Just to Have You (Blackwood & Friends #3)

Chapter Twenty-Six

"Do you know," he mused, his voice a low sonorous rasp, as both his arms curled around her once more, "I do not think I shall ever tire of waking up beside you." He rolled onto his back and hefted her with him, grunting unceremoniously at the unexpected resistance of her weight, but luckily Amy suspected what he was about and settled herself with consideration between his thighs lest she unman him.

"As sweet as you are, you smell quite vile," she told him as she gingerly settled against his chest. Remarkably solid, Oliver hardly flinched or showed any sign of discomfort or exertion at the position and the warmth of his hips pressed enticingly against the soft flesh of her abdomen.

"Don't fib. I smell like an apple orchard."

"Perhaps one in decay."

One brow raised cockily as he considered her down the length of his nose. The taut muscles in his shoulders bunched as he absently stroked the bare skin of her arms. "I suppose you believe you smell of roses and finery this morning? Need I remind you we spent the better half of the evening in that sodden orchard on the ground surrounded by rotting apples?"

Though it was true, he needn't make it sound so deplorable. Once the first evening of the festival had wound down and the joviality was sustained only by the few seeking further libation and a particular pair of noblemen, their small gathering had convened in the isolated, tree-lined passage of one of Mr Stuart's orchards. They had gathered a small basket laden with food and a considerable amount of poorly made cider for Jason and Oliver, who were so deep into their cups they were barely able to place one foot in front of the other and reposed under the stars and the limbs of an apple tree.

As it was, Oliver's friends were a rather rambunctious lot with little care for propriety in each other's familiar company, so it did not take long for Amy to feel unaccountably comfortable as she sat between his legs and reclined against his chest, much like she was now in her bed. It was from this position that she engaged in conversation, laughed with the rest of them, shouted and coaxed a rather indecent limerick from Jason, while Oliver's heartbeat murmured steadily against her back and his arms wrapped around her waist and pulled her closer to occasionally nuzzle her neck.

All the while the implied confession he had made but hours before lingered heavily on her mind, suffusing her with a giddiness, a profound and heady realisation that surged awkwardly against twinges of disbelief. How could Oliver Hollingsworth possibly love her? He was so... accomplished. Titled. Sophisticated and unbearably handsome. When she had comprised their little contract she had never deduced or hoped to believe that it could culminate in this level of ardent affection, least of all from him. It was her own heart she had been trying to protect, so sure that it was hers in jeopardy of being torn asunder by him.

Drawing her from her inner reflections, presently Oliver drew a finger down the line that had formed between her eyes as she frowned with the silent turmoil of her emotions. "It is remarkable how fast those thoughts of yours run away with you," he murmured teasingly, the pad of his thumb idly stroking along the cushion of her bottom lip. "You are quite expressive, you know. I never have to concern myself wondering whether you are angry with me or not- it will be writ plainly across your face for all to see."

Amy rolled her eyes and dropped her chin to the tops of her hands where they pressed against his sternum. There was a light sprinkling of dark russet hair that trailed up from his navel intent on tickling the underside of her jaw and neck. "I suppose I shall have much to be vexed about with you."

His smile was lopsided. "Only in the best of ways."

"I am not sure what that means."

"I could demonstrate if you like," he said wickedly, shifting his hips once pointedly so that the hard shaft of his erection pressed between their bodies rolled into her.