Page 12 of Enticement
“It is a wreck.”
Having come alive a little on his diet of tea, Kit watched her flutter about the kitchen emptying porridge into the bin and shaking the various juice cartons. “What about you?” he asked.
“Shopping. Supermarket, for all the stuff we’re out of. Ross has finished all the juice again and I think we’ll need more teabags.”
The remark earned her playful smirk, which shot straight to those magnificent dark eyes of his. “Mind if I join you? I’ve a few bits and pieces I need to pick up.” He rubbed his hand over his chin. “Like a new razor for starters.”
“Sure,” she said as nonchalantly as she could manage. “You can help push the trolley.”
He’d been forgiven, or mostly forgiven, for spying on her and Ross last night, Kit thought as he leaned over the ice cream cabinet trying to decide between mint chocolate chip and cherry spagnola. In the end, he put both in the trolley at which Evie raised her eyebrows. He noticed she’d stuck to the essential five fruit and veg a day sort of shopping his mum would have approved of. The luxuries reduced to a tub of olives and packet of croissants. Still, there were fun things you could do with both ice cream and olives, and not all of them involved adding an inch to your waistline, which he figured was what she was concerned over. Honestly, women. You couldn’t get through to them, but at least you could eat ’em. Of course, he hadn’t actually seen Evie’s stomach, just her back and her wonderfully voluptuous arse, but that didn’t stop him envisioning running his tongue over the soft surface as a pleasurable experience. Hell, maybe she had a piercing through her navel he could tease. Not that he had serious designs on her or anything, only little ones… Small, somewhat complicated ones that he couldn’t really put into words.
It had been stupid of him to imagine Ross would still be unattached after all this time. The thing was, he hadn’t really been thinking all that straight when he’d agreed to come home. If he had, he’d never have stepped onto the plane. Sure, Flora’s legacy was a nice bonus, but he’d never been all that enthralled by money. It had its uses, and he did like to look good, but he didn’t long for riches in the way some did.
“I’ll pay for all this,” he said and was pleased to find she didn’t argue.
Although Evie’s presence in Ross’s life had been a surprise, he had to admit she’d been a pleasant one. In truth, he’d have been sorry if he’d come back and found Ross alone. His friend was too nice a guy to deserve that sort of loneliness.
“I’m all done, apart from some wine, if you are?” Evie said.
“Not quite. I still need shaving foam and stuff. I’ll catch you up.”
Nose down, he strode away, his mind flicking over all the events they already shared and before long he was fantasizing about licking the ice cream from her skin again. A little farther down the same aisle he stopped for a few other little essentials. Leastways, he suspected they’d be essential if his sixth sense was anything to go on.
“Planning on getting lucky?” Evie asked when she caught him waving a bumper pack of condoms.
“Yeah. Maybe I am.” Kit glanced from the packaging to her and held her gaze just a fraction longer than was entirely polite. She coloured immediately, a fact she rather endearingly then tried to hide behind her hair. “Let’s go,” he said and chucked the package into the trolley.
Rose Cottage stood on the very edge of the village, set apart from the other nearby properties by several acres of heath land and a severely overgrown hedge. Once inside its wrought iron gateway, they found the lawn of what had clearly once been a colourful showpiece garden now pitted with molehills, and the flowering borders reduced to a collection of weeds. A huge pile of refuse sacks stood to the left of the front door, filled with decaying vegetation and bits of old carpet the local cats had peed on.
“Apparently they sent a clearing firm in after she died,” Kit remarked as he stared absently at the scarred façade of the former manor house. A moment later that half-whimsical expression had turned to horror as he found the remains of a rat tucked amongst the rubbish. “I guess it was pretty bad if this is what they left behind.”
Hesitantly, Evie patted his shoulder. If it had been Ross, she’d have taken his hand in order to offer that extra bit of reassurance, but just touching Kit’s shoulder seemed decidedly risqué. He turned towards her. “I’m all right. It’s just a shock seeing what’s happened to the old place.” His gaze fastened upon the right wing of the rambling building, where the loft space lay exposed to the elements. Even from this distance the roof beams were clearly rotten and speckled with mould. “That used to be my room.”
“You lived here? I take it there was a roof back then.”
“Over the summers. My folks travelled a lot whereas I preferred to stay put. Ostensibly, Aunt Flora looked after me, but it was a bit of a two-way thing. She was barking mad. The product of a different era, I suppose.”
“Lots of memories for you here, then,” Evie observed. The whole garden seemed tinged with melancholy too, and she wasn’t sure she liked this solemn, maudlin version of Kit. She crossed her arms protectively across her chest, feeling the winter chill start to nip at her clothing and wondered if there was a non-dangerous way of getting him to smile again.
The rumble of a car passing outside the gate startled them both, forcing a burst of nervous laughter from her throat. “Maybe we should go inside,” she said and hurried towards the front steps before he had the chance to lead her by the hand. Something told her that when it came to the physical, Kit remained a consummate flirt, regardless of the downwards swing of his emotions.
She waited by the front door for him to dart up and join her and stood back as he turned the key in the lock. The discomforting stench of mildew and bleach assailed them in the hallway. Evie clasped her hand across her nose, wondering if both her lungs and nostrils would ever forgive her. She even contemplated sitting in the car, but Kit didn’t seem ready to give her up. Instead he guided her through the rooms, lovingly describing their former glory. Thankfully, the noxious smell quickly dispersed, or else she simply stopped noticing it. For some time they wandered aimlessly between rooms, poking into corners and peering at what little remained of the furnishings as if they were taking part in some alternate-universe version ofThrough the Keyhole.
“It’s a big job,” she observed. Bits of plaster and wiring littered the upstairs corridor, and fallen leaves carpeted several of the rooms. There were floorboards missing and huge patches of damp crawling up the Hessian wallpaper in the old study room. “Bit different from your place in Japan, I bet?”
Kit turned on the kitchen tap. It sputtered a bit, and then spurted clean water. “That’s something, at least. Yes, it’s different from Japan, about as far removed from Shinjuku as you can get, but it’s better than I’d been led to believe. Sure there are a few big jobs that need doing, but most of this is cosmetic.”
Evie turned a full circle in the centre of the room, her arms raised in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? I wouldn’t even know where to start on this.”
“The roof.” Smouldering coals lit in Kit’s eyes, the prospect of transforming the place clearly having pressed his buttons. “I’ll need to get the place weather tight first, and remove the rest of the rubbish. After that, I’ll probably start in here and work up. With any luck the Aga’s still functioning and just needs a service.”
Prompted by his optimism, Evie opened the lower oven door. Something scuttled within, retreating to the darkness beyond the assortment of blackened pie tins. Just as quickly, Evie slammed the door. “You may have to terminate a few rent agreements first.” She scurried back from the oven.
“Evict the squatters, you mean.” Kit’s face further brightened with laughter. “I can’t believe you’re scared of mice. How do you cope with Ross? I bet the cat’s not the only thing he’s brought home.”
“That’s different. I do like animals. I’m just not keen on wild rodents.” She continued to back out of the kitchen, her spine rigidly straight and her toes curled within her boots. Kit followed her into the former lounge, where he flopped onto the decrepit sofa, making the springs whine. It and an ancient iron bed upstairs were the only two real pieces of furniture left in the place.
The way Kit looked, sprawled out before her like a bounteous gift, made her hesitate about taking a seat next to him. Nobody had really turned her head since Ross. She’d taken herself right out of the available market and settled contentedly, feeling neither the need nor desire to even notice other men, but Kit was damn near impossible not to notice. The fact that she’d already been intimately acquainted with his rather spectacular anatomy only exacerbated the effect. There were years worth of erotic fantasies waiting to be constructed around him lying in the guest bed at home, offering himself up to her mercy, but she didn’t need that sort of chewed-up emotional guilt. Far better that she continued enjoying sexual escapades with Ross and kicked any images of getting too intimate with Kit out of her head. Truthfully though, that was a lot easier said than done. It took hardly any imagination at all to envisage him slipping his hand down his body and unzipping his fly in order to touch to his cock.
