Free Kissed at Midnight by Samantha Holt Page A

you, Mr Avery,” she
said. For someone who usually could not stop her tongue from flapping, she had
become surprisingly uncommunicative. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue thick.
    He let loose a twisted
smile. It lit his face in ways such a small smile shouldn’t be capable of. It
made her heart do things it certainly wasn’t capable of.
    “Call me August,” he told
her, his voice low and husky.
    She licked her lips and
nodded. “August.”
    The word seemed to curl
around them both while rain splattered against the leaves and wooden wheels
rumbled against the cobbles. She dropped her gaze before steeling a cautious
peek at him.
    August.
    Oh, how she liked being able
to call him that far too much. Oh, how she liked her employer far too much.

Chapter
Eight
    August stared at the darkness for several moments trying
to orientate himself. He was in his bed. It was certainly night time. Elsie
wasn’t crying. So what had awoken him? He rolled and closed his eyes, feeling
sleep creep up his body and begin to consume him. His heart thudded as a
shuffle sounded outside his door. A thief? Miss Davis... no, Ivy? Why would she
be outside his door?
    He got swiftly to his feet
and part of him hoped it was someone breaking in. He wasn’t sure how much more
of Miss Ivy Davis he could take. Safe to say, joining her for a walk had been a
terrible idea. He’d felt strange at the idea of knowing so little about
her—that had been his reasoning at least—but deep down, he knew the truth. He
had simply wanted an excuse to be near her, to breathe in her scent and to
watch those myriad expressions flutter across her face.
    He’d never met a woman so
animated, so open. While at times she made him feel ancient and jaded, at other
times, he felt her youthful vibrancy fed and revived him. Quite a feat seeing
as they had spent no more than a few hours in each other’s company since her
arrival.
    August strode across the
bedroom and snatched up the poker, heart thumping in his chest. The thought of
the two vulnerable people in his house, under his protection, made him clench
the iron tightly. He drew open the door slowly and peered out. His heart came
to a juddering standstill and he imagined he heard it squealing to a stop like
the wheels of a train on wet tracks. The poker fell from his hand and landed on
his toe.
    Hard.
    “Pissing hell,” he
spluttered.
    But the apparition in the
hall didn’t turn. She had her back to him, a vision in white cotton. Moonlight
streamed in through the window at the end of the hallway. There was nothing
attractive about the long white garment with ruffled sleeves and a collar that
rose up around the back of her neck, covering every inch of her. However, her unbound
hair spilled down her back. It must have come loose from a braid as it was wavy
and luxuriant. He longed to bury his hands in it.
    She stood there, sort of
wavering from side to side for quite some time before he found his voice.
    “Miss Davis?” he hissed.
“Ivy?” She didn’t even turn and he dared not speak any louder for fear of
waking Elsie. The baby’s bedroom door was shut but Ivy’s wasn’t and the door
adjoining the rooms would be open.
    Kicking aside the poker, he
moved stealthily towards her and put a hand to her shoulder. Instead of
screaming or jolting, she remained still, her skin warm against his palm. It
made him acutely aware of how little she was wearing beneath that prim nightgown.
    “Ivy, what is the matter?”
he whispered before easing her around with his palm to her shoulder.
    Realisation dawned when he
spied her open eyes, staring off into nowhere. The girl was sleepwalking. Of
course she was. Everything about Ivy was unusual, why wouldn’t the woman
sleepwalk?
    But what to do with her?
    He skimmed his gaze down her
and quickly snapped it back up. With the moonlight directly on her, he had a
fine view of her figure against the cotton. Her thighs pressed against it and
he imagined feeling the shape of those legs. Were