‘I seem to have a naked man standing in my bedroom.’
He jerked upright. ‘God, woman, you scared me. I thought you were fast asleep.’
‘Are you heading home?’
His imagination, or did she sound a lot cooler than she had last night? ‘Not unless you want me to.’
‘Then what are you doing?’
Something about Gabby’s tone made him feel uncomfortable having this conversation with his private parts on display. Feeling like a shy teenager, he moved the jeans he was clutching to cover his modesty. ‘I was trying not to wake you.’ As he didn’t like the way she was looking at him, he went to perch on the bed next to her. ‘I wasn’t about to leave.’ He brushed his hand along her face. ‘You have to know this meant way more than a one-night stand to me.’
Gabby didn’t know. Last night had been incredible; the meal, the conversation and the sex. It was why it had been so easy to let him stay over, something she didn’t usually encourage. She enjoyed living on her own, enjoyed her own space, doing her own thing. If men stayed over, it was usually because they’d fallen asleep. Owen had stayed because he’d asked, and she’d … heck, she’d wanted him to. Helped by the way he’d made it all feel so easy, so natural. But then she’d woken to see him sneaking out, or so she’d thought, and she’d been shocked to find she was hurt.
‘Gabby?’ His expression radiated sincerity.
‘If you’re going to stay, you need to get back into bed.’ She glanced at the bedside clock. ‘Nobody in their right mind gets up and dressed at six-thirty a.m. on a Saturday unless they have to.’
Wordlessly he dropped the jeans he’d been rather amusingly using to cover himself – it’s not like he was shy, nor, she could confirm, did he have anything to be shy about – and climbed back into bed. The moment his warm body wrapped around her, she drifted back off to sleep.
Two hours later she woke to the feel of his hand stroking her breast. The hard, hot press of his arousal against her backside.
‘Is this you not waking me up again?’
His breath fanned against her back as he laughed. ‘Oops.’
Why did it feel so right to wake in this man’s arms, when other men had made her feel boxed in? His hand drifted lower and as his mouth left a hot trail of kisses along her spine, she arched her back in pleasure. Perhaps the whys didn’t matter. If it was just sexual chemistry, it would soon fizzle out. If it was more … well, then she’d be entering unchartered waters. And she’d approach it as she did everything in life; cautiously, pragmatically.
His big body shifted, covering hers, and a moan of arousal escaped her as she tugged him closer, abandoning herself to the desire flooding through her.
‘So, this holiday you’re planning.’ Owen sat at her breakfast bar, a pile of scrambled eggs on toast in front of him. She must be losing her mind, she thought as she settled down opposite him. She’d never made a man breakfast before.
‘What about it?’
His blue eyes twinkled, his smile oozing charm. ‘When are you going to realise it would be much more fun with a companion?’
She forced herself to keep chewing the mouthful of eggs. To swallow. It was still far too early, but heaven help her, now she could imagine a long sandy beach. Him lying next to her, tanned skin over rippling muscles. Tiny trunks – it was her fantasy, after all.
Sex. Lots of holiday sex.
Feeling the beginnings of a blush, she stared determinedly down at her plate, focusing on the eggs, on her breathing. ‘Who do you suggest I take?’ she asked when she’d regained her composure.
‘How about someone you’ve just spent an amazing night with?’
She tried to keep her lips from twitching. ‘Umm, I’ll have to think. There are so many to choose from.’ His arm shot out and grasped her hand. When she looked up, she was surprised to see the smile had vanished from his face.
‘Gabby.’ He heaved out a sigh. ‘That’s a joke, right? Not that I care how many men there have been. As long as they aren’t in the picture now.’
The glimpse of vulnerability floored her. ‘Of course it was a joke. The only man to have shared my bed in the last …’ Her mind skipped backwards. ‘You’re the only man to have been in my bed in two years.’ The only man I’ve woken up next to in even longer.
‘Good.’ The easy smile slipped back onto his face. ‘Should I pack a case then?’
‘Whoa.’ It was crazy to be considering this. Utterly and completely. ‘We probably don’t even want the same type of holiday.’
She didn’t miss the flash of triumph. The salesman who knew he’d had a nibble, and now just needed to reel it in. ‘My ideal holiday is with a hot brunette, preferably somewhere she can wear a bikini.’
‘I fancy Iceland.’
He shuddered briefly before snapping back into charm mode. ‘A hot brunette in a hot spring works for me.’
‘Seriously? You’d go to Iceland?’
His expression looked slightly pained but she had to give him credit for the ring of sincerity in his voice. ‘As long as it’s with you, I’d go anywhere.’
Please don’t melt, please don’t melt, please don’t … too late. She felt some of the strong defences she’d built up around her heart start to crack. ‘What do you have planned this morning?’
A wicked gleam entered his eyes. ‘I’m up to going back to bed if you are.’
Utterly amused by him, she started to laugh. ‘I was thinking more of whether you fancied a trip to the travel agent.’
In the process of forking up some more eggs, his hand stilled and his eyes searched hers. ‘Is that to watch you book yourself a holiday?’
‘Yes.’ The disappointment that flooded his face would have been comical, if it hadn’t touched her so much. ‘But also so you can book to come with me. If you want to.’
And now his expression was one of obvious, unfiltered pleasure. He shovelled a final, mighty mouthful of eggs into his mouth, drained the last of his orange juice, and stood up. ‘What are we waiting for?’
Chapter Seven
Thirteen days before Christmas
Owen shrugged on his jacket and straightened his tie. A final glance in the mirror and he called himself ready. The sight of Father Christmas’s backside sticking out of a chimney wasn’t particularly attractive. Then again, Christmas ties weren’t supposed to look good, just ridiculous. This certainly fitted that description. The dress code for the work Christmas party was smart, so he wasn’t sure how many other garish ties there’d be, but Owen had never been the type to bow to peer pressure. He’d say what he wanted (though he didn’t cause offence unless it was deserved), do what he wanted (as long as it was legal), and wear what he wanted.
He’d also go after what he wanted, and he was pretty certain what he wanted was a five foot eight marketing dynamo with legs like a supermodel. And a mind far sharper than his own.
Inside his jacket pocket, his phone buzzed.
Running a bit late. Shall I meet you there? Gabby xx
An innocuous text, but he knew her well enough now to be able to read behind the lines, and what she was actually saying was: I’m not sure I’m ready to let everyone know we’re together yet.
Determinedly he typed out his reply.
I’m on my way to yours. I can help you dress. O x
Quick as a flash he received a reply.
Was that a typo?
Grinning, he replied.
No typo. I’ll help you dress, after I’ve helped you undress. O x
He was in the car before his phone buzzed again.
I’m not going to a work party looking like I’ve just had sex. No touching until afterwards.
He’d see about that.
Presume looking is acceptable? O x
He was just about to put his phone back in his jacket when she texted again.
Only if it’s not obvious. See you soon.
And that, he thought ruefully, was where they had reached an impasse. He wanted everyone in the
office to know Gabby was his. Yeah, that sounded possessive, but where she was concerned, it seemed he was that guy. The one who wanted to mark his territory, who looked daggers at any other male who glanced in her direction. The man who told everyone, ad nauseam, that Gabby Sanderson was his girlfriend.
So far she’d baulked at telling anyone other than Cindy. He wasn’t going to lie, it was starting to piss him off.
Within half an hour he was knocking on her door. Ten seconds later, his eyes were bugging out of their sockets. He must have looked a picture, because she laughed. ‘I take it you approve?’
He wanted those long, long legs, revealed by the red sequin dress, wrapped around his waist. ‘Give me ten minutes and I’ll show you how much I approve.’
‘Ten minutes?’
‘I can be quicker. Can’t promise to be longer.’ Because he didn’t want her to think this was all about sex, he took a step closer, tilted her head a fraction – her sexy silver stilettoes made her nearly as tall as him – and kissed her softly on the mouth. ‘You look stunning.’
‘Thank you.’
Though she smiled, her eyes were guarded and frustration bubbled inside him. Funny how she backed away the moment he even hinted at anything heavier between them. ‘Thought you were running late? You look ready to me.’
Another flash of wariness. ‘Seems I caught up quicker than I thought.’
‘Or perhaps you wanted to turn up alone?’
To her credit, she looked apologetic. ‘That obvious, huh?’
‘What’s less obvious is why you don’t want anyone knowing about us.’
She huffed out a breath, turning away from him. ‘We’ve been through this. It makes things awkward when we work together.’
‘It’s more awkward people not knowing that I’m sleeping with the woman they’re telling me they admire/find annoying/fantasise about having sex with.’
Her head snapped round to stare at him, those damn brown eyes so wide they almost took over her face. ‘Please tell me that hasn’t happened.’
‘What, the first, second or third point? It’s a mute question anyway, because I’ve had all three.’ True the last one had been before he’d started dating her. If it had happened after, he couldn’t honestly say he wouldn’t have punched the guy who’d said it. And then waved goodbye to his career.
Her expression turned quickly from horror to one of regret. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think about the other side to it.’
He smiled ruefully. ‘Not been plagued by women telling you they want to shag the sales director?’
She slipped her arms around his neck. ‘I keep being told you’re hot.’
‘You do, huh?’ His ego enjoyed the stroke, though his heart knew it was only what she thought that mattered. ‘What do you say?’
Her mouth nipped at his bottom lip. ‘I agree with them.’
‘Good answer.’
For a few minutes they kissed. Nothing heavy; soft kisses, gentle strokes. His hand up and down her back. Her hands in his hair. When he felt the shift inside from want to need, from light to dark, he reluctantly pulled away. ‘If you don’t want to go to the party with sex hair, we’d better get going.’
As Owen drove to the country hotel where the party was being held, Gabby was aware that things weren’t settled between them. He was upset with her. And maybe now she could see his point. Not telling people at work was deceptive. Telling them though … unease swished around in her stomach. That was a big step. It made this thing between them real. Gave it both a sense of importance, and of permanence.
Gabby had never had permanence with anyone in her life.
But was it fair on him, on either of them, to let her fears strangle what was blossoming between them? And it was blossoming. Not just growing, but blooming. When she wasn’t with him, she thought about him. When she was with him, she found herself smiling just for the hell of it.
He made her happy. He made her think of future possibilities she’d never considered before.
When he opened the car door for her – she hadn’t just accepted his manners, she was fast becoming charmed by them – she took his hand. And held onto it all the way to the entrance.
He gave her a questioning look when they stepped inside and she buried her nerves, ignored the dark thoughts – don’t get too settled, this won’t last, nothing ever does – and gripped his hand tighter.
Her reward? A smile from him that seemed to light up everything inside her. Followed by a kiss that had her seconds away from dissolving on the front step. But then he was tugging her inside, and the butterflies of joy gave way to a slithering nest of nervous snakes.
They strode into the foyer and predictably drew stares from the crowd gathered by the giant Christmas tree. Gabby tried not to freeze, tried to smile as the comments came thick and fast.
You’re a pair of dark horses.
That mulled wine must be stronger than I thought, I’m seeing things.
And her particular favourite:
Who’s going to tell Owen he’s punching way above his weight?
But as she joined in the chat, drinking the mulled wine and listening to Paul McCartney wishing her a ‘Wonderful Christmas Time’ through the speakers, the world didn’t come to an end. Not even when a photographer snapped a photo of her smiling into Owen’s eyes by the tree.
Slowly, Gabby began to relax. So, her work colleagues knew she was dating Owen. By the end of the evening, it would be old news.
‘I want to ask if he’s as good as he looks,’ Eve from finance whispered as she gave Owen, who was clearly receiving his own interrogation, a covetous glance. ‘But it seems a bit unprofessional.’
‘It is.’ Smugness rose up inside, and happiness curled around her. ‘The answer is yes.’
Just as Eve let out a dreamy sigh, Owen, jacket now off, his beauty undimmed despite the garish Christmas tie, turned back to them. ‘What was the question?’
Eve inhaled sharply, then began to cough. ‘I’m … umm … going to find a drink.’
Gabby watched her flee, and tried not to laugh.
‘What did I say?’ Owen looked bemused. ‘Women used to come towards me, not run off in the other direction.’
Gabby placed a proprietorial hand on his arm. ‘I’m still here.’
His expression softened, his eyes drifting from hers, to her mouth. ‘So you are.’
‘Oh no.’ She curled her fingers around his jaw and tilted his eyes back up to hers. ‘We’re not kissing in the middle of a work party.’
His resulting laugh was low and sexy. ‘I’m sure a lot worse has happened, and probably will happen again.’ He nodded over to the seating plan. ‘But as I’d rather kiss you later, in private, let’s go and see who we have to sit and make polite conversation with for the next hour.’
Ten seconds later, he groaned. ‘Dear God, what have I done to piss Cindy off?’
Cindy had been given the job of organising the red and silver themed decorations, the live band, and the seating plan. Gabby glanced to where Owen was looking, and burst out laughing. ‘Well, you did recruit her.’ Because he looked so crestfallen, she slipped a hand into his, and squeezed. ‘Hilda with a drink down her and wearing a party hat might be a very different woman.’
‘That worries me even more.’ His eyes landed on hers, and he gave her a flash of his devastating smile. ‘I don’t suppose you’d consider swopping places?’
‘Do I look like a pushover for a pretty face?’
‘Okay, okay.’ He pushed back his shoulders. ‘I’m ready to receive my fate. Oh, no, wait.’ He reached into his trouser pocket, pulling out his buzzing phone. ‘I might still be saved by the bell.’ But his handsome features formed a frown as he stared down at the caller I.D.
‘Who is it?’
‘Dad.’ Owen shook his head. ‘The man never calls me. I always have to phone him.’ She could tell the moment worry gripped him; the tightening of his fingers around the phone, the deepening of his frown lines. ‘I guess Hil
da will have to wait.’ His eyes were full of apology when they looked at her. ‘Sorry, I’d better take this.’
And then he was striding away, his tall, athletic figure cutting a dash through the partygoers and heading for the exit.
‘Dad, hang on a sec.’
Owen darted through the crowded foyer, past the towering Christmas tree, and into the dark outdoors. ‘I’m back. What’s up?’
‘Does there have to be something up for me to phone?’
At the curt reply, Owen thumped his hand on one of the pillars framing the entrance. It’s how things were between them now. It was time he got used to it. ‘You can phone me whenever you want, but you don’t.’ Damn, he shouldn’t have added those last three words.
‘I’m phoning now, aren’t I?’
And yes, the layer of annoyance, wrapped over the grumpiness, was entirely Owen’s fault. Time to smooth over. To deflate. ‘You are, and it’s good to hear from you.’ Because he knew his father, he added, ‘Any particular reason why you’re calling now?’
‘Thought my son might be interested to know I’m in hospital.’
Owen’s heart almost stopped. ‘You’re what?’
‘You heard. Damn staff won’t let me go home. Say I need to have an operation.’
‘An operation?’ His mind jumped through a whole range of awful scenarios. ‘What the hell happened?’
‘I fell. Told you that stair carpet needed tacking down.’
‘You tripped down the stairs?’
‘I tripped on the loose carpet I’d asked my son to fix because my arthritic fingers can’t hold a bloody hammer any more. And then fell down the stairs.’
Owen swallowed back his irritation. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Fractured my damn hip. They need to put a screw in it.’
A Little Christmas Charm Page 5