Lacybourne Manor

Chapter Nineteen The Storm is Over

Colin awoke before dawn knowing something wasn’t right.

He rolled from his back to his side and opened his eyes to see Sibyl sleeping all the way across the expanse of the large bed, her back to him.

Regardless of the fact that he was still half asleep, this annoyed him immensely. In the beginning she had always slept with her back to him. However, since Mallory had been tranquillised, she’d taken to curling her warm, soft body against his every time they’d been together.

This was not a step in the right direction.

Last night had definitely not gone to plan mainly due to Sibyl’s extraordinary temper (even though he knew this about her, he still underestimated it) and her refusal to trust him with the truth about herself.

Colin was not about to take any responsibility for what happened, he had kept Royce and Beatrice from her for a reason which she had cottoned on to quickly and his sister had helpfully, if rather irritatingly, confirmed and then explained.

He, however, had taken great pains to break it to her gently, with her loved ones around and Marian Byrne there to impart the whole story (or the parts Colin felt Sibyl should know). Not to mention, Colin showing her that she had his family’s full support as well. None of which, he marked with irritation, she actually noticed.

He couldn’t understand her reaction because he knew she didn’t have a thing to hide. This was something, however, he’d never tell her. If she found out he’d investigated her, there would be hell to pay. He felt no compunction at keeping this from her. He felt no compunction about doing anything that would make this rough ride smoother, for both of them. The fact that she had nothing to hide made it further difficult to understand why she continued to keep it from him.

This, he could only assume, meant she didn’t trust him.

Which meant he had more work to do.

Luckily, he now had seven months in which to do it. She seemed willing, with only the mildest form of protestation (something that he found very telling) to allow him to demand further time from her. He pinned his hope on this.

Her refusal to discuss Royce was a different story. How Colin could feel such searing jealousy for a dead man, he could not fathom, but he did. She’d shared something with Royce in her chalet and Colin damned well wanted to know what it was.

And what Colin wanted, he found a way to get.

He reached out and dragged her across the bed. She made an endearing, sleepy mew in her throat but didn’t wake. The moment she hit his warmth, she turned and curled against his side, wrapping her arm around his waist.

This was much better.

Then, listening to the soft rain against the windows for a few moments while Sibyl nestled deeper into him, Colin fell back to sleep.

Colin woke again, hours later, to an empty bed.

Instantly alert, he nearly threw the covers back, thinking she’d crept away while he was sleeping and determined to find her (wherever she was) and drag her back and keep her there until they had things sorted. The way things were, obviously, could not go on. He wouldn’t allow it. They needed to straighten everything out between them; he didn’t need to battle her while protecting her against whoever was out there trying to kill her. He still took the threat seriously even though there had been no further contact and no report of suspicious activity from the team that was following her.

Then he saw her coming from the bathroom wearing the green shirt he’d worn last night. His body momentarily stilled at the sight and then he settled back into the bed and allowed some of the tension to ease out of him. He watched her without saying a word, deciding that he liked, very much, the look of her in his shirt.

She was holding it together with one hand at the front and looking about the room with what appeared to be confusion. He watched with interest, wondering what she was up to as she walked to one of his dressers, pulled open first one drawer then closed it then another then she found what she was looking for. Closing the drawer quietly with her thigh, she shed his shirt with her back to him. Then she pulled one of the t-shirts he used to work out in over her head. As she was quite tall, it engulfed her in width but barely covered her rounded bottom.

There was something profoundly intimate about her wearing his clothes, not only wearing them but rooting around in his dresser to find them. If any other woman had dared to do this, he would have found it an unacceptable invasion. With any other woman, it would have been a line not to be crossed.

With Sibyl, he not only accepted it, he welcomed it and decided he liked this item of his clothing on her even better than the other.

She walked back to the bed, clearly preoccupied. She didn’t even look at him to notice he was watching her openly, lying on his side and up on his elbow. She slid between the covers, close to the edge of her side and settled with her back to him.

The instant she was settled, Colin’s arm shot out, hooked around her waist and dragged her (again) across the bed.

This time, awake, she made an angry mew of protest and whirled mid-drag so she faced him head on.

“You’re awake!” she cried, accusation in her voice, as if he was trying to keep this fact from her, which he was not.

“I thought you’d left,” he returned.

Expressions chased across her face from surprise to exasperation.

“I didn’t think of that,” she muttered and he could tell she was cross with herself.

He nearly smiled at the thought of her absentmindedness finally working in his favour.

Instead, he kept his mind steadily on his latest task.

“Are you ready to talk this morning?” he enquired smoothly.

Her eyes shifted to his face and they narrowed just as her lips puckered. The room was dim with early morning light but he could still see they were growing emerald. Quickly.

He had long since found her transforming eye colour a boon. She wasn’t likely ever to be able to hide anything from him when it was written, so clearly, in her eyes. Not to mention the fact that she was an incredibly and often hilariously poor liar.

“No,” she answered abruptly, everything about her showing she was definitely deep in her early morning grouch.

It was then the idea came upon him. A very pleasing idea. An idea that would make this morning’s anticipated skirmish go in Colin’s favour, and, likely, be immensely enjoyable in the process.

And Colin wasted no time putting it in action.

One of his arms was under her body; he wrapped it around her waist and bunched the material of the t-shirt up in his fist so it slid slowly up her bottom. He felt her tense as he ducked his hand under the shirt while his other arm went around her back, pulling her even closer to his chest. Before she could try to escape, he threw his leg over both of hers.

“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously, moving her legs under his thigh and he knew she was trapped when she made an aggravated noise in the back of her throat.

He didn’t answer as his hand started to move on the soft skin at the small of her back, leisurely forming figure eights on her body’s (nearly) most sensitive area, and her head snapped back to look at him just as her frame froze.

“Colin, what are you doing?” she repeated.

Her voice was now slightly desperate, definitely tinged with panic and she lifted her hands to press them against his chest.

“Making you talk,” he answered lazily.

“No!” she cried, realising his intent.

“Yes,” he retorted.

She moaned, it was partially a frustrated sound but partially something else. He felt his own body begin to respond to the moan, not to mention her fidgeting.

Christ, but no woman had ever had this effect on him. The sight of her, the feel of her, the smell of her never ceased to make him nearly desperate with wanting her.

Resolutely keeping his mind on his aim, he dipped his hand to smooth it over her lushly curved ass and suggested, “Let’s start where we left off last night, hmm?”

She closed her eyes, bit her lip and pressed against him. She didn’t say a word, just shook her head on the pillow.

“Sibyl, look at me,” he commanded.

Her eyes flew open and they were no longer emerald but changing swiftly to sherry.

He grinned in anticipated triumph and went back to his figure eights.

“The fifty thousand pounds, what did you need it for?” he asked, his voice low and, not giving her time to answer, he brushed his lips against hers and, tasting a hint of toothpaste, but mostly Sibyl, he felt himself start to harden with need.

She remained silent.

“The fifty thousand?” he prompted relentlessly.

She shifted and dipped her chin low, nearly knocking his with her head as she did so. He could feel she was no longer trying to escape but instead trying to control her body’s reaction to him. He moved his other hand up under the t-shirt and brushed his knuckles on another sensitive area he discovered, the satiny skin beneath her breast, and he heard her suppressed moan.

“This isn’t fair,” she whispered to her chest, her voice breathless.

“I’ll stop when you talk to me.”

She shook her head and he didn’t know if she was shaking it to tell him not to stop or that she wasn’t going to talk. Either way suited his purpose. He was vastly enjoying this sensual torture and he moved his hand to cup her full breast, softly brushing his thumb over a nipple and feeling it harden in response. All the while, his hand moved languidly and tantalisingly at the small of her back.

Her head fell back and she licked her lips then pulled them between her teeth.

Still, she remained silent.

“Not talking?” he queried.

She shook her head stubbornly, her hair fell into her face, sliding gorgeously down his chest and his already stiffening body turned rock hard. He recognised then that he wasn’t going to be able to play this game very long. Heightening her arousal was doing the same to him.

He needed answers from her. He needed her to trust him with those answers, and, as she writhed against him, he felt the blood pound through his veins, quickening his own breath and licking fire through his body. He decided he didn’t much care how he got those answers just that he got them soon.

Colin dropped his head, pulled the t-shirt up to her chest and lifted her breast to receive his mouth. The minute his lips closed around her nipple, drawing it in gently, she made an appealing sound deep in her throat and he smiled as desire strummed through him.

“Do you like that?” he asked against her nipple and then blew on it, watching in fascination as it rose and puckered, tremendously satisfied that he could illicit the same easy reaction from her that he felt for her.

He heard her head move on the pillow again and lifted his to watch her.

“No?” His tone was teasing.

“I’m never going to forgive you,” she whispered, her eyes sherry and her face flushed.

“I think you will,” he countered and then dropped his head again and pulled her nipple into his mouth, rolling his tongue around it. Gratified when he felt her body buck and jerk against him, he drew her nipple in further, sucking gently, then more adamantly, demanding a further response and she didn’t disappoint him. She arched her back, forcing herself deeper into his mouth. This caused havoc in his own body, her squirming against him and her mute, seductive displays of desire. He had a pressing urge to plunge his hand between her legs to see how ready she was for him.

When her hands slid into his hair, holding his head to his task, he realised he was finally getting somewhere.

He lifted his head and she made a noise of disappointment that thrilled him in an almost primitive way and he interrupted his game by crushing his mouth to hers. He needed to taste her, allowed himself this moment of sheer pleasure before carrying on with his goal. She opened her lips immediately, inviting his tongue inside and, happily, he obliged. The kiss was hot and wild and he pressed his hips against hers, showing her his blatant arousal. She groaned into his mouth the moment she felt his need and her hand slid down his back, over his ass then fluttered around his hip to find him.

He caught it easily and shifted it behind her back.

“Not yet,” he warned. “Not until you talk.” This he said against her mouth, his breath was coming fast but hers was faster. His hand at the small of her back never ceased moving and she was, of her own accord, pressing her body against him, pushing her hips insistently against his.

He let go of her hand and before she knew what he was about, he lifted his leg off hers, pulled one of hers up to hook around his waist and slid his hand between her legs, finally touching her right where she needed it.

The minute he did, she gasped deliciously and his own body jerked at the sound and the evidence of her need.

Christ, she was amazing.

Colin lost several notches on his control.

“Talk,” he growled impatiently, needing this to end soon so he could take care of the both of them. He pressed his fingers against her, wanting his cock to be where his fingers were, just as she pushed her hips against his hand.

“What… what do you want to know?” she breathed, delightfully losing her battle.

“The fifty thousand pounds,” he reminded her through clenched teeth, too far gone to glory in his triumph then, needing the feel of her, Colin slid one finger inside her. He watched her immediate reaction, her lips parting, she pulled in her breath delicately and he nearly lost himself in the seductive beauty of it.

Christ, he was going to come without her even touching him.

She emitted a deep, lusty groan and finally capitulated. “I gave it to the community centre. For… a… a minibus.”

Not finished, he wanted it all, so continued his torture. He slid his finger out of her silken wetness, sensing victory and then back in again. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

“I thought…” She pressed against his hand and he took his finger away from her when she hesitated and her half-closed eyes flew open. “Colin, I want it back.” Her voice was throaty and her hands were moving all over him, they felt hot, fevered and wherever they went, they sent shafts of lust straight through him.

“You’ll get it back,” he promised and she’d get more than that, he knew. “Finish telling me.”

She shook her head but started talking anyway. “I thought you’d think I was crazy. I thought, if you knew I’d sell my body for a minibus, you’d leave me.”

That was not what he expected to hear and it so surprised him, he momentarily forgot his desire.

“Why would I leave you?”

Her dazed eyes found his.

“Who in their right mind sells their body for a minibus for oldies?” she burst out breathily, frustrated, tracing his arm to his hand to force him back to where she wanted him but he was now more interested in what she said than what they both wanted. She swiftly reminded him, “I told you, Colin, and you promised. Now I want it back,” she demanded and he pushed her on her back and loomed over her, spreading her legs with his thigh and pressing against her.

“You didn’t want me to leave?” he asked.

This was definitely something he wasn’t expecting and he found himself enjoying an entirely different sense of triumph.

Her gaze was soft on his face, her expression filled with longing but he could see fear there as well.

“No,” she whispered.

“Why?” he pressed.

“Colin, please. Don’t ask me these things.”

“Why didn’t you want me to leave?” he demanded, ignoring her request, now wanting more than ever to hear what she had to say, indeed, he found he needed to hear it.

“Because I thought you might be…”

She stopped, her hand drifted down his abdomen with seductive intent and he grabbed it and pulled it to his chest.

“Sibyl –”

“Someone special!” she suddenly shouted, losing her battle against him, her stubbornness and her body’s desire. “I thought you were someone special and I didn’t want you to think I was some crazy woman and leave. I mean, it isn’t every day someone sells their body and with it their soul and all they feel is good and right about themselves for a minibus! Don’t you find that odd? Strange? Utterly ludicrous? Do you want to be with a woman like that? I think not,” she snapped, not letting him react. Her words tore at him, lacerating his heart.

All they feel is good and right about themselves...

All of his desire to torment her fled as he stared at her, his heart clenching with guilt.

He had nothing to say except to point out the very important fact that she was exactly the kind of woman he wanted to be with but she didn’t give him the chance to say it.

She reared away from him, yanking her wrist out of his grasp, but he caught her and rolled to his back, pulling her on top of him, his thigh still pressed between hers and he lifted his knee.

“I’ve got to get out of here!” she cried desperately.

She was near tears, he could see them shimmering in her eyes.

“Sibyl.”

He knew then that, regrettably, he’d lost control of the situation and she’d lost control of her emotions. This wasn’t about desire anymore but about something else, something he was powerless to control, something that was totally Sibyl. The only thing he could do was ride it out.

“What?” she snapped. “You’re ruthless, you know. Just plain old mean.” Not allowing him to respond to those true, awful (but also rather adorable) statements, she tried to pull away again and grunted with the effort then stopped at once, for seemingly no reason, caught in her own turmoil, her weight collapsed on him and this time, he grunted.

“My parents warned me, after the animal shelter debacle, they warned me I’d end up doing something stupid and here I am. I should have said yes to you when you asked me out after the night at the club. But how was I to know you were, well… you!” she exploded. “That you were the type of man who could, and would, with a couple of phone calls, have gotten that vile minibus driver sacked. Or that you could be gentle and tender, sweet and generous. I didn’t know who you were, what you could do or that you’d even do it! I would have done anything in these last few weeks to take all of this back so you wouldn’t think I was a worthless, money-grubbing slut. But, back then, I thought you were insane. Now I know everything and…” She stopped abruptly, deciding again to fight, she pushed against him then just as suddenly gave up and crumpled on him, promptly lost control and burst into tears.

Finally given the opportunity to get a word in edgewise, he was speechless at learning what he did in her shouted, abject confession. He could do nothing but hold her as she cried against his chest, moving only once to press her face between his shoulder and neck. Her body was wracked with her tears, tears wrought by something far beyond her confession, something deeper, more painful. He was not certain he understood it and definitely didn’t know what to do about it.

Colin was not used to not knowing what to do. In fact, he was pretty certain there was never a time when he didn’t know what to do.

Then she started speaking again, her words stunted and jerky with tears. “It was just Meg,” she said and this made him all the more confused because he didn’t know who the hell Meg was, until she spoke again and it became dreadfully clear as to what had been tormenting Sibyl for weeks.

And what Sibyl Godwin said next began to melt Colin Morgan’s brittle, cold heart.

“When she broke her hip falling out of the bus. I yelled at the minibus driver a few days before, letting my stupid, stupid temper get the best of me. Kyle told me I would make it worse for them if I upset the minibus driver and I did. I made it worse! So much worse! And Meg got hurt because of it. Because of me! It was all my fault so I had to fix it, no matter what it meant. I had to fix it. And then you came in and gave me a way to fix it and it was the worst way possible but I had to take it because it was the only choice I had and it was all my fault!”

His arms tightened around her and he rolled her to her back, stretching his long length down her side, he lifted himself on his elbow to look at her. Then he gently moved the hair away from her face but she threw her arm over her eyes, dislodging his hand and turned her head away from him to hide her emotion.

And Colin felt his heart squeeze at her anguish. It was clear she’d been holding onto this for weeks. Blaming herself for something she could never possibly have prevented, something she could not have caused, something that was beyond her control.

“What happened to Meg wasn’t your fault.” He tried to reason with her, thinking it the best way.

She shook her head determinedly. “It was.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Sibyl. These things happen.”

She took in a shuddering breath and slid her arm away from her eyes, allowing it to drop in defeat at her side and her tear-brightened gaze moved to lock on his. At the sight of her desolation, his gut clenched.

How could one person take on such a world of pain? It wasn’t even her pain. What was it like to live in that head of hers?

“Christ, Sibyl,” he muttered because he could think of absolutely nothing else to say.

“Old people die after breaking their hips, Colin,” she told him.

“Did she die?” he queried cautiously.

“No,” she answered and took another fractured breath. “But she’s been very hurt and she isn’t getting better very fast.”

“Did she blame you?”

“No, of course not!”

He ran the back of his fingers gently along her jaw, trying physically to soothe away her hurt. “Then, sweetheart, you have to stop blaming yourself.”

“Don’t you see?” She threw up her hands in exasperation at what she considered his extreme obtuseness. “I did that with the minibus driver, which hurt Meg, and then you came to my house and offered me money and you don’t trust women easily –”

“Sibyl –” He tried to interrupt her rampaging train of thought and its hysterical bent toward self-recrimination and failed.

“No!” she cried. “And I played right into your hands so I’m double trouble, breaking old people’s hips and making you think even worse of my sex. Once you found out…” She stopped and then blurted out, “Of course you’d leave me! Hell, I’d leave me!”

At this outrageous pronouncement, he couldn’t have helped it to save his life.

He chuckled.

She was whipping herself up into a drama, so caught in everyone else’s troubles she couldn’t see what was happening around her.

She couldn’t see that he, long since, had stopped using her and started courting her.

She couldn’t see that even though she pretended she wanted less of him, she never left, not last night, not this morning, not the first night they met, not any time before and not now.

She couldn’t see that she hid something splendid (if a little warped and certainly a habit he needed to break her of), an act of such selflessness it was breathtaking, when telling him would have ended their battles days ago.

At his chuckle, her eyes flared.

“What’s so damned funny?” she snapped, in a flash moving from despair to anger.

“Would you have taken the money from Paul and slept with him for it?” Colin asked, watching her closely, knowing her answer and trying to hide his mirth.

“Paul?” She blinked, momentarily confused.

“The drunk from the club.”

“No! How could you even think –?”

“Your medic?” Colin persisted.

“My… Steve?” Her eyes narrowed. “Of course not. And he’s not my medic.” This was said with extreme distaste as if the thought was beyond foul.

Her reaction satisfied Colin tremendously.

He shook it off and charged on, “Can you think of anyone, besides me, who you would have taken the money from, sold your body to for a minibus?”

This stopped her. She froze and glowered at him. Then her eyes narrowed again and he could swear (to his immense relief) he saw the dawning of understanding.

Then, to his surprise and extreme displeasure, she said, “Yes.”

“Who?” he clipped.

“Clark Gable!” she announced and tried to slip out from under him but he hauled her back, this time, he was no longer chuckling but laughing, his entire body shaking with it.

Then Colin informed her helpfully when he had his humour under control, “I think, darling, you’ll find he’s dead,”

“Well,” she muttered huffily, “I would have taken it from him when he was alive, of course, during his Gone with the Wind years.”

“I’m in good company then,” Colin muttered as he dropped to his side and pulled her against his body.

“It’s time for you to answer some questions now,” she demanded, recovering quickly from her drama and spearing him with her eyes.

He dipped his chin to look at her, giving her his full attention.

“What do you want to know?” he asked without hesitation.

“This Royce and Beatrice business, you and me, what am I to you now? What does that mean to us?”

“We have seven months to figure it out.”

Her body stilled and her eyes, emerald before, started shifting back to hazel. This, he was beginning to interpret, when not just her norm, was when she was confused, mildly upset or melancholy.

“So nothing has changed?” she asked.

He shook his head and she bit her lip, her eyes sliding to the side, away from his, trying to mask her disappointed reaction. It took every ounce of his willpower not to grin.

“I will warn you,” his tone was mock-severe, “it might take eight months for us to figure it out.” Then he tugged gently on her hair to pull her head back and he ducked his own and kissed her throat, his other hand moving to the small of her back to form its lazy figure eights.

Her body jerked.

“Eight?” she breathed.

He noted, again, she said it in (weak) protest but she didn’t bloody well mean it.

He had her, he knew in that moment, she was definitely his.

“Yes, maybe nine or even ten,” he replied.

“Do I still have to do what you tell me to do?”

“Yes.”

He felt her slump and he grinned against the skin at her throat then he slid his lips up her neck to taste the area just under her ear.

Sibyl trembled.

“Obviously you can’t see anyone else but me,” he warned, moving his mouth to hers and he brushed his lips there, feather-soft.

“What if I don’t agree? The original bargain was two months; you keep changing the goal posts. Now you know what I did with the money, and you obviously don’t mind, you can get a tax break, that ought to buy back some time.”

He ignored her thoughtful suggestion (although he mentally filed it away). “You never know, it could take a year.”

She gasped.

“I’m not doing this for a year!” she cried.

“No?” he asked, his hand slid back under her t-shirt and his finger swirled around her nipple.

She gasped again, this one much different than the last.

At her reaction, he gave her a smug smile as he felt his body tighten and he kissed her freckled nose.

And she gasped again, this one soft and, finally, full of understanding.

“Colin,” she whispered, “You called me ‘sweetheart’.”

Colin didn’t reply.

Her eyes liquefied instantly to sherry.

“Colin?”

He stared her straight in the eye. “Yes?”

“Do I have to be where you want me, when you want me?”

“Not if you don’t want to.”

He felt her relief as she moved into him, wrapping her arms about his waist and pressing her soft, sweet body against his as a reward.

“So, can we start over?” she asked, her voice gentle and honeyed, and, if he heard it correctly, happy. The glorious sound of it nearly made him groan.

Nevertheless, he answered her honestly, “No.”

She looked startled.

“Why?”

“Because I like what’s happened before.”

“Well I –”

“Stop thinking about it Sibyl. That part of it was over almost before it started.”

She hesitated and he watched as she struggled briefly with it and finally, with a valiant effort of will, let it go.

And then he listened as she pressed her advantage. “So I don’t have to do what you tell me to do.”

“Of course you do.” He rolled her onto her back, sliding his thigh between hers.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You suffer the consequences.”

At this, she smiled, one of her heart-stopping, devastating, bedazzling smiles.

This time he rewarded her for the smile and he kissed her.

Without hesitation, she melted beneath him.

Several long, heady minutes later, when she was again wet and ready for him, he dragged his mouth from hers and warned, “We’ll talk about Royce later.”

Her desire-drugged eyes rounded with anger and alarm.

And he finally, with immense satisfaction, slid slowly inside her and her anger and alarm fled and she was, blissfully, completely, all his.

It was then, outside, even though neither Colin nor Sibyl noticed it, the sun started shining.