This story copyright © 2003 Mia McCroskey
Characters from The Avengers and other sources are the property of their respective owners.
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Steed becomes a man hunter
Emma stays afloat
Chapter 2
Emma spent the next two days absorbing energy from the children and strength from Steed. The fresh country air seemed to clear her injured lung and increasingly longer walks each morning and afternoon began to tone her muscles. Steed had been relentless in his exercising of her legs while she was bedridden. When she complained he just glared at her, having lectured her about how important it was the first time he did it. She knew he was right, even though, at least at first, it hurt like hell.
But she was the first to admit that his persistence paid off as she found herself striding along a country lane, vitality returning to her whole body like sunshine flowing through her veins. She thanked him with a series of little hugs and kisses, delivered whenever they paused to watch some animal going about its business, or to peer into the water of a flowing stream, or to enjoy a spot of shade. Emma gradually realized that the stops were becoming more and more frequent until, out behind the barn, she slipped into his arms, but held her face away from his.
"You're far too eager to stop and rest, Steed," she said, "I'm the one who's supposed get tired first."
"You've caught me out," he sighed, smiling happily into her eyes. She looked out across the little paddock attached to the barn. The Hill's two horses were standing nose to tail under a big oak tree.
"Let's go riding," she said impulsively. "Just for an hour or so. I'll bet Peaches could use the exercise."
Steed followed her gaze and wrinkled his nose. "Not Peaches. She's such a plodder. Bradley."
"Steed, I don't believe I've ever heard you insult a horse before," Emma said as she followed him into the tack room.
"Well she is," he said, picking up a worn halter and lead rope. "She's fine for the little ones. At least Bradley's willing to take a fence now and then. Although not today," he cast her a meaningful glance.
Emma sat on a bench and watched Steed slowly approach the horse, which allowed him to slip the halter on without complaint. The children exercised the horses nearly every day, but Emma suspected they got bored lounging around in their paddock. Steed was such a good horseman they sensed it and were happy to work with him. He led Bradley, the gelding that Sara and her older brother Ted shared, to the barn door and tied him to a rail there. He talked quietly to the animal as he deftly exchanged the halter for a bridle, coaxing Bradley to open his mouth and take the bit. He arranged the reins and swung up onto the horse's bare back as if his legs were springs.
"Use the mounting block," he instructed Emma, walking Bradley into position beside an old tree stump near the barn door. Emma climbed up onto it, the extra height putting her in a better position for Steed to swing her up in front of him without putting any stress on her arms or chest. She settled against him, sighing happily at the comfort of his strong chest against her back and his arms around her waist, holding the reins in front of her. She could have taken them and guided Bradley, but it was very pleasant to leave everything to Steed.
They walked along the lane, then turned off to follow the stream where local deer had trod a narrow path. Bradley was sure-footed and willing, and Steed's use of legs and reins to direct him was almost imperceptible. They covered more ground more quickly than they had on foot and were soon wandering between the freshly planted fields of a neighboring farm.
"There's something to be said for western style bridles," Steed muttered into her ear.
"What?" Emma asked half turning her head. His face was right there, their lips nearly touching.
"They leave one hand free," he replied, kissing her.
"Steed, have you ever made love on a horse?" she asked. She felt him chuckle.
"No. And we're not going to try it now -- I think that's a bit more strenuous than your doctor has in mind."
"Some other time, then?" she asked. She watched his eyes darken with desire and she guessed that he was imagining just how it would be done. "Some place very private -- like our own property, perhaps?"
"You have remarkable ways of convincing me to invest in real estate."
They worked their way back to the lane a couple miles from the house. It was straight, flat, and deserted.
"Let's canter. Just a little. Bradley's gait is very smooth," Emma begged, knowing that she was strong enough and desperate for the little rush it would deliver. To her surprise, Steed signaled her command to the horse, who immediately stretched out his legs to a run.
Steed locked his elbows around Emma and allowed himself to enjoy the rocking motion and the feel of her back against his chest. He knew where she was taking them. They'd been down this road before, her leading, him following like a delirious puppy. He'd happily remain her lap dog for the rest of his life, the rewards were so incredible. This time they might end up making silent love in their room, his sister somewhere downstairs, the door secured with the ridiculous latch that Caro considered a lock. Or perhaps Emma had someplace closer in mind -- the barn was far enough from the house to provide privacy. A little straw in the hair was worth that.
He was becoming deliciously aroused before they felt the first drops of rain. By the time they reached the barn it had gone from sporadic to constant, and it was getting heavier. Steed guided Bradley right in through the barn doors and stopped him in the aisle outside of his stall. He gently lowered Emma to the ground, then swung off himself and went to Bradley's head.
"Thanks old boy," he said fondly, easing the bridle off of the horse's face and replacing it with a halter. "I'll just rub him down," Steed added to Emma. She sat down on a bale of hay, drawing her legs up to watch. Steed used a currycomb and then a brush to smooth out the imprint of their legs on Bradley's back, then brushed the horse all over. Watching, Emma grew increasingly envious of Bradley.
"You're making me jealous," she finally said, standing and picking up a folded blanket. Steed paused to look at her.
"Shall I do you next?" he asked, holding up the brush with a teasing smile. She arched one brow.
"Yes," she said, "Without the brush." She headed for the ladder to the hayloft.
"In you go then, old boy," Steed said immediately, sending Bradley into his stall and closing the door. Looking around, he found another blanket and headed for the ladder himself.
Emma had spread her blanket on the thick straw in the loft and sat looking out the loading window at the rain. Steed dropped his blanket and started to join her.
"Stop! Shoes off," she ordered, pointing at the dirty hiking boots he'd worn for their walk. Her own were sitting in the straw near the top of the ladder. He followed her orders, then stretched out on the blanket, unfolding the one he'd brought and pulling it over himself.
"Lie down with me," he begged. She didn't have to be invited twice. She stretched out beside him and let him cover her with the blanket.
"I remember another hayloft," she said, her lips almost touching his, her breath a warm caress on his face. He smiled, sharing the memory.
"It was raining that day, too."
"I'd been missing you so much," she sighed, running her hand over the side of his face, then on down his chest. "The stable was the closest I could be to you. And you knew I'd be there."
"It's where I'd have been, were I you," he shrugged. Then he kissed her, lightly at first, but it intensified very quickly as the arousal he'd enjoyed while they were riding asserted itself. He began to caress her, using his hands to curry her as he had the horse, touching her shoulders and back, her sides, and reaching down to her hips and ass. She kissed him back, more and more urgently as his touches caused her to squirm with need. He let his hands drift to her front, slowly, gradually, finding their way to her breasts.
He'd seen the scar over the last few weeks, watched it transform from angry red to fresh, healthy pink. But he hadn't touched it, was concerned, in fact, that she might not want him to. The scars on his body were so plentiful he rarely gave them a thought -- partially because that led to thinking about the events that had made them. But when he thought back to the first one, so many years ago, it seemed to him that he'd been sensitive about it.
So he went carefully as he touched her left breast, beneath which the scar huddled. She'd been very lucky that the bullet hit her where it did, luckier still that the ministry clinic had a plastic surgeon on hand, and luckiest of all that Steed had been there to protect her interests, although he joked that they were really his own. He'd insisted that they save her breast, reconstructing what damage had been done by the surgery that saved her life. He'd known that the trauma of the wound would be hard enough for her to get over. The loss of her breast would have been too much, even for his strong Emma.
It was well healed now, although she was still unable to wear a bra. Instead she wore a lacy camisole under her blouse. Steed knew that, he'd seen it in the morning. But now it seemed like the sexiest garment he'd ever encountered. He unbuttoned her blouse, allowing his hands to brush over her nipples as he worked, smiling at her reaction -- which was a series of sharp gasps followed by delicious moans. He felt his erection pressing against his trousers and willed her to reach for it. He had not felt her hands on him in a month and it seemed like an eternity. Amazingly -- or perhaps not, they were so attuned to one another -- she reached down to stroke him.
And then she freed him, carefully unbuttoning and unzipping his trousers and coaxing his genitals out over the top of his briefs. Her fingers left hot traces where she touched him. Unable to stop himself, he rolled onto his back and pulled down his trousers and underwear, pushing them off into the straw. As he lay back Emma was there, her hands exploring his thighs, cupping his balls, then caressing his solid erection. He reached for her, sliding his hands up inside the camisole and around her back, then slowly, carefully around to the front to cup her breasts.
"Take it off and look at me," she whispered, one hand still on his penis, the other on the blanket supporting herself above him. Understanding, he raised the camisole and her unbuttoned blouse, forcing her to release him and sit up as he lifted them over her head. He could hardly see the scar in the dim loft. As she sat beside him he reached up and ran the back of his index finger along the underside of her breast, not touching the scar. She shivered and his eyes darted to her face. Her eyes were closed, her expression a familiar one of arousal and desire. He drew a circle around her nipple and watched her mouth open slowly, heard her soft moan. It was as sensitive as ever. He lifted himself with one hand, caressing her with the other, and took her nipple into his mouth. It had been the first intimate part of her body he'd ever touched. His thoughts rushed back to that moment when she'd first invited him into herself, asked him to touch her and moaned with pleasure when he did. The memory fed the desire burning below his belly. It spread through his body, demanding more.
"Please," she sighed, her fingers twining into his hair. She's remembering too, he thought, kissing his way across to her other breast and sucking it until the nipple grew hard between his lips. He moved his mouth back across her chest, gently kissing the scar beneath her breast.
"We're going to be fine, aren't we?" she asked, barely above a whisper. "I'm going to be fine."
"You always have been, love. We are going to be more than just fine," he whispered back, drawing her down to the blanket, then kissing the soft skin of her stomach. One hand continued lightly caressing her breast. With the other he opened her trousers and pressed two fingers against her panties, feeling warmth and moisture through them. He pressed his face against the pale pink silk, inhaling her scent. It aroused him still more and he used both hands to pull her pants down past her knees. She pushed them with her feet the rest of the way off into the straw, then rolled onto her side. He stretched out facing her, nestling his erection against her moist, warm vagina. He was afraid to go too fast, much as he wanted to bury himself inside her.
She dragged her leg up over his thigh to settle it at his waist, opening herself to him. He caught her lips with his, unable to hide the need in his kisses. She responded eagerly, her tongue exploring his mouth. He reached between them and guided his erection slowly into her. His hand slid down her back, wrapped around her ass to press her against him. Her tongue plunged deep into his mouth in a desperate, open-mouthed kiss. Her hips squirmed in his grip and he pulled back and thrust solidly into her, feeling her whole body vibrate with a groan. He thrust again, feeling her heated juices gush around his cock. He was slick within her, plunging deeper as she opened even more. Then, when his long, stiff member was fully sheathed inside of her she contracted around it, squeezing, grasping, and demanding his essence.
"Emma," he groaned into her ear as his body responded to hers, surrendering everything to her. She shuddered, grasping his shoulder, pressing her mouth against his neck and moaning against his flesh. Her heart was pounding; he could feel it against his chest providing counterpoint to his own. He held her still, drawing his hand up her back, terrified that she had overexerted herself, she lay so still.
"Emma?" he repeated, pressing his lips to her forehead.
"John?" she replied, pulling her head back to look into his eyes. She was smiling contentedly. Relieved, he smiled back.
"Just checking," he said, bringing his hand up to brush her hair off her face. "How do you feel?"
"Are you fishing for compliments?"
"Always, darling," he chuckled.
They lay still together for a long while, listening to the rain on the roof above until it had almost stopped. The absence of sound finally roused them.
"Someone will be out to see to the animals," Emma whispered into Steed's ear as if it were a secret. He smiled at the tickle of her breath.
"Someone may wonder what's become of us," he replied. "They may send out search parties, thinking we've been washed away by the rain."
They dressed, picking bits of straw from one another's hair and clothes and bringing the blankets down with them. For the first time in weeks Emma felt a healthy exhaustion borne of exercise, not injury. They hurried through the lingering drizzle to the back door of the house, pausing to remove their boots in the mudroom before entering the kitchen.
Harry was seated at the table with his checkbook open and stacks of paid and unpaid bills before him. Caroline was just pouring him a mug of coffee.
"Here they are," she said cheerfully, although there was a note of relief in her voice. "And this is the last of the coffee. Shall I make another pot to warm you up? Did you get caught in the rain?"
"We made it into the barn just in time," Steed said, offering no further explanation.
"I think I'd rather warm up in the bath," Emma said, standing beside and slightly behind Steed. No one could see her hand run down over his buttocks and between his legs. He stood motionless, but turned his head toward her.
"Sounds lovely," he nearly purred as she ran her hand back up, squeezing one cheek and then moving away from him toward the back stairs. He followed. "We'll pass on the coffee, Caro," he added over his shoulder.
"Lock the door," she called after them, having no doubt about their intentions. "They better not flood the floor up there," she added. Harry looked up at her, surprised at her indulgence of her brother's uncharacteristic behavior.
"With the income Emma's suggesting, we could remodel that bathroom," he said, tapping his pen on his open checkbook. Caroline frowned at him, then sat down at the table.
"Has she made you an offer?" she asked, surprised.
"No. But she's given me an idea of what's possible. It's tempting -- the whole opportunity is tempting."
"But you're hesitant."
"What happens if I'm working for Emma, and she and Steed break up? Would it become awkward?"
Caroline thought about it for a moment. Harry waited, taking a sip of the coffee she'd poured him. They heard water running upstairs, and Steed's low chuckle.
"If they do, then it shall be up to us to see that they're brought back together. Few people in this world belong together so completely. Perhaps we're meant to help see that they stay that way."
"And perhaps I married a hopeless romantic," Harry said, reaching out to take her hand. She shrugged in a very Steed-like way.
"So we could remodel that bathroom, heh?"
Emma put the plug in the big, claw-footed bathtub's drain and turned on the water, adjusting the mix to a pleasant temperature. Then she left the bathroom, brushing past Steed, who had stopped in the doorway, with a devious smile. He chuckled at her retreating back, then followed her. She went to their room and undressed except for her camisole and panties then trotted back to the bathroom. Steed also undressed down to his underwear, then glanced up and down the hall before dashing to the bathroom and locking the door.
Emma was reclining in the tub, her head near the faucet, the water gushing over her shoulder in a warm waterfall. Steed stepped out of his underwear and into the swirling water, settling down at the opposite end of the tub, his knees bent, his legs alternating with hers. She reached up and turned off the water.
She'd added something to the water -- not a foamy bubble bath, but some sort of oil that slickened their skin and made the water bead in glistening droplets. He stroked the silken skin of her legs as she rubbed one foot up his chest, her face wearing an impish smile. She rubbed his nipple with her toe, sending a buzz of pleasure straight to his groin. He extended his leg between hers, using his toes to gently open her. Her smile melted to a look of erotic pleasure as she spread her legs to him, lifting the one that was not on his chest up to the edge of the tub. He wiggled his toes slowly, navigating her private places carefully, pressing here, poking there, rubbing the ball of his big toe over super-sensitive flesh. He felt her shudder, little ripples of bathwater radiating toward him. She drew her foot down his chest and belly, bringing it to rest on his thigh, toes just touching his penis.
"Let me wash you," he said, stilling his toes to get her attention. She opened her eyes and reached for a bar of soap on a rack on the wall beside the tap. They shifted positions, Emma turning to settle between his spread legs.
He pressed the hard soap into the muscles of her shoulders and back, massaging her while cleansing the skin. She relaxed, sighing deeply at his efforts as he found and massaged small knots of tension.
"I'd no idea how tense I was," she said.
"Your body has been compensating, protecting your chest by keeping your shoulders and back tense," he explained. "Now turn around."
She complied, expecting him to make more carnal advances as she straddled him, sitting on his thighs. But he continued his cleansing massage, working at knots of muscle in her chest above her breasts that she hadn't known could be so tight. He worked up and down her arms, placing her hand on his shoulder as he worked his fingers into the tissue of her forearm, then her upper arm, then her shoulder. As he finished the second one she was desperate to thank him. She slipped her hand around the back of his neck and pulled herself to him, feeling her breasts brush his chest, bringing her lips to smother his mouth.
He sighed, bending his knees and planting his feet to keep from slipping under the water. She slid into his lap on his oily wet skin, her warmth engulfing his solid, throbbing penis.
"Take me," he whispered into her mouth, reaching beneath the water to suit action to words. She lifted a little to let him press his member into her willing core. She moaned, a deep, lustful sound, as he filled her. Then she ground her hips into him, demanding more. He pressed upward against her downward thrust and cried out at the sudden, sharp release it brought.
"Emma!" he barked, surprised at how quickly he'd come and regretting it. She was still moving on him as he shrank within her. She leaned over him, bracing herself with her hands on the edge of the tub, her breasts once again brushing his chest.
"Use your fingers," she hissed, eyes closed tight, body tensed at the edge of climax. He pressed three fingers into her, lifting her up, feeling her press back down. He pressed against her thrusts, caressing her clitoris, his thumb against her vulva. Then he squeezed her right breast with his other hand, pinching and releasing the nipple in unison with her thrusts.
"Oh John, oh God John," she groaned through her climax. He felt her whole body shudder as warm fluids gushed past his hand to mix with the bathwater. "John," she repeated, dropping her forehead to his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back. "Thank you," she sighed, rolling her head to press her lips to his neck.
He snorted, kissing her cheek and her closed eye, "for coming too soon?" he muttered, a tinge of embarrassment in his voice. She raised her head to look into his eyes.
"Did you? I hadn't noticed," she lied with a smile.
"And I love you for it," he replied.
Emma was exhausted. She went from their bath to her bed, stretching out naked beneath the covers, eyelids too heavy to stay open. Steed bent over her and kissed each one, and then her mouth.
"I just need a nap," she said. "Wake me in an hour or so."
"Rest well, darling. I'll come get you for supper," he promised, then quietly dressed and went downstairs.
"Uncle, will you read me a bedtime story?" Timothy, the youngest Hill child, stood in front of Steed holding a picture book with a colorful cover. Emma, sitting on the sofa beside Steed, smiled warmly at the little boy. She'd awakened from her nap feeling more alive than she had since before the shooting. Her muscles felt lose and flexible, and the warm buzz of fulfilled desire still lingered in her loins. Supper had been the usual chaotic affair, although Beth and little Linnie, the two younger girls, were staying with a friend. Sara and Ted had dutifully cleared the table while the adults retired to the parlor with the little boys. Caroline had eventually declared it bed time for little Timothy and Arthur and escorted Arthur upstairs.
"Will you excuse me, darling?" Steed said to her as he stood up and took Timothy's hand.
"Certainly," she replied, thinking, you'd be a heel to refuse him.
As Steed and Timothy headed for the stairs, thirteen-year-old Sara materialized. Emma got the distinct impression she'd been waiting to catch her alone.
"Uncle told me that you belonged to a pony club when you were a girl," she said. "He said you won ribbons."
"Yes I did," Emma replied, patting the sofa beside her. Sara sat down where Steed had been. She wanted to know all about Emma's riding experience, clearly comparing it to her own. There were as many differences as similarities between Emma's aristocratic pony club populated by spoiled, competitive young ladies and Sara's country riding club. Hearing about the fun shows and point-to-pointing that Sara and Ted participated in with Bradley, Emma grew a little envious. She'd never been able to go to a pony club event without spending two hours grooming herself and her horse first.
Their chat degenerated to giggles as Emma described one particularly disastrous dressage event during which the most popular girl had taken a tumble from her new horse and landed in a pile of recently dropped manure.
"Does Uncle really have to take you back to London tomorrow?" Sara asked when her laughter had subsided enough to speak.
"I'm afraid so, Sara. I have to go back to my company on Monday, at least for a little while."
"Do you own your whole company?" Sara asked.
"No. I share it with other people. We all own shares in it. But I have the most shares of anyone, and the rest voted that I should run things."
"But it's named after you, isn't it?"
"It's named after my father. He started the company. When it got big enough, he invited other people to buy shares."
"Why? I mean, if he owned the whole thing, why sell part of it to other people?"
"Because he was able to use the money they paid to enlarge the company."
Sara nodded. She was a bright girl who immediately understood the advantages to this arrangement for all involved.
"Did your father die?" she finally asked.
"Yes. When I was twenty-one years old."
"Do you miss him?"
"Yes. My mother died when I was your age. So it was just my father and me. I missed him terribly."
"And you were all alone?" Sara sounded truly upset by Emma's loss, "did you know Uncle then?"
"No. I had other friends, though. I really spent all of my time with the company -- I took over when he died and it was a great deal of work. People didn't believe I could manage it, so I had to prove that I could."
"Why would they think you couldn't?"
Emma smiled at the girl's innocence of the world's prejudices. "Because I was a twenty-one year old girl in a man's business."
"But you showed them, didn't you?" Sara sounded certain. Emma smiled.
"I did," she said softly. "I showed all of them."
"Emma, are you a spy like Uncle?"
Emma wasn't sure how to reply. She had not thought the children understood what Steed did. She glanced across the room at Harry but he appeared to be absorbed in a book.
"I thought you worked with Uncle," Sara added. "And he doesn't work for your company."
"Sara, people have to go to school to learn how to be spys. I read economics and physics at Oxford, not lock picking and following villains."
"One of the first things a spy learns, Sara, is to deny being one unless you are asked three times in a row," Steed interrupted from the doorway. Emma and Sara both looked up at him, one relieved, the other still more curious. Steed was grinning at Emma.
"Are you a spy, Uncle?" Sara asked.
"No."
"Are you a spy?" she asked again. He moved into the room to sit beside her, putting his arm across the back of the sofa behind her so that his hand was at the back of Emma's neck. His light touch made her skin tingle.
"No," he repeated with a wry smile. Emma cast him a perturbed look for encouraging the girl.
"But are you a spy?" Sara asked once more with a teasing giggle. Steed looked resigned to his fate and nodded.
"But you mustn't tell anyone," he leaned close with a conspiratorial whisper.
"Does Emma know?" she whispered back.
"Yes I think so," he said, glancing up at Emma. She scowled at him. Determined, Sara turned back to Emma and asked her twice more if she was a spy, receiving denials each time. After the second one she looked frustrated and turned back to Steed.
"Three times in a row, Sara," he pointed out, knowing that Emma would make him pay later. Sara's face brightened and she repeated her question to Emma once more.
"Emma, are you a spy?"
Emma sighed, wondering why the usually reticent Steed encouraged this game. "I suppose I am, Sara, after a fashion," she said, her glare at Steed softening at his delighted, adoring expression. He wanted to hear me say it, she realized. He wanted to be sure that I still consider myself his partner, even if I'm also running Knight.