The rain fell in sheets. Surely they were going to float away if they sat there much longer. Nick ached to stretch his legs, seeing how his six-foot-four frame was folded up in Trudy’s red Mini Cooper in the pouring rain. How she fit comfortably in the car was beyond him.
The hour-long ride to the Cabbage Rose Festival Saturday morning had been manageable—because Doc and Simon had occupied the back seat. But all Nick wanted to do now was get back to the ship before he figured out how to make love to a six-foot tall woman in this sardine can she called a car. Since Doc had bailed and gone back early with a friend, and Simon was shacked up with the newly crowned Cabbage Rose Queen, it looked as if Nick and Trudy were stuck with each other for the duration of the evening.
Hell, he’d drive them back to Plymouth if he hadn’t had so much to drink. Who knew beer would flow so freely at a flower show? And there was that problem with the Brits driving on the other side of the road too. All Nick knew was, he did not need to be here alone with Trudy Ashcroft an hour north of the ship. In the pouring rain.
A mile from her flat.
“We’d be bleeding eedjits to drive back to the ship in this.” Trudy indicated the deluge outside the window. “And it’s not as if we could pop on the train and get back to Plymouth. It’s too late.”
Nick thought they’d be even more bleeding eedjits to stay holed up in her flat. Together. All night. “So my only option is to—”
“Our only option. I’m here as well.”
As if he hadn’t noticed. Trudy sat in the driver’s seat in one of those gauzy peasant skirts and blouses, her hair all wild and frizzy from the rain. His fingers itched to bury themselves in it and pull her close for a kiss. And the beer in his system was shaking pompoms and cheering him on. He exhaled long and slow. “Yeah, that’s what worries me.”
Trudy smiled. “You can’t possibly be afraid of little old me.”
His lips twitched in amusement. “That’s exactly what I’m afraid of.”
“Come on, Yank, my flat’s just down the road.” She turned on the motor and looked at him with the faintest glint of humor in her eyes. “You’ll get to discover my secret life.” Trudy flipped on the lights and crept along the rain-soaked streets.
“Your secret life?” His heart hammered not only at the idea of being invited to discover her secret, but also at the idea of him being the only invitee.
Trudy huffed out a laugh. “I know it’s all over the ship I have a secret world tucked away in Wiscasset.”
“Whatever you say.” It had to be a child—obviously with a nanny or something, so Trudy could be on the ship. And if that was the case, Nick would be thrilled because he’d have nothing to worry about with a chaperone there. Except what if the babysitter lived somewhere else? This was not looking good. Neither was the weather.
Trudy parked the car and they sat for a few more minutes, literally discussing the weather. When the rain let up, they made a run for it. She turned to him at her doorway and gave him a slow, sexy smile. “Are you ready for me to unveil my secret, Yank?”
It hit him like a ton of bricks. There had been kid-friendly things at the festival. Pony rides and stuff. She would have brought her child if she had one. That’s when he knew he was in deep doo-doo, because it was obviously not her secret.
There was no child in the flat.
Which meant no nanny. No babysitter. No chaperone. Shit.
The second Trudy opened the door, her secret smacked him in the face—but in a good way. Color screamed at him from every wall, enveloping him in a crazy rush of emotion. Wild, loose, bright, vivid hues burst throughout the room, as if fireworks had exploded.
“My God, Trudy! Are these yours?”
She smiled proudly. “They are. What do you think, Yank?”
Nick wandered around the room and into the kitchen, lost in the profusion of color. “Trudy, your paintings are fantastic. My God, these remind me of the Fauves.”
She caught his excitement and beamed. “You know the Fauves, Yank? The Wild Beasts?”
Nick took her by the shoulders, got in her face. “Trudy Ashcroft, what are you doing as an engineer on a Royal Navy ship? This is gallery—even museum—quality.”
Trudy glowed. “I simply adore color and I love being fluid when I paint, so—well, this style expresses how I feel.”
Everything clicked into place: her zany runway model look, the latent hippie in the Indian print skirts, the wild ringlets that refused to be constrained.
“It expresses you, Trudy. This,” he spread his arms and pointed to a gallery wall of paintings, “is you.” He indicated a large painting over the sofa that could be a beach scene, yet it might be a mountain vista. It was painted in a gazillion shades of the same bright blue color, “And this is you.”
Her face lit up. “I call it ‘Ready-Or-Not-Here-I-Come-Blue.’”
Nick pulled her to him. He took her chin in his hands, holding her firmly so she couldn’t look away. “You are an amazing artist. My God, this is what you should be doing, not screwing around with engines and pumps and…” your boss.
She tried to look away, tried to pull away. “You don’t understand, Yank.”
“What don’t I understand? I just figured out what’s been off about you all along. You don’t belong in engineer’s coveralls or freaking shorts and knee socks and shoulder boards.” He buried his fingers in her ringlets. “And this, this is how God intended for your hair to be. Not tied up and restrained. You know what? Your hair is a symbol for you. Of course you can’t control it when you’re in uniform because it was never meant to be controlled.”
He pointed to a painting of what appeared to be an orange horse leaping through the air surrounded by a multi-colored sunset of greens and blues and purples. “You’re a wild horse, Trudy Ashcroft, and wild horses were never meant to be in stables. They need to run free like the wind.”
And that was all she wrote.
Because the next thing Nick knew, he was kissing her as if his life depended on it. He believed she started it. Maybe she’d leaned in to give him a little peck to thank him for liking her work, but it didn’t much matter now. The last month of lusting for one another had kicked down the stable door of restraint and was running free.
Just like the wind.
* * *
The Yank loved her work.
It echoed in her brain while she kissed him back like it was her job. No, forget the job. Forget the workplace. Forget her boss. This was her Yank and he was kissing the stuffing out of her and she was giving it right back to him.
His lips dropped to her neck, and he mumbled, “You know we shouldn’t be doing this.”
Trudy’s head fell back against the door; she closed her eyes. “Then why does it feel so bloody good?”
The Yank pulled away from her, cupped her face, and waited for her to look at him. “I want this more than anything in the world, but I kind of swore off sex for the time being.”
Trudy’s mouth slipped into a grin she couldn’t control. “Well, if you’d like me to help you fall off the wagon, I’ve got some johnnies in the loo. Let me duck down the hall and grab them.” She called back to him, “Don’t move, Yank. It’s been ages since I’ve had good old-fashioned door sex.”
She found three condoms and raced back to the front hall. “Now let me assume the position.” She moved him aside and plastered herself against the door, throwing her head back like she’d just been ravished. “Come on, stoker. Don’t let the fire go out.”
And that’s exactly what the Yank did. He stoked her. Royally. Pulling her into his arms and angling his mouth to kiss her, deeply and fully. Their tongues tangled as Trudy reached around and cupped his arse, pulling him to her. He slipped his fingers inside her blouse, caressed her stomach and ribs, then grazed his thumbs over nipples aching for his touch. Desire clawed at her, hot and sharp.
Nick’s mouth moved to her neck. He unbuttoned her blouse and buried his face in the valley between her breasts. Her breath caught, and a long, slow moan escaped. He unclasped her bra and her breasts spilled into his waiting hands. He took her nipple into his mouth—while fondling the other with his thumb. She was certain she would come apart at the seams. “Jesus God, Yank, you don’t know what you do to me.”
A small laugh escaped him as he brought his face back to hers, both thumbs now drawing circles around the tips of her breasts. “Well, maybe if I keep doing it, we’ll figure it out.”
He captured her mouth again, his tongue dipping inside. His hands slid down past her waist and grabbed handfuls of skirt, cinching it up. The Yank was in for a surprise.
A slow smile spread over his face when he discovered her naked beneath the skirt. He whispered in her ear, “Don’t tell me you were pant-less all day at the festival. I might come right now, picturing you on the Ferris wheel with the wind up your skirt.”
“Sorry, to disappoint you, Yank. I did wear a scrap of a thong, but the thought of surprising you this way did keep me praying for inclement weather all day.”
And that was all she said, because he rendered her speechless. One, then two of his fingers slid into her, while his thumb worked its magic. His other hand slid around and cupped her bare arse, pulling her closer to his probing fingers. He continued to kiss the tar out of her, his stubble scraping her chin, but who cared? All that mattered were the Yank’s hands and what they were doing to her.
He broke the kiss and slid down her body to his knees, replacing his hand with his mouth. She glanced down to see her skirt had fallen around his ears and draped over his shoulders. But that’s all she remembered because one, two, three licks was all it took to push Trudy over the edge into the world of ready-or-not-here-I-come.
* * *
Nick willed his guilty conscience to take a powder. The beer helped tamp it down while he enjoyed Trudy’s aftershocks, then he dropped his pants, grabbed a condom, and entered her so he could watch her this time. It had been impossible to see her expression before, what with her skirt over his head and all. Jesus, he’d never be able to look at a peasant skirt again—especially with Trudy in it—without thinking of this evening. Hell, he’d probably never be able to look at her again anyway. Sister Regina was tsking somewhere in the recesses of his mind, but the beer shut her up for the time being.
It had never been like this with Brooke. But with Trudy standing six-feet tall, she confirmed his calculations that they were a physical match made in heaven. Here he was pounding away with Trudy’s back to the door, her leg wrapped around his hip, his hands cupping her bare ass—had she really been next to naked under her skirt all day? And he was able to kiss her at the same time, because their bodies were made for one another.
Nick was still so turned on from kissing her with that skirt over his head he wasn’t sure he could hold out much longer. So he reached under her skirt to stroke Trudy’s sweet spot, inviting her to join him in release.
What had Sky called it? A Paul Revere moment? Well, it was evident by her shrieks the Brit was, in fact, coming again. And bloody hell, if Nick wasn’t ready to let go and follow suit. Through slitted eyes, he caught the fire in her green ones, while colors exploded around him on the walls. And then he lost it and came just as Trudy exploded around him, too.
The first sex in over eight months cleared Nick’s brain, allowing his conscience to kick back into gear. His heart still pounding, he leaned his forehead against hers and breathed her in. He kissed her gently, then shook his head. “Oh, God, Trudy, what have we done?”
“Just what a girl likes to hear from a bloke she’s made love with.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.” He withdrew, cleaned up, took her chin in his hands, and kissed her again. “Sorry. Too many years of Catholic school coming back to bite me in the butt. I didn’t mean making love with you was a mistake.”
“You mean being in the same chain of command. Now that is a sticky wicket, but making love with you? That was brilliant. Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
Nick smiled and took her in his arms, nuzzled her neck. “Okay, first of all, what’s done is done and second of all the weather is not going to clear until morning. I say we enjoy the ride until dawn. Let’s move this show to the bedroom and I’ll do my best to keep the nuns at bay—you know, the ones with rulers ready to smack my knuckles.”
“And I promise right before we depart for the ship, I’ll let you unpack all your baggage and feel as guilty as you like. But right now, I want to get my ticket punched for one more ride on the Love Train.” Trudy sashayed down the hall and called out, “All aboard!”
* * *
Trudy pulled up the sheet and covered them after another round of lovemaking. She snuggled on Nick’s shoulder, her ringlets spread across his chest. He’d never be able to look at her hair bound up again without thinking about how it should be free, like her art—or how it felt tickling his naked body. The beer buzz was receding, allowing guilt to drip into his veins. But they weren’t going anywhere tonight, so he might as well worry about it tomorrow.
Besides there was still one condom left and it would be a shame to waste it.
Nick indicated a painting on the far wall. Like the others, it was bright and colorful and looked like it was painted with sunshine. “That one’s like looking out a window at a garden.”
“It was my intention, Yank. With a brick wall the only view from my bedroom, I painted my own back garden.”
“So how come you’re not painting full time?”
Trudy sighed. “Unfortunately, I’m the only one who can carry forth the Ashcroft family banner as a Royal Naval officer.”
“It doesn’t mean you have to. Why didn’t you say no?”
She gave a sarcastic laugh. “You don’t know my dad. My parents went childless for years. Dad so wanted a son to carry on the Royal Navy tradition, they resorted to fertility specialists and my brother and I were finally born. We were premature and, let’s just say, I lived and my brother did not.”
Nick kissed her temple, her curls tickling his cheek. “I’m sorry, Trudy. About your brother and the burden that must put on you.”
“Yup, that’s pretty much it, Yank. I couldn’t let my dad down. I can’t be the son he never had, but I can be the best Naval officer I can be. And I’m happy I have my art. It’s a bit of an escape. How about you, Yank?”
Nick flipped to his back, gazing up at the ceiling. “After my uncle died on 9/11, I traded in my hopes for the NBA for an application to the Naval Academy. It prepared me for a career fighting bad guys—and I still got to play ball.” He turned his head and smiled at her. “Took Navy to the championship three years in a row. Senior year was hard, knowing it would eventually be my last foul shot, my last rebound, my last three pointer, my last game. But I made my choice and I’m glad I did. Look at the terrific friends I met along the way. I’m glad you got to meet them.”
“It was fabulous having them here, Yank.” She gave him a dig in the ribs. “Now tell me about your girlfriends at the Academy. Surely you bonded with some of them too.”
He hesitated. “Yeah. One in particular. We were an item for a while.”
“How long?”
“Eight years.”
Trudy sobered. “Eight years? Sounds serious.”
“We started dating at Annapolis and got engaged six years ago.”
Trudy bolted upright, pulling the sheet to her chin. “You’re engaged?”
“Relax, Trudy. It’s over.”
“What happened?”
“Let’s just say we had different visions for the future and leave it at that.”
“Well, you seem pretty together about the whole broken engagement thing. Dating someone for eight years is a long time. How long has it been since you split off with her?”
“Eight months.”
“That’s all? You were in a relationship for eight years, and you’ve only been back in the game for eight months?”
“I’m not really back in the game at all.” Nick scoffed. “You’re the first woman I’ve even kissed since we broke up.”
Trudy sat up straight and arched an eyebrow at him. “So you lied to me.”
Now it was Nick’s turn to pop to attention. “What do mean?”
“It appears I’m your last rebound.”