Winter Sparks

by Rebecca Fairfax

  “I know.” The bed dipped as Hugo sat. “Or this would never have happened. Believe it or not, I have rules about that sort of thing.”

  “I believe it.” Alessa took the coffee Hugo held out, attempting a smile and to push her messy bedhead hair from her face. “I just need to know what time it is.”

  “It’s fairly early morning. And Saturday,” Hugo informed her, which made her relax somewhat, for a brief second or two. He stood, the roll of the mattress almost making her spill her coffee over what, she realised, were her naked breasts. She tracked him with her gaze as he paced. She hadn’t exaggerated how good his body was, the width of his shoulders, the firmness of his pecs, the definition of his abs. He looked good in his boxer briefs. Which reminded her of how they’d…left things. Which might explain his curt tone and his agitated pacing.

  “I’m sorry and embarrassed about last night. I feel very greedy. I promise you, I don’t usually flake out halfway through. I’m not that selfish in bed.”

  He’d stilled as she began her speech, and now turned slowly to face her.

  “You wore me out,” she continued, shoving at her masses of hair and risking a grin. “I’m more than happy to continue where we left off, if you’ve…recovered.”

  “I’m not angry because I didn’t come again or get to fuck you. Is that what you think?”

  “Well…” She indicated his tight pacing.

  “I’m angry because this is all wrong.”

  Chapter Five

  Wow. That told me. She’d asked if he was married, but not if he were involved with someone. Or maybe it was just her that was all wrong. For him. She’d been all right in the dim light of the bar, or groping him during dinner, or blowing him in this very room, but in the light of day…

  “No problem. I have to dash, anyway, so—”

  “No!” He sat, close, and stopped any movement she might have made to exit the bed, to grab her clothes and leave. “I mean the order of things is all wrong.” He ran a hand through his hair, although it was so short and tidy the gesture didn’t do much. Well, it made his muscles flex nicely, but…

  “The order?” For a moment she thought he was referring to the sexual acts they’d indulged in.

  “Wild sex, when I want to spend time with you, get to know you. It seems the wrong order of events.”

  Her heart leapt. “You mean like kissing someone, then buying them a drink? It does seem to be topsy-turvy with us.” Us. That tiny word, only two letters, so simple and yet so big and loaded.

  “So is dinner before breakfast backwards or actually standard? Tricky one there. Because I’d like to have breakfast with you.”

  Alessa tried to hide her grin behind her coffee mug. “They do say breakfast is a good way to get to know someone,” she commented. “And I want to spend time with you—I haven’t found your tattoo yet!”

  “God almighty,” he griped, laughing as she made a show of checking his biceps, the usual site for an inking. He took her mug and placed it with his on the bedside table. “Here. Let’s get this over with.” He moved down the bed and rested his foot in her lap. He had nice feet, she noted. Strong and lean, well-kept.

  “You have pedicures!” she gasped. “Wow. Good ones too. You must give me the name of your girl.”

  He groaned. “I lost at pool to a friend, Logan, and had to take his place for a mani-pedi. Long story.”

  Alessa wasn’t listening—she’d found his tattoo. “Above the ankle? And it’s…a regimental badge?” She traced the crown on top and the eagle in the centre, puzzled at the Latin inscription encircling it all. “Either that or you’re a massive royalist. Honi soit qui mal y pense. That’s the motto on the monarch’s coat of arms, isn’t it?”

  “Evil be to him that evil thinks. Yes. To the all three questions. It’s the insignia of my regiment. Traditionally officers get it tattooed when they leave.”

  “Why the ankle?” Alessa was more fascinated by the placement than by Hugo having been a soldier. Thinking about it, she could probably have guessed that he’d served— Wait. When had compulsory military service ended? The 1960s, wasn’t it? Exactly how big was the “something” to be added to Hugo’s self-confessed fifty years? No. Impossible, she thought, doing frantic maths in her head. Impossible. Please, God?

  “The location? It’s part of the tradition. Determined by throwing a dart at a drawing of a man pinned to a corkboard. I was lucky.”

  “Jesus. I’ll say.” Alessa shuddered, imagining much more sensitive places. A thought struck her. Had he…left of his own accord? Did people just leave their regiment? “You’re…not AWOL or on the run, or anything?” she queried, twisting to finish her coffee and put the empty mug down. “There’s not likely to be a posse of military police breaking down the door for you, is there? Because if so, I’d better get dressed.”

  “Really, Alessa! Does having an overactive imagination go with being a journalist?”

  “Hey!” Alessa exclaimed. “Everything I write is well researched and founded. Unless, of course, I’m up against a deadline. Then it’s free rein.” She loved how Hugo threw back his head to laugh, giving himself over to his enjoyment.

  “Tell me about some of those deadlines,” he said. “About what you do, for the Herald, in general? I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of your work. Have to confess to not really reading the local r—”

  “Oooh!” Alessa pounced, literally. “You were going to say rag then, weren’t you!”

  “Never admit anything!” Hugo fended her off, trapping her hands and pulling her to sit with him. “And you have a column too? I’d love to hear about it.”

  Alessa told him her background, studying Journalism and Creative Writing at Montford University, her work placement with the Herald and how she’d been invited to join the staff, covering the city beat after she graduated. “Of course, I dream of being a features writer!” she confessed. “You know Lisa Anderton, Head of Features Desk, has won the Society of Editors Feature Writer of the Year award for the past two years? The team is excellent, and there are no vacancies. They’re like gods, with their own floor in the Herald building! We’re not even allowed on there. But I’m happy being a city news reporter. Nominated for Weekly Reporter of the Year at the Regional Press Awards last year! Didn’t win, though. But it got me my own column.”

  She was describing her Sparks byline when her stomach gave a loud rumble, much to her embarrassment, making her break off and apologise. She’d been too consumed with desire to eat much at dinner yesterday, and whatever calories she had ingested, she’d burnt off.

  “Most remiss of me not to see you get fed. What would you like for breakfast? I’ll order,” Hugo said, striding to the table with the phone.

  Alessa eyed him. “Why not go down for breakfast? The buffet is famously good.” It was—the sort of place locals brought visitors to Montford to, for them to enjoy a leisurely breakfast or brunch, sitting in the glass-walled breakfast nook or out on the terrace in warmer weather.

  Hugo shrugged. “I merely presumed…”

  “I’m not ashamed of having stayed the night here, or being here. Don’t feel you have to protect my reputation. If that’s what’s making you reticent?”

  “Christ. Am I that out of touch?” Hugo looked appalled, and it was only when Alessa was grabbing a quick shower and re-dressing in her clothes from yesterday, retrieved from the cloakroom before she’d gone to Hugo’s room last night, that she realised he hadn’t answered her question. And while she’d expected he’d look more as though he was doing a walk of shame along the hotel corridors, in formal trousers and a night-before shirt the day after, he’d found jeans and a sweater to change into.

  The lift bore an advertisement for the hotel’s services, among them its Winter Break and Spring Wedding Package. Winter. Spring. She couldn’t believe it had taken that long to strike her. Not only his surname, but that the two seasons were traditionally used to describe an age-gap relationship. Maybe theirs would be more of a winter–spring fli
ng? Who knows. Another thought knocked at her brain, though, seeing their reflection in the lift’s mirrored wall, their casual clothes and footwear.

  “So, when I was in the shower, you sent down to a boutique I didn’t know this hotel had for a new outfit?” She indicated his black-denim jeans, looking great on his long, lean legs.

  “I usually keep a go-bag in my car. I got it early this morning and had a shower before you woke. Although I would have had time to find a store and buy new clothes, the time you take in the bathroom.” He dodged and pulled her to him when she went to poke him in the stomach.

  Was that good or bad? Her first thought was it meant he was used to…unexpected nights away. Alessa didn’t know and was afraid to press further.

  “When did you book the room?” She had to ask that. If his bag had remained in his car, he hadn’t checked in prior to her arrival in the bar.

  “Last night. During dinner,” came his answer, leaving her slightly open-mouthed.

  “I’m kind of scared to ask the exact time. No—don’t tell me. So, that sure of me, were you?”

  “A guy can wish, can’t he?” His boyish expression made her snort with laughter.

  Over breakfast, she asked him about his background, to learn his father had been an engineer working in high-speed jet aircraft technology, who’d died when Hugo was a young teen. His mother had soon remarried, and after taking his degree in Business and Finance, Hugo had followed in his stepfather’s footsteps, first in successfully passing the officer training course at the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, then in taking a commission in his stepfather’s regiment.

  Alessa listened wide-eyed, riveted, her breakfast forgotten. “Did you see action?” she asked. “I mean, fight? I’m not asking if your uniform got you a lot of—”

  “Yes, I understood. That’s the correct term. And yes. In Iraq and Afghanistan. I finished my career a captain. I’m very proud to have served my country. And your bacon is getting cold.”

  She wouldn’t be deflected. “But you left?”

  “Yes. My stepfather had retired and had just taken over a struggling company and neither he nor my mother had any idea what to do with it. I helped him turn it around, expand it, and discovered I like venture capitalism. He died recently.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.”

  Alessa couldn’t imagine being without her parents, and Hugo had lost his father and stepfather. “Is your mother…?”

  “She was completely lost without him and decided to go into a cottage in one of those exclusive assisted living villages, you know, where all the residential properties are set in the grounds of a listed building? In this case, it’s a Georgian mansion that’s practically a country house hotel.”

  “Really?” She thought he might be joking.

  “Oh, yes. There’s a restaurant, library, swimming pool, bar, beauty treatment rooms and even a fitness centre. Oh, and a croquet lawn. It’s terribly snooty. I have to make sure I get the car cleaned and dress smartly when I visit her.”

  He’d successfully deflected, she realised. And her a trained interviewer. Although bursting with questions, she didn’t know how to backtrack, or even if she should. But the idea of writing about retirement and assisted living facilities was interesting! She could write a series of short pieces for her column about local ones… Wait. She could even write a profile of Hugo!

  The idea took hold. He’d just won the local Entrepreneur of the Year award and— God, she had to file her copy about the ceremony.

  “Your eggs and bacon are getting cold,” Hugo observed. “What are you thinking so hard about?”

  “Mentally composing a report about last night.” Alessa forked scrambled eggs into her mouth. “Not about…late last night,” she assured him, jerking her head upwards, to indicate the upper floor of the hotel, holding her hand in front of her full mouth as she spoke. She had manners.

  Hugo spluttered the Buck’s Fizz he’d just sipped. “I wasn’t imagining you’d write that up!” he protested, his eyes streaming. “Well, I am now, obviously. And feeling rather nervous.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. It’d be glowing,” she promised. “It’s one for the spank bank all right. Literally.”

  At that he almost choked, and waved away a waiter who came over, offering somewhat alarmed assistance. “Talking of, you’re going the right way for another smacked arse,” he warned her.

  Rather than come out with a cliched, I certainly hope so, she settled for a non-verbal approval of his statement, curling her foot around his ankle. Not so effective in ankle boots as open-toed, high-heeled evening shoes, of course. Instead, the way he trapped her foot between his and rubbed gently created a shared, well, complicity, was the best she could describe it.

  “There’s a small business suite here, I think, if you don’t have your laptop with you,” Hugo said. “To write up your article and send it?”

  “And I’d be doing it here as opposed to at home because…”

  “I’d like to invite you to go ice skating with me. There’s a rink in the town, for the winter carnival they have.”

  Alessa sat back. She hadn’t expected that.

  “Don’t tell me you were planning to work all weekend? And I thought I was the dull, all-work-and-no-play workaholic!”

  “You most certainly are not.” A wicked grin curved her lips. This man? Strait-laced and work-obsessed? Hardly. “And no, not exactly.” She could work on her article later. She was determined to have a long-read piece placed sooner rather than later. It had been her New Year’s resolution, and she kept pushing the date back. She still had her latest batch of information and references on the local historical figure she was writing about. She was lucky Tom, her ex from her uni days and now a researcher, didn’t mind nosing out stuff for her when working for his bona fide job.

  “And I wouldn’t be treading on anyone’s toes? And I’m not talking about my lack of skating ability,” she asked. When he frowned, she clarified, “Tessa. Your partner, remember?”

  “Who waltzed off into the sunset with your partner, remember?”

  Alessa bowed her head, acknowledging the hit. “Miguel’s a co-worker. He was doing me a favour. One that turned out well for him…”

  “The same with Tessa. She was curious about the awards and took pity on poor, partner-less me.”

  “Wait. I don’t buy it.” Alessa indicated Hugo. “You must be beating them off with a stick.”

  “Thank you? Although that’s a strange image.”

  She loved those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Could stare at them for hours.

  “What I can’t understand—although I’m very grateful for it—is why you’re not picking and choosing from a line of men?”

  Alessa shrugged. Mitch and his aftershave had been, wow, seven months ago? She’d had the odd date or few dates here and there, friends of whoever Keren was seeing, or guys she met while out with Keren or Beth or Chloe. “Probably too many broken dates when I was up against deadlines, or when a story ran long.” Luke had complained about that, she recalled, as had Callum, when she’d cried off his office party.

  “Their loss,” Hugo assured her, guiding her to the lift and back to his room.

  Again, he dodged an issue, she noted. Oh, well. She typed up and sent in a rather short article about the Chamber of Commerce award ceremony, mainly relying on the updated list of winners from the institute’s website and the photos Miguel had uploaded to the gallery for the editor to choose from.

  Alessa mitigated the brevity of the report by dangling the development of Mill Island before Jim, with her assurances that she’d be speaking to the interested party later. She bit back a snigger at that. Oh, and profiles of the award winners, focusing on their contributions to the city? Maybe that could be for Maximum magazine, accompanied by some really good photos? And written by her, obviously, as she had these contacts? She included links to photos of Xander and Hugo. Jim would be able to see in an instant that they’d shift copies, and sure
ly the men would want free publicity for their businesses. Oh, and did Jim know about Ubermensch? If he didn’t, reading the website she’d linked him to would blow what remained of his hair off.

  “Finished?”

  Hugo had been busy on his phone while she worked. Not hassling her or trying to see what she was writing. And it made her curious as to what he’d been doing.

  “I’ve got my car,” Alessa explained outside in the carpark when Hugo tried to steer her to one side, the breezing cooling her cheeks, still flushed warm from Jeanne’s huge wink and thumbs-up as Alessa had walked out with Hugo, him carrying her bag.

  “And that would be…” Hugo looked around.

  “It’s that Mini,” she muttered, pointing to the small purple car.

  “Really? I didn’t think they made that model this century! And do the racing stripes really make it go faster? I’ve always wondered.”

  “Ha-ha. I suppose that pointed-ended, low-slung red sports car is yours?”

  In reply, Hugo pressed his key fob and the doors of a car nearby unlocked. A new silver car, Mercedes-Benz A-Class model. He put a finger to Alessa’s chin to close her mouth. “Shall I lead the way? I’ll go slowly and wait to see if that plum-coloured shoebox starts, of course.”

  “Joke’s on you, because sometimes he doesn’t!” called Alessa, rushing to Purple Reggie and hoping he was in the mood to start fairly quickly, first time. Ish. He was. Ish. She’d only taken her car to get into town yesterday before the stores closed when she and Keren had realised the blue dress must still be at the dry-cleaner’s. And now it was only a few minutes’ drive before she copied Hugo, pulling into what Alessa understood to be the tiny private car park behind Whyte’s Gallery.

  “Don’t tell me, you only wanted to work here for the city centre parking!” she queried, looking up at the back of the building. It wasn’t as impressive as the front.

  “That’s a bonus,” Hugo agreed, guiding her out into the Montford’s half-Medieval, half-Victorian Lanes, the city’s cobbled, pedestrianised Old Town. “But I like to take on interesting projects.”