Page 95 of Always Alchemy

The smile he flashes me is blinding, and how in the world I ever thought this tall, dark guy with the quiet, steady manner and the beautiful grey-blue eyes wasdullis beyond my comprehension .

‘Seriously?’ he asks, his fingers flexing on my neck.

‘Mmm-hmm. Yeah. You know, you should be trying a lot harder to cheer me up. It would be the gentlemanly thing to do.’

We grin at each other and, even if mine is watery and shaky and a little unhinged, it doesn’t seem to faze him.

‘Stella, Stella, Stella,’ he murmurs before he closes his mouth over mine.

His kiss, like everything else about him tonight, is stronger and sexier and more confident than I expected. It starts out tentative for about a millisecond before he presses his lips harder against mine. The first decisive stroke of his tongue has me opening for him instantly. I claw at his dark hair with one hand while the other enjoys the feel of warm, bunched shoulder muscles under his shirt, and I have the hazy thought that using his body to catalogue the major muscle groups would be way more fun than any textbook.

Within about a minute, he has his jacket off my shoulders, his hands doing laps of my neck and back and arms. Within another, he’s hauling me up onto his lap so I can straddle him. I can’t stop kissing him. He’s so big and solid, and he tastes delicious. He’s kissing me like he can’t stop, either.

‘You should keep up the rowing,’ I mumble into his mouth as I drag my fingers over the ridge of his tricep. ‘It’s clearly working for you.’

He chuckles. ‘Thatwill motivate me at the arse-crack of dawn every time I have training,’ he tells me before diving back in to sample my mouth again.

While Maddy may have tried to sell me on the benefits of a quiet, intense nerd many times over, I’ve usually gone for football players, to be honest. They’re generally hot, athletic and basic. But kissing a guy who goes to fucking Oxford and wants to save the planet and looks at me like I’m the second coming of the Lord is something I’ve seriously, seriously underrated.

I’m vaguely aware of the rest of our party shouting out the countdown to midnight. ‘Do you want to go back inside?’ I pant.

’Hard pass.’ He buries his face between my neck and my shoulder, and I tilt my head to give him access. I shiver, partly because it feelssogood and partly because I’m still freezing. ‘But we could get in the pool, if you want to warm up. Look at that steam! It looks boiling.’

‘It’s geo-thermally heated,’ I tell him hurriedly. If he goes off on an eco-rant it would really ruin the moment. ‘But we can’t get in the pool!’

‘Why not?’ He puts his hands around my waist and lifts me off him before standing.

I gaze up at him stupidly. ‘Common decency?’

‘You don’t have to skinny dip. I’ll keep my boxers on. You can go get your swimming costume, if you insist.’

He winks at me, and I look at the pool, flustered. I mean, it looks like an actual hot tub from here. A very big one.

Next thing I know, he’s unbuttoning the collar and cuffs of his shirt and tugging it off over his head. Holy crap. Those shoulders are even broader with his shirt off, his defined pecs dusted with dark hair, and a dark line leading to his waistband. I gape, and he laughs.

‘I’ve waited a long fucking time for you to look at me like that, Stel.’

‘Keep going,’ I say, my eyes on his belt buckle.

He laughs again and makes quick work of it, shoving his chinos down and showing off his snug black boxer briefs.

Oh my God.

I made him hard.

He throws the trousers onto the lounger, actuallysalutesme, and turns with a grin before cannonballing into the shallow end of the pool. I shriek as my dress and I get sprayed hard.

When he surfaces, it’s a fine, fine sight, water droplets streaming from his body as he raises his hands to slick back his hair.

‘Okay, okay,’ I say. ‘Give meoneminute.’

My bikini is in the cabana. I had a swim first thing this morning. I sprint in and turn on the light, pulling my dress off over my head and getting my thong and heels and pearls off as quickly as humanly possible. My bikini is dry, thanks to the lovely perma-heated towel rails that Pip doesn’t need to know about. I tug it on, fastening the top behind my back, and run back out again in record time. He’s standing in the water, surrounded by steam, grinning at me.

Nothing has ever looked more enticing.

From the house behind me come the strains of people drunkenly singingAuld Lang Syne.

‘Is it warm?’ I ask him, stepping to the edge of the pool.

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