitted across her mind as she drifted on the edge of unconsciousness.

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“Goodbye Gareth. And good luck.”

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Chapter Sixteen Airports, in Lydia’s opinion, sucked. It really didn’t matter where they were located, they all looked pretty much the same. The seats were the same, the coffee shops the same, the arrival and departure boards the same, and they all sucked. Big time. The airplanes themselves weren’t much better. She settled into her microscopic seat and attempted to get comfortable for the long flight home. Once again she cursed her height and envied the five-foot-nothing woman who shared her row and could actually cross her legs without suffering a fracture of the tibia. Even jumbo jets must have been designed with midgets in mind. The roar of the engines and the rattling of the cabin signaled liftoff, and Lydia sighed. At last. It had taken eons to get through security and passport control, walk the miles to the gate and then finally board. Next trip, Lydia swore she was going first class, no matter what the expense. It had to be better than being cramped into a tiny space like a St. Bernard stuffed into a dachshund’s dog carrier. She stared across the row and out of the window, waiting for the pang of regret she expected to feel as her homeland faded away into the darkness beneath the plane. It didn’t come. The last trip she’d made in this direction had been accompanied by loud sobs, a quick nap and then more silent tears for most of the way to America. How her family had put up with her, she had no idea. But this time, although there was sadness at leaving her friends, there was also excitement at the thought of being home—where she belonged.

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She was leaving her past behind. Properly, this time. No regrets, no recriminations, no pain—just a warmth in her heart for the land of her birth. A warmth she knew she would carry with her forever. She sighed and leaned her head back, waiting for the captain to indicate she could move her seat into an approximation of the human body. It was dark and they were flying west into the night—perhaps she might be able to grab a snooze of sorts. The time difference thing was going to screw up her sleep cycles something fierce but she really didn’t care. She wanted her own bed, her own home, the familiar stuff of her own life. And she wondered if Sam was going to be there to meet the plane. And yes, she wondered if Gareth was going to miss her. She would miss him. She’d miss that small achy place in her heart where his memory had always lain dormant. It was closed now, gone as if it had never existed. Instead, there was the charm of a passionate affair, a few moments of sensual delight shared with a man who had once been her entire life. She’d enjoyed it, and him, but could leave both without any lingering hurt. Perhaps it was that which surprised her the most. A ding above her head signaled to the passengers that they were now free to move about the cabin. If squeezing between seats and over people’s feet on the way to a toilet the size of a large refrigerator could be called “moving about the cabin”. Lydia eased her seat back and closed her eyes. Gareth was gone. Into her past where he belonged. She’d loved him with everything that she was, when she was seventeen. And that love had lingered inside her, kept imprisoned by the twists of fate that had separated them. It had never had the chance to run its course, to explore the valleys and hills of a normal teenage romance. And it had never had the chance to end, as Lydia now knew it certainly would have.

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The intervening years had turned her love for Gareth into some sort of Holy Grail— a benchmark for her relationships since then. And inevitably, none could match the increasingly idealistic images her mind polished carefully on a regular basis. Daisy had been so right. Lydia smiled. It would be wonderful to see Harry and Daisy in the States. They’d love it, she knew. She shifted and pulled a small pillow from the package of overnight goodies kindly provided by the airlines. Absently she tucked it into the curve of her neck and went back to her thoughts. She knew who she was. I’m British—always will be. It’s me—it’s in my blood, my bones—it’s made me who I am today. But it was no longer “home”. It was, she realized, where she was from. And therein lay a huge distinction. A rattle and an extra large bump jerked Lydia awake and she discovered to her eternal amazement that she’d actually slept for several hours. The cabin lights were being turned on and the flight attendants began to stir their lethargic guests in preparation for descent and landing. Hell. That wasn’t so bad after all. Passing on the coffee, she made her way to the miniscule lavatory and negotiated the tricky business of peeing at thirty-odd thousand feet in a moving vehicle. Her makeup, she decided, would do. Glamour wasn’t something one could achieve while flying transatlantic routes in cabin class, and trying to improve on her mascara might result in an injury requiring extensive ocular surgery. She settled for a good brushing of her hair, followed by a thorough brushing of her teeth and a swipe of powder. It would have to suffice. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking…”

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Duh. Who the hell did they expect? Lydia settled back down and wondered what the reaction would be if they announced, “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the geek from seat 34A speaking…” Okay. Now you’re getting silly. “…final clearance and should be landing in about five minutes. The local time doesn’t really matter since you’re completely befuddled with jet lag and the weather is too cold for whatever jacket you’re wearing.” Well, cool. A flight crew with a sense of humor. Lydia grinned as the plane dipped and tilted and her ears popped. She could make out lights now beneath the wings, and her heart beat faster at the thought of getting out of this torture tube and onto solid land. Flying was a modern necessity. Which didn’t mean she had to really really like it. Nor did she have to like the lines, as she waited to be processed through the various security and immigration checkpoints but, fortunately, it was late, and the crowds were a lot thinner than they’d been in London. Finally, she was through, dragging her suitcase into the terminal. A sea of faces greeted her and she blinked, trying to focus. Nobody called her name. She moved down the walkway, past families jumping up and down with excitement, and several watchful security guards. Then there was a line of chauffeurs, waiting patiently for arriving passengers and each holding a sign bearing the name of said passenger. She paused and blinked. One chauffeur was holding up a large sign with the words “Lydia Appleton” printed neatly on it. Well, that was odd. She hadn’t ordered a car. Frowning, she neared the man, and took a closer look. Beneath the brim of the smart cap, blue eyes were smiling at her. “Ohmigod! Sam!” With a shriek of delight, Lydia threw herself into his arms. “You…you devil!”

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She laughed up at him as he hugged her tight. “Welcome home, darlin’.” “God, it’s soooo good to see you.” “Yeah.” He took her face between his hands. “I missed you, Lyd. God, I missed you.” And he kissed her, long and hard and with lots and lots of tongue. “‘Scuse me?” A tap on the shoulder recalled Lydia to earth. “What’s the name of his limousine service?” A woman was grinning at them. “That kind of welcome sure beats the hell out of any I’ve gotten recently.” Lydia laughed back. “Sorry. It’s a private charter.” “Damn.” The woman sighed. “They could have had my business for the rest of my life.” She walked away shaking her head.

***** “…And the New Forest ponies were still there, walking down the streets as bold as you please…” Lydia stopped for breath as Sam lugged her suitcase in through her door and closed it behind them. “Oh lord. Sam, I’m sorry. I’ve been rattling on and boring you to death.” He grinned. “Never happen, babe. I love listening to you.” He took off his chauffeur’s coat and draped it on a chair. “Did you know your accent got thicker?” “What accent?” She smiled as she moved around, turning on a few lights, dropping her purse on the kitchen table and kicking off her shoes. Sam laughed. “Okay. We won’t go there. But it’s cute, all the same.” Lydia sighed. “God it’s good to be home.” She turned to her fridge. “Want some wine or anything?” Sam crossed the space between them. “No, no wine. But yes, there is something I want.”

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She looked at him. “Oh…I brought you a present. The perfect present. It’s in my case.” “It can wait a bit. Thank you for thinking of me but what I want right now is standing in front of me. I want you, Lyd.” He lifted his hands and cupped her cheeks. “Since you’ve been gone, I realized something.” He dropped a light kiss on her forehead. “I know it’s only been a few days, but still…” More kisses followed, little featherlight brushes of his lips all over her face. She sighed. “What, Sam?” Her hands reached upwards, holding his against her skin. “You’re important to me. More important than anybody I’ve ever met.” He touched her lips with his. “Silly, I know. Mooning about over you like a teenager.” “Oh no, Sam. No it’s not.” Lydia leaned into him. “Teenage love is something very special. Finding it again…feeling like that again…especially when we’re all grown up…” “So…” His hands pulled her tight into his body, and Lydia felt his arousal pressing against her. “Did you find your teenage love again?” She blinked. “Sam, I…” “Sssh.” He kissed the words from her lips. “I don’t want to know. There was some reason you were so nervous and hyper about your trip back to England. I figured there was a guy involved somewhere along the line.” Lydia closed her eyes. How had she ever missed the fact that this man was so attuned to her every thought? She tucked her head under his chin. God, that feels good. “I had some old ghosts to banish, Sam. And I banished them. I learned stuff about who I am, where I’m from and where I’m going.” She nestled into his heat. “And I also discovered where my home is. Now.” “That’s good.” He rubbed his face into her hair.

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“Yeah. It’s good. Because I figured out that my home is here now. England is where I’m from, not where I am any longer.” Lydia felt Sam’s chest rise and fall as he breathed out a sigh. “That’s really good.” She sagged against him, relaxing at last. “Yeah.” He moved, easily sliding his hands down her body and lifting her clean off her feet. “And you’re so tired you can hardly stand up.” “Sam. Put me down. I can walk.” Her hands slid naturally around his neck in spite of her protestations. “I know you can. But I like holding you.” I like you holding me too. “You’re just trying to impress me with your strength, right? It’s the romance novel hero thing?” “Yep.” He turned and carried her into her bedroom. “Is it working?” “Yeah.” She smiled at him. “Oh yeah.” “Good. So here’s the plan.” He lowered her onto the bed. “This hero is going to spend the night cuddling his heroine while she sleeps off her jet lag.” Lydia sat limply as he tugged off her blouse. “Oh?” “Yep.” Her pants followed. “Scoot up a bit, I can’t get these over your sneakers.” “Yes, Mom.” Lydia was too tired to argue. “Where’s your jammies?” “My jammies?” She blinked. “That’s what you call ‘em. I heard you.” Sam grinned as he took off his shirt. “Uh…” “Lydia.” Sam put his hands on his hips and stared at her. All chest and blue eyes and chest… “Get undressed. Put your jammies on. Wash your face. Whatever. I’m going to turn out the lights and we’re both going to sleep.” His gaze narrowed. “Just sleep, okay?”

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“Uh…” Jeez. Brilliant conversation for a woman confronted by a lovely half-naked sweetheart. “I want to sleep with you in my arms. I want to hold you all night long. I want to wake up in the morning with you all warm and snuggled next to me.” “Oh Sam.” “I warn you. I drool.” She laughed in spite of her exhaustion. “I warn you. I fart.” God. Did I say that? I must be more tired than I thought. “See? We’re perfect for each other. Now go. Shoo.” He spun on his heel and Lydia staggered to her bathroom. And as she slid between her own sheets into Sam’s arms, she knew he was right. They were perfect for each other. No ghosts from the past lay between them. Lydia had come home at last. To where she belonged. Not Lyndhurst, or the memories of the girl she’d been. Not even England, dear to her though it would always be. She’d come home to her life, her real life, and her real future with a man who might just be—perfect.

And of course, the following morning—or afternoon as it turned out—Sam proved they were perfect for each other in very sensual and intimate ways, too. Several times. It was, thought Lydia, as she drifted into a light doze with Sam’s naked and sweaty body clasped tightly to hers, the best cure for jet lag. Ever.

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About the author: Sahara Kelly was transplanted from old England to New England where she now lives with her husband and teenage son. Making the transition from her historical regency novels to Romantica™ has been surprisingly easy, and now Sahara can’t imagine writing anything else. She is dedicated to the premise that everybody should have fantasies.

Sahara Kelly welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at 1337 Commerce Drive, #13, Stow, Ohio 44224.

Also available Sahara Kelly A Kink In Her Tails All Night Videos: For Research Purposes Only Beating Level Nine The Glass Stripper Guardians Of Time 1: Alana’s Magic Lamp Guardians of Time 2: Finding The Zero-G Spot The Gypsy Lovers Hansell and Gretty The Knights Elemental Madam Charlie Magnus Ravynne and Mistress Swann Mesmerized Mystic Visions Partners In Passion 1: Justin and Eleanor Partners In Passion 2: No Limits Persephone’s Wings Peta And The Wolfe Sizzle The Sun God’s Woman Tales of the Beau Monde 1: Lying With Louisa Tales of the Beau Monde 2: Miss Beatrice’s Bottom Tales of the Beau Monde 3: Lying With Louisa Tales of the Beau Monde 4: Pleasuring Miss Poppy Wingin’ It

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