Evie Miller had got under his skin.
He took a deep breath. So, what was he going to do about it?
Jake sat up in bed, shocked at how late it was. He’d slept ten hours straight through. It was unheard of. For years his nights had been broken, haunted by memories and by his own personal demons.
He got up and pushed open the shutters. Christmas Day. The sky was smudged grey, and he could see swollen clouds billowing in off the sea. Never mind. He wondered if Evie was up yet, and the prospect of her breezy smile lightened his step as he padded down the stairs.
‘Whoa!’ he cried, shielding his eyes as he entered the kitchen.
Evie was sitting at the table with her laptop open. She looked from him to her outfit and her brow creased. ‘Is it too bright?’ she asked.
Her dress was vibrant pink, as bright as a highlighter pen, and over it she wore a jungle green cardigan with a scarf around her neck, which featured – he peeped through the slits in his fingers to see – pink and green parrots.
He couldn’t prevent himself from smiling. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said, ‘once I find my sunglasses.’
She stuck her tongue out at him, and he flicked the coffee machine on.
‘How long have you been up?’ he asked.
‘Hours! Unlike you, lazybones. I’ve got tons of work done.’ She beamed and sat back in her chair, looking very pleased with herself. Her hair was in two loose pigtails, playful and girlish. Sexy, too, if he was honest.
‘Oh, yeah?’
‘Yes. I worked out a few quotes and did some quilting.’ She glanced towards the lounge where she’d left the quilt laid out across an armchair, her pincushion and threads scattered across the coffee-table. ‘I’m making really good progress on that wholecloth.’
He sat down with a plate of bread and jam, then took a hungry bite. ‘How about we go to the beach today?’
‘For a swim?’ She tugged her cardigan tighter. ‘Won’t it be too cold?’
He laughed. ‘If you’re feeling brave I won’t stop you, but I was thinking of a walk. With any luck it’ll be quiet.’
He drove to one of the smaller coves on the coast, which, at the height of summer, would be heaving with noisy tourists. Today, however, the crescent of sand was empty, and the only sounds were of water lapping against the shore and the wind shaking the tops of the pines. He got out of the car and looked up at the sky. It was less threatening now, but still dreary. He patted the roof of the convertible, wondering how waterproof it was.
‘Look away,’ said Evie, as she unzipped her long boots and reached under her skirt.
He did as he was told but asked warily, ‘What are you doing?’
‘Okay, you can look now.’
She was bare-legged in the sandy car park and tucked her discarded tights into one of her boots. ‘We have to walk barefoot.’
‘Why? Do I need to remind you that it’s winter?’
‘Because there’s nothing like the feel of sand beneath your toes.’
He frowned and looked down at his comfortable and warm canvas shoes.
‘Come on,’ she goaded. ‘You know you want to.’
The memory flashed up of how delighted she’d looked when he’d joined in with the dancing at the ball and, with a shrug, he bent and untied his laces.
They walked side by side in companionable silence. And it turned out Evie was right about going barefoot. There was something sensual about feeling the rough grains beneath his soles, the yielding of the sand as his feet sank into it, the lick of cold as the waves tickled his toes. He had the sensation of something long since dormant slowly wakening.
‘How far away is Luc’s vineyard?’ she said. ‘Should we arrange to meet up?’
‘They live a couple of hours west, towards Aix. And Luc promised not to disturb me so I feel I ought to return the favour. He values time with his family and I don’t want to encroach on that.’
‘Fair enough. He and Natasha are so happy together,’ she said, with a dreamy smile. ‘They really have the fairy-tale romance.’
He steered her around a large stone before she could trip on it. ‘There’s no such thing as a fairy tale.’
She hesitated a moment, before saying quietly, ‘You had it with Maria.’
The crunch of pain was inevitable. He saw the hospital room where she’d withered away, and a vice clamped itself around his chest. ‘And look how that ended,’ he said bitterly.
Evie’s mouth snapped shut, and she fixed her gaze on the rocks ahead. She looked like a child who’d just been told Santa didn’t exist.
The only sound now was the whisper of waves and the ringing of regret in his ears. Well done, Hartwood, for that nice bit of cynicism. Perfect for bringing the mood down.
There had been a time when he hadn’t given a jot what others thought of him or his outlook, yet as they reached the end of the beach and turned back, he found himself wishing he could swallow his words – because he didn’t want to be the one who had wiped the smile from Evie’s face.
But, then, he hadn’t counted on how fast she was able to spring back, as chirpy and buoyant as ever.
She peered up at him with a cheeky gleam in her eye. ‘See that tree over there?’
He followed where she pointed and nodded. But it was a ploy to distract him.
She gave him one hard shove and he landed in the water on his backside. ‘What the—?’
‘Last one there has to cook supper tonight!’ She raced off, laughing.
He chuckled. ‘Just you wait, Evie Miller! Just you wait until I catch up with you!’
‘It’s been like having our own private beach,’ said Evie, as they headed back slowly towards the car. ‘I can’t believe how lucky we are.’
He looked up at the ash-grey blanket of cloud. ‘The weather could be better.’
‘It’s dry and warm.’ She hugged herself and threw him a lopsided smile, ‘Well, warmish. You’re not too cold, are you?’
‘I suspect I have hypothermia, thanks to your prank.’ His trousers were wet through, but fortunately he’d brought a towel, which would protect the car seat.
She giggled. ‘I’m so glad we did this. I can’t tell you how much I was dreading the holidays. It’s wonderful to be here, and to be free. This is the best Christmas.’
She was right. This was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it? To forget Christmas, forget the past and numb the pain? And it was working. He was enjoying himself, enjoying Evie’s company. The tension had seeped from his body and his shoulders felt relaxed. It was working better than expected, and he felt a prickle of guilt. Did the easing of the pain mean he was betraying Maria in yet another way?
Evie tipped her head back, enjoying the fresh breeze on her face. He smiled. She was colourful through and through, in her smile, her optimism, her brightness. She opened her eyes and saw him watching her.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘Nothing.’ He grinned. Then muttered, ‘Pollyanna.’
‘Wait a minute!’ She peered at his face more closely, then reached for his chin and turned his head towards her.
‘What are you doing?’ He did his best to ignore the tingling where her fingers touched his skin.
‘No – don’t stop!’ she cried.
‘Don’t stop what?’
She let go of his chin and placed her hands on her hips, grinning. ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile properly, so it reaches your eyes,’ she said quietly. ‘It suits you, Mr A. You’re almost good-looking.’
He loved the mischievous glint in her eyes and his mouth curved again. ‘Almost? Damned with faint praise.’
Her gaze dipped to his lips, but this time something changed. It turned smoky. Time slowed. He swallowed, fighting back the rush of heat, the tightening of his muscles.
Then an icy wave washed over their feet, dispelling the heat.
‘Okay, you’re extremely good-looking when you smile,’ she said. ‘You should do it more often.’
They’d had such a good day,
and Evie couldn’t believe how relaxed Jake was. The shadows had gone from beneath his eyes, the lines of tension in his brow had smoothed, and his skin was taking on a faint bronze tint. Perhaps this was what he’d needed all along, she ruminated, as she towel-dried her hair: time off work, at the beach, then a swim in the heated pool with a lot of splashing about and laughter back at the villa.
She gave her hair a quick blast with the hairdryer and went downstairs. ‘Time for an apéritif,’ she said, as she poured them drinks and tried to open a bag of peanuts. It didn’t open, so she tugged harder.
‘Don’t!’ Jake stuck his arm out and leaped to his feet to stop her, but he was too late.
The peanuts exploded all over the place.
‘Oops.’
‘You’re supposed to tear the bag open,’ he sighed, ‘not detonate it.’
She watched him warily as he crouched to pick up the peanuts. But he didn’t seem angry. On the contrary, he was shaking his head and smiling, and relief rushed through her. She fetched a brush. They’d have to throw away the peanuts, and that reminded her of the burned onions Jake had tipped into the bin yesterday. She was still confused about what she’d seen in his eyes. His gaze had been intense. Hungry. It had pinned her to the spot and made her heart defy gravity.
Then he’d turned away and she’d wondered if she’d dreamed it.
More likely, she was reading too much into it, seeing what she wanted to see. He’d just been horsing around, having fun. That was all.
When they’d tidied the kitchen, they carried their drinks through into the lounge and sat by the window with its view over the hills and treetops to the Mediterranean beyond. Evie sipped her pastis. She had developed a taste for the anise-flavoured drink, which Natasha had recommended she try.
Jake put down his orange juice and reached beside his chair. He handed her a parcel wrapped in deep blue tissue paper and gold ribbon. ‘Happy Christmas,’ he said quietly.
Evie blinked. It was soft in her hands. ‘What is it?’
‘Open it and see.’
She pulled the ribbon loose and the tissue paper rustled as she unfolded it. Inside was a neat bundle of fabric, striped with neat patterns and in shades of paprika, turmeric and cobalt blue. Provençal fabrics.
‘Oh, wow! They’re gorgeous, thank you! They’re just like the ones I saw at the market the other day.’
He nodded. ‘They’re the very same. I went back while you were in the supermarket.’
‘You told me you’d left your car keys behind!’
‘I did.’ His eyes glittered, like water in sunlight. He handed her a small business card. ‘Here’s the supplier’s name, too – in case you want to order more for your shop.’
She stared at him, blown away by how thoughtful his gift was.
But she didn’t have anything for him. ‘I, er – I thought we weren’t doing Christmas.’
‘We’re not. I just saw you looking at these at the market and thought you’d like them. It’s no big deal.’
But to her it was a big deal. Evie swallowed and got up. ‘I just need to finish yours. I’ll be back in a little while.’
She galloped up the stairs. In her room, she shut the door, leaned against it, and took a deep breath. Think, Evie, think!
She yanked open her sewing bag and rummaged through, pulling out scissors and cotton reels and all the odd scraps of fabric from past projects. Thank goodness she wasn’t a tidy person, she thought, as she held up one brightly coloured scrap after another. There was even a length of blue satin in here which would do very nicely. She laid them out, played with the order, then threaded her needle purposefully. Without her sewing machine, this was going to have to be the most fast and furious job she’d ever done.
A while later, there was a loud knock at the door.
‘Don’t come in!’ she cried.
‘You’ve been gone nearly an hour. What are you doing?’ His deep voice was muffled, but it still sent her blood rushing through her veins. Or perhaps it was adrenalin.
‘Just putting the finishing touches to your gift.’ She snipped a couple of threads, held her work up to the light, and smiled.
‘Evie, I know you didn’t get me a gift.’
She folded it and slipped it into a paper bag bearing the Button Hole’s logo. ‘How do you know?’ she asked, through the closed door.
‘By your look of horror when I gave you yours.’
She threw open the door. ‘Well, Mr Know-it-all, that’s where you’re wrong.’ She handed him the bag, then stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. ‘Happy Christmas!’
He opened it and unfolded it in his hands. ‘A patchwork scarf?’
She beamed. ‘Do you like it?’
‘It’s – er – very unusual …’ his forehead creased, as he searched for the right words ‘… and – er – colourful.’
It stood out against his navy sweater and black jeans like a flashing neon sign in a dark alley. Her smile faded. ‘You don’t like it. It’s too bright, isn’t it? Too different.’ It wasn’t his style at all. What had she been thinking?
‘Not at all,’ he said gravely. Earnestly. He looked her directly in the eye. ‘Actually, I love it. It’s like you.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Unique. I’ve never met a woman like you before.’
Her heart sank. ‘Yes, well … people have been telling me that all my life.’
‘Why the frown? It was a compliment.’
She looked up in surprise and the warmth in his eyes made her tingle.
‘You’re creative and resourceful, you don’t follow the crowd, you think outside the box. I admire that.’ The satin stripes shimmered as he ran the scarf through his fingers.
Her chest swelled and she glowed with pride. Being around Jake Hartwood was turning out to be a real confidence-booster. She loved the way he paid her compliments in that matter-of-fact tone, she loved the way he made her feel ten foot tall. Unique. He didn’t seem to mind that she was clumsy. In fact, it seemed to amuse him. He didn’t share Tim’s view that she was overweight, and although they’d spent the last three days together, he seemed to enjoy her company rather than regarding her as an irritation.
They’d had a lot of fun together, she thought, recalling how they’d splashed around in the pool earlier. With him she didn’t feel like she was a disappointment or an embarrassment. Her pulse fluttered. She could be herself and it was okay.
Jake held up the scarf. ‘I mean, how many women could have improvised a gift like that? With anyone else, I might, at a push, have received a box of chocolates.’
‘Damn!’ She slapped her thigh and grinned. ‘I didn’t think of that.’
Chapter Fourteen
‘Hey, nice jacket!’ said Evie, when Jake appeared. He was wearing the scarf she’d given him, too, she noticed, with a little flip of delight.
She stepped forward to run her palm over the pale mint jacket. It was soft to the touch, quality linen, and it looked fantastic with those cream chinos. It brought out his blue eyes. ‘That colour really suits you,’ she said admiringly. Though she suspected any colour would suit him. His usual choices of black, grey and navy were so draining.
‘Thanks,’ he said.
‘So what’s with the new look?’
‘It’s not new. I just hadn’t worn this jacket for a while.’ He swiftly changed the subject. ‘You ready to go?’
‘Wait a minute …’ She riffled in her bag and pulled out her sunglasses. ‘I am now!’
An hour later they arrived at the Château Blanc vineyard. The owner, François Laurent, came out to greet them. He looked very French, Evie thought, with dark hair and black-coffee eyes that gleamed when he smiled at her and made her blush. He was extremely good-looking, and she couldn’t say she minded when he vigorously shook her hand and told her she was glamorous.
She noticed Jake glance from François to her and back again, frowning.
François gave them a guided tour of the property and the fi
elds behind the château, proudly showing them his vines, although at this time of year they weren’t much to look at. Evie could imagine they must look impressive in summer when they were in leaf, the long rows climbing all the way up the hill and stretching into the distance.
Finally, François led them back to the wine cellar, where he opened several bottles for Jake and Evie to sample. Jake seemed more relaxed now they’d got down to business, and he confidently took his time, tilting his glass this way and that to examine the wine, inhaling its aroma, then finally rolling it around on his tongue and spitting into a pewter bowl.
Evie giggled, but the two men ignored her and conferred in ultra-serious voices. She tasted the wine, too, but couldn’t bring herself to spit.
‘You’ll get tipsy,’ warned Jake.
‘On a mouthful? I don’t think so. Besides, it’s too delicious to spit out.’
He shrugged and went back to discussing the ageing process with François. Evie began to get a little bored, so when they weren’t looking she helped herself to another taste – or two. After the ninth bottle, however, she began to feel a little light-headed.
‘This one has a good nose,’ said Jake.
He looked so serious that she had to giggle.
‘What?’ he asked.
‘Wine doesn’t have a nose!’
The two men looked at each other. But while Jake was clearly unimpressed, François smiled. ‘Do you work with Mistère ’Artwood?’ he asked.
‘Oh, no.’ She laughed. ‘I know nothing about wine – except how to enjoy it, bien sûr! Ils sont tous délicieux,’ she added, raising her glass in a mock toast. In truth, the wines had begun to taste the same after the sixth bottle.
François’ eyes creased. ‘Ah. You speak French?’
‘Oui!’ Evie dug in her mind for a phrase or two. She had once been almost fluent, but that was a long time ago. ‘J’ai passé un an à Paris quand j’ai quitté l’école.’
François raised his arms in delight. ‘Elle parle couramment – c’est formidable!’
‘What did you say?’ asked Jake. He frowned.
‘Just making small-talk.’ She was secretly pleased that her French wasn’t so rusty after all.
The Christmas Holiday: The perfect heart-warming read full of festive magic Page 21