'Tis the Season

by Carole Mortimer, Alison Roberts

  ‘No!’ It took a couple of tries for her to say more. ‘Of course it wasn’t awful,’ she mumbled, feeling terrible he’d thought that. ‘It was…amazing.’

  She heard his release of breath. Then his hand took hers. She closed her eyes—dumb move, because all the power of sense was transferred to touch, and she could feel him so much closer.

  His fingers squeezed gently. ‘Precisely why we should spend some more time together.’ He was closer. She could feel the length of his body—only a couple of inches away.

  Trembling, she pulled her hand free. ‘Precisely why we shouldn’t.’

  But he moved faster, hands gripping her upper arms, stopping her from climbing farther. ‘All I want to do is get to know you better.’

  His eyes were level with hers. She saw the light in them, chose to interpret it as one thing only. ‘All you want to do is sleep with me.’

  ‘You’re making assumptions.’ He gave her a small shake. ‘You need to get to know me, too.’

  For what purpose? What more was there to know that she didn’t already? He was a fantastic lover, able to take her into another realm with just one touch. He was bright and funny and charming, and all too easy to fall in love with.

  She knew that about him.

  But she also knew that they held different priorities, and had different views on what was precious in life. Ultimately they were on different trajectories—and he had the power to make her veer off course and crash. Her one other affair had done that. She couldn’t let it happen again.

  He lifted one hand from her arm, brushed the back of his fingers down her cheek. His blue eyes were intent on hers—so damn tempting.

  ‘All that one night proved was that it wasn’t enough. Not for me. And not for you.’

  ‘But that was the agreement—one night.’ She heard the desperate wobble in her voice, but had to try and hold fast anyway. ‘You can’t go back and renegotiate now.’

  ‘The hell I can’t,’ he said softly. ‘All’s fair in love and war.’

  ‘This isn’t either of those things, Ryan.’

  He didn’t answer, just kept gazing deep into her eyes, as if he was searching for something right in her soul. She watched, shaking all over, until she could bear it no longer. She dropped her gaze to his mouth, so close to crumbling—knowing how good his kiss was, how close he was. It would only take the slightest step towards…

  Suddenly she felt the pressure of his fingers on her arms tighten.

  Had she swayed forward? Just the tiniest of mil li metres? Surely not. She looked up to read his eyes.

  His expression had light ened—he was almost twinkling, the corners of his mouth quirking up. With a lift of his brows he dropped his arms, turned and walked back down the stairs.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SOMEONE WAS PRESSING her buzzer and not letting it go. Half dozing on the sofa, the Saturday papers scattered around her, Imogen finally realised it wasn’t a dream. She staggered to her feet, picked up the intercom hand-set by the door.

  ‘What?’ She’d had a rotten night’s sleep and she was crabby now.

  ‘It’s Ryan. Come on out.’

  ‘I’m not coming out.’

  ‘If you don’t come out, then I’m coming up. And if I come up you know what might happen. I think it’s safer if you come out.’

  She rested her head against the door. Damn, he was determined. He’d do it, too—break his way in if nec essary—so he was right. It was much safer for her to go out there than let him come in here.

  ‘Give me five minutes.’

  Glancing at the clock, she saw it was after one o’clock—how had that happened? She pulled a woolly jumper on over her tee shirt and jeans, zipped up her boots. Swinging her hair back into a ponytail, she had a quick glance in the mirror and winced away from her reflection. Who needed make-up when Ryan was around? Thanks to the sensations just the thought of him inspired, she had colour in her cheeks, sparkles in her eyes, and lips redder than if she’d coated them with bright red stage make-up.

  He was standing in the middle of the path, wearing a red roll-neck sweater over dark blue denim jeans. The sweater was fine wool and clung to his frame. Those muscles, that athletic body—wrapped in her favourite colour. It was a present she ached to unwrap. Instead she looked at the path ahead.

  ‘How can I help?’

  ‘Come for a walk with me.’ She hesitated.

  ‘A walk, Imogen. Nothing dangerous.’

  ‘Walking on these paths is always dangerous for me.’

  ‘Good point.’ He chuckled. ‘I’d better hold your hand, then—help you balance.’

  As he’d already taken her hand in his as he spoke, and started walking, she had little option but to go with him.

  Trying not to enjoy it.

  Trying not to want more.

  They walked straight up to Princes Street and into the gardens. Lots of people were out walking—making the most of the rain-free afternoon. The Winter Wonderland and the outdoor ice rink were set up. They stood and watched the skaters for a while. He looked at her, his face all lit up with humour and a definite dare.

  She shook her head, knowing what he was thinking.

  ‘Come on—what have you got to lose?’

  ‘An ankle? A leg?’ Dignity. She hadn’t skated in years, and she didn’t want to fall flat on her face again. Not in front of him.

  ‘It’ll be fun.’

  He made everything seem so simple. As they got nearer the rink, the sound of the blades as they scraped over the ice sent chills across her skin. Her fingers were numb as she pulled the rented skates on, and yet her cheeks felt hot.

  He already had his skates on, able to stand on the thin blades of the boots with no problem, slipping his foot into place as if he’d done it a thousand times. She made him walk to the gate first, not wanting him to see the way she wobbled in the boots—and they weren’t even on the ice yet.

  She clutched the rail and gave him a baleful glare as he glided out a few metres—smooth and graceful as a swan. ‘When did you last go skating?’

  He grinned, winked, slid back towards her. ‘Come on—I’ll help you.’

  She stared some more. He was a pro. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said sarcastically, as he took her hands and pulled her onto the ice. ‘You did figure skating as a kid. Wore those tight leotard things and did triple axles or whatever.’ She’d watched a few Winter Olympics. She knew good when she saw it.

  He laughed. ‘Ice hockey.’

  Oh, great. Aggression on ice. ‘Isn’t that really violent?’

  ‘It’s challenging.’ He was laughing. ‘And great fun.’

  She failed to see how sharp blades and flying pucks and big men going unstoppably fast could be fun. But she couldn’t comment, could hardly keep her legs from splitting in opposite directions—and then they did, and her humour came bouncing back.

  ‘It’s like anything, Imogen. The more you work at it, the better you get.’ He was containing his laughter. Just.

  She didn’t mind, was too busy giggling herself—giggling so hard, in fact, she lost control and sat with a bump.

  ‘And when you fall down you get back up again.’ He gave her a hand.

  Like with the presents he’d brought her to wrap, she knew he wasn’t just talking about skating.

  ‘Sure, but you try not to make the same mistakes.’ For example she knew she had to keep her legs together when near Ryan.

  He gave her a sideways look. ‘Are you in the habit of repeating your mistakes?’

  ‘I’m trying not to.’ Trying really hard. Only he was making it exceptionally difficult, and she was smiling too much to keep control of her emotions the way she should be.

  He moved in front, skating backwards so he could face her.

  ‘Okay.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘That’s just showing off.’

  ‘Skate with me, then. I won’t let you fall.’

  He went behind her, hands on her hips, locomotive style, pushing her gently but not
too fast. ‘See—you’re getting it.’

  ‘I haven’t skated since I was a little kid.’

  ‘Do you ice skate in New Zealand?’

  ‘We have a few commercial rinks. We don’t have many lakes that freeze, or anything. I went a few times—count ’em on one hand. But I did roller blade.’ And her balance was coming back now. Not enough to go super-fast, but enough to feel confident.

  ‘Wearing hot pants?’

  She laughed. ‘Never.’

  Once she had the rhythm he skated beside her, linking his arm through hers. He wasn’t even watching where they were going. He was just watching her and smiling. ‘Feel better?’

  ‘You know I do.’

  His smile deepened and he then looked ahead. ‘There’s nothing like fresh air to clear your head.’

  She rubbed her nose. ‘Very fresh air.’

  ‘You got numb lips again?’

  ‘No.’ She wobbled. He chuckled.

  They slowly went round the rink—again, and then again.

  ‘Are you enjoying your studying?’

  ‘Yes, I am. I never thought I would like studying that much, but actually it’s great.’ She’d found a job she was good at—and was determined to do even better. It was one thing she felt she could be sure of. Then she thought of his background and felt embarrassed. ‘It’s not like what you did, though—hardly Harvard.’

  ‘I didn’t go to Harvard.’

  ‘You didn’t?’ She frowned. In that brief search she’d done she was sure she’d read that they all went to Harvard.

  ‘My dad did, and my brother and sisters did. But I didn’t want to.’

  ‘What did you want to do?’

  Now he looked a little embarrassed. ‘I wanted to play ice hockey. So I did my undergrad degree in Canada—home of ice hockey.’

  ‘Did you play?’

  ‘Semi-pro.’

  Wow. No wonder he was good at skating. But the no-to-Harvard was even more interesting. ‘Did your dad mind?’

  ‘For a while. He got over it.’ He was quiet a moment. ‘Once he saw how serious I was, he really came on board. He even built a rink at—’

  ‘How come you ended up working for the family?’

  He looked surprised at her interruption, but Imogen didn’t want to hear about his money. Not, Oh, I had a whim to play hockey, so Daddy built me my own stadium-sized rink kind of money.

  ‘I guess I didn’t fall too far from the tree after all.’ His smile was wide. ‘I wanted to succeed in business, but I wanted to do it my own way. So I did my MBA at a school just outside Paris.’

  ‘Paris?’

  ‘Which was why doing French in Canada was helpful.’

  Double-wow—a man of many talents. But then she’d known that already, hadn’t she?

  ‘And then I stayed on the Continent—away from the family empire until I was ready for it.’

  ‘And you’re ready now?’

  ‘I think so.’ He nodded. ‘I’m determined to be.’

  She glanced at him—that sounded a little as if Mr American-All-Star had the need to prove something. ‘What happened to hockey?’

  ‘A knee injury that kept me on the bench for most of my last season. A realisation that I did want to do other things.’ He turned to her suddenly. ‘What about you? How did you end up in Edinburgh? Why so far from home?’

  Why indeed? She kept her focus on moving her skates. ‘We all do it. Get a job for a while, earn some money, then go overseas and travel.’

  ‘What job did you do?’

  ‘Office admin in an accountancy firm.’

  ‘Why didn’t you do your studying with them?’

  That would have been perfect—on-the-job experience in an accountancy firm. ‘It didn’t work out.’

  ‘Why not?’

  Because she’d been fool enough to sleep with her boss. Fool enough to think a guy like him could love a girl like her—as if their core values could ever harmonise.

  ‘It just didn’t.’ Her legs wobbled. ‘I like it here a lot. I love the store. It’s a great environment. I love—’

  ‘Mixing business and pleasure?’

  She gave him a cool look. What exactly did he mean by that?

  ‘Shopping.’ He grinned. ‘What woman doesn’t like shopping? And you get to work and get quali fied in one of the most exclusive stores in the country.’

  He swapped position again, moved back behind her, only closer this time. He measured his legs to hers, matching the rhythm of her gliding, wrapped his arms around her waist.

  ‘Are we ice dancing?’ She couldn’t get air to her lungs, and it wasn’t because of the exercise.

  ‘Just about.’

  She really ought to move away. She really ought. But one more lap wouldn’t hurt—would it?

  One lap later she forced her flustered self to skate to the rail and jerk her head back to the rink. ‘Show me how it’s done properly.’ She needed him to move away now, or she was in grave danger of moving his hands south into more intimate places. His body was harder than the ice they were skating on and burning hotter than the sun—despite their layers of clothing.

  ‘You’ve accused me of showing off once already,’ he protested, still deliciously close to her. ‘I’m not risking that again.’

  ‘I won’t say that this time. Show me. I can feel you reining yourself in.’

  ‘Oh, I am. But not about the skating.’

  ‘Go burn some energy, then.’

  He looked tempted.

  ‘Go on. Go. It’ll take me for ever to get these skates off anyway.’

  ‘Okay, then. Just a couple of minutes.’

  He went with her to the exit, made sure she was fine sitting on one of the benches and able to get her boots off. Laughing, she shooed him away. Watched him and promptly forgot about undoing her laces.

  How could such a big guy look so graceful? How did he glide so smoothly like that? He was fast, fluid. She wasn’t the only one watching him. Some kids were pointing him out to each other. Others on the ice moved, giving him a clean run on the outer edge of the rink.

  His hair was wind-whipped, his eyes glowing. Colour tinged his cheeks, but best of all was the wide white smile and the sheer joy emanating from him. He seemed so in tune—with his body, with his place in the world. Confident, assured, capable, free—happy doing what he liked to do. Simple. He scared her. He really scared her. That carefree approach—enjoying every moment in life to its full and not worrying about tomorrow. But then, he’d never had to worry about tomorrow.

  Sliding to a stop with a harsh scrape, he called over the barrier to her. ‘What’s that look for?’

  ‘I’m feeling sorry for your mother. It must have been hell giving birth to you with those ice skates attached to your feet.’

  He laughed.

  She shook her head. ‘Seriously. You’re good.’

  Seriously, he was gorgeous.

  ‘You’re not bad yourself.’

  ‘Ha.’

  THE WINTRY EDINBURGH afternoon sky was darkening. And she was having very bad thoughts of hot baths and even hotter bodies. ‘I should get—’

  ‘I’ll walk with you.’ He knew. ‘Don’t want you slipping and grazing your knee down the hill.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She was only slightly sarcastic.

  ‘Means I get to hold your hand some more.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’

  ‘A man’s got to take what he can get.’

  ‘You think?’

  ‘Hell, yes.’

  She shivered, all hot and cold and going crazy.

  He pulled her into the café at the bottom of the hill. ‘I can think of a better way of warming you up from the inside out, but I think this is the only way you’re going to let me today.’

  Her reply was simply to order coffee.

  Somehow another hour passed. An hour in which he shared jokes and bad ice hockey stories and had her laughing so hard that at one point tears were running down her cheeks. The skies outside comple
tely darkened, and in the warm window of the café the lights from the fake Christmas tree in the corner flickered on his face. She was so nearly spellbound.

  He didn’t hold her hand as they walked the final stretch to her apartment in the tenement block. Imogen felt the tension rising between them. Neither of them was laughing now.

  Partway up her path, he asked, ‘Come out with me tonight?’

  ‘Ryan, I can’t.’

  ‘You mean you won’t? You won’t even give us a chance?’

  ‘We’re co-workers. There is no us. We had one night.’

  ‘Even then you didn’t stick around ’til morning. Technically you owe me a few hours.’

  ‘Ryan…’ Was he joking? Couldn’t he see how much of an edge she was on? A big, high, wide-open window ledge—and she was scared.

  She heard his sigh. ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll claim them later.’

  He turned, and she couldn’t see anything at all any more as her vision blurred. Then she heard him mutter something else and he turned back.

  ‘Damn it, I am going to take this.’

  But he didn’t take. His lips were warm and gentle as they teased over hers—inviting, invoking such delight that, helpless to resist, she opened for him, let him deepen the contact. Only then his kiss gave and offered too much—promise. Such sweet promise.

  Every muscle inside her softened, aching to take the rest of him in, wanting him to take more. Reeling, she felt ready to give in, was longing to believe in him.

  But she knotted her hands together to stop herself reaching for him. Digging her nails into her palms to keep that last part of her rational. She couldn’t have him again—not now she knew his potency. She’d be ad dicted, she’d be lost to him—and all too soon he’d be finished with her and she would lose everything. Promises made were too easily broken.

  He lifted his head, looking more sombre than she’d ever seen him. Gone was the usual smile in his eyes. Instead he studied her so seriously that she felt afraid.

  ‘Whoever he was, he must have been one hell of a jerk.’

  She pulled back, face on fire, her brain kicking her body as she remembered. ‘He was.’

  But Ryan stepped into her space, lifting her chin with his finger, forcing her to look him in the eye as he had the last word. ‘I’m not him.’