Sophie's Encore (The Rock Star Romance Series)

by Nicky Wells

  When I got back downstairs, the caterers had left, the band and their families had arrived, and Dan was busy administering a game of charades in the lounge. Darren, Joe, and Mick sat on one side while their wives or partners sat on the other. We were obviously playing in teams. The kids—mine and Joe’s and Mick’s—were playing with a train set that had materialized under the Christmas tree, and with the fire going and Christmas music playing, it looked like the perfect seasonal soiree.

  The afternoon passed in a riot of laughter, food, and music. I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt so at ease on this day. Perhaps it was because the universe of comparison was so far removed from anything Steve and I might have done. Perhaps it was because this group of people was linked to a time in my life before Steve. Or perhaps it was simply because everybody was having a genuinely fabulous time. When the kids began to get restless, Dan and Mick started carrying in platters of food, and there was everything imaginable to please little and grown-up gourmets.

  Joe opened a couple bottles of bubbly, and everyone sang “We Wish You A Merry Christmas.” The kids clamored for a taste of the ‘fizzy drinks’ and, taking my lead from the other parents, I let Josh and Emily have the tiniest of sips each. Josh pretended to like it. Emily scrunched up her nose and sneezed, the bubbles having caught right at the back of her mouth. Everybody laughed with her, and she gave a little ballerina twirl. Two-and-a-half years old, and already an accomplished entertainer.

  It seemed natural, somehow, to be at Dan’s side, and there seemed nothing wrong with the fact that his arm would wrap around my waist occasionally, that he should pull me into him with a laugh when we all toasted a Happy Christmas and sang another carol. Nobody commented, nobody even seemed to notice, and I filed the sudden feeling of ‘couple-ness’ for later analysis, alongside all the other bits of emotion already germinating at the back of my mind.

  By nine-thirty, all the kids were drooping, and, one by one, the band members and their families called it a night, leaving among many hugs and kisses and best wishes for the festive season. Dan carried a drowsy Josh upstairs while I took care of Emily. The two of them were so exhausted, they barely noticed the new bedroom that Dan had prepared for them and simply curled up under the duvets with sleepy goodnight kisses for us. I shut the door gently behind me and followed Dan back downstairs, where he had already begun to tidy up the debris of the party.

  “Hello, gorgeous.” Dan stopped what he was doing and smiled at me. “You look wonderful tonight. Did you have a nice evening?”

  I crossed the room to give him a hug. “I had a fabulous evening. The best. Thank you!”

  Dan returned the hug and we held on to each other for a fraction of a second too long. I cleared my throat and pulled away before I found myself incapable of letting go altogether.

  “Now then…where shall we start?”

  Dan rallied, too. “Let’s collect up all the rubbish, first, and then carry the dishes into the kitchen. It’ll only take a few minutes, you’ll see.”

  We worked in companionable silence, the music turned low and a glass of wine on the go each.

  “I love the bedrooms, by the way,” I suddenly burst out, remembering that I hadn’t thanked him for the generous makeover. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  Dan set down his rubbish bag. “I know that,” he admonished. “But I wanted to. Nobody ever stays here anymore apart from you.” He scratched his head and smiled, then sat down on the sofa and pulled me down next to him.

  “It’s not like in the old days before, you know, everyone had families. When the band would camp out here for days on end, and we’d have wild, raucous parties. That doesn’t happen anymore. Not very often, at least.” He grinned to soften the inadvertent melancholy in his comment. “I guess we’ve all moved on. And the only people that stay here regularly are you guys, the Jones family, my…my borrowed family. I wanted you to have a little bit of a home here so that when you do stay, it’s…well, it’s nice for you. Especially for the kids. I mean, blow-up beds are great, but…”

  He faltered and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m not…I’m not suggesting anything. I just…simply…well, I could make the rooms more beautiful for you, so I thought, why not?”

  “They are beautiful,” I assured him. “I love them. Just you wait until the kids wake up in the morning and take in the change properly. They’ll be so excited, they’ll never want to go home.”

  I felt a bit woozy and let my body sag against Dan’s for a moment. Dan put his arm around my shoulder, and I relaxed into him even more. It seemed the…natural thing to do.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” my rock star suggested and hugged me closer. I closed my eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. The fire was still crackling gently in the grate and there was a distinct hint of Christmas magic in the air. Never mind the bin bags lined up in a neat row by the door, and the piles of plates stacked on the coffee table waiting to be taken through to the kitchen.

  Dan caressed my face with the ball of his thumb, tracing my cheek, my eyebrows, lightly touching my nose.

  “Mmmh mmmh.” I made soft noises of enjoyment, and Dan turned me around so I half lay on him. “Mmmmh mmmhh mmmhhh,” I responded and Dan kissed me.

  His hands were all over my body, on my back, in my hair, under my top, on my breasts. It was amazing how swiftly his hands could move, and every stroke, every touch sent a delicious tingle through me. In turn, I covered his face in kisses and ran my hands up his chest, alighting on his nipples, still hidden under his shirt, and tweaking them teasingly. Dan went wild and bucked beneath me, grinding his hardness into my loins.

  “It…is…a…good…thing that…we…are…still…dressed,” he panted between heavy breaths. “Otherwise I…wouldn’t be…accountable…for… my actions.”

  “Is that so?” I teased, and removed my top with one swift moment. Dan groaned and pulled me down onto him, licking my nipples then sucking them until I practically melted with desire. I was hot and cold all over and could feel my ladyship dancing through my jeans. We writhed and turned and fell off the sofa, landing on the floor with a loud crash and sending a pile of plates flying. Nothing could have killed the sexual moment between us faster than the resulting explosion of noise, and we sat side by side as if frozen, waiting to hear if we had woken the kids.

  Gradually, my breathing slowed and eventually I dared to look Dan in the eye.

  “Sorry about the plates,” I muttered.

  “No need to apologize,” Dan retorted. “Goodness knows where we would have taken each other if we hadn’t fallen off the sofa.”

  “On the sofa, presumably,” I deadpanned, but was met with a blank stare.

  “We would have taken each other on the sofa,” I elaborated.

  Dan raised an eyebrow. “Would we now?” he mused. “And would that have been a good idea?”

  “It would have been naughty,” I surmised.

  “Very naughty,” Dan agreed, the lightness in his voice belying the meaning of the words. Suddenly he turned serious. “And are we quite ready for very naughty yet?”

  I picked at the hem of my black top, which I had swiftly pulled back over my head when we unleashed the wave of noise into the house.

  “I don’t know,” I replied at length. “Are we?”

  Dan didn’t respond at first. He scrunched up his forehead and rubbed his hand across it. “Do you know, this reminds me of something…” He shot me a grin. “Do you remember that time on the coach? That was just as awkward.”

  I giggled. “It certainly was.”

  “At least you can’t fob me off with that virgin excuse again.” Once again, Dan spoke lightly, but there was a probing undertone.

  “Um…no.” Taking a deep breath, I took the plunge. I didn’t exactly know I would do so, but the words came out before I could stop them. “And I don’t know how long the widow excuse will stand up, now.”

  There. I had said it. Not one but two raised eye
brows met this comment, and the look on Dan’s face was priceless. After a small eternity, he cleared his voice. “Well…uh. Hrgg. Maybe…maybe we’ve…uh…pushed the limits far enough tonight, don’t you think?”

  He rose abruptly and busied himself with collecting plates. “I’ll just take those through to the kitchen, and we should probably take care of the breakage, too.”

  I fell to my knees, starting to pick up broken bits of plate.

  “Don’t!” Dan’s voice made me jump. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t want you…er…inflicting injury on yourself. I’m going to get the dustpan and brush and…”

  “Well, now that reminds me of something else as well,” I chortled, and the awkward atmosphere finally passed.

  “Oh, yes. The champagne glasses at that wedding.” Dan laughed, too. “Well, then you’ll remember I’m good with a dustpan and brush. You carry those other plates into the kitchen, and I’ll be right back.”

  “Yes, sir.” I gave a mock salute and clicked my heels together, earning myself a leftover piece of quiche flung accurately at my face.

  “You deserved that,” Dan justified, fleeing into the kitchen before I could take aim with a soggy napkin.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  “Mummy! Mummy-mummy-mummy!” Both my children’s voices penetrated my consciousness, and I stole a quick glance at the alarm clock at my brand new princess bedside table. Six thirty a.m. Not bad for Christmas morning.

  “Dan!” My offspring were demanding the attention of the other adult in the house, too. “Dan, Dan-Dan-Dan! Mummy, Dan, look what happened!”

  There was a faint voice of hysteria in the kids’ voices, and I suddenly realized that they weren’t even coming from downstairs, which is where I thought they would be. I jumped out of bed, clutching my sore head to steady my vision, grabbed my dressing gown, and raced the few steps down the hallway to the children’s bedroom, nearly colliding with Dan who looked to be in the same state.

  After we had finished tidying up the previous night, Dan had opened another bottle and we joyfully arranged the children’s presents under the Christmas tree, some from me, but some also, I had been touched to note, from Dan. In fact, his presents seemed larger than mine! Mission accomplished, we had snuggled up on the sofa and watched a Christmas movie together, and it was quite late by the time we finally went up to our respective beds.

  We exchanged a glance and Dan pushed open the door. Josh and Emily were bouncing on their beds, clutching a stocking each, and wearing the biggest smiles imaginable.

  “Santa bringed stockings…” Emily waved a rather large and bulky-looking stocking about. She could barely lift it in her little hands.

  Dan nudged me in the side to stop me from saying something stupid.

  “That was awfully good of Santa,” he said for my benefit, and I wanted to hug him. Fancy him remembering what the kids’ negligent mother had forgotten!

  “And Santa brought us a whole new bedroom,” Josh enthused. “Look, new beds and everything. Isn’t it cool? Can we just live here now?”

  Dan sat down on Emily’s bed and pulled the children onto his lap. “Actually,” he said, “you might not have noticed it last night, but it wasn’t Santa who brought your new bedroom. That’s a little out of his remit.”

  “His what?” Josh was quick to pounce on the unfamiliar word.

  I leaned against the doorjamb and folded my arms across my chest, curious to see how Dan would handle the situation.

  “His…er… responsibilities. It’s not exactly what Santa does, but he did bring the stockings. Look.”

  “Who did the room?” Josh persisted.

  Dan shifted uncomfortably. “I did. Well, I had it done, for you, because I wanted you to have a nice bedroom here.”

  “It’s nice, much better than our room at home,” Josh supplied, keen to please Dan and utterly unaware about the dagger he was driving through my heart. I cringed.

  “Now, I think you have a fabulous bedroom at home, and this is just your away bedroom for…when you stay here. Which isn’t all the time, ‘cause your home is…at home.” He threw me an apologetic glance for the lame finish, then resorted to diversionary tactics. He had learned from the best—me!

  “Don’t you want to have a look in your stockings? And… do you reckon perhaps Father Christmas might have left something downstairs?”

  Well done, that man. With great whoops of joy, the kids swooped downstairs, clutching their unopened stockings, to see whether Santa had visited. And of course, he had.

  “How’d you manage to light the candles before we got down here?” I whispered to Dan while the kids enthused about the pretty tree with the stack of presents underneath.

  “I set my alarm for six,” Dan whispered back. “You said they’d be up!”

  I grinned. “Thank you. This is magical!”

  “You’re quite welcome.” He smiled back, his eyes dancing. “Merry Christmas.”

  “And Merry Christmas to you, too,” I added.

  We let the children unwrap their presents before breakfast. There really was no stopping them, but we made them take their time and look at one present in turn. I had knitted Dan a long stripy scarf, and Dan surprised me by giving me a lovely scarf-hat-and-gloves combo from my favorite shop.

  “Great minds,” he chortled as he wrapped his scarf around his neck, and I giggled, too. I was relieved that Dan’s gift was a small and innocent one. I had been worried that he might do his usual over-the-top all-out treat-Sophie routine, and I would have felt uncomfortable with that, especially given all he had already done for us. But he had read my mind and kept it simple. For that reason alone, I felt a little tearful and desperately in need of a hug, but I put on my hat and scarf instead and gave a little bow.

  “Now all we need is some snow to try out our new winter attire and it’ll be perfect,” I joked.

  Dan jumped up with alacrity. “We haven’t even pulled the curtains yet,” he exclaimed and rectified the matter as he spoke. I sucked in my breath, feeling my heart soar. Before he could even tell me, I knew from the bright quality of the light that spilled into the room that it had, in fact, snowed overnight.

  “Oh my God!” I squealed and joined him at the window.

  It hadn’t just snowed the normal light London dusting of tiny flakes. It had snowed good and proper, and everything was white. In fact, more of the heavenly stuff was still falling, and it was quite magical. Alerted by my apparent joy, the kids joined us at the window, and, for a moment, all four of us contemplated the winter wonderland outside Dan’s window.

  “This is, like, the best Christmas ever,” Josh declared.

  “Snow, snow, snow,” Emily sang, taking quite after her mother in her love for the elusive white stuff.

  “Can we go sledging?” Josh begged, tugging at Dan’s pajama sleeve.

  “Of course, little man,” Dan agreed. “But how’s about some breakfast first? And I suppose we better get dressed, too. It looks quite cold out there!”

  And so it was, after a scrumptious and quite leisurely breakfast, we togged up, all four of us—Dan and I sporting our respective Christmas gifts—and went out in the snow. By some small miracle, Dan discovered an ancient wooden sledge in his attic, and we took turns pulling the children on the snowy pavement on our way to Clapham Common in search of the tiniest remnant of a hill or a slope that might be suitable for sledging. After an hour’s energetic sledging, we returned to Dan’s house and built a snowman in the garden. Quite suddenly, Dan remembered that he had forgotten to put the turkey in the oven and dashed inside frantically. I gave the kids firm instructions to play nicely and followed him inside.

  In the kitchen, Dan was wrestling the turkey into the oven. “Fit, damn it, or I will make you,” he admonished the obstinate bird.

  I giggled. “It’ll never cook,” I offered, somewhat unhelpfully, but Dan wasn’t perturbed.

  “It doesn’t have to cook,” he replied. “It’s already cooked. It just needs to heat t
hrough again.”

  I cast a look at the kitchen clock. “It’s nearly midday. When will we be able to eat?”

  “Oh, about two o’clock, I should think,” Dan declared. “Enough time to warm up, play a few games, and have some mulled wine.”

  “What about the veg? You know, potatoes, sprouts, that kind of thing? Do you need me to get peeling?”

  “It’s all taken care of,” Dan reiterated. “All the trimmings will go in the other oven about half an hour before we eat. Easy.” He wiped his hands at his apron and gave the oven door an energetic shove. “There. Done.”

  And so it was. A catered and already-prepared Christmas dinner was a real revelation. I marveled when Dan opened trays of sprouts with pancetta, crispy-looking roast potatoes cooked in goose fat, little cocktail sausages, baby carrots and peas smothered in garlic oil, Yorkshire puddings, and, of course, gravy and cranberry sauce. The bird, when it came out of the oven, looked and smelled fantastic, and the children um’d and ah’d. Miraculously, they ate too, tucking into a little bit of everything except for sprouts.

  Dan observed our mini gourmets with wry amusement. “They’re doing well,” he whispered sotto voce, lest he break the spell.

  “I think it must be all that cold, fresh air and vigorous exercise,” I replied, equally softly. “Note to self—wear little monsters out before feeding them big feast!”

  After lunch, Josh and Emily went back outside for half an hour to add to their family of snowmen, then came inside to watch “The Snowman” on the telly.

  “I haven’t watched this in years,” Dan enthused. “I’d forgotten all about it, in fact.”

  “Ah, well, Christmas with kids, it brings back all those memories. I give you ten minutes before you’re on the floor with Josh building his Lego police station.”

  “What a brilliant idea!” Dan dropped to the floor and tickled Josh. “Hey, young man, shall we take a look at that Lego of yours?”

  So the boys did boy things and us girls played with Emily’s new dolls and doll house, and the afternoon passed in a contented, warm haze. I was glad we were there, with Dan, the children’s godfather. We hadn’t had a Christmas like this before, ever. It was as close to perfect as I could imagine it being, all things considered.