Guarded Passions by Rosie Harris

sandwiches and apples Helen had packed, the sky had darkened, as mountainous black clouds, which had been hovering on the horizon, began to gather overhead.
    â€˜Come on, we’d better make a run for it,’ Adam said, as dull rumblings of thunder filled the air.
    They were only halfway across the field when the storm broke. Torrential rain soaked them, moulding Helen’s thin, cotton dress to her body.
    â€˜There’s a barn at the far end of this field,’ she panted. ‘We can shelter there until the worst is over.’
    The barn was dark, but dry – redolent of the new-mown hay stored there.
    â€˜You’d better take off that wet dress,’ Adam suggested, ‘otherwise you’ll end up with pneumonia.’
    â€˜You’re soaked as well!’ She laughed, pushing strands of dripping hair out of her eyes.
    â€˜Yes, that’s true. And this uniform smells rank when it starts to dry out,’ he added as he peeled off his battledress top and shook it vigorously before spreading it out to dry. ‘Look,’ he went on, as he undid the buttons on his shirt and began to remove it, ‘take your dress off and slip this on while it dries out.’
    â€˜What are you going to wear?’
    â€˜I won’t hurt without a shirt; it’s not cold.’
    â€˜If you’re feeling shy, I’ll go and stand by the door while you change,’ he offered.
    â€˜What it lacks in length, it certainly makes up for in width!’ Helen giggled as she slipped his shirt over her head and wrapped the rough khaki flannel round her.
    The look on Adam’s face as he turned round, confirmed her suspicions that she looked ridiculous.
    â€˜If you laugh, I’ll take it off,’ she warned.
    â€˜Is that a promise?’
    â€˜Well, I would – only I’ve practically nothing on underneath.’ Her cheeks flared as he raised an eyebrow.
    â€˜Come and sit here until your dress is dry. It shouldn’t take long,’ he said, as he settled himself comfortably on a bale of straw.
    The hay was prickly, but not as itchy as Adam’s shirt. Helen fidgeted so much that in the end Adam unfastened the front buttons of the shirt, easing the scratchy fabric away from her body.
    â€˜Is that any better?’
    She nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The touch of his fingers against her bare skin was electrifying. She could feel her pulse racing and was sure that he must be able to hear the pounding of her heart.
    Trembling, she looked up and was immediately daunted by the naked desire in Adam’s eyes.
    â€˜Helen,’ he whispered hoarsely, ‘my sweet Helen.’
    Fear and ardour mingled within her. She longed to reach up and pull his dark, tousled head down onto her breast. An inner caution warned her that to do so might be foolhardy. The turmoil of her feelings raged every bit as fiercely as the storm outside.
    A sudden violent crash of thunder, that seemed to be immediately overhead, made Helen cry out. It seemed to be a signal for Adam to hold her closer, as if to shield her from the storm.
    He moved so suddenly the shirt fell open. For a long moment, neither of them spoke or moved. He stared, as if transfixed, at the exposed, pearly-white flesh of her body and she felt powerless to cover her nakedness. Then, with a groan, he lowered his head and she felt the imprint of his burning lips on her cool skin.
    Gently, but thoroughly, he began to explore her panting body with his lips. She murmured with pleasure as his lips focused on the delicate pink nipples of her firm, pointed breasts, and he gently teased them erect, before moving down the length of her body.
    She lay back on the soft bed of hay, every nerve-end tingling as she succumbed to the magic of his hands as they stroked and probed.
    When he raised himself on one elbow and began removing his trousers, she tried to protest, but his mouth came down over her lips, silencing her in its own special