Lacybourne Manor Page 32

  “What… what do you want to know?” she breathed, delightfully losing her battle.

  “The fifty thousand pounds,” he reminded her through clenched teeth, too far gone to glory in his triumph then, needing the feel of her, Colin slid one finger inside her. He watched her immediate reaction, her lips parting, she pulled in her breath delicately and he nearly lost himself in the seductive beauty of it.

  Christ, he was going to come without her even touching him.

  She emitted a deep, lusty groan and finally capitulated. “I gave it to the community centre. For… a… a minibus.”

  Not finished, he wanted it all, so continued his torture. He slid his finger out of her silken wetness, sensing victory and then back in again. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

  “I thought…” She pressed against his hand and he took his finger away from her when she hesitated and her half-closed eyes flew open. “Colin, I want it back.” Her voice was throaty and her hands were moving all over him, they felt hot, fevered and wherever they went, they sent shafts of lust straight through him.

  “You’ll get it back,” he promised and she’d get more than that, he knew. “Finish telling me.”

  She shook her head but started talking anyway. “I thought you’d think I was crazy. I thought, if you knew I’d sell my body for a minibus, you’d leave me.”

  That was not what he expected to hear and it so surprised him, he momentarily forgot his desire.

  “Why would I leave you?”

  Her dazed eyes found his.

  “Who in their right mind sells their body for a minibus for oldies?” she burst out breathily, frustrated, tracing his arm to his hand to force him back to where she wanted him but he was now more interested in what she said than what they both wanted. She swiftly reminded him, “I told you, Colin, and you promised. Now I want it back,” she demanded and he pushed her on her back and loomed over her, spreading her legs with his thigh and pressing against her.

  “You didn’t want me to leave?” he asked.

  This was definitely something he wasn’t expecting and he found himself enjoying an entirely different sense of triumph.

  Her gaze was soft on his face, her expression filled with longing but he could see fear there as well.

  “No,” she whispered.

  “Why?” he pressed.

  “Colin, please. Don’t ask me these things.”

  “Why didn’t you want me to leave?” he demanded, ignoring her request, now wanting more than ever to hear what she had to say, indeed, he found he needed to hear it.

  “Because I thought you might be…”

  She stopped, her hand drifted down his abdomen with seductive intent and he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest.

  “Sibyl –”

  “Someone special!” she suddenly shouted, losing her battle against him, her stubbornness and her body’s desire. “I thought you were someone special and I didn’t want you to think I was some crazy woman and leave. I mean, it isn’t every day someone sells their body and with it their soul and all they feel is good and right about themselves for a minibus! Don’t you find that odd? Strange? Utterly ludicrous? Do you want to be with a woman like that? I think not,” she snapped, not letting him react. Her words tore at him, lacerating his heart.

  All they feel is good and right about themselves...

  All of his desire to torment her fled as he stared at her, his heart clenching with guilt.

  He had nothing to say except to point out the very important fact that she was exactly the kind of woman he wanted to be with but she didn’t give him the chance to say it.

  She reared away from him, yanking her wrist out of his grasp, but he caught her and rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him, his thigh still pressed between hers and he lifted his knee.

  “I’ve got to get out of here!” she cried desperately.

  She was near tears, he could see them shimmering in her eyes.

  “Sibyl.”

  He knew then that, regrettably, he’d lost control of the situation and she’d lost control of her emotions. This wasn’t about desire anymore but about something else, something he was powerless to control, something that was totally Sibyl. The only thing he could do was ride it out.

  “What?” she snapped. “You’re ruthless, you know. Just plain old mean.” Not allowing him to respond to those true, awful (but also rather adorable) statements, she tried to pull away again and grunted with the effort then stopped at once, for seemingly no reason, caught in her own turmoil, her weight collapsed on him and this time, he grunted.

  “My parents warned me, after the animal shelter debacle, they warned me I’d end up doing something stupid and here I am. I should have said yes to you when you asked me out after the night at the club. But how was I to know you were, well… you!” she exploded. “That you were the type of man who could, and would, with a couple of phone calls, have gotten that vile minibus driver sacked. Or that you could be gentle and tender, sweet and generous. I didn’t know who you were, what you could do or that you’d even do it! I would have done anything in these last few weeks to take all of this back so you wouldn’t think I was a worthless, money-grubbing slut. But, back then, I thought you were insane. Now I know everything and…” She stopped abruptly, deciding again to fight, she pushed against him then just as suddenly gave up and crumpled on him, promptly lost control and burst into tears.

  Finally given the opportunity to get a word in edgewise, he was speechless at learning what he did in her shouted, abject confession. He could do nothing but hold her as she cried against his chest, moving only once to press her face between his shoulder and neck. Her body was wracked with her tears, tears wrought by something far beyond her confession, something deeper, more painful. He was not certain he understood it and definitely didn’t know what to do about it.

  Colin was not used to not knowing what to do. In fact, he was pretty certain there was never a time when he didn’t know what to do.

  Then she started speaking again, her words stunted and jerky with tears. “It was just Meg,” she said and this made him all the more confused because he didn’t know who the hell Meg was, until she spoke again and it became dreadfully clear as to what had been tormenting Sibyl for weeks.

  And what Sibyl Godwin said next began to melt Colin Morgan’s brittle, cold heart.

  “When she broke her hip falling out of the bus. I yelled at the minibus driver a few days before, letting my stupid, stupid temper get the best of me. Kyle told me I would make it worse for them if I upset the minibus driver and I did. I made it worse! So much worse! And Meg got hurt because of it. Because of me! It was all my fault so I had to fix it, no matter what it meant. I had to fix it. And then you came in and gave me a way to fix it and it was the worst way possible but I had to take it because it was the only choice I had and it was all my fault!”

  His arms tightened around her and he rolled her to her back, stretching his long length down her side, he lifted himself on his elbow to look at her. Then he gently moved the hair away from her face but she threw her arm over her eyes, dislodging his hand and turned her head away from him to hide her emotion.

  And Colin felt his heart squeeze at her anguish. It was clear she’d been holding onto this for weeks. Blaming herself for something she could never possibly have prevented, something she could not have caused, something that was beyond her control.

  “What happened to Meg wasn’t your fault.” He tried to reason with her, thinking it the best way.

  She shook her head determinedly. “It was.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Sibyl. These things happen.”

  She took in a shuddering breath and slid her arm away from her eyes, allowing it to drop in defeat at her side and her tear-brightened gaze moved to lock on his. At the sight of her desolation, his gut clenched.

  How could one person take on such a world of pain? It wasn’t even her pain. What was it like to live in that head of hers?

  “Ch
rist, Sibyl,” he muttered because he could think of absolutely nothing else to say.

  “Old people die after breaking their hips, Colin,” she told him.

  “Did she die?” he queried cautiously.

  “No,” she answered and took another fractured breath. “But she’s been very hurt and she isn’t getting better very fast.”

  “Did she blame you?”

  “No, of course not!”

  He ran the back of his fingers gently along her jaw, trying physically to soothe away her hurt. “Then, sweetheart, you have to stop blaming yourself.”

  “Don’t you see?” She threw up her hands in exasperation at what she considered his extreme obtuseness. “I did that with the minibus driver, which hurt Meg, and then you came to my house and offered me money and you don’t trust women easily –”

  “Sibyl –” He tried to interrupt her rampaging train of thought and its hysterical bent toward self-recrimination and failed.

  “No!” she cried. “And I played right into your hands so I’m double trouble, breaking old people’s hips and making you think even worse of my sex. Once you found out…” She stopped and then blurted out, “Of course you’d leave me! Hell, I’d leave me!”

  At this outrageous pronouncement, he couldn’t have helped it to save his life.

  He chuckled.

  She was whipping herself up into a drama, so caught in everyone else’s troubles she couldn’t see what was happening around her.

  She couldn’t see that he, long since, had stopped using her and started courting her.

  She couldn’t see that even though she pretended she wanted less of him, she never left, not last night, not this morning, not the first night they met, not any time before and not now.

  She couldn’t see that she hid something splendid (if a little warped and certainly a habit he needed to break her of), an act of such selflessness it was breathtaking, when telling him would have ended their battles days ago.

  At his chuckle, her eyes flared.

  “What’s so damned funny?” she snapped, in a flash moving from despair to anger.

  “Would you have taken the money from Paul and slept with him for it?” Colin asked, watching her closely, knowing her answer and trying to hide his mirth.

  “Paul?” She blinked, momentarily confused.

  “The drunk from the club.”

  “No! How could you even think –?”

  “Your medic?” Colin persisted.

  “My… Steve?” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not. And he’s not my medic.” This was said with extreme distaste as if the thought was beyond foul.

  Her reaction satisfied Colin tremendously.

  He shook it off and charged on, “Can you think of anyone, besides me, who you would have taken the money from, sold your body to for a minibus?”

  This stopped her. She froze and glowered at him. Then her eyes narrowed again and he could swear (to his immense relief) he saw the dawning of understanding.

  Then, to his surprise and extreme displeasure, she said, “Yes.”

  “Who?” he clipped.

  “Clark Gable!” she announced and tried to slip out from under him but he hauled her back, this time, he was no longer chuckling but laughing, his entire body shaking with it.

  Then Colin informed her helpfully when he had his humour under control, “I think, darling, you’ll find he’s dead,”

  “Well,” she muttered huffily, “I would have taken it from him when he was alive, of course, during his Gone with the Wind years.”

  “I’m in good company then,” Colin muttered as he dropped to his side and pulled her against his body.

  “It’s time for you to answer some questions now,” she demanded, recovering quickly from her drama and spearing him with her eyes.

  He dipped his chin to look at her, giving her his full attention.

  “What do you want to know?” he asked without hesitation.

  “This Royce and Beatrice business, you and me, what am I to you now? What does that mean to us?”

  “We have seven months to figure it out.”

  Her body stilled and her eyes, emerald before, started shifting back to hazel. This, he was beginning to interpret, when not just her norm, was when she was confused, mildly upset or melancholy.

  “So nothing has changed?” she asked.

  He shook his head and she bit her lip, her eyes sliding to the side, away from his, trying to mask her disappointed reaction. It took every ounce of his willpower not to grin.

  “I will warn you,” his tone was mock-severe, “it might take eight months for us to figure it out.” Then he tugged gently on her hair to pull her head back and he ducked his own and kissed her throat, his other hand moving to the small of her back to form its lazy figure eights.

  Her body jerked.

  “Eight?” she breathed.

  He noted, again, she said it in (weak) protest but she didn’t bloody well mean it.

  He had her, he knew in that moment, she was definitely his.

  “Yes, maybe nine or even ten,” he replied.

  “Do I still have to do what you tell me to do?”

  “Yes.”

  He felt her slump and he grinned against the skin at her throat then he slid his lips up her neck to taste the area just under her ear.

  Sibyl trembled.

  “Obviously you can’t see anyone else but me,” he warned, moving his mouth to hers and he brushed his lips there, feather-soft.

  “What if I don’t agree? The original bargain was two months; you keep changing the goal posts. Now you know what I did with the money, and you obviously don’t mind, you can get a tax break, that ought to buy back some time.”

  He ignored her thoughtful suggestion (although he mentally filed it away). “You never know, it could take a year.”

  She gasped.

  “I’m not doing this for a year!” she cried.

  “No?” he asked, his hand slid back under her t-shirt and his finger swirled around her nipple.

  She gasped again, this one much different than the last.

  At her reaction, he gave her a smug smile as he felt his body tighten and he kissed her freckled nose.

  And she gasped again, this one soft and, finally, full of understanding.

  “Colin,” she whispered, “You called me ‘sweetheart’.”

  Colin didn’t reply.

  Her eyes liquefied instantly to sherry.

  “Colin?”

  He stared her straight in the eye. “Yes?”

  “Do I have to be where you want me, when you want me?”

  “Not if you don’t want to.”

  He felt her relief as she moved into him, wrapping her arms about his waist and pressing her soft, sweet body against his as a reward.

  “So, can we start over?” she asked, her voice gentle and honeyed, and, if he heard it correctly, happy. The glorious sound of it nearly made him groan.

  Nevertheless, he answered her honestly, “No.”

  She looked startled.

  “Why?”

  “Because I like what’s happened before.”

  “Well I –”

  “Stop thinking about it Sibyl. That part of it was over almost before it started.”

  She hesitated and he watched as she struggled briefly with it and finally, with a valiant effort of will, let it go.

  And then he listened as she pressed her advantage. “So I don’t have to do what you tell me to do.”

  “Of course you do.” He rolled her onto her back, sliding his thigh between hers.

  “What if I don’t want to?”

  “You suffer the consequences.”

  At this, she smiled, one of her heart-stopping, devastating, bedazzling smiles.

  This time he rewarded her for the smile and he kissed her.

  Without hesitation, she melted beneath him.

  Several long, heady minutes later, when she was again wet and ready for him, he dragged his mouth from hers and warned, “We�
��ll talk about Royce later.”

  Her desire-drugged eyes rounded with anger and alarm.

  And he finally, with immense satisfaction, slid slowly inside her and her anger and alarm fled and she was, blissfully, completely, all his.

  It was then, outside, even though neither Colin nor Sibyl noticed it, the sun started shining.

  Chapter Twenty

  The Calm before the Second Storm

  Colin pulled the BMW out of the garage on his way to pick up Sibyl and her family to take them to the Community Centre’s Talent Show.

  Last weekend, when Colin arrived in the BMW to transport the five of them on a day trip to the Cotswolds, Sibyl walked out of the cottage and had been shocked at first sight of the car.

  “Colin, I didn’t even think. You had to rent a car!”

  He just stared at her and she quickly, and accurately, interpreted the stare.

  “How many cars do you own?” she asked with narrowed eyes.

  “More than one,” he’d answered carefully.

  She’d sighed dramatically as if she was in fear for his mortal soul.

  Then she suggested, “Let’s just not tell Mags, agreed?”

  Spending time with Sibyl’s mother, Colin had swiftly learned that he could have told Mags he had twelve cars, with half of them being Land Rovers, as well as a number of sweat shops in the deepest regions of Vietnam, and Mags wouldn’t have cared as long as Colin continued to service Sibyl sexually.

  Nevertheless, for Sibyl’s peace of mind, and to reward her for being the only woman of his acquaintance who thought owning more than one vehicle a fault in his personality, he’d agreed.

  Sibyl’s surrender had been complete. Colin instantly recognised just how much she had been holding back when she opened her heart to him fully. He found the offer of it into his care a gesture so precious, he wasn’t certain how to handle it but he was certain that he would not, under any circumstances, let it go.

  Regardless, the last two weeks of Sibyl had been a form of torture. True, most of it was a splendid kind of torture, but it was torture nonetheless. He couldn’t imagine a lifetime of it, just as he was looking forward to it. He was pleasantly contemplating their children (lots of them) and then old age. Sibyl could use some wrinkles, a few extra pounds (perhaps a stone or two) and a dozen children to slow her down.