Stolen Kiss (The Turners of Copper Island #2)

Chapter 33

Chapter Thirty-Three

C ynthia paced the living room of her suite, counting down the minutes before she left for the boat. The last two weeks since she received the letter from Jonathan felt like a lifetime.

“Are you ready, Cynthia?” Jennifer asked.

Cynthia glanced over to the door to her rooms, and then around the living room. She never thought she’d have these rooms. If her plan to marry Jonathan had gone ahead, she wouldn’t have any rooms at all at Turner Hall.

Taking her mother’s rooms after she died was small compensation for the heartache of being away from her beloved.

“Yes. I won’t see these walls for some time, and I won’t miss them,” Cynthia said.

She picked up her travel bag and a light jacket and pushed her feet into her shoes. Then, giving the room a nod, she stoked her flat stomach and smiled.

“Let’s go,” Cynthia said.

Her father allowed her a small allowance for her expeditions, but not much. She spent her time with Jonathan, so they needed little money. Jennifer’s travel, food, and room were paid for out of the Turner purse. They did not afford Cynthia the same luxury. Her brother Freddie gave her money, as he was allowed a generous salary from the Turner estate plus his wages from the oil rig. He gave her half his wages. And she gladly took it.

Bitterness had inched its way into her heart at the unfairness of her situation. She was stuck, unable to learn a skill to have a job should she run away. Any classes she would take would get reported straight back to her father and grandfather. She wasn’t brave enough to run away without a backup of money or a job. Her father made sure she had neither.

When she reached the bottom of the staircase and stepped onto the marble floor, Freddie came out of her grandfather’s study.

“Are you off?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m not sure when I’ll be back. It will depend on how much Italy takes my interest.”

“It’s a shame you won’t be here for the wedding,” he said.

“You and Imelda don’t want my sour face ruining the pictures. Anyway, it will be a small ceremony at the chapel, back here for nibbles and champagne, and then onto marriage. I still think you should delay it for another year.”

“You make it sound functional.”

“That’s because marriage is for a Turner. Marry, have a minimum of two children to secure the lineage, and waft about this place like Lords.”

“You sound jealous,” he bit back.

“I’m not jealous,” she whispered. Then stepping towards her brother, she stood a few inches away and roared, “I’m furious you get what you want, and I don’t.”

Cynthia didn’t wait for a reply. She knew that his money allowed her the luxury of going away, but she couldn’t contain her retort when he pressed her buttons. And he let her bully him as if he deserved it somehow. He kept telling her he didn’t want to run the Turner estate now or ever, but slowly, their father had shoehorned him into working during his three weeks off when he should have been resting from the rigs.

She trotted down the steps of Turner Hall with Jennifer following her. A car was waiting with their luggage to take them to the quayside and the boat. Without a glance over her shoulder, they were on the move.

Cynthia and Jennifer travelled to Italy by boat for the entire journey, changing vessels at Southampton. After three days at sea, they then travelled by train and then by bus to Lake Como. Friends of the Turners had agreed to let Cynthia use the villa for the summer. It would be the summer that would change her life. Jennifer was free to do whatever she pleased once they’d arrived, giving her and Jonathan privacy.

“It’s beautiful here,” Cynthia said.

Jennifer joined her on the balcony of the second-floor suite of rooms. They both had a gin cocktail in their hands. They acted as loyal friends when they were out of sight of Turner Hall.

“It’s stunning. We’re going to have a great summer. When is Jonathan arriving?” Jennifer asked.

“In a couple of hours. Feel like a swim until he gets here?”

“Yes,” Jennifer said enthusiastically. “Race you to the pool.”

Without spilling a drop of their cocktails, they raced down the stone stairs and through the opulent rooms to the gardens. Someone had stacked towels next to the loungers, and a pitcher of something sat on a tray with glasses under an umbrella. The staff at this villa were like ghosts. Things appeared seemingly like magic.

Cynthia and Jennifer tossed their shirts and shorts on the loungers and dove into the pool. When they came to the surface, they stared at each other and giggled like school girls.

“It’s so good to be away from Turner Hall,” Cynthia said with a sigh.

“How do you think Jonathan will take the news?”

“That I am not sure about. I’ll let you know tomorrow,” Cynthia said, cringing. “I hope he’ll be happy, and then we can finally marry.”

“I have everything crossed for you.”

For another hour, they floated and swam, drank the rest of their cocktail, and flaked out on the lounger in the late afternoon sun.

“Here he is,” Jennifer whispered.

Cynthia rose on her elbows and shielded her eyes to look across the pool at the side gate. There, in all his gorgeousness, was Jonathan Cranford. He wore long navy shorts and a loose t-shirt. His hair was messed up from hours of travelling.

“My God, I have missed that man,” Cynthia whispered back.

“That’s my cue to leave. See you tomorrow, honey,” Jennifer said, getting up and kissing her friend’s head.

“Yeah,” Cynthia replied with a sigh, rising slowly and moving around the pool to meet Jonathan halfway.

“Hello, beautiful,” he said, cupping her cheeks.

“Hi, handsome,” she replied, tilting her chin to claim her kiss.

Jonathan didn’t waste any time and kissed her deeply, wrapping his arms around her back and lifting her off the floor. Then, he walked them around to the lounger she was just lying on and sat down with her on his lap.

“I missed you,” she said, pushing her fingers through his tousled hair.

“I missed you more. I missed the feeling of you in my hands. Your skin is so soft, like nothing I have ever touched or kissed before.”

“If you married me, you could always have me.”

Jonathan pulled his head back and had a playful smile. “Has your family warmed up to the idea of you marrying beneath you?”

“No,” she replied with a long sigh.

“Then we can’t get married until they are okay with it.”

“Maybe I can work on my father. My grandfather would never agree.”

“I couldn’t support us on the salary they pay me. It seems they pay junior teachers a pittance. Plus, the men who are teachers at the school are there for life. I’ll have to wait for someone to die before I get a promotion or a pay increase. I’ve been there ten years, and not a single promotion has come up.”

“What if I fall pregnant? Surely you’ll have to marry me then.”

“Are you pregnant? I thought you were on the pill. After the last two times, it’s not likely, is it?”

“There’s always a possibility, Jonathan. We don’t meet often, but we have a lot of sex.”

“Let’s worry about that if it happens, darling. Now, can I take you to bed and ravish you?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

They’d spent five weeks in a Villa next to Lake Como. Bathing, eating delicious food, and enjoying the freedom to explore each other. It did not differ from the last ten summers they’d spent together. As Jonathan eased into her body, clutching her hips and then pushing until his hips pressed against her bottom, Cynthia memorised every moment of their connection. She was always ready for his cock. It only took one touch, one look, and her body recognised it was time to fuck again. Holding onto the metal posts, with the cheek on the pillow, she planted her knees into the mattress, waiting for Jonathan to pick up speed and deepen his thrusts. He didn’t disappoint. Hearing his long groans each time he entered her made her spiral higher. She was almost there, but Jonathan was making this last.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever met, Cyn. I will never get enough of you. I am blinded by your beauty,” Jonathan gritted out.

“I love you,” Cynthia said in a harsh whisper when his fingers found her and stroked lightly.

He took her to the edge and then stopped and slowed his movements. Jonathan kept taking her to the edge and then stopped.

Cynthia looked over her shoulder, putting her elbows on the pillows for balance to look at him. She took in a sharp breath. Jonathan’s lips were in a thin line, his eyes wild. Only then did she feel his fingers digging in harder than usual. All of his concentration was on their connection. He kept watching as he slowly entered her body.

The orgasm she was chasing evaporated as soon as she saw his anger.

Cynthia kept watching as he kept moving, no longer feeling lust but fascination that there was no love in this lovemaking. He was hate-fucking her, and she had no idea why. The next time he took her to the edge, she closed her eyes to get herself there, imagining their time on the secluded beach on Copper Island and not this cold fucking.

Her eyes sprang open when she felt the wallop on her backside. A hard, open-handed slap as Jonathan buried himself deep inside her and came with a low grunt. Jonathan slipped from her body, wiped himself on the crumpled sheet, and fell back onto the mattress.

Cynthia was still on all fours, clutching the bedhead, unaware of what was going on. It was early morning, the sun had risen an hour before, and they were on their second round of sex. The first time that morning, he faced her in the missionary position, but the second time, it was like she was with a different man.

Carefully, she stretched out on her side and covered her body with the sheet up to her throat, pinching the material with one hand at her sternum.

“Are you all right?” Cynthia asked.

“How long have you known?” he clipped out.

She knew what he was asking, but faked ignorance.

“Known what?”

Jonathan turned his head. His lean body remained where it fell, glistening with sweat. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself. Her eyes drifted to his cock, and he was still semi-hard.

“Don’t play me for a fool, Cynthia. We have been here twice before, and those times didn’t end well. I thought we agreed we wouldn’t try again.”

“It must have been the seafood,” Cynthia whispered.

“What?” Jonathan yelled.

He sprang up and threw his legs over the side of the bed, showing her his glorious back.

Cynthia started talking fast. “When we met at Easter break, the oysters didn’t agree with me. I was sick. It must have happened then.”

“You’re forty,” he bellowed.

“I know how old I am. Why are you so angry? I don’t know for sure I’m pregnant.”

“Of course you’re pregnant.”

“How do you know?”

“The technical point is that we’ve been here for five weeks, and you haven’t had a period. That alone says it. It didn’t occur to me until you showed me your bottom with the cut from a week ago, and I saw the redness. I thought about how it bled a lot for a small cut, and then the domino effect happened. Your breasts are bigger like the last two times.”

“Why are you angry?”

“We agreed to no children after losing the last two babies. Fucking hell, Cynthia, our second child was stillborn.”

Jonathan stood and then strode to the open veranda windows, stark naked. The curtains were open, moving in the breeze. He lifted his right arm, resting his wrist on the door frame and looking out over the lake.

“You nearly died,” he whispered.

Cynthia sobbed on the bed, burying her face in the pillows as she remembered the day, five years ago, when they were in a French hospital, overjoyed that they would meet their baby. Except it never happened. When she let out a wail, Jonathan was at her side, wrapping her up in his arms and holding her tight.

“I don’t know what to do. You’re adamant that you won’t marry me. You won’t risk leaving your job and running away. If we’re forever to be like this and only meet three times a year, what will become of us?”

“We’ll figure it out. But I am not making you leave your family. If anything were to happen to me, even on a meagre salary, and you have walked away from the Turners, you’d be on the streets.” Jonathan rested his hand on her stomach. “If this baby comes into this world wailing, then we’ll figure it out.”

“Why won’t you take the risk?”

“It’s not how I’m wired, darling. We’ll figure this out. I promise.”

Jonathan lifted the sheet and wrapped it around them when he felt Cynthia shiver. He held her there in the middle of their bed and held on as she sobbed against his chest.

Sometime later, a soft tapping sounded on the door. Cynthia and Jonathan had fallen asleep under the covers. Jonathan got out of bed and pulled on his pyjama bottoms. He opened the door and froze, then he opened it wider.

Cynthia lifted and rested on an elbow, looking at the door. An ashen Jennifer stood on the threshold in her Turner Hall attire.

Jennifer cleared her throat. “It’s your grandfather. He’s passed.”