Golden Christmas

by Helen Scott Taylor

  A sigh hissed out between his lips. "Okay. I admit defeat. We need a repairman to fix it."

  "Never mind. Thanks for trying." Vicky tried for a cheerful tone, but he could hear the disappointment in her voice. Jonathan had developed a good ear for gauging people's emotions.

  "You can stay at Rosemoor Hall until the boiler's fixed."

  "Are you sure?"

  "I insist." He injected a note of authority in his tone, something he rarely needed to do these days.

  Vicky was silent for what felt like ages, and he wished he could see the expression on her face. "I don't want to be a nuisance."

  "You're not. There are four guest suites along the corridor where I have my apartment. You can take one of those. I promise they're warm, and you'll have some hot water."

  Silence again. A car droned past on the road, and the crowing call of a pheasant sounded behind them in the field.

  "Okay, then. That'll be nice. Thanks."

  Jonathan released the breath he'd been holding, excitement tingling along his nerves. He quickly suppressed it. She wasn't moving in with him. She was only a guest.

  • • •

  Vicky stopped her car on the area of gravel outside Rosemoor Hall, near the back door that Jonathan used. She kept telling herself that it wasn't a good idea to stay here. The whole point of going away at Christmas was to be on her own.

  Although the opportunity to stay in a Jacobean house full of antiques and history was something she'd have loved a few years ago. The strange fizzy feeling in her tummy suggested she hadn't completely lost that interest—or maybe it was because she'd be staying with Jonathan?

  "Come on. Let's get you settled in," he said.

  He was already out of the car, feeling his way around to the back to get her suitcase. He hauled the bag out and held out his hand. "I'll carry the luggage if you carry my cane and guide me."

  "That sounds like a deal." Vicky smiled as she slipped her fingers into his. She tested the feel of his cane in her other hand, holding it out, imagining what it must be like to depend on touch and sound to find her way around.

  She led Jonathan to the back door and released his hand while he dug the key from his pocket. He passed it over and she unlocked the door. Once inside, she took the lead, and he followed her up the stairs.

  He unlocked the door to his apartment and Honey trotted out, tail wagging, eager for their attention. "Straight outside for a comfort break for you, my golden girl."

  Jonathan set down Vicky's suitcase, and they both took Honey for a walk around the lawn where Vicky had first seen Jonathan throwing the ball.

  When they went back inside, he touched his door, then walked down the corridor, a hand on the wall until he found the next door. He opened it and stood aside, gesturing for her to go in first.

  The room was beautiful, a combination of antique furniture and modern comfort. A thick carpet covered the floor, and the walls were papered in cream with a fine dark red stripe. The cover and pillows on the high four-poster bed were a matching burgundy.

  "The bathroom's here." Jonathan opened a door and felt along the wall for a light pull. "It's all newly done. My brother, Marcus, uses Rosemoor Hall as a conference and wedding venue, and he's refurbished all the bedrooms on this level. Can't say I'm wild about the idea of strangers coming and going all the time, but I'll get used to it."

  The room was warm and luxurious, like something out of a five-star hotel. "This is amazing. Thank you so much."

  On impulse, Vicky kissed Jonathan's cheek. He put an arm around her, pulling her close. For a heady, breath-stopping moment, their bodies pressed together as if they belonged against each other.

  "You're welcome. You helped me, and one good turn deserves another. Would you like to come and have dinner tonight? I don't have anything exciting planned, but I can throw together some pasta and garlic bread."

  "Sounds delicious."

  Jonathan reached for her hand and gripped it gently, his thumb circling over her skin, sending a tingling sensation racing up her arm. "I'll see you later, then."

  Tangled thoughts and feelings flooded Vicky as Jonathan headed out the door, closing it softly behind him. For four years she'd not felt anything but grief and regret; she certainly hadn't been attracted to another man. Yet something about Jonathan resonated with her.

  She raked her fingers back through her hair and noticed it felt stringy. With no hot water in the rental property, she hadn't been able to wash properly. She was badly in need of a long soak in a hot tub.

  Vicky put her suitcase on a luggage rack, took out a green-patterned tunic, black leggings, and clean underwear, and ran herself a bath. Bottles of expensive toiletries with gold lids stood in a row on a bathroom shelf. She selected lavender-scented bubble bath, and a few minutes later relaxed in the fragrant, foamy water and closed her eyes.

  As always happened when her mind stilled, thoughts of Colin and Josh rushed in to fill the void. Yet this time the burning grief that usually filled her chest and made it hurt to breathe had changed. The feeling was still there, but somehow it had moved outside her now, more a sensation on the edge of her mind than rooted in her body. Had sharing with Jonathan loosened the hold the memories had on her?

  Maybe she should have shared before. Her poor mum had tried so hard to persuade Vicky to talk about how she felt. Her mum had read up on grief and suggested all sorts of things to help, but Vicky didn't want to be consoled and comforted. She wanted to suffer for not being there when her two boys had needed her.

  Maybe today by confiding in Jonathan and agreeing to buy her puppy, she'd taken her first steps towards healing.

  Chapter Six

  Jonathan readied the kitchen to cook the pasta, getting everything he needed out of the cupboards and lining them up on the counter. He washed the lettuce and tomatoes, put them in a bowl, and returned it to the fridge. He usually managed fine in his kitchen where everything was in its place and he had special tools to help him, but today he wanted to be extra prepared so he didn't mess up the first time he cooked for Vicky.

  He pressed the button on his watch and it spoke the time. A moment later a knock sounded on his door, followed by Vicky's voice. "I'm here. Okay to come in?"

  "I'm in the kitchen." Jonathan gripped the edge of the counter and turned, his chest tight with nerves. He badly wanted to impress her. How had this woman become so important to him so fast?

  "Hi." The fragrance of lavender wafted into the room with Vicky's soft footsteps.

  "You smell good… Not that you don't always." Why on earth did he say that? He pressed his hand to the scar on his forehead. He'd lost his sight, not his mind. He needed to get a grip, he thought, clearing his throat. "Would you like a glass of wine? I have white or red. The white is in the fridge, and the red's in the rack in the corner. Choose whatever you like. Glasses are on the table."

  Her light footsteps moved across the room and he turned back to his saucepan, grateful for something to do that meant he wouldn't put his foot in his mouth again. He half filled the pan with cold water at the sink before setting it on the stove.

  "I've chosen the pinot grigio. That should go well with the tomato sauce. Shall I pour you a glass?"

  "Yes, thanks."

  When the water was bubbling audibly and Jonathan could feel the steam, he added two cups of pasta and set his kitchen timer. Then he opened the jar of tomato, mushroom, and basil sauce and poured it into a bowl before putting it in the microwave to heat.

  "Sorry, this isn't exactly cordon-bleu cookery."

  "I'm sure it'll be wonderful. I love pasta."

  Jonathan laid the garlic baguette on a baking tray and put it in the oven. The pasta timer would do for this as well. They both needed to cook for roughly the same amount of time.

  "Here's your glass of wine."

  Jonathan held up a hand, and Vicky gently pressed the glass between his fingers. The brief feel of her skin against his wiped his mind of everything else for a moment. He tipped up hi
s glass and chugged down his wine in a few swallows. How could he have fought the Taliban in Afghanistan for months and kept his mind steady and on the job, but one woman coming for dinner had him near meltdown?

  "Shall I tip the pack of grated parmesan in a bowl for you?" Vicky asked.

  "Yes. Thanks." Jonathan had pulled the cheese from the fridge and then forgotten it.

  A ceramic dish clunked on the granite counter, then came the snip of scissors as Vicky opened the bag of cheese.

  "I'll put the parmesan on the table."

  The timer beeped and Jonathan was busy then, draining the pasta and distributing it between the bowls while Vicky took the garlic bread from the oven and put it on a plate. Jonathan ladled sauce over the pasta, hoping he'd divided it equally, and put the bowls on the table.

  The fragrance of garlic and tomato filled the kitchen. "Smells delicious," Vicky said.

  They sat down and ate, swapping stories about their childhoods. As they talked, Jonathan relaxed. Vicky was so easy to be with. She had a way of describing people and places that created clear images in his head.

  She described the seaside village in Somerset where she'd grown up, a happy childhood of endless summer days on the beach with her friends, dabbling in rock pools, and body boarding in the surf.

  "Sounds great. Are your parents still alive?" The moment he asked, he wished he hadn't touched on the subject of death, but he was curious why she wasn't with them at Christmastime.

  "Yes." Her one-word answer didn't invite further questions, so he changed the subject and described his own childhood.

  He told her about his rather strict, old-school parents, about life at boarding school, and about how his brother, Marcus, and sister-in-law, Gabriela, now owned Rosemoor Hall. He didn't dig into his own insecurities about his place here, and his certainty that his sister-in-law didn't like him and wanted him out of the house.

  When they'd finished, he washed up and Vicky dried. He had a dishwasher, but it never seemed worth turning on for only a few dishes. Anyway, it was nice working with Vicky, doing normal everyday things with another person for a change.

  After they finished, they took their cups of coffee through to the sitting room. Jonathan set his on the side table and sat in the corner of the sofa, thrilled when the cushions bounced as Vicky joined him.

  He sipped his coffee as the soft tones of her voice caressed his senses. She sounded divine and she smelled divine. Most of the time he coped well with being blind, but occasionally he wanted to see something or someone so badly, the unfairness of his injury made him want to roar and put his fist through a wall.

  Now was certainly not the time for violence. Instead, he sucked in a breath and blew out his frustration.

  "Okay, Jon?"

  He lifted a hand towards his scar, then stopped himself and flattened his palm on his thigh. "It gets to me sometimes. I want to see you, and it's driving me crazy that I can't."

  Her answering silence seemed to go on forever, then she laid her hand on top of his where it lay on his thigh, sending a flash of sensation up his leg.

  "I'm five foot eight, about average weight for my height, and I have dark brown hair and hazel eyes. My best friend used to say my eyes looked green in the summer when we were on the beach." She laughed. "That might have something to do with our childhood mermaid fixation, though."

  Jonathan's breath leaked out and he drew in another, his attention focused on the pressure of her hand on the back of his. It was warm and slender, her fingers nestled in the gaps between his.

  He felt so unsure of himself. In his head she was an incredible beauty—far too pretty to be interested in a blind man with nothing to offer her. Maybe he should accept that no woman would be interested in him now, and be happy with his own company.

  "I watched a movie once," she said, "where a blind woman touched a man's face to 'see' him. Would that work for you?"

  Jonathan's heart jumped and pounded so loudly he could hear nothing else for a moment. He turned his hand and gripped hers. "You'd let me do that?"

  "If you want to."

  He nearly laughed but caught the impulse. He wanted to touch her so much it hurt—could she not sense that? He swallowed and pressed the side of his fist to his mouth, taking a moment to gather his composure.

  The sofa squeaked and bounced as she shifted, then her leg rested beside his. "Go ahead."

  So she could read his emotions, probably from his expression. He felt vulnerable knowing she could read his face while he had no idea how she felt about him.

  He'd heard of blind people "seeing" faces with their fingers as well, but this was a first for him, and this was far more complex than simply forming a mental picture of her. His desire to touch her was as much to do with intimacy.

  Vicky took his hand and pressed his palm against her cheek. Jonathan stopped breathing as he caressed her smooth skin. He framed her face between his hands and gently stroked the fine line of her eyebrows, her forehead and cheekbones, the slender shape of her nose.

  When his fingertips brushed her lips, a tremor of need went through him, closely followed by a burst of loneliness so sharp it brought tears to his eyes.

  He stilled his exploration and closed his eyes, hoping Vicky wouldn't see his tears. He should drop his hands, but he couldn't pull away. The feel of her skin beneath his fingers gave him more than an image in his mind, more than a burst of desire. For the first time in four years he felt alive again, alive in the way a man only feels when he touches a woman and absorbs her warmth and softness.

  "Jon." Vicky rested her hands over his and moved them, sliding them down to cup her jaw, then into her hair where his fingers brushed the delicate shape of her ears among the silky strands.

  He wanted to fall forward into her, lose himself in this woman in gratitude for giving him this moment. Even if it was all he ever had with her, he would never forget.

  "Do you see me in your head now?" Her voice was soft, a little husky, and the tone stroked across his senses.

  "I see you and I feel you. You have no idea how amazing it is."

  She pulled her hands away from his, and he missed her touch for a moment before her fingers stroked his cheek and she cradled the side of his face in a hand. "I see you too," she said.

  He felt wetness on her cheeks and wiped away her tears with his thumbs. "Don't cry."

  She sniffled and turned her face into his palm. "You're the first man I've really seen since I lost my husband."

  Jonathan leaned towards her and rested his forehead on hers, that slender nose of hers bumping his. Emotion rose in his chest, a hot tide of need and hope like ocean waves tumbling on a barren, dry beach.

  He wanted a woman to love, a woman to share his life with. Only in the hazy moments before sleep when he was tired and lonely did he admit how much. When anyone asked, he pretended he was fine on his own. Sometimes he even believed the lie.

  "I've been so lonely, Jon. It's my own fault but…"

  The catch in Vicky's voice roused his protective instincts. He drew her closer and wrapped his arms around her, pressing his lips to the fragrant silk of her hair. "I'm here for you. Whatever you need. I'm here."

  She snuggled into his chest. The tantalizing feel of her hands traveled over his ribs and back as they clung together. "These past two days have been incredible for me," he whispered. "To have you here is…" He wasn't good at explaining how he felt. Better to show her.

  Jonathan slid his fingers among the silky strands of her hair, cradled her head, and lowered his face until the warmth of her breath touched his skin. Then he pressed his lips to hers.

  Chapter Seven

  Vicky tossed and turned all night, her dreams full of Jonathan, his gentle fingers on her hair and face. She longed for him to kiss her again, to feel his lips against hers and his hands on her skin.

  She floated in a sleepy haze of desire for this man she'd known for only a few days. Then a memory of Colin drifted through her mind, and the feelings for Jonatha
n were washed away by a surge of guilt and shame, jolting her awake. How could she be attracted to Jonathan when she loved Colin? He'd been her childhood sweetheart, her soul mate, the only man she'd ever wanted to be with.

  Yet as she tried to picture Colin's face, she couldn't. Breathless with distress, she grabbed her phone from the nightstand and scrolled to her precious photographs of Colin and Josh. She loved them both so much. If she forgot them and moved on, it would be as though they'd never existed, and she couldn't let that happen.

  She scrubbed a hand over her eyes. Being with Jonathan confused her, leaving her mind in a tangle. She trusted him and enjoyed his company, but she didn't want him to push her husband and son out of her thoughts—especially not at this time of year when she should be remembering them more than ever.

  Sitting up, she pushed back her tangled hair. Although Jonathan lived right next to her room, she'd have to find a way to avoid him today. She needed space to get her head straight and sort out her priorities. Otherwise he'd continue to slip past her defenses and creep deeper into her affections.

  Footsteps creaked on the floorboards outside, along with the click of Honey's claws. She glanced at the time on her phone and realized it was morning. Jonathan must be taking his dog outside. Once he was back in his apartment, she would slip out and go for a long run to avoid him for a while.

  Instead of going away, the footsteps came closer, then a knock sounded on her door. "Blast," she whispered. She could ignore him and let him think she was asleep, but she didn't want to.

  Using the footstool, she climbed down from the high bed and pulled on the fluffy robe she'd found on the back of the bathroom door.

  She opened the door a crack and glanced out. Jonathan stood there in his padded blue jacket and jeans with Honey at his side. Then she remembered he couldn't see what a mess she looked, so she opened the door wider.

  "Honey and I wondered if you'd like to come and play ball with us?" Jonathan grinned and held up the yellow tennis ball in his long fingers, those fingers that had caressed her face and hair and explored more intimate places in her dreams.