The Bonk Squad (26 page)

“
That’s never you!” gasped
Meg.

“
Heavens, Ian!” exclaimed
Vi.

“
Hot...” confirmed Romy
with a slow smile.

“
Dar
ling
,” Eloise rasped in her best
sultry growl.

“
Oh-mi-god!” Mandy raved,
arriving only moments later.

“
So—you like?” Liz
asked.

Ian found himself surrounded by half a
dozen drooling, pawing women. The sensation was not
unpleasant.

Meg ran an admiring hand up to his
bicep. “The tan’s tremendous,” she said. “What a
change.”

Romy slipped an arm around his waist.
“Some body you’ve been hiding,” she agreed, checking out his steely
strength.

He couldn’t be certain who goosed his
backside, but Eloise’s husky “taut and terrific” might have given
her away.

Nurse Mandy, eyes huge behind her
gleaming glasses, ran her fingers over his chest and commented on
his T-shirt instead.

Vi raised a blue-veined hand to his
short darker hair. “Can I touch?” she asked, diving in before
permission was granted or denied.

“
Oh leave the poor man
alone,” Liz said. “Has everyone got a seat? Who’s still
missing?”

With noticeable reluctance the women
drew away from him, although their eyes continued to inspect and
admire.

Ian’s heart raced. Every
time he’d caught sight of himself yesterday—in the bedroom mirror;
in the plate glass windows of his garden shop; in the smooth
surface of the ornamental ponds outside—he’d caught his breath,
straightened his shoulders, gazed in disbelief, and shaken his
head. It felt fantastic to be someone else after all the years of
just being
him
.

Women customers were keener to chat.
Men accepted his gardening advice as though it was law. Jack Fulton
and young Lorraine kept stealing glances in his direction. Lorraine
had at last plucked up the courage to say ‘great haircut,
Boss’.

But it wasn’t just Thursday’s haircut.
Ian had waited until yesterday to appear in his new clothes...to
show off his suntanned arms and long supple body and tight butt.
Now he was awash with testosterone, bristling with dangerous
energy, a male on the prowl. God, he felt invincible!

Ben appeared with an armful of folding
chairs, and there was a general re-shuffle until everyone was
seated.

“
Tigger’s staying with
friends for the night,” Eloise said.

Ben gave silent thanks that she hadn’t
changed her plans, picked up the phone, and slipped away to contact
a friend who’d mentioned a party to which a number of young nurses
had been invited. “I’ll bring some more wine in a sec,” he said as
he retreated.

Bobbie drifted out to join them a few
moments later.

“
We’ve had a go at her,
too,” Liz said as exclamations of amazement greeted her other
new-look project.

“
My hair got all burnt in
the fire,” Bobbie murmured, flushing pink. “I suppose it’s grown a
bit by now. It doesn’t feel so strange any more.”

“
It looks just delightful,
dear,” Vi said. “And very feminine, even though it’s very short.
You’ve got a pretty little face, haven’t you, now we can see
it?”

Bobbie averted her eyes, blushed an
even deeper shade, and bent over to pour herself the last of the
sweet sparkling wine from the current bottle.

“
That turquoise top’s good
on you,” Romy added. “And Bobbie—you’ve got legs! We’ve never seen
them before.”

“
My clothes got burnt. I
bought a couple of skirts for a change,” Bobbie admitted. “My bike
as well—it was in the MacArthurs’ garage. Everything got burnt
really.”

“
She can catch the bus to
work from here,” Meg supplied.

“
And Jamie’s teaching me to
drive,” Bobbie added.

There was a sudden silence.

“
Who’s Jamie?” Liz
demanded. There’d never been the least suggestion of a man in
Bobbie’s life. Liz and Romy had speculated she might be a
lesbian—and the erotica she wrote would be
woman-on-woman.

“
Jamie MacArthur,” Meg
said. “Bobbie’s boyfriend.”

“
He sort of rescued me the
night of the fire,” Bobbie explained, growing braver now her news
was out in the open. “And one thing led to another.”

Had it indeed? Meg made a private note
to check Bobbie’s ‘Mordilla’ story. If the chained warrior’s cock
still had a forked end covered with writhing veins then she and
Jamie hadn’t been up to much. But if it didn’t...?

“
Where’s that wine got to?
This calls for another drink,” she enthused.

“
To celebrate your escape
from the awful fire,” Vi added, just as Ben appeared with two more
opened bottles.

“
And the boyfriend,” Romy
said.

“
And Ian’s lovely
haircut.”

“
And,” said Eloise, in a
voice that could have sliced sheet metal, “my getting the role of
Mrs. Robinson in dear Ashton Pimm’s new production of ‘The
Graduate’.” She sat back, sure of the limelight, until Nurse Mandy
guzumped her by saying “And me having a request for a full
manuscript from that last partial.”

In an instant, Eloise’s triumph
evaporated.

“
That’s fast!” Liz
exclaimed. “The Addy and Brad one?”

“
With the conflict over
tearing down the old hospital so his father could build an
expensive new clinic,” Mandy agreed.

“
Lots of reasons to drink
up,” Meg assured everyone, pouring more sparkling wine with a
generous hand.

“
Who chose this?” Liz
demanded, squinting as the bubbles exploded and stung her
eyes.

“
It’s very festive,” Meg
insisted. Mandy had brought quite a number at a bargain price, and
it was rather sweet. It slid down easily though.

“
Oh!” Bobbie exclaimed, and
dashed inside to bring out a platter of nuts and carrot sticks and
non-dairy dip she’d prepared.

As they crunched and sipped and
gossiped, Meg felt utter contentment wash over her. The Christmas
break was close. She’d got rid of Al for the evening, and could
write. Ben seemed happy, if secretive. Bobbie had acquired a man.
Eloise had won her plum role. Liz had scored at least two ‘lovers’
to throw in Paul’s face. Nurse Mandy had received a request for a
full novel at last. Vi would get untold compliments for her huge
trifle... and Ian looked amazing. Only Romy seemed less than
bubbly. But her latest book was due out very soon. That would do.
Life was good.

“
So what’s anyone writing?”
she asked.

They filtered inside to
eat, all a little woozy. Liz’s strap slid down again. Ian pushed it
back onto her shoulder and left his hand there as he propelled her
towards the loaded table. Romy noticed Liz didn’t appear to object.
So
was
there
something going on there? She still couldn’t believe it.

Hugo, the tall tawny
haired young Laird, reined in his white stallion and dismounted
with a lithe leap.

Elizabeth McKenzie bowed
her head so her curtain of chestnut hair hid the direction of her
gaze. She enjoyed a brief glimpse of the Laird’s long thigh as his
kilt flipped up, then fell into place again.

“
Miss McKenzie,” he said
in greeting. “A bonnie day.”

She inclined her head
again. “Aye, Sire,” she agreed, glancing at the wicker basket of
heather sprigs she’d been gathering from his land.

Had he stopped to voice
his objection to her scavenging? She planned to tie the sprigs into
neat posies with tartan ribbons and sell them at the Highland Games
for a penny each. Visitors to the district were always keen to take
home a small souvenir of the highlands, and this was a way she
could supplement her meager governess’s allowance and purchase the
cloth to sew a soft feminine blouse. She would
never
attract a husband while she
was clad head to toe in scratchy black serge.

But the Laird’s voice was
kindly. And his blue eyes twinkled. He tugged the magnificent
stallion’s halter so the horse would pace along beside them. He
offered Elizabeth his arm and she took it with gratitude. The
ground was uneven and her shoes were decidedly decrepit.

“
So, Miss McKenzie, you
have a little scheme afoot?”

She blushed, and decided
she’d die before confessing her reason for needing the
money.

“
I make posies Sire, so
the visitors to the Games can take away a small breath of our
beautiful highlands.”

He nodded with approval;
his gilly had told him as much. So she was a girl with gumption.
And under those hideous crow-black garments he sensed a figure that
was full breasted, narrow-waisted, and entirely tempting. How could
he introduce his unusual proposition to her?

They walked on in silence.
Only the jingle of the harness and the stallion’s occasional snorts
interrupted the soft rippling of the loch and its attendant
birdsong.

Suddenly the heel of her
old shoe gave way and pitched her sideways into a patch of marshy
ground. She screamed as her fingers slid from his arm, and in
seconds she had sunk almost waist deep into the mud. She struggled
to grasp his hand.

“
Your scarf!” he demanded,
knowing if he joined her in the ooze they both might
perish.

She unwound it and tossed
it to him. He knotted it around the stallion’s stirrup and led the
great beast as close to the edge as he dared. Elizabeth’s flailing
fingers caught the free end of the cloth and convulsed about
it.

Slowly man and beast
pulled her from the sickening swamp. She’d nearly fainted with
fright and exhaustion by the time she was free.

Hugo steadied her, then
laid her on the dry ground. He slid his hands around her waist,
loosening the fastenings of her skirt.

She gave a tremulous
gasp.

“
Fear not young lady,” he
murmured, stripping the soaked and weighty wool off her. “I’d be
hard pressed to carry you in all this volume of wet fabric—and I
expect your skirt is entirely ruined anyway.”

He turned his attention
next to the buttons of her muddy, stinking jacket and removed that
as well. She lay before him in her soaking half transparent
underskirts and low cut bodice. Waves of hideous embarrassment
engulfed her. To be so exposed to the Laird’s eyes!

“
Come,” he said gruffly,
lifting her in his strong arms. “There’s a disused crofter’s
cottage close by. It will only be a temporary haven, but better
than nothing.” He strode through the rough sedge and heather for
several minutes and at last carried her through the opening of a
small dwelling.

Elizabeth shivered,
mortified beyond belief, bedraggled and unbeautiful. What a sight
she must present to him. But at least she was in shelter at last,
and his were the only eyes that could see her now.

They were very hungry
eyes.

She blanched as he peeled
off his muddied jacket and tossed it aside. And clutched her arms
over her breasts as he grasped the lower edge of his soft woolen
jersey and drew it upward to expose a firm hairy chest and broad
shoulders. He wrenched it over his head and held it out to
her.

“
It’ll be huge on you, but
warm,” he said.

Elizabeth’s heart started
to beat again. He meant it for her! He intended her no harm. And he
was more beautiful than she’d imagined a man could ever
be.

She smoothed the garment
down. The warmth from his big body flowed into hers. Her sigh of
pleasure brought a smile to his handsome face.

He retrieved his ruined
jacket and pulled it back on. Elizabeth watched the stretch of his
long arms, the bunching of his chest muscles, the flexing of those
above his kilt where a fascinating stripe of dark hair ran down and
disappeared.

“
Give me twenty minutes,”
he said, seeing where she was looking and sensing her admiration.
“I’ll away to Glen Arran and collect some dry clothes for us both.
Take off those sodden underskirts the moment I depart.”

And he was gone. The rapid
drumbeat of the stallion’s hooves lessened, leaving only wind and
birdsong.

Elizabeth peeled down the
layers of cold clinging fabric and cuddled his jersey around her.
An ancient sofa sat in a patch of weak sunlight by the far wall.
She gave it a doubtful prod, decided it was better than nothing,
and sat to remove her damp gartered stockings as well. Soon
exhaustion claimed her, and she curled up and slept.

Hugo tethered the stallion
to a tree and covered the last few yards on foot. He swore softly
and dropped the bundle of clothing he carried. He flipped his
watercolor pad open and began to sketch the vision he saw through
the old doorway.

Her arm pillowed her face.
Her luxuriant hair tumbled every which-way, mostly obscuring her
features. Her long bare legs splayed innocently apart. And framed
in the sagging neckline of his pullover were the luscious curves of
her breasts.