'Tis the Season

by Carole Mortimer, Alison Roberts

  Liar, liar—her pants should be hot ashes already. She loved tra di tion.

  ‘Well, if you change your mind…’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It really was very sweet. But once again she wanted the ground to open up and snatch her away in one big bite. Please let this conversation be over. She chanced another glance at him. He was still looking at her, leaning against the doorjamb, papers in hand, legs too long and chest too strong for her not to start panting.

  She twisted her mouth—almost smiling, but not quite able to. She wanted to say she was sorry. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted him to tease her again.

  Instead he went back to his office. But he didn’t shut the door.

  AS USUAL, AFTER HER official workday had ended, Imogen stayed on in the Christmas Shop. ‘O Holy Night’ was playing again. She focused on the wrap and the ribbon, and helping to make someone else’s season that little bit special. Five customers into it, she saw him watching from where he stood by the forest of brightly lit trees in the corner. Jacketless, arms folded across his chest, showing off his wonderfully broad shoulders. Their eyes met and held—his as blue as ever.

  Her heartbeat faster and all her fingers suddenly seemed to have hard plaster casts on them. They wouldn’t work properly. She tied a bow for the third time and looked down the queue at all the people waiting. Should she excuse herself after this customer? Ryan looked as if he might want to talk. She wanted to talk to him—to try again. Slower perhaps this time. She glanced at him again, felt the unstoppable upsurge of emotion—want and need and other things too scary to name. Maybe not so slow. Nerves and in decision and insecurity gave her hot and cold sweats.

  But her current customer had four presents to be wrapped. And when she’d finally done the last Ryan had gone.

  Later she went up to the office to pick up her coat—more than hopeful that he’d be there. But the lights were out and it was empty.

  She walked home feeling more lonely than she ever had in all the eight months she’d lived in Edinburgh. Until he’d arrived she’d been fine—hadn’t she? She’d put everything into her work and her study, forged a friendship with Shona, and been happy to settle for a safe, quiet life.

  Only now she wasn’t happy. Not at all. Ryan Taylor had made her want all kinds of things—things that she couldn’t believe he could want to give her—things like love and commitment. There was only one thing to do. She pulled out her phone and dialled.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hi, Mum, it’s me.’ Even just hearing her mother’s voice gave her a lift.

  ‘Imogen, love, how are you? It’s Imogen!’

  Imogen held the phone from her ear as her mother let her father and the rest of the neighbourhood know she’d rung. ‘I’m fine, Mum—how are you?’

  ‘Good, love, good.’

  Imogen knew she’d left it too long between phone calls. Had blamed it on being busy, with working full-time and studying on top. In reality she’d isolated herself from her family and friends. She’d been so humiliated, so hurt. But had her own silly pride made her hurt more?

  ‘Have you got everything organised?’ She was eager to bond over day-to-day detail.

  ‘Well, I can hardly shut the fridge, as usual—your father ordered a ham the size of Australia.’

  Imogen smiled at the familiar mental image. ‘Were you up all night making the pav?’

  ‘Of course.’ Her mother sighed. ‘We have far too much food.’

  ‘You’ll burn it off playing cricket.’

  ‘I suppose. Derek’s mown a pitch in the park again. Don’t know what the council will say.’

  Imogen would have laughed then—if it hadn’t been for the wistful ache in her body. ‘They won’t mind. It’s Christmas.’ Homesickness washed over her. Her family had fun traditions.

  ‘It’s going to be a good day. What about you, love? You got good plans?’

  ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied. ‘I’m having dinner with some friends.’

  ‘Did my parcel arrive?’

  ‘Yes, and I promise I haven’t opened it yet.’ Although given her mother had dutifully named every item on the customs sticker on the outside of the box she knew exactly what it contained.

  As she listened to her mother talk about their plans, she remembered the previous Christmas, and the shame she’d felt. Her parents had rallied round her, but all she’d done was get out of there as fast as possible. She’d let the nightmare of George make her feel as if she and her family weren’t good enough—not even for a creep like him. She’d turned her back and run away. How could she have been so disloyal to them? Her parents worked hard and loved harder. She should be proud of them, and proud of where she’d come from. She’d been stupid in thinking she had nothing to offer. And she’d been even more stupid in laying George’s failings onto Ryan. Ryan was more of a man than George could ever be—and he was honest. His accusation had been right—she’d been childish. She needed to grow up and grow some courage.

  SHE GOT TO WORK LATER than usual the next day. She had frit tered away time trying to think of a way she could fix things with Ryan. She’d been so scathing, so insulting, and he hadn’t deserved it. She wanted to take a chance on him—but would he still want to give her one?

  His office was empty and dark. She tried to relax, but was anxious all morning. Still he didn’t arrive. At last she could take the agony no more.

  ‘Shona, what time is Ryan getting in?’

  ‘Oh, pet.’ Shona looked up from her desk. ‘He’s gone back to the States for Christmas with his family. Left last night. Didn’t you know?’

  ‘Oh.’ Imogen felt as if she was in a plane that had suddenly plunged two thousand feet. ‘Of course.’ Her stomach had been left up at cruising altitude while her body was hurtling to the ground.

  ‘That reminds me.’ Shona opened her drawer and pulled something from the top. ‘He left everyone one of these.’ She handed Imogen an envelope. ‘Christmas card, I think. Who knows? Maybe it’ll have a nice bonus in it.’

  Imogen didn’t want a bonus. She didn’t want a card. She wanted to see him, and more than anything she wanted to touch him.

  She waited for her so mersaulting stomach to rejoin the rest of her before sliding a finger beneath the seal and pulling out the card. As she opened it, a red heart—scarlet red—fluttered to her desk. She picked it up, using the loop of gold thread at the top. In the centre of the heart another heart shape had been cut out—a smaller heart, hung by a gold thread in the space. A heart enclosed in another heart. As she hung it on her finger the heart swung and the smaller heart spun inside the larger one. Down near the bottom on one side he’d scrawled his name and the year.

  He’d made a neat job of it, but it was undeniably, heartbreakingly home-made.

  Imogen didn’t think she’d ever received anything so precious in all her life. Now her stomach had tied itself into more kinds of knots than a round-the-world sailor could master.

  ‘I don’t think anyone else got one of those,’ Shona said quietly, slyly.

  Shona was no fool, but Imogen couldn’t bear to talk to her about him. ‘Do you mind if I go for a walk?’

  ‘No. Take as long as you like.’

  Imogen stood, determined to get out of there before she bawled—or threw up.

  ‘He’ll be back in the New Year,’ said Shona. ‘It’s only a few days.’

  But that felt like eons, and she needed to talk to him now—because she was more of a fool than the emperor with no clothes. She was the one not able to see what was right under her nose—until it was gone.

  She walked along the busy street, barely noticing the Christmas crush and the cold of the wind through her shirt. She walked and walked, wanting to believe that there was so much more to his gesture than a simple Christmas decoration.

  She got to the bridge where they’d kissed that first time. Even now she felt the passion of that moment burn. She should have taken him then and held on tight. Why had she let one idiot ruin wh
at was the most emotional experience of her life? Hadn’t she let George do enough damage already?

  She’d tried to bury it, to pretend that emotion didn’t exist. Denied herself in the hope it would disappear. The stupid thing was that it hadn’t worked anyway. That emotion was too strong, and now it threatened to overwhelm her.

  She still had his Christmas card in her hand. She stopped halfway across the bridge and read it. It was a brief message in bold, black handwriting, wishing her a Merry Christmas. But it was the scrawl at the bottom—seemingly added in a rush at the end—that caught her attention.

  ‘Call me.’ There was a number alongside.

  She got out her phone, dialled the number—and pressed the phone to her ear before she had the chance to think, chicken out or press the end button on the phone instead.

  It rang and rang and rang. Then she heard his voice.

  ‘Hi, it’s…’

  ‘Ryan, it’s me. Imogen.’

  But he was still talking.

  ‘…can’t take your call right now. Leave a message and I’ll get back to you when I can.’

  She took a deep breath. Waited ages for the beep—before realising the beep had already sounded and she was leaving a stalker silence and heavy breathing for him.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Ryan. It’s Imogen. I didn’t hear the beep. Um…’ She cringed, breathed, ploughed on. ‘I missed you today. I didn’t get to say goodbye. But I got your card. And your… The heart. Ryan, I wish I could talk to you. I wish I could see you.’ She was whis pering now. ‘I wanted to explain. You’ve always said this is simple, Ryan, and I’ve always said it isn’t. But that’s because I’m scared. It’s hard ad mit ting that, when you’re so sure and confident in everything. I’m not sure about where this is going, and whether you really want what I want. But I went about it wrong and I pushed you away, and now you’re gone, and the stupid thing is it’s too late for me anyway. Because I do… I really have…fallen in lo—’

  The beep was harsh, followed by another series of beeps signalling disconnection.

  Imogen screwed up her face. Doubt and a sense of futility mounted. He’d probably forgotten her already. Worse, he might call her back and try to let her down gently—admitting that all he had wanted was a brief affair.

  And then all her emotion erupted—hot rivers of rage and mortification and despair engulfed her. Long before she could think, she threw the phone over the railing.

  It sank into the Water of Leith below.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ‘IMOGEN, WE NEED TO HAVE a meeting.’

  Imogen looked up from where she’d been staring blankly at her computer screen. She wasn’t quite crying into her coffee, but she wasn’t far off.

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes. Let’s go downstairs.’

  Into the shop? Unable to muster the energy even to ask why, Imogen just stood and followed Shona. It was only when they went right to the basement and into the exclusive beauty salon there that she gave her manager a questioning look.

  ‘It’s a tra di tion of mine every Christmas Eve,’ Shona said. ‘I see no reason to change it.’ She turned to the beau ti cian. ‘You have our appointments?’

  ‘But Shona—’

  Shona winked and followed the beau ti cian to the big comfortable chairs behind the gleaming tables. ‘Half an hour away isn’t going to sink the books, Imogen. We’ve both been working very hard. I’ll settle it with Ryan if there’s any problem. But I’m sure there won’t be.’

  Imogen sat and studied her nails. It was the first time his name had come up between them since the day Shona had given her his card, and she still wasn’t about to talk. Instead she gave herself over to the luxury of being pampered. Given how busy the in-store salon was at the best of times, Shona must have booked this months ago to get them in today.

  Twenty minutes later, as she watched the beau ti cian put on polish with skilled, sure strokes, she accepted the inevitable. She was going to have to leave. Everywhere she looked, just being in the store, she thought of him. And, as heartbreaking as the thought of leaving was, the thought of staying was devastating.

  ‘What colour did you go with?’ Shona asked from where she was seated at the table behind hers.

  ‘Christmas red.’ Actually, it was more like hussy red, but Imogen liked it and had decided to wear it on the outside for once—not just underneath. She had the jade shirt on—could pretend it was Christmas green. All she needed now was some light-up novelty earrings and, hey presto, season’s greetings. If only she could jolly up her insides just as easily.

  Hours later, some soprano was trilling her way through ‘All I Want for Christmas’, and there was an infinite queue of people wanting their last-minute presents wrapped. Imogen worked fast, glad of the business that kept her mind and body occupied. She didn’t want the evening to end—didn’t want the store to close. Because then she’d have to go home and face the reality of a lonely Christmas. So she kept her head down, folding paper and pulling ribbon, smiling hard as she handed each present over to each excited shopper.

  Less than an hour to go and she was hot—and her happy day façade was starting to dis in te grate.

  ‘Excuse me, please.’

  She jumped, eyes up, instantly alert. Had she just heard—? Ryan?

  She watched as he pushed his way to the front of the queue.

  Weird how the music seemed to fade out and everyone around her seemed to stop still. Even Kristen, one of the not-spotty students, stopped wrapping and stood staring—as did her customer.

  Only Ryan could have such an impact on the world. And Ryan looking like this was a force impossible to ignore.

  She’d never seen him look so scruffy. Black jeans, a crumpled black tee shirt, rumpled hair. So damn gorgeous. So damn dangerous.

  Because he made her heart stop. Then it slammed in her chest. She shud dered with the thud of it. Gripped the scissors as though determined to take them to the grave with her.

  ‘Did you mean it?’ He sounded as if he hadn’t spoken in days, or maybe as if he’d done nothing but for months—his voice was worn out and raspy. ‘Did you mean what you said?’

  She looked into his face, saw past the travel stains and the sexy unshaved jaw to the tired eyes—the vulnerable eyes. She’d never seen any hint of uncertainty in him before, and she’d nearly missed it now.

  Emotion clogged her throat. What an idiot she’d been. This guy was nothing like George. This guy was begging her to believe. Was there really that much hope hidden in there?

  Suddenly she knew she had to repeat it, that most scary of things, in front of a store full of people. From somewhere she had to find courage. She gripped the scissors even harder. ‘Actually, I didn’t get to finish saying what I meant.’

  ‘And what was that?’

  No holding back. There was nothing more to lose. ‘I love you.’

  His lashes dropped, hiding his reaction from her. He cleared his throat. ‘I have a present I’d like wrapped.’

  ‘Did you hear what I said?’

  ‘Yes. Can you wrap this, please?’

  Imogen blinked. Felt her whole body toasting under the grill of humiliation. She wanted to evaporate, eviscerate—whatever, she wanted out of there. But she couldn’t with all the world watching.

  ‘It already is wrapped.’

  ‘They didn’t do such a good job. Can you do it again?’

  With five bows? How humiliating. She ripped off the paper with rough jerks.

  ‘It was done by one of those weird people who put the ribbon on the inside,’ he said.

  Sure enough, a deep red ribbon was underneath. She started to unwind it, quickly revealing a green and gold packet of chocolate-covered pep per mint creams. She held the packet in one hand and stared at the ribbon in the other. Something was hanging on it.

  ‘See—isn’t it much more fun?’

  She’d been too busy staring down to see that he’d moved around the table. Now he was right behind her. But she couldn
’t turn to look at him—couldn’t take her eyes off—

  ‘What?’ Now it was her voice that was little more than a croak.

  ‘Opening your presents on Christmas Eve,’ he said in her ear. He took the ribbon from her shaking fingers, placed it over her head so it hung around her neck—and the gleaming square-cut diamond ring that was threaded on it rested between her breasts.

  ‘We need to talk some more before you decide which finger to put that on.’

  ‘Ryan—’

  His hands were firm on her waist as he turned her around. ‘But before we do that, we need to do this.’

  He crushed her so close that it was a struggle to breathe, let alone raise her arms and cling. But somehow, eventually, despite kissing him back with the ferocity of a famished lioness, she managed. He smelt so good, tasted so good, felt so good. And she was so desperate to touch him that she shook with the fever of it. Next thing she knew he’d scooped her up and was striding somewhere—she didn’t care where, because all that mattered was the way he was loving her with his lips.

  Vaguely she figured that that the shrieking soprano’s song must have been a live recording, because she could hear a lot of applause now. And then the noise died away and they were in the lift. Without breaking the searing kiss he managed to swipe his security card and press the button. Moments later his office door closed behind them, and he pinned her against the wall while he snibbed the lock.

  ‘I can’t wait for the hotel tonight,’ he growled. ‘It has to be the desk.’

  ‘I’ve had a desk fantasy for weeks,’ she admitted breathlessly.

  The sudden blaze in his eyes was so wicked she’d have swooned if she’d had to be supporting her own weight. Instead she just leaned back as he placed her on the desk, and pulled his shirt to make him follow.

  He didn’t disappoint, raining kisses on her face and neck.

  ‘I’ve missed you. Missed this. Longed for this.’

  That rawness in his voice tugged deep in her heart.

  ‘Ryan—’