Hot Rock Read online

  First stop was the village, and she walked the road rather than cut across the fields. The main street was quiet and she headed for the pub—there’d be more chance of getting local information there. The hippie woman in the shop had been less than useless yesterday.

  “Wait!” A shrill voice came from behind and Megan turned around. The purple apron was flapping in front of the plump shopkeeper who was wearing orange tights today. Megan smothered a grin.

  “Sorry, love. Just wanted to tell you, Ned is dropping your water off at the cottage later.” The woman huffed as she came to a stop beside Megan. “He got in late last night and I forgot to tell him to deliver it to you. He had a long cab fare to London.”

  “No problem. I’m just…er...going to the pub to see if they can find me a plumber.”

  “No, no, no.” The woman shook her head and her long earrings jangled as her head moved. “No point, love. Another twenty-four hours to the solstice and whoosh…before you know it, everything will be working as good as gold.” She reached over and gave Megan a motherly pat on the cheek. “You’ll see.”

  Megan shrugged and headed off down the road, looking at the festival map that had come with her tickets.

  Damn…I’ve gone the wrong way.

  She’d totally lost her sense of direction—being in the Northern Hemisphere had thrown her and she had to think before she got her bearings. Pilton was actually closer to Shepton Mallet and it would have been quicker to go across the fields from her place than walk into Glastonbury. It was only a two-mile walk that way. By coming into the village, she’d added about six miles to her trip if she wanted to continue on to the farm where the festival was. She flipped over the map and looked at the bus schedule, but the buses didn’t start running from the village until the festival kicked off proper tomorrow.

  With a sigh, she turned back to the shop to collect supplies for a decent meal tonight. This afternoon she’d charge her phone and focus on the e-mail from Tony and then make sure she was up bright and early tomorrow to go to the festival.

  …

  For the first time, everything had gone according to plan on stage. Holly hadn’t shown up, and David was pleased with the rehearsal. Just as he crossed the field and lined up the markers, the sun set in a blaze of color that highlighted Saint Michael’s Tower on the top of Glastonbury Tor. The air softened immediately. He loved the long English dusk and he missed it when he was on his Caribbean island.

  The only thing that had stuffed up rehearsal today was worrying about Megan. For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why the woman was stuck in his head. He didn’t like what was happening to him. He’d dreamed about her and she was fixed in his mind. Perhaps it was the solstice that was screwing with his head.

  Yeah, she loved his songs, and yeah she was a looker, but she had touched him deeply and his emotions were kicking in for the first time since Emma had died. Every time he’d sung a song this afternoon, an image of her dabbing at her tears had stayed with him. He closed his eyes, touched the stone at the gate and let the rush take him home.

  As he entered the back gate to his garden, the tantalizing smell of Italian herbs wafted past. Before he could change his mind, he put his guitar on the bench on his back porch and walked around to the rear of Violet Cottage. Logic told him not to go, but he couldn’t help himself.

  Megan was sitting at the table on the patio surrounded by a pile of papers. David stood watching quietly as she bent her head and wrote in a notebook. Her hair was damp and small dark ringlets were plastered to her forehead. Her shoulders were bare, her skin almost translucent in the soft light, and the same perfume she’d worn in his car today wafted across to him. It mingled with the perfume of the roses spilling over the fence between the cottages. As he stepped toward her, she frowned and pursed her lips, tapping the pen on the table. She lifted her head and looked at him without speaking as he stood by the table.

  “I just came over to check on your water, but it looks like you’ve found a plumber?” He pointed to her damp hair.

  She shook her head. “No, a guy called Ned dropped off a big container of water and lugged it into the bathroom for me. I managed to heat enough on the stove to have a much-needed bath.”

  “I’ll have a look at the well for you now.”

  “The well?”

  “Yes, the water to both houses comes from a well in the backyard of your cottage.”

  “So have you got water?” she asked.

  “I do.”

  Megan laughed and her whole face came alive. He couldn’t take his eyes from her. Her eyes were suddenly bright and for the first time he noticed the fleck of gold in her green irises. Unable to resist, he lifted both hands so that her face was framed in his fingers. She held his gaze and smiled.

  “What? What’s so funny?” he asked.

  “I was starting to believe the stories of the woman in the village shop.” She shook her head and he dropped his hands. “She had me convinced it was something to do with the solstice.”

  “Nah, more do with the cottage being empty and the pump seizing up. Jules is an old hippie. She’s been here since the first Glastonbury festival.” He turned his head away, realizing he’d said too much. He had to learn to hold his tongue, as well as keep his hands off her. She hadn’t moved as he’d held her face. Now, he sniffed appreciatively and glanced across at the stove. “I’ll go down and check the pump for you if I can share your dinner. How’s that for a deal?”

  “Sounds fair to me.”

  “Pizza?”

  “Sorry, just spaghetti sauce.” Her face was guarded and his heart did a strange little jump as she dropped her gaze.

  Whoa, what was that? I haven’t felt a rush like that for a long while.

  Pushing the feeling away, he flickered a glance across the papers on the table as he turned to head down toward the well. “Your research?”

  “Not really, just a problem I have to sort out.”

  …

  Megan had gathered the sheets of paper together when David arrived. It had been demoralizing reading the e-mail from Tony about supposed dates that she had allegedly opened, read, and deleted the e-mails from the vice-chancellor containing the allegations. An audit trail of marks changed in the grade center under her log-in name. Statements from two students who were prepared to say she had accepted money from them for high marks. And it went on and on…

  She shook her head as she followed David, touching her face where his fingers had held her so gently. Her skin was tingling and alive, and the warmth of his fingers on her skin still lingered. For some strange reason, his touch had been welcome and she’d had to force herself not to turn into his hand and put her lips against his fingers.

  The grass was soft and cool beneath her bare feet and the dusk light was fading. A small measure of calm stole over her as she padded along behind him. David wore his usual black T-shirt and she had to strain to see where he was heading.

  “Oh, look!” She smiled when a white rabbit hopped across the grass in front of her and paused to nibble at the grass around her feet.

  David stopped in front of her and she cannoned straight into him. He grabbed her arms to stop her from falling. She’d been focused on the small white fluffy creature and hadn’t been watching where she was going. His hard chest was warm against her cheek and for a moment, she rested her head, listening to the steady thump of his heart. Megan closed her eyes and took a deep breath before she pulled away from him.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “Sorry, I was looking at the rabbit,” she muttered, feeling a bit like Alice in Wonderland. “Where’s this well?”

  David stood looking down at her and when he spoke his deep voice sent a ripple curling through her stomach. “Why are you so sad, Megan?”

  “I’m not,” she said tersely. “I’m just keen to get this fixed so I can get settled and get on with my work.” There was no way she was sharing her worries with a stranger. And he was a stranger, no matter how kind he
was being now, and how much his touch stirred her. Since he’d lost the macho rock-star act and been civil to her, he’d been a different person. And his resemblance to the idol of her dreams still threw her every time he spoke to her. It would be very interesting to hear him perform and see if he sounded anything like his uncle.

  She stepped away. “So where is it?”

  Chapter Six

  Fixing the water had been a simple matter. No one had told Megan about the switch on the pump on the side of the well. In fact, she really knew nothing about the cottage besides that it belonged to Beth’s family. Despite being old and using a well, it turned out there was a surprisingly modern electrical setup to send water through the yard to the house.

  Letting the icy cold water run into the sink until the rust cleared, Megan turned to David but looked away immediately, not wanting to meet the piercing dark gaze that was fixed on her face. Her skin prickled and she ignored the rapid beat of her heart.

  It was only his resemblance to his uncle Davy.

  That explained the crazy feelings that surged through her every time she looked at him, or he spoke, or he touched her. The warmth and the tightness in her chest were the same as when she gave herself over to the flow of music. Nothing to do with the muscular chest outlined by the tight T-shirt or the fine dusting of hair on his forearms as she lowered her glance. It was bad enough that his speaking voice sent goose bumps skittering down her back. It was so deep and melodious, she could just imagine what it sounded like when he sang.

  “What sort of music does your band play?” Her voice croaked and she cleared her throat.

  Focus. Change the subject. Anything to ignore his gaze.

  “Ah…” He crossed his arms and turned away and relief coursed through Megan as he looked at the water gushing from the tap in the sink. As he spoke, she moved back to the sink to turn it off.

  “We mainly do covers of…er…Davy’s work. He’s still popular over here in the UK, you know.” He seemed a bit defensive about playing the old songs and Megan rushed in to reassure him, although she was disappointed to hear he only played his uncle’s music and not original songs.

  “Oh, he’s still big in Australia too. Even though it’s seventies music, you’ll hear at least one of his songs played on the radio every day.” She grasped the tap to turn it off, but nothing happened. Reaching over with her other hand, she grasped it firmly and twisted hard but the cold water continued to stream out. “In fact I was watching a show on the trip over and there he was, Davy Morgan on the small screen in an airplane.”

  Megan froze as sudden warmth along her back alerted her to David’s body, and his hand covered hers on the tap as he leaned over. She glanced up sideways from beneath her lashes, but his attention was fixed on the tap. The pressure of his fingers pinched her thumb against the old porcelain tap.

  “Ouch.”

  He let go but didn’t step back. “Here, I’ll do it.”

  Megan raised her hands but couldn’t move away as she was pinned between him and the sink. As he strained to shut off the tap, the tops of his arms pressed into her shoulders and she focused on looking out the window into the dark. The hard length of his body against her back and her legs, and the warmth it was generating against her bare shoulders, set her legs trembling.

  The water shut off but he stayed where he was. His hand brushed softly against the side of her neck and she closed her eyes.

  “You’ve got some rose petals caught in your hair.” His voice was low and throaty and close to her ear and she reached up to rub her hand through her hair before turning to face him.

  Still, he didn’t move.

  Megan swallowed and stared up into his deep blue eyes. Each of his dark eyelashes was clearly defined and he stared back at her steadily. Her heart slowed down and dropped to a steady beat and she waited for him to kiss her.

  He leaned forward and his warm breath brushed her face like the touch of a butterfly wing. His hands gently held her shoulders and he lowered his head a touch closer.

  “Are you going to feed me?”

  Stepping back, she bit her lip as heat suffused her face. How stupid am I? Why would he kiss someone like me?

  “Yes, of course.” Reaching back, she grabbed her hair and twisted it into a knot to give herself something to do besides look at David. He moved across to the table and pulled a chair out and straddled it backward.

  “Have you got any wine?”

  Megan glanced across at the cupboard and laughed to break the tension. “No, I didn’t carry any in my suitcase, and if you look in the cupboard, you’ll find two apples and a bottle of water. The sauce bubbling in that saucepan is the sum total of my shopping this afternoon.”

  “Haven’t you discovered the cellar?”

  “Cellar?” Megan hadn’t seen anything resembling a cellar.

  “The wine stash.”

  She laughed again. “No, but I haven’t been here long enough to have a good look around. I was too busy trying to get the water going.”

  “You don’t have to look far.” David pushed himself up off the chair and held out his hand. Megan looked at it for a moment before slipping her hand into his, and he pulled her across to the corner of the kitchen beside the old Welsh dresser. “Before she died, I used to help Alice out with a few chores and she always gave me a bottle of wine.” Megan tried to ignore the shocks running from her hand up her arm. Bloody starstruck, that’s what she was.

  “Ready?” He quirked an eyebrow and Megan tried not to stare. The resemblance to his uncle was really amazing. She wondered if his father had been Davy’s twin. David tugged at her hand and she jumped.

  “Daydreaming?”

  “No.” She shook her head slowly. “I just can’t get over how much you look like the Davy Morgan.”

  He shrugged and gave her a tight smile. “I’m the current David Morgan, anyway.”

  “Sorry, that probably came our rudely. I meant—” He waved her protest away before she could finish and pointed to the wall.

  She hadn’t noticed the low door in the wall next to the dresser. It was painted the same bright yellow as the kitchen walls and was hidden in a dark corner away from the window. A small circular handle, in the same yellow, was on the top of the door. David dropped her hand and pulled at it and the door came open with a creaking groan. As he bent down, Megan crouched next to him and peered in. A dark narrow space ran the length of the wall and it was just high enough to step in if you bent your head.

  For her anyway; he was too tall and wide to fit in.

  He stepped back and gestured to the cellar. “Do you want to choose a bottle of wine to go with that delectable-smelling sauce?”

  “Is it okay to use one, do you think?” Megan stepped in and squealed as a cobweb drifted down onto her face. She brushed it away and peered around in the dim light. Dozens of bottles lined the walls, all covered in a fine layer of grime. She reached up for one and coughed as the dust flew up into the air.

  “Seeing as Alice has gone, I am sure she won’t mind.” His deep voice followed her in. “And the family rarely stays here.”

  “Who looks after the cottage? Beth—my friend who offered me the cottage—didn’t tell me much about it.”

  David reached over for the bottle Megan held in her hand and waited for her to step out of the small space.

  While he closed the door, Megan went over to the stove and stirred the tomato sauce before filling another pot with water for the pasta. She turned the tap on carefully, relieved when the water shut off on the first go.

  David wiped the wine bottle on his jeans before placing it on the table. “Alice was a bit of an eccentric. I met her…a few years back when I first bought the cottage and she liked to have company. I used to look after the yard for her when I was here, and I’ve just kept it up. The cottage is empty most of the time now.”

  “The woman in the shop told me she haunts the cottage.”

  David stared at her for a moment before his face creased int
o a huge grin. “Did she now? Don’t worry about Jules. I think she smoked a bit too much of the happy weed in her time. She’s a relic from the seventies. New age spiritual beliefs, and all that. You know, back in the seventies they used to put up signs about hippies not being welcome in the shops and cafés in town.” David laughed but he looked away and didn’t meet her gaze. He picked up the wine bottle and looked at the label. “Alice was quite partial to a good drop.”

  Megan wandered over to the table and looked at the bottle he was holding up.

  “Oh my God, we can’t drink that. What a waste with a pack of bolognaise sauce.” She did her best to read the label in her schoolgirl French accent. “Château Fombrauge 1971 Grand Cru Classé de Saint Emilion.” She put her hands on her hips. “1971!”

  “A good year.” David smiled at her.

  “It must be worth a fortune.”

  “If it bothers you so much I’ll replace it next time I go up to the city.” Megan looked at him curiously. He mustn’t be too much of a struggling artist if he could afford to replace a bottle of wine that old. It must be worth a few hundred dollars.

  “Well, if you’re sure the family wouldn’t mind…and if you’re going to replace it.” Megan scrabbled in the drawer by the sink for a corkscrew and then watched as David pierced the cork with the metal prong. She kept her gaze on his fingers as he wound the corkscrew, slowly round and round. His hands were slender and she could see the rough calluses on the pads of his fingers from playing his guitar. Her breath caught as she imagined those rough fingers caressing her skin.

  Turning away, she went across to the stove and busied herself tipping the pasta into the bubbling water, and she blamed the heat in her face on the rising steam.

  God, what is wrong with me? If he sings I’ll probably have an orgasm on the spot. She’d never been so physically affected by the mere presence of a man before.

  By the time she’d served the meal, David had found some large crystal goblets and poured the cherry-red wine into them.

  “To you, Megan.” He raised his glass and waited for her to lift hers to clink on his. “May your holiday and your visit to the festival be everything you dreamed.”