The Promise of Change

Chapter 16



Harry, the desk clerk, called Sarah’s name as she walked out. He wanted to know if she’d lost a hair clip, saying he’d already asked the other guests, and no one had claimed it, so she was the last logical choice.

In his hand lay her errant clip. Mortified, she said, “Ahem, yes, I wondered where that had disappeared to.” When she didn’t reach out to take the clip, he gently placed it on the desk. “Thank you.”

“Yes, miss. I wondered how it got there . . .”

“I’m not sure,” she muttered, looking back down quickly, and striding out the front door.

She wasn’t looking up as she exited the building in haste, so she was surprised when she ran right into a hard, masculine chest.

“Hey, where’s the fire?” Alex laughed, grabbing her shoulders to prevent her from falling.

She looked up into his grinning, handsome face. Her blush deepened. “The desk clerk apparently found my hair clip on the floor this morning,” she replied, looking into his face with an arched brow.

“Well, he could think you simply dropped it,” he said unconvincingly.

“Right . . . I dropped my hair clip on the floor . . . against the wall . . . in the darkest corner of the lobby,” she retorted with an embarrassed laugh.

“That is probably a very popular location for passionate late night kisses, so I’m sure they find all manner of interesting items there,” he said, nuzzling her neck. “A hair clip is probably the least incriminating item.” He grinned devilishly.

Sarah wanted to kick him in the shin. She was a little grumpy this morning after going to bed alone and sexually frustrated. “Are you planning to stand there all day holding my arms, or are we going on that bike ride we discussed?”

He released her shoulders, stepping aside to reveal two bicycles.

Each bike had a basket on the front. One basket looked to have a picnic lunch, while the other basket contained a blanket.

“Your chariot awaits my lady,” he said with a grand, sweeping gesture, turning on the devastating charm.

“Very original,” she said, giving him a withering look.



Their bike ride took them past Radcliffe Infirmary and then briefly up Walton Street before turning onto Jericho Street and into a suburb of the same name.

Now one of Oxford’s most sought after residences, Jericho had a storied past. In the Victorian Era, it was notorious for poor quality housing. It is said to be the model for Thomas Hardy’s fictional slum, Beersheba, in Jude the Obscure.

Alex pointed out one of the terraced houses. “That’s where Trevor lives.” They breezed past on their bikes, giving her little time to study the house.

They made their way back to Walton Street and then to Walton Wells Road, which came to a dead end at Port Meadow, a large common area of grazing land still used for horses and cattle. It was also a favorite area for walking or biking. The Thames, or the Isis as it was called at this point, ran along the unfenced land. The meadow had never been ploughed, maintaining its treasure of archaeological remains.

It was sunny and hot today, a little more humid, too, making Sarah glad she’d packed a pair of shorts and a tank top for the trip just in case.

Alex slowed, and she pulled up next to him.

“I thought we would go punting,” he said.

“Huh?” she asked, her thoughts running to football.

He laughed at her expression. “Punting. A punt is a flat-bottomed boat used in shallow water. Punting refers to boating in a punt.” He explained as if lecturing a student.

“Like a gondola?”

“Somewhat, except you use an oar to propel a gondola. In punting, you use a pole.”

They rode next to each other, arriving at the launch shortly.

After hiring the aforementioned punt and pole, they put into the river. Alex looked like he knew what he was doing, so she just did her best to stay out of his way. He’d already loaded the picnic basket and blanket in the punt, before reaching into the picnic basket and pulling out a bottle of champagne and a rope.

Sarah was totally befuddled thinking the rope was to tie up the punt, but there was already a rope lying in the bottom of the boat.

Rather than sounding ignorant again, she watched quietly as he tied one end of the rope to the punt and the other end of the rope to the neck of the champagne bottle. He gently dropped the bottle over the side into the river.

“For a second I thought you intended to christen the boat,” she said, laughing, her mood lightening with the sun, fresh air, and soft breeze.

He returned the laughter. Moving to one side of the boat, he tipped it slightly, and grabbing the pole, gently pushed along the river.

Sarah sat facing the stern watching him. He had superb balance and looked like he was thoroughly relishing the physical activity.

His dark brown hair ruffled by the gentle, cooling breeze; his T-shirt hugging his sculpted arms and chest; his muscular legs flexed, facilitating his balance. He wore shorts for the first time since they met, giving Sarah her first view of bare legs, and it was a pleasing view indeed.

The scene in the lobby last night came flooding back. What would have happened if he hadn’t been such a gentleman? She sighed, thinking a little less gentlemanly behavior would have been welcome.

“Why aren’t you viewing the scenery?” he asked, referring to the fact that she faced the stern where he stood, rather than the bow.

She raised her hand to shield her eyes from the sun as she looked into his face, “I am.” Did she just say that out loud?

“All right.” He grinned, a little self-conscious. If she didn’t stop looking at him like he was a luscious piece of Godiva chocolate, he was going to have to find a secluded spot and finish what he’d started last night. That, or take a swim in the Isis.

After another few minutes, he asked, “Are you enjoying yourself?”

Startled, she looked up at him. For a moment, she thought she was busted . . . that he had read her wayward thoughts. “Oh, um, yes,” she said, looking out at the cool water. The sun wasn’t the only thing making her hot.

A little while later, he startled her again. “Are you hungry?” he asked, tilting his head to the side, giving her that charming grin. He felt a little like a juicy piece of meat hanging in front of a salivating dog.

Again, she thought she was busted, but he was talking about a different kind of hunger. Maybe.

“We’ll moor the punt and find a shady tree for our picnic,” he said, without waiting for her reply.

They were both quiet for a time, soaking up the sun and enjoying the gentle breezes off the river. Despite her recent wicked thoughts, she felt quite content.

She pointed out a couple of ducks swimming along behind the punt and asked if they could share a little of their lunch with them.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why not?” she asked, puzzled. He didn’t seem the type to dislike animals. In fact, he had stopped a man on the street in Castle Combe to pet his border collie.

“You’ll attract every water fowl within a fifty mile radius. Trust me. It loses its charm after five minutes.”

“Oh.”

He continued to pole the boat up the river. “Did you know that Alice in Wonderland was inspired by a punting trip?”

Not waiting for her reply, he continued. “Reverend Charles Dodgson, a.k.a. Lewis Carroll, and Reverend Robinson Duckworth were punting along the Isis with three young girls, including the story’s namesake, Alice. The girls asked him to make up a story for them. He later expanded that story into the current tale as we know it.”

“If you ever decide to forsake your acting career, you have a promising career as a tour guide.”

“I’ll remember that. Tour guide by day, masseuse by night.” He waggled his eyebrows.



They lounged side-by-side on the blanket beneath the sweeping arms of a primordial oak tree, the remains of their lunch spread around them.

The picnic basket had been thoughtfully packed with fresh strawberries, sweet grapes, fine stilton cheese, sliced ham, and hearty Irish soda bread. The bottle of champagne, chilled in the water as they punted down the river, was now more than half empty.

Alex reclined on his side facing Sarah, propped up on his elbow. “Can I ask you . . .”—he drew in a breath—“the night we met in the pub, you blushed at one point, quite charmingly I might add. Why was that?”

“You caught me staring at you, and as our mothers always taught us, it isn’t polite to stare,” she hedged, not meeting his eye.

He shook his head, “No, that wasn’t it. There was something more to make you blush that deeply.”

Remembering her thoughts that night, she looked away, blushing again.

“That’s it!” He pointed his finger at her face, as he laughed. “That’s the blush—like you’ve just got caught with your knickers down.”

“Do I really have to tell you? It’s just too mortifying.”

“Oh, I really want to know now that I’ve seen the blush again,” he insisted.

“Um, well,” she hesitated, “since we’d just met, I was studying your appearance,” she hesitated again, “and when I got to your hair, I thought that it was . . . charmingly tousled.”

“That’s not it, there’s more to it,” he said, his voice coaxing.

“Okay! I thought it looked like you had just gotten out of a bed. And I wished it had been mine.” She looked him straight in the eye on the last part, her brow raised with a bravado she didn’t really feel. The look she saw there made her heart race.

His eyes widened, and then he broke into a broad, suggestive smile. “Why, you saucy minx!”

“What did you just call me?” She frowned up at him in surprise.

“A saucy minx. Is that a problem?” He looked askance.

Thoughtful, her brow creased, and she said, “Well . . . I don’t know . . . I’ve never been called a saucy minx before. I’ll have to think about it.” She tried to hide her smile, to keep up the offended façade, but to no avail. She burst out laughing.

He visibly relaxed, throwing a grape at her.

“I want to apologize for last night . . . in the lobby,” he said, his brow creased, all teasing gone.

“Oh.” Did he regret it now? “Are you apologizing for the seduction or the callous desertion?” she asked in annoyance.

“Did I desert you?”

She snorted in response.

“I suppose so. Then I should apologize for that as well. I guess both were ungentlemanly of me, but I’m especially apologizing for seducing you.” He paused, his brow furrowed in thought. “In my defense, it wasn’t my plan to seduce you. I was quite carried away by . . . your taste, your scent, your texture.”

She drew in her breath at his arousing confession.

His eyes became intent as he crooked his index finger at her. When she hesitated, he reached out, wrapping his free hand behind her neck, pulling her toward him.

He kissed her gently at first. When she returned the kiss, he rolled her onto her back and slid his hand down her arm to rest on her waist, his tongue parting her lips.

A throaty moan escaped. His warm mouth tasted of strawberries and champagne. Her hands went to his hair, grasping it with a need so strong, all thoughts of their rather public display fled.

“Apparently, I’ll be apologizing often,” he murmured against her lips, as he reached down and pulled her leg up over his hip.

His hand on her bare thigh sent a hot frisson of desire through her.

His mouth traveled down to the hollow of her throat, as he rained sensual kisses up and down her neck, inhaling her signature fragrance of sweet jasmine.

“Sarah,” he breathed. He withdrew a few inches from her face, and reached out to trace her collarbone with his fingertip. “You are so beautiful.”

She felt like her bones had melted, like she had no substance. His brown-black eyes searched her face, making it difficult to control her erratic heart.

A rumble of thunder broke the spell. They hadn’t noticed that the sun had disappeared, the sky had darkened, and the air smelled of ozone.

“Uh oh. We might be in for a little English shower,” he said, his voice husky.

They didn’t move. Another rumble of thunder, more insistent this time, rolled across the open meadow, prompting him to sit up.

He glanced in the direction of the approaching storm. “We’d better pack up.”



By the time they reached the launch, they were soaked through.

Alex was exhausted, having poled upwind through the driving rain back to the launch.

Sarah helped him get the picnic basket and now-sodden blanket out of the boat, and started walking toward the bikes, after all, what was the point in running? They couldn’t get any more drenched than they were.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Alex asked as she felt his arm snake around her waist, stopping her.

She looked up in surprise, the rain running down her face, making it hard to see the expression on his face. “To the bikes,” she said, as if it should be obvious.

“Are you daft? We’re not going to ride the bikes in this downpour.” He sounded annoyed. He pulled her in the opposite direction toward the Perch Inn near the boat launch.

“But how are we going to get back to my hotel, and how are we going to get the bikes back to Trevor?”

“Let me worry about that,” he said dismissively.

They stood under the Inn’s overhang, out of the rain.

“I’ll be fine. I’m not a cupcake.” But this was not like the summer storms in Florida that left the atmosphere like a sauna. This storm ushered in a bone-chilling cold.

“Sarah, you’re shivering.” He grabbed her shoulders. “You’re covered in goose bumps.” He ran his hands down her arms, chafing them for warmth. “And your teeth are chattering.” He brought his hand up to cup her face, rubbing his thumb across her chin. “Your lips are turning blue.” Her lips parted, and he leaned down to touch his warm lips to hers.

A loud clap of thunder made her jump.

Pulling away, he said, “Here, let’s go inside the pub where it’s warm.”

There was a crackling fire in an oversized fireplace, surrounded by other wet boaters, in varying stages of drying out. An older man saw them enter, and vacated his seat next to the fire for Sarah.

“T-thank y-you,” she stuttered through her chattering teeth.

“Wait here,” Alex said, then turned and left. He returned a couple of minutes later with a thick wool blanket in his hands, unfolding it as he walked. He wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling it up under her chin. “Better?” he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

“Y-yes.”

“Good. I’ll be back.”

Not long after he left, a waitress walked over with a steaming mug of tea. “Here you are, miss. This should help.”

“Thank you.” Sarah noticed her teeth no longer clattered uncontrollably. She gratefully took the hot mug and wrapped her hands around it.

She didn’t know how long she sat in front of the fire, but gradually she thawed out, her tense muscles relaxed, and the shivering abated. She shook out her hair, running her fingers through it, hoping it would dry a little. I must look like a drowned rat, she thought.

She looked up to see Alex striding toward her. She might look like a drowned rat, but he looked like the clear winner of a male wet T-shirt contest. His hair was soaked, and his sodden T-shirt clung to his broad chest and flat stomach, revealing even more of his pleasing athletic frame. Water dripped from the hem of his shorts, running down his legs in rivulets.

“Did you go out in the rain again?” she asked, trying somewhat unsuccessfully to hide her frank admiration of his body.

“Yes. I had to take care of the bikes,” he said matter-of-factly. “I’m glad to see your color has returned.” He reached out to touch her face. “I was beginning to think you were going into hypothermia.”

“Playing doctor again?” she asked, teasing. Then she remembered the other connotation associated with that phrase.

“I’ll play doctor with you anytime.” He broke into a seductive smile. He held out his hand to her. “It’s still raining cats and dogs out, so I’ve hired a taxi to take us back.”

Once seated inside the warm, cozy interior of the taxi, he drew her to him and wrapped his arms around her.

She didn’t bother to tell him he was cold and wet. It didn’t matter.

“Old Parsonage, please.”