“Well, if you’ll excuse us then,” Tamsyn said, letting go of the chair, “it seems like we have some grandparents to trap.”
“I have no idea what that means, but I wish you luck all the same!” Lowri replied, and Tamsyn stepped forward, kissing the old woman’s cheeks, as wrinkled and soft as old parchment.
“Thank you,” she said, and Bowen echoed, gruffly.
“Yes, thank you, Lowri. And if you do see something about Y Seren, let me know.”
With that, they took their leave, Tamsyn reluctant to step back out into the cold after the cozy warmth of Lowri’s cottage. Or maybe she just didn’t want to head back to the house now that she knew failure of their mission wouldn’t just result in living in the ’50s.
It would mean not living at all.
She didn’t say anything as they started the walk back through the village, and neither did Bowen. He did take her hand, though, holding it tight as they passed the pub, the tiny village post office, and the massive Christmas tree put up in the main square.
It wasn’t until the village of Tywyll was behind them that Tamsyn finally said, “You’re still hung up on Y Seren, huh?”
“Someone was willing to pay a lot of money for it. Carys was holding it when she sent us back here. I don’t care that it’s nowhere in Lowri’s books. It’s involved in this somehow.”
“Well, maybe you tackle that while I work on getting Harri and Elspeth to get over themselves and on each other.”
“Please—”
“Don’t say that, I know,” Tamsyn replied, swinging their joined hands. “Just trying to distract myself from the fact that I might only have forty-eight hours of existence left. You know how it is.”
Bowen’s grip on her hand tightened, and before Tamsyn knew quite what was happening, he was jerking her off the path and into the woods that surrounded Tywyll House.
“What?” Tamsyn managed, laughing a little as she stumbled along behind him, leaves clinging to her wool stockings, her brogues sliding on the uneven forest floor.
Finally, once they were deep in the trees, Bowen stopped, and suddenly Tamsyn was whirled around, her back against the trunk of a massive oak, and Bowen’s mouth was on hers, hungry and desperate.
He may have caught her by surprise, but it had never taken Tamsyn long to catch up, and she kissed him back just as fiercely, her leg hitching up against his hip.
Bowen caught her underneath her knee, moving against her, and Tamsyn’s hips matched his rhythm easily, the cold afternoon no match for the heat kindling between them,
“You’ve got a hell of a lot more time left than forty-eight hours, Tamsyn Bligh, I fucking swear it to you,” Bowen said when he pulled away, his forehead pressed again hers. “I will get us out of this.”
“We’ll get us out of this,” she corrected him, tugging at his hair, and he nodded, kissing her again, not as passionately this time, more like he was sealing a promise.
“We,” he agreed, and this time when he kissed her, it was softer, gentler.
It was still enough to have her sighing and reaching for his hand, guiding it underneath her skirt.
When his fingers found her bare, he jerked back, surprised, and Tamsyn smiled at him even as she tilted her hips deeper into his touch, encouraging. “I always thought garter belts must’ve been a huge pain in the ass, and I’m not going to lie, they kind of are, but then there are some advantages they have over tights. Like easy access.”
Bowen’s lips quirked in a quick smile. “Unless you’re wearing knickers,” he reminded her, and she brushed her mouth against his.
“Now why would I do something silly like that?”
Their hands met and fought over his belt briefly, and then he was unbuckled, unbuttoned, shoving his trousers down just enough to free his cock and slide it inside of her.
She was already wet from his touch and the thrill of this, being taken against a tree in the middle of a forest, better than any fantasy she’d ever dreamed up, the sky blue and cold overhead, the bark rough against her back, wreaking hell on her sweater and her hair, probably, but she didn’t care. Not when Bowen’s lips were on her neck, his breath hot against her ear as he said things in Welsh, things she suspected were filthy as hell and sweet all at the same time.
At least that’s how his voice sounded to her, and she hitched her leg higher up against his side, clutching his back, murmuring encouragements—“More,” “Harder,” “God, right there”—until he grabbed her hip, angled her just right, and her orgasm rushed up from her core, the sounds coming from her mouth primal, wild.
Bowen went to pull out of her, but she held him tight, shaking her head. “IUD,” she told him. “I meant to tell you last night, but—”
He cut off her words with another kiss, and then she could feel him coming inside of her, triggering another, smaller orgasm that left her knees trembling, and her entire body feeling limp and sticky and sore and perfect.
They stayed there a long while, Bowen’s face buried in her neck, Tamsyn still holding on to him, one leg wrapped around his waist.
“I meant what I said,” he told her, his breath still hot on her skin. “We’re getting out of this and back to where we belong.” Lifting his head, he looked in her eyes and held her face with both hands. “But if somehow we don’t . . . if these are the last forty-eight hours of our lives—”
“Don’t,” Tamsyn said, but Bowen shook his head, stubborn as ever.
“If they are,” he repeated, “then I’m disappearing from this earthly plane as happy as I’ve ever been, calon bach.”
Tamsyn’s throat was suddenly tight, her eyes stinging. “Me, too,” she said, and then asked, “What does that one mean, by the way? Calon bach?”
“Little heart,” Bowen replied, a slight flush staining his cheeks. “You know. On account of you being . . . wee.”
“Short,” she corrected, even as her heart squeezed tight in her chest. All these beautiful things he had been calling her, all these beautiful things he’d been thinking about her, and she’d never known.
But now that she did, she’d be damned if one little spell gone wrong was going to keep her from hearing and knowing everything he had to say to her for the rest of their lives.
“We need to get back,” she told him as they gently disentangled themselves. “Time is running out, and while your grandparents aren’t quite as hopeless as I’d originally thought, I’m not sure they can get their shit together in two days.”
“Oh, they can,” Bowen said. “And they will.”
