You are waking up slowly, in a warm circle of his arms. You don’t jerk up, or jump up, shielding your heaving bosom like a deflorated maiden in a trashy romance novel.
You are not in a romantic comedy, you precisely remember how and with whom you fell asleep. He’s still out cold, long thick lashes resting under his eyes, a crinkle between his brows. Is he that peevish even when sleeping? A large hand is resting near your face, and you admire the fingers. Forget the mind-blowing looks and the bedroom skills, he is just bloody brilliant! You watched a tape of his surgery. It’s better than porn. In OR he is God! You would shag him even if he looked like Gerard Depardieu, and not the young hunky version. Brainy is the new sexy.
The fact that he’s gorgeous obviously helps. The straight prominent nose, sensual lips, the beard, and that bloody mane! They all have it, some sort of family tradition. Phil’s golden waves are soft, going down to his shoulders, and he braids a few strands behind his right ear. Once you became comfortable with him, the first thing you asked for was to touch the hair. He guffawed and bent down. You grabbed handfuls of the liquid sunshine, and you have to admit the feeling is purely orgasmic!
Killian and his uncle share the same deep dark shade, but to make matters worse Dr. Thorington has silver strands above his forehead and on his temples. And his hair is heavy, slick, as if spilling through your fingers. You had a good sample yesterday.
He stirs and opens bright blue eyes.
“Morning.” You decide to speak first.
And in his face you immediately see the one sensation that occupies his brain right now. Regret.
“Morning.” His voice is gruff.
You let him gather his bearings. He’s definitely planning to get rid of you, but no one said you are supposed to help him with it. Bugger, that actually stings. Is he going to throw you out of his tent or he is letting you down gently? Common, you arse, which line is it going to be? ‘It’s not you, it’s me?’
Oh that’s just glorious! You dirty fuckbag!
You jump up and start climbing out of the tent.
“Wren…” He tries to stop you and grabs your ankle. You kick him, hoping to hit something essential. Fucker!
“Get off me, you tosser!” You jerk your foot out of his hand and unzip the tent. You are hurriedly pulling on your boots, when his disheveled head sticks out.
“Please, don’t make a scene.” His voice is hushed.
“I assure you, Dr. Thorington, letting people know where I spent the night is the last thing I want,” you are hissing through your teeth. His nostrils flare, but altogether you can’t read his face. “Bollocks, if only it were at least worth it! I mean this humiliation for a mediocre rodgering! God, you are such a wanker!” You start stomping away.
You reach the clearing with the ashes of the bonfire. Bollocks, what are you going to say to Kilian?! Why you didn’t come back to the tent. God, hope they weren’t looking for you. You should have thought of it yesterday, Wren. People are sitting on logs, mostly the responsible adults since it’s still pretty early and most of the kids are comatose. You see Phil with a mug of coffee, fresh and smiling as always, chatting up some blonde. Kilian is nowhere to be seen.
Suddenly you feel like crying. And you also feel like running to him and hugging him. What’s wrong with you? You are not that kind of friends. Also, that’s the last thing you should do now. It’s his uncle, and you obviously should just behave like nothing happened! Bollocks, everything starts to look blurred, and you painfully bite the lower lip.
You see Phil lifting his laughing eyes at you, and then he sees your face. He pats the blonde’s lap, excuses himself and strides to you. He spins you to face away from the crowd and wraps his arm around your shoulder. He starts walking you away from the clearing, and you are shaking. Keep it together, Wren. Nothing happened, and the shite you are in is your own fault. And no one should ever know…
“Common, common,” he is murmuring and pressing you into him.
When you are far enough from the crowd, he stops and turns you to face him.
“Wren, what is it?” Oh, you just can’t do it. You press your face into him and sob. He is stroking your hair, pressing his cheek into your crown. “It’s alright, love, it’s alright. Just tell me what’s wrong.”
“I just don’t know…” You are hiccuping and feel like a plonker. “I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with me…” He wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair.
“It’s alright, it’s alright…”
You stay like that for a while, and your hysterics subside. Now you feel embarrassed. You step away staring at the ground, and wipe your eyes.
“Listen, Phil, I’m sorry… I don’t know what’s wrong with…”
And then he roughly cups your face and presses his lips to yours.
The kiss is mind-blowing. You are obviously all wound up, from last night and the crying, and it feels like an electric shock runs through your whole body. His short beard is scratching your face, surprisingly coarse considering how soft his hair is, and his palms are hot and gentle. He is stroking your jaw with his thumbs. You are still frozen, your arms hanging on the sides of your body. And it still feels like you two are as much as bonking here, and that’s just from mere lip contact! And then you push him away.
“What the sodding hell?!” You are panting. He steps back and stares at you. If he jokes it off, you are going to end him. You already felt like a cheap slapper today, that’s enough humiliation for a year.
“I am sorry….” He’s breathing heavily, lips slightly open.
“Fuck, what is wrong with you?!” You feel like punching him.
“I shouldn’t have… You were crying, and it just happened…”
“What?! Does crying turn you on? Or is it your idea of panic attack management?!” You shove him. And then again. You know it’s not him you are angry at. But you just can’t stop. ‘Wrennie just can’t control herself’ just seems to be your motto this weekend.
He lowers his head again. “I am sorry…”
“Stop apologising for kissing me!”
“I am not! I am apologising for the timing!” You both freeze and stare at each other. “You are upset, and I made you angry…”
“I am not angry that you kissed me, I am angry you tried to take it back!” You mind is thrashing. Please, please, just kiss me, I want to forget it all, that I feel like a cheat slut. Just turn it off!
He steps ahead and catches your mouth again. This time you are reciprocating, hands in his glorious hair, you push your tongue to open his lips. He’s grabbing your shoulder blades, presses his heated body into you, and you feel his thumping heart through his jumper and your PJ.
And then you remember why you are wearing PJs. And that there is a hole in your bottoms leg on your calf. And why your knickers feel so sticky. You moan into his mouth to stop him, but he deepens the kiss and moans himself. All your thoughts are out of your head, sublime warmth spreading through your body.
“Well, hello you two!” You jerk away from him, but he’s holding you tight. For a second you panic, what if… But then you see it’s just Killian. And then you panic again, because it’s Killian. He is smiling, and Phil is returning a grin. He probably feels so proud of himself right now! Please, please, shut up, don’t say anything! Don’t ruin it for him!
“And I was wondering where our little Wren spent this night! Congrats!” Killian lifts both his hands expecting a double high-five, from both of you. But Phil lets you go and steps back. His arms slack, and he’s staring at you. Your face is burning, you clench your jaw, and close your eyes.