A Taste of Home by Heidi Swain (the beginning after the end read novel TXT) 📕

me up on to the stack. I ran my fingers across his chest while his hands held my face and he moved his body closer again, this time filling the space between my legs. Our kisses were rough, and arousing and my back arched in response. I wrapped my legs tight around his waist and urgently pulled him closer in. His leathers felt hard between us, at least I think it was his leathers.

Just for the briefest moment he pulled away again and our eyes met. I loosened my grip a little and he smiled, his breath every bit as hard and fast as mine. For those few seconds we’d let our guard down and released the safety valve. We’d given in to something we’d both been trying so hard to suppress. Had he not broken away, I know I wouldn’t have been able to stop, but he had…

‘Oh my god, Eliot,’ I gasped, the words escaping in a rush on the out breath. ‘I’m so sorry. That was terrible!’

He released me and I jumped down from the bale, my face aflame with a heady mix of desire, shock and shame.

‘And there was me,’ he said, shaking his head, ‘thinking it felt absolutely perfect.’

He was right. It was perfect, but given that we’d vowed to not let it happen, it was also forbidden which in turn made it terrible.

‘You know what I mean,’ I said, my heart racing far faster than it had been during and after my run. ‘I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what came over me.’

He looked at me and cocked his head. ‘Well,’ he said, smiling as he readjusted his suit, ‘it was most likely one of two things. Either my ridiculously rugged good looks finally wore you down and you gave in to temptation, or it was sheer relief that your amazing idea has been given the go-ahead.’

I couldn’t stifle the laugh which bubbled up as much out of relief that he was able to make light of what I’d done, as anything else.

‘Or possibly both,’ he carried on, as if he was mulling over some complicated scientific theory on the laws of attraction. ‘I don’t mind whichever it was, it was still a bloody brilliant kiss.’

‘Yes,’ I huskily agreed. ‘It was rather, wasn’t it?’

It was even better than I’d imagined it would be and, since I’d arrived in Wynbridge, I’d imagined it a lot.

‘But,’ he added, ‘we probably shouldn’t let it happen again…’

As devastating as that was, I knew he was right.

‘Absolutely,’ I agreed. ‘It was just a one-off momentary lapse of the agreement we made to keep our feelings firmly under control.’

‘A lapse on your part,’ he teasingly pointed out. ‘I was just standing here when you…’

‘Well,’ I butted in, ‘you did reciprocate.’

‘It would have been rude not to.’

This wasn’t putting any distance between us and what had just happened at all. It was far too flirty.

‘Well, whatever,’ I carried on, attempting to draw a line. ‘As you said, it was a spontaneous reaction to the supper club idea getting the go-ahead.’

‘Yes, that was most likely it.’

We stood in silence for a moment and then he took a step towards me again.

‘But the thing is,’ he began, ‘I’ve been thinking about our agreement, and I’m not sure…’

‘Fliss?’ came Grandad’s voice from the yard and we sprang apart.

‘Yes,’ I called back. My voice sounded surprisingly normal given what had just happened. ‘I’m here. I’m coming.’

Eliot grinned and I knew exactly what he was thinking.

‘I better get going,’ he said, heading for the barn door. ‘I’m expected at work, but I was pleased to be of some use this morning.’

I wondered whether he was referring to his, as it turned out unnecessary, role as mediator or the more unusual one of willing recipient of my passionate kisses. I was also curious to know what it was about our agreement that he suddenly wasn’t so sure about.

‘Has he told you?’ Grandad asked, stepping into the barn. ‘Has he told you that I’ve changed my mind?’

‘He has, Grandad,’ I said, rushing to give him a hug. ‘And I’m so excited. This project is really going to put Fenview Farm on the map.’

He hugged me tightly back and I felt a surge of happiness course through me.

‘I’m still not sure about you putting in your own money though,’ he said, looking worried when we broke apart.

‘Let’s go back to the house,’ I suggested, ‘and we can talk it all through properly.’

‘I’ll see you both later,’ said Eliot. ‘And not that it’s anything to do with me, but I think you’ve made the right decision, Bill. Fliss is one very passionate and ambitious woman. She’s going to make a success of this.’

‘You’re right my lad,’ Grandad agreed.

‘She’s like those currants I love.’ Eliot winked, as he pulled on his gloves. ‘Delicate on the outside but inside she packs one heck of a punch.’

By the end of the day, the secret supper club (as we had taken to unofficially calling it) had Grandad’s unconditional blessing and I had drafted up an action plan which suited us both. Grandad was insistent that I shouldn’t rush headlong into the venture and, even though I was keen to forge ahead I understood his concerns and I also appreciated the value of thorough market research and careful financial planning. I would only get one shot at this project and was willing to do everything in my power, and by the book, to ensure the SSC was an unmitigated success.

Therefore, between that fateful Saturday in May and the end of the year, it was decided that I was going to be managing the harvest while sounding out local demand – both from producers and potential club members as well as getting in quotes for the kitchen and cloakroom installations and finding out what building regulations we would need to comply with as well as what permission from the local authorities.

It wasn’t going to be a speedy process, but given that just a