Fairytale Come Alive (21 page)

Prentice looked at his friend.

Dougal was smiling but his smile faded when he saw Prentice’s face. When Prentice saw the humor die out of Dougal’s expression, he decided that tonight was not going to be about Prentice or Elle or Jason or his dead wife Fiona.

It had been about all that shit for far too long.

It was going to be about Dougal.

“Sorry, mate. Have a lot on my mind,” Prentice murmured, stepping away from the railing.

“I can tell,” Dougal replied softly.

Prentice came abreast of his friend then he smiled.

Then he said, “Let’s get you drunk.”

Dougal watched him closely.

Then Dougal grinned.

Then they went inside and got drunk.

Aromatherapy

Prentice

The taxi slid to a halt and Prentice paid Harry, the driver, a man he’d known his whole life.

He exited the car and walked up to his house, seeing most of the windows were dark but the outside light was on and he saw soft light shining from the windows in the vestibule.

Elle had lit his way.

Seeing that, the decision he’d made at the pub cemented in his brain.

He and Elle were going to talk.

And they were going to do it
now
.

Prentice was drunk. Not rat-arsed but he certainly was
not
sober.

And he didn’t give a fuck.

He opened the door, switched off the outside light, flipped the switch on the light in the vestibule and walked into the great room.

A soft light was burning from a brand new lamp by the couch.

She’d replaced the lamp.

He surveyed the room noting something was different and it wasn’t just the fucking lamp which he
told
her not to replace and he instantly remembered that Elle could be just as stubborn as Annie when she got something in that head of hers, hell, she could be
more
stubborn which was fucking saying something.

He narrowed his eyes and saw, to his shock, she’d also swept the wood floors. And there were fresh vacuum marks on the rugs where she’d hoovered.
And
she’d tidied away the bits and pieces the children had left lying around.

Fucking hell.

Yes, they were fucking well going to talk.

And they were fucking well going to do it
now
.

He pulled off his coat, threw it on the armchair Elle drunkenly advised him to move and walked directly down the hall and up the stairs to the guest suite.

The door was closed.

Since she’d stayed with them, he’d not come up the stairs to see the door closed. Of course now the kids were out of the house. It was just Prentice and Elle.

Which meant she closed the door.

His jaw grew tighter and his resolve grew firmer.

He didn’t bother to knock, just opened the door to the darkened room.

The door to the bedroom wasn’t closed and he walked straight to it, seeing her clearly in the moonlight lying in bed.

She was on her stomach, her head facing him, her hand on the pillow in front of her face. The covers were down to her waist and the nightgown she was wearing was satin or silk. He couldn’t distinguish the color but he could tell it was one or the other from its sheen.

“Elle,” he called loudly.

She didn’t move.

He sat heavily on the bed by her hip and put a hand to small of her back, repeating her name.

Her body jerked, her head twisted to look at him and she jerked again.

Then she came up on an elbow and whispered sleepily (and disbelievingly), “Prentice?”

“Get up, we need to talk,” he replied, his voice curt.

She didn’t move.

“Up. Now,” he ordered, speaking to her like he spoke to his children when they resisted his commands.

“What?” she breathed.

He stood. “Elle,
up
.”

Then he walked out of the room.

He meant to turn on a light but before he could he glanced her way and saw she was out of bed, reaching for her dressing gown which was thrown over the armchair in the corner.

He also saw the nightgown was a light color and it was edged in lace at the bottom, the lace a far darker color.

It was also very short and, with Elle bent to reach for her dressing gown, it had ridden up, exposing her thighs all the way up to the very edge of her ass.

Prentice felt his body respond to that very alluring sight.

He gritted his teeth.

She walked in, shrugging on the dressing gown.

When she hit the room, she pulled her hair out of her face, keeping her hand at the top back of her head, her hair bunched in her fist.

Her eyes were on him in the moonlit room.

“Are you drunk?” she asked softly, dropping her hand and the heavy fall of her hair settled around her face, on her brow and even in her eye.

He watched this.

He liked it

And when he responded, he didn’t lie.

“Aye.”

She regarded him silently for a moment.

“Maybe you should go to bed,” she suggested, her voice still soft.

“I don’t want to go to bed. I want to talk and we’re fucking well going to talk.”

“We’ll talk in the morning.”

“No, you’ll make excuses in the morning. You’ll avoid me or ignore me and that’ll piss me off. Then we’ll have words which will piss me off more. So, we’re no’ talking in the fucking morning. We’re talking
now
.”

“I think –” Elle began as she started to move.

He had no idea where she was going just that it was away from him.

And he was not having that.

He caught her upper arm in a firm grip, pulled her in front of him and shuffled her back, his intent to get her attention and negate any attempt at retreat.

He succeeded when her back hit the wall.

He closed in, pinning her.

She made a noise that he couldn’t decipher, fear or anger, he had no idea.

He also didn’t care.

Because it was then he smelled her.

Her scent was extraordinary and it was strong. He’d never smelled anything like it. It wasn’t her perfume which was enticing but it was also delicate.

This was something else.

Something he had to have more of.

Immediately.

His resolve to talk flew from his mind as he dipped his face to her neck, running his nose along its length, breathing in deeply.

God, she smelled good.

Elle went solid.

“Prentice?” Her voice was hesitant.

Nose behind her ear, he asked, “What
is
that?”

Her body jerked and she enquired, “What’s what?”

“That fucking smell.”

“I… um… what?” she stammered, her hands coming to rest on his waist, putting gentle pressure there to move him away.

He resisted.

She gave up.

His head came up and he stared at her face in the moonlight.

Christ, she was beautiful.

“That smell,” he said. “What is it?”

He watched her blink.

Then she answered, “Aromatherapy.”

He didn’t reply. This word meant nothing to him. He just continued to stare, feeling her hands on him, her touch light.

She went on and now she sounded nervous, “I use it to sleep. The scent relaxes me. I rub it behind my ears, on my temples, at the nape of my –”

She stopped speaking because Prentice felt it necessary to experience this phenomenon and his nose went to her temple, his lips brushing her cheekbone.

He heard her take in a breath.

Then his hands slid along the silk at her waist, curving around her back. Her rigid body hit his as the fingers of one hand curled in at her waist, holding her captive against him. The other hand went up, encountering her soft, thick hair. He gathered it in a fist and used it to push her head down and twist it to the side so he could bend his neck and smell that scent at her nape.

Christ, she felt good.

And she smelled good.

And, he decided, since his mouth was right there, he might as well see if she tasted good.

Which he did, sliding his tongue around her neck where it met her shoulder and pulling her head back at the same time.

She shivered.

Yes, she tasted good.

“Prentice –” she whispered but he realized where his hand was and he also decided to see how that fucking ass of hers felt in his hand.

He released her waist and his hand drifted over the silk and down her ass, cupping it gently and pulling her into his hard thighs.

That didn’t feel good.

That felt fucking
great
.

“Prentice, step away,” she whispered, her voice not soft but throaty.

Now she
sounded
good.

Fucking hell.

He didn’t respond verbally.

But his stiffening cock went rock hard.

His lips trailed her jaw.

Her hands came up to his shoulders and she gave a weak push.

“Prentice, step away. We can’t –”

His mouth went to hers but he didn’t kiss her.

He looked her in the eyes and remembered, instantly, what she liked. He remembered how he could make her wild. He remembered that once he’d made her come simply by manipulating her nipples while she rubbed her crotch urgently against his thigh.

They hadn’t even disrobed.

And he remembered her face when she came.

And he wanted that
now
.

His hand moved away from her ass, trailing up her side, his fingers curving around her breast and his thumb slid across her already tight nipple as he slid his thigh between her legs.

Her lips parted, she audibly sucked in breath and her hips automatically ground down on his thigh.

Holy fucking
Christ
but she was magnificent.

“That’s it, baby,” he encouraged as he closed a finger and thumb on her nipple and rolled.

She gasped, her eyes drifted closed, her head tilted back, her hips bucked against his thigh and then she moaned, soft and sweet.

Hearing that, feeling her, seeing her, her scent all around them, Prentice lost control.

And he determined that she was going to lose hers too.

And, like he used to do, loving her beautiful, animated face when he got her excited, he was going to watch.

With his fist in her hair, keeping her head positioned so he could see her, he pulled down the lace of her nightgown and his fingers went back to her nipple. Relentlessly, he manipulated it and she didn’t disappoint. She rocked against his thigh, grinding down harder, harder, until her breaths were sharp and her movements were urgent.

Her hands yanked his shirt free of his jeans, fingers roaming his back, nails digging in.

She fought his hand in her hair, seeking his mouth with her lips.

He didn’t allow it. No way in hell.

He was enjoying the show.

When her movements became frantic and he knew she was close, his fingers stopped, his hand curled around her warm, soft breast and she gasped in protest.

“Do you want me?” he asked, his voice a low growl.

“Yes,” she whispered immediately, her hips still moving insistently on his thigh.

“Say it,” he demanded.

Again, she didn’t hesitate. “I want you.”

He was ruthless, for some reason needing it, he pushed, “Say it with my name.”

She kept grinding against his thigh, arching her back to press her breast into his hand, seeking his mouth with her lips. “I want you, Prentice.”

“Call me Pren,” he ordered.

She tugged her hair free enough to get her mouth on him but he avoided it and her lips hit is neck, her nails scraped along his back and his cocked jerked in response.

He knew he couldn’t take much more of this. It had been a long fucking time and she was magnificent.

She didn’t make him wait.

“I want you, Pren,” she whispered against his neck then he felt her tongue there.

His finger and thumb closed on her nipple, she moaned with pleasure, the sound rent right through him and her teeth nipped his neck. His hand left her hair and slid down her back, around her waist to her belly and down to cup her over her underwear.

He felt her wetness.

She was drenched.