Chapter Fourteen

OLLIE

"Are you screwing my brother?" Tim's eyes were hot as he glared at me.

I bit back the fervent I wish that came to my lips. "No," I said cautiously, taking an unobtrusive step backwards. I'd come out to the kitchen garden, looking forward to helping Tim again, but he was once more the hostile dragon I'd met on my first night here.

"So why's he buying you whatever you want?"

"He's not?" As Tim's brows drew down, I remembered Archer's offer. "This whole thing is supposed to be about getting on better with other families so he was making me welcome by offering. He knows I haven't got much with me after the way my visit happened, but I have no intention of accepting his offer."

Tim's frown disappeared at that. Perhaps it wasn't only the offer that had upset him but also the idea of family money being spent on me.

"These"—I indicated my new jeans that made my arse look fabulous —"were paid for by my own head of family." Might as well hammer home the point. "Though I hope he doesn't want them back when I go home because they'd never fit him."

The last bit of anger faded from Tim's face, and the friendly dragon of yesterday was back. "I'll show you how I train the fruit trees if you want," he offered.

I wasn't much of a gardener, but I knew an olive branch when I saw one.

We worked together again, and as the morning crept towards lunchtime, I decided it was safe to do a bit of digging. After all, I wasn't the one who'd opened the subject of Archer's love life. Sex life. Whatever.

"Why did you think I might be banging Archer?"

Tim stilled where he was squatting down, tying a young plant to a cane. "You've probably realised we don't have any money, despite the house," he said at last. "If I ask him for anything, he always says we can't afford it. Yet he was offering to get you whatever you wanted, like he'd do anything to keep you happy. And he treats you differently."

He did? My heart leapt. "What do you mean, differently?"

"Nothing," Tim said, and stood, groaning as he straightened. "I've had enough of this. Let's go and find lunch."

That was evidently all I was going to get out of him. But a tiny, flickering flame of hope had been lit inside me. Tim's question meant that Archer obviously wasn't completely straight. He'd said he was going to take me flying tomorrow night. I hoped it would be just the two of us again, and maybe—maybe something would happen.

I was still lost in improbable dreams of Archer pushing me against the nearest surface to do whatever he wanted to me when we reached the kitchen. Mia looked up from the pasta she was draining. "Brilliant timing. Can you set the table while I take Archer his lunch?"

"I could take it," I offered before I knew I was going to say it. Aware of the two Talbots looking at me, Tim assessingly and Mia with a laugh in her eyes, I shrugged. "I mean, if it would help."

"Do you even know where he is?" Mia plated the pasta and poured sauce over the top.

"If you show me, I'll know for the future." Because, much as I liked Mia and Tim, it was Archer I wanted to spend time with.

After messaging Jack last night, I'd thought about Archer some more. I'd enjoyed watching him yesterday afternoon as he persuaded, informed and, in his own intimidating way, charmed his family. I'd seen the strain in him at June and Chris's house. Belatedly, I'd realised how badly Mia's jokes would have landed with someone like Mr Shaw. He'd have been furious with Mia and would have judged Archer for not keeping her respectful, so I understood why Archer had ticked her off. I'd never thought what it must be like to be head of a family with responsibility for everything , but I was beginning to realise it seemed like a demanding, thankless task.

"Grab some salad and come on, then," Mia said.

"Why isn't Archer joining us for lunch?" I asked as I followed Mia's path across the bridge, turning right instead of left, away from the kitchen garden.

"He can't leave the forge unattended."

"The forge? What, he's a blacksmith or something?" I had visions suddenly of Archer dressed in dirty jeans and a leather apron and no shirt, those muscles in his arms bulging and shiny with sweat and…

"You didn't know? What on earth did the two of you talk about yesterday?"

"Donkeys," I offered. "He said you could take me to meet them."

"Sure." She turned off the path into a yard surrounded by impressive brick outbuildings. "These are the old stables. Archer's made part of them into his forge."

She knocked loudly on an open door and waited for Archer's response before entering. Following her, I looked around curiously, breathing in the pervasive scent of metal and smoke. I'd had some idea in mind of an anvil and a big basket of fire, like in all the fantasy shows I watched. Instead, there was a bewildering array of machines, metal benches, and a forge with a giant hood and extraction pipe. Fire was glowing deep red, calling to the dragon in me and making it hard to look away.

But something even better was calling to both me and my dragon—Archer was looking at me. I say looking. Staring was more like it, his eyes moving over me from head to foot. This was the first time he'd seen me in anything other than less-than-sexy workwear. I cocked a hip, very subtly, and let him drink in his fill of the jeans that showed off my arse and emphasised my package.

"Ollie brought the salad," Mia said, sadly dragging Archer's attention away from me.

Following her lead, I placed the bowl on a metal table with lots of holes in it. I had no idea what it could be for, but that applied to almost everything in this place. "What do you make?" I asked.

"Gates, door furniture, fire irons—anything that people want making properly rather than mass-produced. I do a fair few commissions." He rubbed his brow, leaving a dirty mark that I so wanted to lick off his skin.

"You should show them to Ollie," Mia said.

"How's your morning been?" Archer obviously had no intention of showing me his commissions. Which sounded dirtier than I'd intended. His eyes were keen on my face, and although I told myself he was just checking if his guest was okay, I liked having all of his attention.

"Fine, thanks. I helped Tim again this morning, but I thought I'd have a proper look around the gardens this afternoon."

"If you're going into the maze, take your phone. I've lost count of the rescue missions we've had to mount over the years."

I was gaping at him unflatteringly, but— "You have a maze? And you didn't lead with that? You let me get excited about donkeys when you have a maze ?"

"To be fair, the donkeys are pretty cute," Archer said, a smile lurking in his eyes.

I grinned back at him. Forget the forge, I was basking in the warmth of that smile.

I was sorry when he finally looked away, towards Mia, who had been uncharacteristically quiet. "Thanks for this," he said, nodding towards his lunch. "I'd better get on."

I walked with Mia back to the house, which was the only reason I wasn't texting Jack. A blacksmith? That explained the shoulders and arms. And chest, from what I'd seen in that tight t-shirt. Jack would understand that I needed Archer to bang me with his big hammer.

Because I was with Archer's little sister, I kept my phone in my pocket and let her tell me how talented he was. I had no doubt about it, but it wasn't his talent with hot metal that was preoccupying me right now. How the hell was I supposed to survive this?

ARCHER

Ollie seemed to brighten every room with his smile and his positivity. Yesterday, I hadn't thought twice about touching him to turn him around, helping him locate the building he was so confused about as he stood right in front of it.

The problem was, I hadn't wanted to let go of him afterwards. He was stronger than he appeared, and when he turned around to face me, his face lifting up to mine, his full lips curved in a smile, I'd been tempted to kiss him. It would have been so easy.

And so wrong. He was my guest, and not by his choice. That had been easier to remember when he hadn't looked like he had this morning. I'd had no idea of the arse, the legs, the all-round perfect body he had. Maybe a little smaller than I usually went for, but perfectly formed. As if he'd been put here simply to tempt me.

I distracted myself from my thoughts by working through my messages and emails while I had lunch. No new enquiries, but the Moores were getting a stone plinth installed for their sculpture and wanted to double-check the sizing with me. I couldn't work out if their request when they already had the measurements was due to over-excitement or a polite way of prompting me that I'd promised to get it to them by the end of this week.

It was a good reminder of my responsibilities. I didn't have the luxury of messing around with anyone, let alone someone so young and light-hearted, who would pull me away from all the things I had to do.

I put the empty plates outside the workshop door to signal that I didn't want to be interrupted and turned my attention to the sculpture I was beginning to hate. Technically, there was nothing wrong with it. Artistically, there was nothing wrong with it. But I was sick of creating eagles, however beautiful they were. Why didn't someone commission an octopus sculpture? That would be so much more interesting, both to make and to have in a garden somewhere.

The design I'd sketched at the moot flashed into my mind, sending a thrill of anticipation through me. I loved the act of creation—even when I ended up getting dirty, sweaty and with more burns than Mia's attempts at cooking—and this one felt special. This was Avebury , yet somehow it was Avebury as seen through Ollie's eyes. The wonder in him had reminded me of what it had been like to be young, so long ago.

Yet again, my thoughts had looped back round to Ollie. I put my safety glasses on, and the muscle memory snapped my brain into work mode in an instant. I couldn't mess around only half-concentrating when working with heated metal and fire. While I was here, nothing else mattered. And that was how it should be.

* * *

Mia, Ollie and I spent another quiet evening in the sitting room. I should be doing more to integrate Ollie into our extended family, but not tonight. I was tired from what had turned into a long day because I couldn't quite get the last details on the tail how I'd envisaged them. By the time it finally came together, it was almost nine pm.

"Is Tim in?" I asked as I settled down wearily in my usual chair, fresh from the shower and a quick bowl of microwaved beef stew.

Mia shook her head, but offered nothing more. I hated that she was caught between us. I should probably try to talk to Tim again, but it seemed the more I did so, the worse things became.

I gathered what was left of my energy because I was supposed to be looking after our guest. "Did you get to the maze this afternoon?" I asked him.

"I ran out of time after Mia took me to see the donkeys and they came for cuddles," he said, sounding as if it was the best thing that had happened in his entire life. "I always wanted to have a dog, but of course we couldn't, and I never thought I'd get to pet another animal. But their noses were so velvety and they loved having their ears stroked, and I'm now thinking I could get a baby donkey instead of a dog and keep it in our back garden."

Hopefully, the novelty would wear off when he saw the piles of dung the donkeys left in their wake, surprisingly large for such small creatures. Otherwise, any idea of us developing a good relationship with the Shaws would be derailed by donkey dung.

His enthusiasm for the donkeys reminded me of the way his eyes had brightened when Mia suggested I show him my commissions. Now, I felt bad about the way he'd deflated when I'd ignored her suggestion.

"If you're interested, I could show you my work sometime," I said offhandedly. I hoped that he wasn't interested, while at the same time, I knew it would sting if he said he wasn't. That combination made no sense, but none of my reactions to Ollie did.

"Really?" His eyes shone. "Thanks, Archer—that would be awesome."

What was it about Ollie that had me acting unlike myself? I didn't willingly share my art with anyone. The only reason I did was to make a living. But Ollie was jolting me out of my patterns.

Ollie was also the reason I'd had to buy a new bottle of lube when I'd been in Winchester. Normally, I was so tired that rubbing one out was little more than stress relief. But that had changed since Ollie had been around. And after seeing him in those sinful jeans, I wanted to fuck him more than I'd wanted anything for a long time.

I couldn't. I mustn't. Maybe I could take a night off and drive over to Brighton and find someone in one of the clubs there to fuck instead. I did so occasionally, after my long, dry spell when the kids had been too young to leave alone at night and I couldn't afford a babysitter. Picking up someone at a club wasn't what I wanted, but I didn't know what I did want. I hadn't known. What I wanted right now was sitting in front of my fire, examining the fire irons.

"They've got dragons for handles!" he exclaimed, as if that was news to me and Mia. He turned to look at me. "Did you make these?"

"One of my early attempts," I told him. "They're not good enough to sell."

"You can't mean that. They're perfect. I've never seen a poker with a dragon handle before."

I had the suspicion that Ollie had never seen a poker before coming to this house, because Mia had needed to teach him how to tend the fire. Even so, the sincerity of his praise warmed my heart.

I picked up my phone. Not because I wanted to read it but because spending too much time talking to Ollie was dangerous. He was unlocking things in me, and I didn't like that. It felt perilously close to being out of control.