Seven Sexy Sins (22 page)

Glancing over his shoulder, Rusty checked the beach. He turned back to her with a twinkle in his eye.

“Here?” she said, slightly shocked.

“This from the woman who went down on me in the car, with a
police officer
standing outside.” He kissed her nose.

“I didn’t know he was there at the time.”

He wriggled closer and began tracing a hand up her thigh. They’d long since abandoned underwear, and she sighed as he pushed her legs apart and began to stroke her with his warm fingers.

“Even so. It still makes you a hussy.”

“Fair enough.” She closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face, while Rusty placed kisses on her cheeks and lips, and continued to slide his fingers inside her.

And shortly after that, it was four-two.

They walked back to the house, lay on the bed for a while and talked about the wickedest fantasies they could think of, trying to shock each other, making each other wait as long as they could. Before long, however, her sinful whispers drove him over the edge, and this time he had her on her hands and knees and took her from behind. He stroked her back and ass, and leaned forward to cup her breasts, while outside seagulls cried overhead and the sound of the waves mingled with her soft sighs.

“Five-three,” she said, as they both fell onto the bed, gasping. “Oh my.”

He looked across at her, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. “You had enough?”

“Well, I might need a few minutes.” She giggled. He pulled her into his arms, picked up the duvet, threw it over them and lay back with a sigh. “Are you going to sleep?” she asked suspiciously.

“I’m getting old now, Hillman, and you’re wearing me out. I need to recharge.”

“Fine.” She snuggled up next to him. “But only half an hour. I’m keeping you to a strict regime.”

He fell asleep quickly, and she watched his chest rise and fall evenly and studied his face, thinking how he looked younger when relaxed. The sun slanted across the upper half of the bed, warming them through even as the cool March breeze fluttered the curtains by the open window. The golden rays heated the coppery filaments of his hair and turned the ends to scarlet, the rest of it glowing a deep red-brown. It curled around his forehead, still needing a cut, and she knew if she reached out and ran her fingers through it, it would be tangled but soft, like the coat of the red setter she and Dan had owned as children. Rusty sometimes reminded her of the dog, so good-natured, fun, trustworthy and loyal. Frequently randy. The thought made her smile.

I love you
. She didn’t say it aloud. But she thought it with all her heart. She didn’t ever want to let him go. She wanted to wake up with him like this every morning, to accompany him on the sometimes happy, sometimes difficult journey of life, to live with him until they grew old together and his red hair turned white. She wanted to do all the things she saw old married couples do—scold him for not eating healthily, nag him to pick up his socks, squabble over the remote control. She wanted to be there when he was having trouble at school. To help him get organised for the inspection, and listen when he needed to talk about his students. She wanted to make love to him every single day of her life, to capture his heart and make sure he never looked at another woman again.

Surely, he didn’t really mean to stay single forever? He’d make a great husband, and such a wonderful father. Briefly, she let herself think about what it would be like to get married, to get pregnant and to have a baby with him. She’d never really thought about it before—she’d always thought she’d do it one day, like learning to knit and cook quiche. But the thought of a baby—Rusty’s baby, with a thatch of red hair and his wonderful green eyes—made her catch her breath.

She bit her lip and forced herself to slow down. Just because they’d had a fantastic few weeks, it didn’t mean he would be interested in continuing to see her. She knew he loved her, if only as a friend. But she also knew his thoughts on long-term relationships, even if she didn’t completely understand.

For some reason her mother came into her head, and she found herself wondering what her mum would have said if she’d known Faith had fallen in love with Rusty. Her mum had adored both him and Toby, although she’d despaired over them both, especially Rusty, with his roving eye and refusal to stay with anyone longer than about two weeks.

“He’s a heartbreaker, if ever I saw one,” she’d said one day to Faith, when he’d left the house with yet another girl. “It’ll take a fine woman to get that one to commit.”

Faith now remembered the way her mother had looked at her, with a twinkle in her eye and a raised eyebrow. She hadn’t said anything at the time, not even thinking her mother could be referring to her, but now she wondered if her mum had seen something she’d missed.

“I don’t know if I can do it, Mum,” she whispered, reaching up to brush a stray hair from off his face. “I might need some help.” Her throat tightened, so she curled up beside him and closed her eyes. She had time left yet. She wouldn’t get maudlin, not until all hope was gone.

He woke her about an hour later with light kisses on her face and shoulders. “Come on, sleepy,” he said, lifting the duvet. “We’ve got a deadline to meet.”

“Oh.” Still dozy, she started to laugh as he disappeared beneath the quilt and brought it over his head. He kissed down her body, lingered on her breasts for a while, and covered her nipples with his warm mouth. He teased them with his tongue and sucked until she began to sigh. Then he kissed downwards and traced his lips over the skin of her stomach and hips, before he moved down and pushed up her legs so he could bury his tongue in the warm centre of her. Still clinging to the last strands of sleep, Faith felt as if she were floating in a vat of melted chocolate, luxurious and sensual, and she gave herself over to his loving mouth and hands. She trusted him implicitly, and revelled in the fact that he wasn’t going to stop until he’d taken her to the dizzy heights of pleasure.

Seven minutes later, it was six-three.

“I need to even the score,” she said lazily as he emerged from the bedclothes, hair ruffled and cheeks flushed.

“Nah. I’ve got other plans.” And he flipped her over, kissed her from head to toe until her laughter turned to sighs, slid inside her, and promptly made it seven-four.

By this time, the clock read nearly half-past three, and she needed chocolate. She brought the bar she’d put in the fridge back into the bedroom.

“Keep your energy levels up,” she said, and climbed onto the bed to feed a cube of Dairy Milk into his mouth.

“Yes, ma’am.” He sucked on the chocolate, lying on his side, his head propped on a hand. “I’m enjoying this.”

“Me too. What a good excuse for having sex all day.”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“Have we beaten your previous record yet?”

“Yes, and you’re very happy about that, aren’t you?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be the best you’ve had?”

He leaned across to give her a chocolatey kiss. “You were the best I’d had at sin number one, Faith Hillman. When will you start to believe me?”

She met his gaze and couldn’t stop herself blushing at the thought of her plans for their future. She rolled over so he couldn’t read the emotion in her eyes, stood and stretched. “You realise I’m not going to be able to walk tomorrow?”

“Ah. I’ve got a solution for that.” He got off the bed and went into the bathroom. The next thing she heard was the water running and the gurgle of a bottle emptying into it. He came back in, smiling. “The bath’s huge. Plenty of room for two.”

“I thought the point was to relax me.”

“Orgasms aren’t relaxing?”

She ate another square of chocolate and shrugged mischievously. “Meh.”

Laughing, he fed her squares until she pleaded she was full. Then he led her into the bathroom and made her get into the bubble-filled bath before joining her at the other end.

They soaked until the water grew lukewarm, and listened to the radio while they talked about this and that as the bubbles popped and the water warmed her joints. Then he pretended to lose the soap, and she pretended to be affronted, and before she could count to ten, he’d pulled her onto his lap and was kissing her breathless. Soon the water was slopping over the side, and, in a surprisingly short amount of time, it was eight-five.

They walked up to the local café to get fish and chips for dinner and ate them on the beach, trying not to drop the hot flakes of hoki on the sand. He talked for a while about his job, and he told her he didn’t really have any plans to try to get a promotion. He’d considered becoming head of department, but the current head had been there for a gazillion years and wasn’t set to retire for another gazillion, so he knew he was unlikely to get the post any time soon.

“But that’s okay,” he said, taking the rest of her fish from her when she said she’d had enough. “I have no great aspirations for my teaching career.”

“So what are you going to do with the rest of your life?” she asked, not quite as innocent as she sounded.

“Dunno. I’d quite like to write history resources for schools. Some of the ones out there are just terrible, and I usually end up writing my own anyway, so I might as well make some money out of it.”

“And you see yourself doing that until you’re old and grey?”

“I guess. Toby and I are going to grow old and grouchy together like the old guys in the Muppets.”

She laughed and finished off the Coke in the bottle. Down the beach, a young mother walked slowly along the sand, accompanied by a dog and a toddler, two or three years old. The dog bounded off into the surf to retrieve a stick, while the toddler ran ahead toward them, all fat legs and waving arms, still finding his balance. As they watched, he tripped on a piece of seaweed and fell flat on his face. The mother had turned for a second, throwing the stick for the dog, and the toddler’s face screwed up as he bawled out a cry.

Before Faith could even move, Rusty was running the few yards to the child, and he picked him up and set him on his feet, brushing the sand from his face as his mother came up. She swung the baby into her arms and thanked Rusty. Faith heard him say something to them both as he cleaned the toddler’s hands of sand, making him giggle and bury his head in his mother’s neck.

Rusty came back and sat beside Faith. He wrapped the newspaper into a ball and raised an eyebrow as he saw her studying him. “What?”

“Do you want kids, Rusty?” She couldn’t help herself.

His green eyes were light, reflecting her gaze rather than letting it in. Then he looked out at the sea. “No. Family life’s not for me.”

She screwed the top slowly back onto the plastic bottle. “It seems kind of a shame that you’ve discounted a whole section of the future because you’re afraid of something that might never happen.”

He leaned forward, picked up a shell and examined it. Only after a few minutes had passed did she realise he wasn’t going to say anything. “Rusty?” she prompted.

“What?” He looked up, and his eyes were cool.

They studied each other for a moment. Suddenly she felt as if she were standing on a seesaw, waiting to see which way it would tip. It was incredibly important that she talk to him about this. She felt breathless with the significance of what she had to say. And she was terrified of saying it, in case it brought all her hopes and dreams crashing down.

“You shouldn’t punish yourself for what the men in your family have done,” she said. “You shouldn’t deny yourself a family life because they’ve been idiots. You’re a good man, honey. Don’t let their mistakes form your future. You’d be a wonderful husband, and a fantastic father. You’re destined to make some woman very happy. It would be such a waste to refuse to accept that fate.” She phrased it as carefully as she could and waited for his reaction.

Chapter Twenty-One

Rusty stood, took a few steps forward, drew back his arm and threw the shell out to sea. Then he tucked his hands in his pockets and studied the waves.

His stomach felt as knotted as a tangled ball of wool. He hated discussing this with anybody. His friends had brought up the subject several times in the past, trying to convince him he was being stupid, and each time he’d refused to argue with them, listening to them until he couldn’t bear it anymore and eventually had to walk out, leaving them open-mouthed and frustrated.

He didn’t want to talk about it, because he harboured a terrible secret. He hated his family. He hated his grandfather, his father, his uncle and his brother, for having this terrible addiction they couldn’t control, for being so cruel and pitiless when under the influence of alcohol.

He also hated his grandmother, mother, aunt and sister-in-law for being weak and letting themselves be treated in such a way. He knew that was unfair, because it wasn’t their fault their spouses had mistreated them, and he knew how charming the Thorne men could be, on the surface. But still he resented the women for coming back for more, for letting the men think treating women in such a way was forgivable.

And he hated them all for making him feel the way he did, that he had no choice but to end the spread of the malevolence he felt was in his blood by staying alone for the rest of his life.

Part of him knew how ridiculous he was being. He loved women, and he’d never even spoken harshly to one, let alone mistreated any of his girlfriends. He wasn’t stupid—he knew there was no guarantee he’d react like his father or brother, even if he drank. He hoped he was a fair man, a kind one, a person who hated injustice and unfairness, who worked hard at his job, and who loved his friends. But the thought that Mr. Hyde might be lurking deep within him scared him enough to make him stay alone.

And there was also the issue of what might happen if he had kids. Faith had told him it was only blood and it didn’t mean anything, but Rusty didn’t believe that. Even if the family demon
had
skipped a generation, there was every possibility it might pass to the next. And he didn’t think he could bear to bring up a child, a boy, only to see him inherit the terrible Thorne curse.