Look Back at Me (Fleckney Fields Series, Book 1)

Are We Good?

It wasn't his warmth, nor the hard muscles of his massive body under her hands, nor the fresh spicy smell of his cologne and his skin; nor the hunger she could feel in his movements - not for sex, but for closeness - in how his embrace kept tightening and how his fingers moved, gathering more and more of her dress on her back. It was the sudden pull inside her that was the most shocking. Overwhelming. Like drowning. She arched into him, and let him crush her, and the hot skin at the back of his neck burnt the inside of her forearm. She hadn't touched him in more than ten years - not like this. She moaned and closed her eyes.

"Vi," he whispered, and it felt as if he was going to move away - and she pulled him in more insistently.

Viola was hardly a person prone to colourful metaphors - but something seemed to crack inside her. And she pressed into him, and warmth spread inside her, making her melt into him, both softening and waking her up. She moved her right arm back, intentionally brushing her wrist to his nape, and then pushed her hand up, threading her fingers into his hair. Her head spun, and she slacked, dropping her forehead onto his shoulder.

"Vi?"

"I think, I might–" she said. It's amazing how sober your voice sounds - considering you're feeling completely inebriated! From one hug, Viola. What's this all about?

"You think what?" he asked quietly.

He followed her example, and she felt his long strong fingers tangle into the hair at the back of her head. She couldn't hold back another moan. She slightly turned her face and rubbed her nose to the side of his throat.

"Vi, what are you doing?" he asked. He was raspy - and sounded almost alarmed.

She brushed her palm on the other side of his neck, and then dragged the tips of her fingers - and her nails - down to the hollow between his clavicles, and hooked her fingers on the collar of his jumper. Suprasternal notch, her brain supplied. She could feel his body react to her touch: the shudder than ran through him, how his hand twitched on her nape, and a sharp inhale that made his chest rise. Had it been like that before? Had she affected him that much then? She couldn't recall.

"I think I need a nap," she said - and released him and moved away.

He scrutinised her face, frowning, and she saw him press his lips in a hard line.

"You're bollocking me, aren't you?" he asked in a low voice - and Viola suddenly burst into laughter. He looked so vexed!

"Heavens, no," she said. "I'm ill, tired, and confused."

He gave her another glare, and she lay down and pulled the duvet over her head. She had mild claustrophobia, so it was somewhat uncomfortable - but she just couldn't help this uncharacteristic frolicking!

"Vi, seriously, what the actual–" he started, and then his mobile rang.

He muttered something, most likely rather crude, and got off the bed. She heard him stomp out of the room, and she jerked the duvet off her head.

What are you doing, Viola?

She sat up in the bed, once again tucking her pillow behind her back. He was back a few minutes later, with an empty tray from the kitchen and the take away bag.

"I got you the same you got me," he grumbled. He must have noticed the cringe she didn't manage to fully hide. "What? Not good?"

"Definitely not the pudding," she said. "And I'm not particularly fond of the soup."

"Fenton left you a thermos in the morning," Rhys said, in an even more disgruntled tone. "Do you want me to warm up whatever's inside?"

"Yes, please," she said.