Master of the House by Justine Elyot Read Free Book Online

have to admit, I’d rather you put your mouth where my mouth is,’ he said, devilishly low.
    He wasn’t playing fair. Seduction was not on the menu. It was strictly an arrangement, nothing more. Perhaps I should have some kind of contract drawn up. No cutting the skin, no plastic bags over heads, no thieving of hearts.
    ‘Don’t do that.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Flirt. It isn’t fair. It’s unkind. And it creeps me out.’
    Actually, it didn’t. But I thought it might stop him if I implied that I found his oh-so-charming attentions repellent.
    He had the grace to look a bit crushed, and tossed his hair.
    ‘Are you going to sit there taking pot shots at me all day or are you going to come home with me and beat me into submission?’ he demanded.
    ‘You don’t want pudding then?’
    He shook his head and slapped his stomach.
    ‘Bad for the waistline,’ he said. ‘Got to look the part if I’m going to be getting the old leather trousers out of the wardrobe.’
    ‘God, you aren’t, are you?’
    He grew impatient of waiting for me to stand up and reached down for my hand, grabbed it and yanked me out of my chair.
    ‘To be honest,’ he said, once I was standing close enough for him to murmur into my ear, ‘I usually prefer a well-cut suit. But you’ll be wearing leather for me. And feeling it, too.’
    Jesus. A flash of pure electrical sensation lit me up, starting at my crotch. This was really on the cards. A realisation of the danger I was in blared in my head like a siren.
Run, Lucy, run.
    But I didn’t run. I followed him to his car, leaving mine on the gravel.

Chapter Five
    The scaffolders were still at work on the east wing when we entered the Hall through the back-kitchen door.
    ‘Don’t want Fran to know I’m back,’ muttered Joss, leading the way through the hanging copper pots and pans and wooden worktops. ‘She’ll waylay me with a VAT registration form or something. I’m taking the afternoon off, as far as she’s concerned.’
    ‘Fran Woolley?’
    ‘You know her?’
    ‘Willingham isn’t exactly the metropolis, Joss, people do tend to know everyone in the village.’
    ‘Yeah, I suppose.’
    ‘Nearly thirty and still clueless about real life, aren’t you?’
    He looked over his shoulder at me, frowning.
    ‘Are you saying that my life isn’t real?’ he said.
    ‘No. But, for God’s sake, don’t ever check your privilege. You’d never get to the end of it.’
    ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’
    ‘No, I don’t suppose you do. Look, I’m only joking. I’m nervous.’
    I was pretty close to vomiting, actually, and after all the pickles I’d consumed this wasn’t an appealing prospect.
    The back stairs were like old friends with whom I’d been unexpectedly reunited and, in just the same way, they brought a lot of memories to the fore as I climbed them behind Joss.
    Chief among them was that first time, treading cautiously on the creaking boards, feeling that I was being allowed inside a sacred inner sanctum. And knowing that, by the time I came down, I would no longer be a virgin.
    Joss had been holding my hand that day, looking down at me from time to time with ardent eyes. Oh, how I missed those ardent eyes.
    He’d asked me at the bedroom door if I was sure. I wasn’t, but I said I was.
    Certainty came when we fell together on the bed, all wrapped up in each other’s heat and scent, kissing as if we’d never get the chance again.
    He was so sweet with me, so gentle and kind. He wasn’t the same person who’d whipped my legs with a bramble, he just couldn’t be.
    I was so stupid, but at least I’d had the excuse of youth.
    What excuse did I have now?
    The upstairs landing was just as I remembered it, but shabbier. Everything had a faded, regretful look. Outside Joss’s bedroom door was a recycling box full of bottles.
    ‘Nice touch,’ I said. ‘Classy.’
    ‘Fuck off,’ he said, quite reflexively and without real malice, then he spun around to face me