I want to dedicate this chapter to Silenesea6 to thank her for her sweet support on my stories, and since it was Women's Day this weekend and that she's all about positivity and standing for ourselves (she even wrote a book like a guideline to face bullying and Slay the evil snakes! 😉 ), I thought it was the perfect time! 😊

"Wow! We're already done?" Anastasia breathes out about an hour later; well, it is what her watch is indicating, although, for her, it feels like barely a few minutes.

"Almost!" Nate nods towards the last crates near the entrance, finding himself wishing there was more.

"Almost," she agrees with a knowing smile, and he wonders if she can guess his thoughts, or could she be thinking the same as he is?

"But... Nathaniel," she calls his attention as he grabs another heavy sack of seeds – how could she have carried all of that alone? He doesn't even want to imagine it. "Thank you, you really helped me." She bites her lower lip, and the way she's looking at him is probably the best thanks anyone could ask for.

"You're welcome. It was a fun way to do my workout!"

It certainly hasn't been what he's planned, and it hasn't taken his mind off her, but his mood is definitely lighter, and maybe even more relaxed. 

Being around Anastasia – even if they aren't talking much – feels nice, and things are flowing naturally. There is this warm and pleasant feeling in the air, like they are alone in the world; maybe it's the calm of the nature surrounding them or the setting sun bringing a cozy, orangey lighting in the now tidy barn.

Whatever it is, he shakes his head, carrying the last sack and taking some distance, because forgetting the world outside is clearly not a good idea around Anastasia.

Though he runs back to her even faster when a loud thud followed by a foreign word echo around.

"Merde!" 

"Are you okay?" he asks out of breath as his gaze thankfully finds her silhouette still standing in the middle of the barn.

"Yeah, I just dropped the crate of first shoots." She frowns, kneeling and looking down at the ruined shoots and pots on the floor. "Merde, merde, merde, fait chier!" she mutters as she tries to pick up and save some sprouts, but her frantic movements don't seem to help.

"Sorry, I tend to curse in French when I'm frustrated," she adds as she must have felt his creased brows observing her. "It means 'shit', 'damn it'."

"It sounds way more poetic in French!"

She laughs softly to this comment, and he is glad to see her worried features relax slightly.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She nods, her hazel eyes, which have been lost on the mess on the ground, peering up at him as he joins her on the ground, kneeling in front of her.

"How did you end up here? I mean, you're French, so how?" he asks the question that has been burning his lips since he's first heard the 'Am I in heaven?' leave her lips in that steam room, her accent haunting him. 

Moreover, he wants to take her mind off the small disaster on the ground as worry is invading the light green-brown shades in her eyes.

"No, I'm not. I was born here." She grins, leaning back on her heels.

This girl is a mystery, the thought crosses his mind again, along with many others, which are more dangerous.

"My parents moved out for work when I was three," she explains with a gesture of her hand. "So I grew up in France, and we moved back here about three years ago. I guess my parents were kinda homesick, and they wanted to go back before I could get matched, so I could come back with them."

A tiny crease appears between her eyebrows for barely a second before it disappears with the smile she offers him, and he wouldn't have noticed it if his eyes weren't glued to every inch of her face.

"I'm the only one in my family who has the accent. My parents never got it, and my little brother was only 10 when we came back, so he lost it quite easily, but not me. I know I sound weird, but I can't help it." She shrugs, and there's something so natural in the little gesture that it makes it special. 

He's so used to people hiding themselves behind perfect appearances to fit in, but she isn't like that; maybe that's why she appears as pure and honest as an angel.

"No, it's beautiful!"

It adds to her bewitching charms, and he can't take his eyes off her as she averts her gaze down, and a rosy shade is climbing up the opposite way.

"And how is it, in France?"

"Oh, pretty much the same as here... Except for the food, I miss the food!" She bites her lip dreamily, and he tries to convince himself the hunger arising inside is only because of her words.

"I imagine, the croissants?"

"Yeah, the croissants, the cheese, the snails..."

A genuine, clear laugh escapes her lips as he makes a disgusted face at the thought of those little gastropods on a plate.

"I promise this is really good!"

He eyes her skeptically, though he can't contain the smile tugging at his lips, her light mood illuminating the room way more than the sun.

"And what do your parents do for work?" he asks once the silence falls back between them.

She's arising so many questions in him, and he finds himself wanting to discover every little detail that makes her her, like trying to decipher all the pieces of a puzzle. He's never met a woman like her. She is a mystery.

"They're accountants, but they're working for some really influential people. That's why they could get the authorizations to move."

He nods, almost hanging on her every word. He doesn't know if it's her accent, the way the words are rolling out of her lips, or maybe just the unique sound of her voice, but everything she says seems fascinating.

Though, as he's observing her, her gaze is already going back to the sprouts on the ground, and she lets out a sigh full of burden in front of the few shoots saved. "It's useless... I'll never convince him with this."

"Hey! Don't say that! You already did a lot of work! Accidents happen to everyone, and I'm sure he won't hold it against you." He doesn't know how anyone could.

She offers him a small grateful smile, yet the delicate shades in her eyes are still shadowed with preoccupation and the slight frown of her eyebrows.

So he does the first thing that crosses his mind to distract her. "Tell me a sentence in French!" Well, maybe it's been the second thing in his mind, but this one is safer. 

"What?" She looks at him weirdly, shaking her head.

"Come on! Something, anything you want!"

There, as his big brown eyes are observing her attentively with his chin propped on his hand, she is losing her words, and her breath. She isn't sure she can remember a word in French or in any language actually, as everything is rushing with the same steam in her head and her whole body.

"Tu me fait perdre la tête." The words find their way out of her mouth so naturally in front of the shine of his intense dark eyes.

"What does it mean?"

This, she could never admit.

"You asked me a sentence, not to translate it," she points out, her meticulous lawyer reflexes being quite useful in stressing situations like this.

But of course, he doesn't give up his plea, and his arguments are really solid between his heart-melting smile and chocolate eyes searching for her. "Come on! You can't leave me like this, after I helped you. You could have insulted me and I wouldn't know!"

"You should have thought of this before!" She grins, trying to hide the nervous tingles on her skin under his piercing, attentive gaze. "And we still haven't finished." She gets up, brushing the dirt off her knees and quickly heading outside to pick up the last wheelbarrows before another confession can leave her lips.

"Okay, I have an idea!" His voice is instantly following her outside, and then it's all of him appearing beside her, his tenebrous eyes lighting up in a way that doesn't bode well to her. "The first to arrive." He points inside and grabs a wheelbarrow too. "If it's me, you have to tell me. If it's you, you don't." He smirks, challenge sparkling in his eyes.

"What?! No–"

"Ready, set, go!" He starts running with the wheelbarrow, once more leaving her breathless as she watches his strong figure move away.

"That's not fair!" She rushes on his trail, the adrenaline in her veins shutting any other instinct and guiding her legs, while it is the lightness around that makes her go faster.

They are both laughing like two kids, innocently forgetting the world outside in this precious instant.

His wheelbarrow being loaded while hers is empty – which proves he is still a gentleman, and a little too cocky, she notes – she manages to catch up with him, and although he is zigzagging to try to make her fall, she doesn't. The prize is too important for her.

So despite the sound of their laughter growing louder and covering the calm nature's melody of birds' and crickets' chirps, she keeps her focus on the way in front of her, and it works. She is about to overtake Nathaniel on the last few meters inside the barn.

The victory and relief are already sparking in her veins when the front wheel of her barrow skids on some straw. 

She has noticed that the ground has got more slippery there, yet it doesn't prevent the crash as she can only watch powerless everything happening too fast: the wheelbarrow spinning out of control and her body getting dragged with it.

In the process, the wheelbarrow also collides with Nate's one, but he has the quick reflex to let it go, already rushing to catch Anastasia, who is sliding on another wisp of straw. Though with the speed and the slick floor, when he finally reaches for her waist, his feet are slipping too, and they both tumble and end up on the ground, the straws cushioning his fall, and him cushioning hers.

"Are you alright?" she asks between two heavy pants, blinking her eyes to try to stop the spinning of her head.

"Yes." He smiles, the remaining of their laughter still echoing in his voice letting her know he is perfectly fine, so she can focus on the important.

"I won!" She giggles, pointing at her wheelbarrow which has passed the low wall of haystacks, while his might be lost somewhere they can't see now that they are sheltered from the rest of the barn behind the natural barrier, and he chuckles at the realization.

He, who is usually such a sore loser, this is the first time that losing feels like winning. Maybe it's because she is so close to him, and there's something priceless and precious in this moment.

A few strands of hair are falling from her messed ponytail, where some wisps of straw are entangled in, and her white skin is now rosy and glistening, bringing dangerous flashbacks to his memory. As for her smile, it's shining more than a golden trophy, illuminating the whole room, or at least, the dark corner where they have landed, and this sight and their proximity make adrenaline pump through his veins faster than any victory.

Anastasia also becomes very aware of this closeness, especially the fact that she is straddling him, her hands resting flat on his warm chest heaving fastly, and each rise is sending more heat to her cheeks. Though the burn expands somewhere else when she meets his intense gaze. 

The air seems to switch again, all the lightness and innocence turning into an electric thickness in less than a second.

They have been out of breath because of the race, but now, it's something else that takes their breaths away.

Behind that natural wall, with the smooth lighting of the setting sun, it is like they are wrapped in an intimate mantle, sheltered away from the rest of the world, and she finds another one in the infinite of his dark eyes. 

Her reason is telling her to move away, but her muscles are paralyzed, her heartbeat echoing too loudly for her to comprehend what is happening.

"You make me lose my mind," she says low, yet her voice is far from a whisper, and in front of his large eyes, she adds in the same breathless tone, "That's what it means." 

It is definitely not an insult, but these murmured words knock the rest of his ragged breath out, annihilating any sensible thought with the impact, and his hand slides in her golden locks with no hesitation as he pulls her swiftly closer to meet his lips.

His mouth caresses her slowly and intently, showing her words he can't translate, and he uses his tongue in his own way to add a few lines, running it along her bottom lip before slipping in.

Anastasia doesn't understand the message, but her body does, as the unknown words are traveling along her skin in fiery sparks, exactly the same way as he has aroused them in that steam room. 

A rush of relief, thrill, and fear is running through her veins, along with a million other emotions she can't decipher as she takes in that it has been real. It hasn't just been a glorified memory of her dizzy mind and a kiss can indeed bring her these high sensations, yet only Nathaniel's lips can?

For now, she can't think of it. His sinful tongue teasing hers and the light yet possessive motions of his fingers in her hair make her lose her mind completely. Her hand sneaks hesitantly under the white fabric of his tank, and with all her senses heightened, she is well conscious she is crossing way too many lines.

Yet she doesn't stop, and he has to pull away from her lips to pant out heavy breathes, which are quickening with each light and almost shy brush of her skin. Her hands become bolder when her gaze meets his, the twitches of his stomach thrilling her to continue her exploration further, and she slides his shirt up as gently.

Nate is the one losing his mind with her wickedly slow touch. She doesn't look that innocent and delicate anymore when she lays softly her lips on the line of his collarbone, the autumnal shades in her eyes darkening as she holds his gaze, and it sends a wild impulse in his veins. He rolls them over, hovering over her and crashing hungrily his lips on hers.

Her back hits roughly the ground, and a surprised squeal escapes her lips with the impact, yet this sudden roughness is sending a thrill more electrifying than the adrenaline from any victory down her spine, and she returns the same hunger.

The kiss deepens with something raw and intense, almost determined, and as their lips stay glued to each other desperately, their hands are everywhere, already exploring under the fabric of their clothes. 

The straw is prickling her skin, yet it is only heightening the sizzling inside her core, while the smooth touch of his fingers is making it ablaze, following a trail only he seems to know.

Faint warnings are still resonating in the back of his mind, but the only language he can comprehend is her breathless moans, her poetic accent still slightly ringing in these primal sounds and echoing in him.

His lips break away from hers only to tear off his shirt, and despite her awestruck state, she takes the opportunity to turn the tables and turn them around, coming back on top of him and earning a guttural sound from the depths of his chest.

He almost chuckles, surprised and amused by her competitive spirit, but it sounds more like a groan with the rush of arousal this fierceness is sending down his pants, and their lips crash again, like two magnets unable to stay away for too long. 

Though that doesn't stop his hands to slide off expertly the top of her overalls, revealing a skin-tight tank top, and when they pull away to breathe, he finds out this vision is becoming a new fantasy of him. A wild fantasy, he realizes when she moves slightly on him, their centers rubbing to release sparks of desire and pleasure. His hands grip her butt, as if grasping that it's real and accentuating the friction at the same time.

She arches into him, leaning in to his dizzying touch as the pressure building inside her core is becoming too much. Yet she needs even more; she needs him again. 

So she kisses him with the same ardor, translating this need to him, despite that internal voice trying to call some sense into her, louder and louder.

"Ana? Anastasia?"

She freezes on Nathaniel's lips when she realizes the voice isn't only louder; it is also closer and deeper. It isn't her conscience's voice but a known voice: Fergus's voice, and all the steam that has been blurring her mind is turning to clear, cold ice with the jump of her heart.

Her wide eyes look over Nathaniel's shirtless chest up to meet his eyes reflecting the same shocked expression, though there is also a troubling shadow quickly veiling their darkness, which she doesn't have time to decipher.

She quickly gets up with a reactivity she hasn't known she could have, but it is surely a survival instinct, and she adjusts her rolled-up tank top, peeping her head from behind the wall of haystacks just as Fergus enters the barn.

"You're here? I was looking for you everywhere! You've already finished?!"

"Yeah, almost," she replies, still out of breath as her gaze falls for a second to Nathaniel's figure, still on the ground in all his shirtless glory, but luckily, hidden by the straw wall.

She rushes to Fergus, faster than she has ever, before he can come closer, and her heart is thumping painfully in her chest as everything that just has happened is sinking in with each step she takes.

A million questions and warnings are coming back, spurred by the panic striking in on top of everything else. 

She has been blinded by this insatiable lust, her head blurred with this same burning steam again. But what if someone has seen them? What if Fergus has seen them? Has he? No, he hasn't, or his eyes wouldn't shine at her this way. Yet this look only makes her heart rate speed up with guilt, and it becomes hard to keep a calm appearance when everything is colliding inside.

"So... did the delivery go well?" She tries the best she can to control the cracks of her hoarse voice, from her nervousness, and maybe also the many moans.

"Yes, tiring but very well." He smiles, and she freezes for a second as he nods around. "I'm impressed you've already done all the work!"

The relief washes over her as fast, pulling a proud smile on her lips as she tries to shut down her conscience voice. "Yeah, you see I can do both: help you and work as a lawyer." Maybe her smile is also because of Nathaniel, as the thought of his heroic help is still warming her chest and her cheeks.

"Yeah, um... we're both very tired... How about we talk about it later?" He grabs her hand, and she can only note how cold it appears against her heated skin. "I brought you a little treat!" He shows her the Cloak Cafe bag in his hand, pulling out two cups, while she swallows the bitter taste of disappointment, her stomach already overwhelmed with too many feelings.

She can barely feel Fergus giving her a quick peck on the lips, where Nathaniel's intoxicating taste is still imprinted, and as she shakes her head to get rid of those thoughts and focus on Fergus and his delicate attentions, she is still nibbling lightly on her bottom lip, even when she pulls Fergus out of the barn, and even when the guilt is coming back sourly to spoil any appetite in her.

So...? I promised you a longer, worth-the-wait chapter, and I always keep my promises! :) Did you like it? If so, vote and comment!! 

I chose to include a little wink to my nationality (French), I hope you like it!

And tell me, what do you think will happen next? Will Anastasia and Nate keep slipping and giving in to temptation recklessly? Do you like how they're getting closer in so many ways? ;)

And what about Fergus? What do you think about him?

I LOVE to hear from you!!! So don't be shy and give me your views!!! :)