Away With the Fairies (The Swallow Barn Cottage Series, Book 2)

Pardon My Ringing

She realised he was pressing his lips very tightly - and she gasped.

"You're laughing at me!"

"No," he said.

"You are, aren't you?! Well, of course it's funny to you!" she hissed, taken aback, "That I was convinced I'm a nymphomaniac, and now that I'm actually with another man, I'm– I'm–"

"You're talking about books," he deadpanned. "And it's Clem's. That's her second pen name."

"It's very– intense. And graphic. And... acrobatic. Painful, even. I don't think I'd enjoy this sort of thing," she said, and his lips started twitching again. "Stop laughing at me!" she exclaimed - and he cupped the back of her head and pulled her to his lips.

Oh, this is– different. This is–

She couldn't think. He was kissing her - and she was kissing him back - and she couldn't think. Her hands flew first to his jaw again, and then she pushed her fingers into his hair, rumpling it, grabbing handfuls. It was softer than she thought, silky, and heavy. Not at all what she imagined bear fur would feel like. Her head spun, and she moaned. She felt the familiar heat and pull in her lower stomach and between her legs - and yet, it didn't feel shameful, or wrong, or dirty either. She pressed into him, and wrapped her arms around his neck, and moaned again.

He had his hands splayed on her sides, on her ribs. She shortly wondered whether he was staying away from her tits on purpose, and then she forgot about the question, because his right hand slid on her back, covering it from the bra to the knickers - and some sort of a wicked shudder ran through her whole body. She kissed him deeper - not enough! - and moaned as if begging for something, and ground her hips into him, and he pushed his hand in her hair at the back of her head.

"Blimey," he exhaled in their kiss - and moved away.

What?! Is he– done? Distracted? Bored?

She whined in panic - and then saw that he was moving his hand, making her hair run between his fingers, and that's where he was looking.

"Wow," he whispered.

She looked at his hand askance, and saw him slowly curl his fingers into a fist, around a handful of her curls.

"Will?"

He looked at her again.

"Fiona," he said, "You should–"

A doorbell rang through the cottage, and the second one followed immediately after. She stared at him. There was a pause, and then another two bells rang very closely to each other. He narrowed his eyes, and she saw muscles bulge on his jaw.

"Who's that?" she whispered.

"Not someone I'd invite on my own," he grumbled, and then looked over her shoulder. "The electricity's back."

She whipped her head and saw that clocks were blinking on all devices, and the light was on in the hall. Fiona giggled.

"We didn't notice the outage was over," she said, and then something made her lean in and place a quick firm kiss on his cheek. "I mean, maybe you did, but I surely didn't. Do we have to open the door?"

Another two bells rang.

"She won't leave," he said, picked Fiona up under her backside with both hands - she froze and gawked at him - and carefully moved her off him. "Let's just deal with it quickly."

And do what afterwards? she wanted to ask, but of course didn't.

She grabbed the nearest shelf and rose - and then she swayed, and he supported her pressing his hand into her hip.

"Feeling drunk after all?" he said.

She gave him a confused look, but he already let her go and was rising awkwardly, pushing his weight into the cane in his left hand. He straightened up and squared his shoulders, moving them side to side, with an annoyed grunt.

"Maybe we shouldn't do it on the floor anymore," Fiona blurted out, and he threw her a look from under a raised eyebrow.

She blushed furiously and giggled.

***

He went to open the door, and after a few seconds of hesitation she followed. The awkwardness from his sister finding Fiona in the kitchen making herself a cuppa hadn't worn off yet.

"And here I was, thinking I should indelicately ring again, in case you haven't heard me the first time," the woman in the door drew out sarcastically.

She was blonde, gorgeous, and looked like a Vogue cover, in her short puffy jacket, tall boots, and a charming little hat with a giant fluffy pompom.

"Hello, George," he grumbled.

Fiona threw him a quick look.

"Oh my, Di was right. You're quite something!" the visitor addressed Fiona and stepped inside, unceremoniously passing Holyoake. "I'm George, Di's partner. And you're our Fred's accidental victim. Fiona, right?"

"Fiona King."

"Enchantée," the blonde said and marched into the kitchen, pulling off a long silk scarf from around her neck. "Let's have some tea and an awkward conversation, shall we?"

He made his usual low annoyed noise in his throat and followed. On the way, he stretched his hand behind him, and Fiona rushed to catch his fingers. They came into the kitchen. The one called George was opening a cabinets after a cabinet.

"Where are Clementine's famous biscuits?" she asked. "Don't tell me you ate them all."

"I ate them all," he said.

"God, how are you all not forty stones?" the blonde muttered. "Damn Holyoake genes! They can eat sweets for three meals a day and still look like Greek gods. So unfair!"

Fiona threw him a quick look. Hephaestus. Or even better... Vulcan.

"Ah, and she already has the Holyoake Wife Twitch," the blonde laughed. "Believe me, Ms. King, we all develop it after a while. When something happens, we look at them first. Not that we can't handle life ourselves, but they express so little, we need to routinely check in, in case their majesties aren't amused. Castles fall, and cities burn when Holyoakes go to war."

Fiona's cheeks started to burn painfully.

"So obviously, your sister sent me here to snoop," the blonde announced, taking off her jacket and her hat. "Apparently, John said he's staying out of it. But you know Di. She's got the grip of a bulldog. And she's apparently worried for Ms. King here." She sat at the table and threw one - endlessly long and slender - leg over the other. "I'm not, by the way. You two look like I've interrupted a snogfest. You, my dear Fred, are the hardest to read out of your siblings, but even you aren't immune to the 'ginger fever' apparently. And you've just shifted shielding Ms. King from my greedy eyes. And yes, my dear," she said, leaning on one side to throw Fiona a flirty wink, "I am looking. The whole Lady Godiva meets Swan Maiden vibe from you is most charming."

The kettle whistled.

"Shall I be mother?" the blonde said. "See you two have your hands full."

Fiona couldn't help but look down at her fingers intertwined with his.