White-Hot Christmas

by Serenity Woods

  Wasn’t it?

  Certainly, in Merle’s meagre experience, that “zing” you got when you first met someone did not last into a relationship. Not that she’d particularly had the “zing” before. She pictured both Simon and Phil. She’d never felt anything like the attraction she felt for Neon right now. But that wasn’t the point.

  What was the point? She’d had too much wine. The point was that the “zing” wasn’t love. It was lust, desire, hunger, an itch that had to be scratched. Lust was like a flea and if you didn’t squash it quickly enough, it would give you an irritating rash. Well, she’d itched her last itch, and Bree and her three hundred bucks could go hang. Like the carefully tended lawn of a stately home, Neon Carter was now officially out of bounds. She’d built up enough hot memories to warm her through for a lifetime, and they would have to do from now on.

  Neon watched Jake’s car disappear into the distance, listening to the forlorn wail of the fire siren, and gave a long sigh. He wasn’t on shift, but he knew he should call the station, just to make sure he wasn’t needed.

  What an evening. He started to smile as he thought of how relieved she’d been when he’d asked if she wanted to…well, he hadn’t finished the sentence. Clearly it had been on her mind as much as his. He’d watched her watching him all evening, conscious she’d been studying him as he talked to his family, aware she’d sighed every time he moved, shivered every time he laughed. He’d played up to it, but then it had backfired on him, because the more aroused she got, the more turned on he got until he could feel her sexual tension across the room as clear as if she’d flashed a huge neon sign. He grinned at the pun. She wasn’t even there and she’d made him laugh.

  He turned to go indoors and stopped dead as he saw his parents in the doorway. He wiped the smile from his face and stared at them, wary at the twinkle in his mother’s eye.

  “Thinking about Merle, were we?” Julia asked.

  He glared at her. “No.”

  “Son, you’ve not been able to lie to me since the day you stole that bag of sweets from the shop and I made you go and give them back.”

  He shrugged. “Okay, I was thinking about her. So?”

  “So… What are you going to do about her?”

  He fixed her with a steely glare. “I am not having this conversation.”

  “Neon…”

  He put his hands on his hips. “Stop planning the wedding, Mother. Merle is here on holiday. I’ve known her for forty-eight hours. She lives thirteen thousand miles away. You think that’s a good basis for a long-term relationship?”

  Pierre grinned. “But you do like her.”

  “Dad, she has legs up to here and a C-cup, of course I like her.”

  Julia pouted. “You can’t fool me, sunshine—there’s more to it than that.”

  “No, Mum, really, there isn’t.” He gave her a frank look. “Do you want me to explain what I mean by that?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Go on then, pretend it’s all about sex.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s exactly what it’s all about.” He frowned. “Why pick on Merle? Why not Ella? Or Robyn? I went out with her for six months.”

  “Five and a half months of which you spent either at work or surfing. I don’t think that counts.” She studied him. She didn’t seem put off by his denial. Reaching up on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the cheek. “You’ll understand when you have children of your own one day. Parents know about these things.”

  He gave a snort. “Bollocks.”

  “Neon, really.”

  He gave a deep sigh. “I need a drink. I’m going home.” He was driving and he’d had the one beer he allowed himself.

  Pierre laughed. “Okay, son. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Neon kissed Julia, said goodbye to his aunt and uncle and the rest of his family, then got in his car and drove away.

  As he threaded through the town toward his house, he pondered on why his mother insisted there was something different about Merle. True, he had called her “special”, but it had been a slip of the tongue. It hadn’t meant anything. Had it?

  Okay, he could admit to himself now he was alone that he liked her. A lot. She made him laugh. A sense of humour was not a quality he had thought important in a woman—in fact he would have said it was a negative factor if anything, after all, uncontrollable laughter tended to have a detrimental effect on penile blood flow. But he had to admit he’d never had so much fun in bed before. Not that they had actually been in a proper bed either time. He smiled. He’d assumed their enjoyment was due to knowing right from the beginning it was only about sex, but he was beginning to wonder if that was it. She enjoyed sex as much as he did, and her enthusiasm, with the fact that she seemed to find him as attractive as he found her, combined to make sleeping with her a thoroughly enjoyable experience.

  But that had to be it. It couldn’t become anything else, even if he wanted it to. She lived across the other side of the world, and although her sister had moved here, her mother still lived in England, and she also had her career to think of.

  No, there was nothing more to be said about the matter. They’d had great sex and that was it. Stuff the stupid bet he’d made, which had only been done in jest anyway. He wasn’t going to think about her again.

  This promise to himself haunted him when he was awake at three in the morning, picturing her in his mind as he held her and slid into her, her beautiful eyes wide with desire, focussed entirely on him.

  Chapter Eight

  Christmas Day and Boxing Day passed without Merle seeing Neon again. She went to Jake’s parents for Christmas Day and spent Boxing Day at Bree’s house by the pool, and although they had several friends around in the early evening, Neon wasn’t one of them. She remembered he was on nights and wondered if he’d been out on any emergencies, then had to steer her thoughts away from the thought of him in uniform, rescuing children from a burning building.

  She forced herself to turn her attention to her family, and late in the evening while Jake watched a film in the living room, Merle went into her bedroom and dutifully rang her mother. She did so with a sinking feeling, knowing it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation.

  Sure enough, Susan was predictably melancholic and depressed at being on her own, though Merle could hear people’s voices in the background. “It sounds like there are lots of people there with you,” she said cheerfully.

  “It’s not the same as your own family.” Susan sniffed. “I miss my girls so much…”

  “It won’t be long before I’m back again, Mum.”

  “But Bree won’t be with you.” Susan burst into tears.

  Merle listened to her crying for half an hour, interspersing patient silence with assurances that everything was going to be all right and she would never leave her mother the same way Bree had abandoned her. She suppressed the resentment and irritation that rose within her when she uttered those promises. She’s sick, Merle told herself repeatedly as Susan wailed on. She needs someone to look after her, and I’m the eldest. Bree has her own family now—it’s up to me to bear this responsibility.

  But even though she was sure the illness was controlling her mother’s outrageous accusations and demands, Merle couldn’t stop the odd wave of bitterness sweeping over her. It wasn’t her fault she was the eldest. What would have happened if she’d met Mr. Right before Bree? What would her mother have done if Merle had already been married, maybe pregnant, and then Bree had met Jake? There was no way Bree would have stayed in the UK out of guilt.

  No, Merle knew she would probably have ended up having to look after a young baby and her mother at the same time. Of course many other women in the world had to look after ageing parents. Only usually it happened when the daughter was older, in her forties or fifties, with teenagers looking to leave home, not to a woman in her twenties, still single, still childless. It was all so unfair.

  But then Susan started talking about how much she missed Merle’s father, and al
l the guilt came rushing back. Susan hated being single. Sometimes Merle thought her mother was more resentful at being left alone than she was upset at her father dying. Then she felt guilty again. It seemed there was no end to that emotion where your mother was concerned.

  At some point Bree came into the room, and Merle was well aware her sister was casting her angry looks as she made her promises, but she took no notice. She didn’t bear Bree any resentment for escaping while she could, but she did get cross when Bree judged her for the way she lived her life.

  Eventually she passed the phone over to Bree, who sat there and listened to her mother’s wails for a whole five minutes before standing up, hands on hips. “I’m sorry, Mum, I’m not going to listen to this,” she said, making Merle stare in shock. “I’ve got better things to do. You know I love you, and I’m sorry you miss me, but I’m enjoying my life here and you should be happy for me rather than berating me all the time. I’ll speak to you later.” She gave Merle the phone and walked out of the room.

  Merle listened to her mother rant for another ten minutes before extricating herself from the conversation. She was sitting on the bed, staring at the phone in her hand, when Bree came back into the room.

  Bree faced her, arms crossed, her face thunderous. “Why do you put up with her? She asks you to make all those stupid promises—things a parent should never ask of their children.”

  “She misses you, and she’s not feeling well. She’s been having headaches again, and she’s still convinced the cancer hasn’t gone. She’s just vulnerable and fragile, that’s all.”

  “That’s not all.” Bree shook with anger. “She’s manipulative and controlling and unreasonable. How dare she make you promise never to leave her? What about your own life? Doesn’t it enter her head you might like to travel or move away from England?”

  “Bree, she’s no different from any other parent of that age group. They never travelled, and in their eyes, when they reach old age, they should be looked after by their children. It’s what happened when they were young and it’s very difficult for them to see any other way.”

  “Bollocks. She knows she’s got it easy when you’re there to wait on her hand and foot. And she’s hardly old, Merle, she’s only forty-seven, for Christ’s sake. She’s young enough to meet another man, if she’d stop feeling sorry for herself and get out and start living again. But she won’t because it’s too difficult and scary, and she feels safe leaving all the hard decisions and the responsibility to you.”

  Merle shrugged, turning away to look out the window. It had grown dark outside since she’d come into the bedroom—there seemed to be no twilight in New Zealand—it went from light to dark in what seemed a matter of minutes—and she could hear the kiwis calling their sorrowful cry somewhere in the bush, and the mournful hoot of the morepork. “I’m the oldest daughter, and I do feel a sense of responsibility toward her. I can’t abandon her, Bree. She’s lonely and sick. I feel sorry for her and guilty when she’s on her own.”

  Bree put her hands on her hips. “Don’t give me all that responsibility crap. We don’t know she’s still sick—they’ve given her the all clear. All that stuff she says about still feeling the cancer, it’s probably all in her head—and I don’t mean a brain tumour. She’s not eighty years old with a Zimmer frame and false teeth—she’s relatively young and perfectly capable of living independently. But you’re as bad as her, you stay with her because it’s safe—because if you tell yourself she needs you, you don’t have to take chances and get out in the world.”

  “I do take chances!” Merle was appalled. “What about Neon? I hardly call a one-night stand with a guy playing it safe.”

  “Merle, sleeping with Neon Carter’s about the safest thing you could have done.”

  “What?”

  “Having sex with a commitment-phobic guy who lives on the other side of the world? Where’s the risk in that? I mean it’s not as if there’s any chance of a relationship developing, is there?”

  Merle turned and put the phone back on the hook. “No.”

  “So it was fun and I’m glad you’ve had a great time, but it kind of proves my point. The two serious—and I use that term loosely—relationships you’ve had have been with men with less personality than a mouldy piece of cheese. Because they were safe—they weren’t going to blow your world apart or make you get off your backside and feel stuff.”

  Merle hugged her arms around her body. A tear ran down her cheek.

  Immediately Bree came up and put her arms around her. “Oh shit, what am I saying, and on Boxing Day too. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any of it, don’t listen to me, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I just feel crap because I ran off and left you with her, and I know she’s laying the guilt trip on you and it’s not fair.”

  “No,” Merle whispered, “you’re right, I know you are. I do play it safe, and I know Simon and Phil weren’t exactly James Bond. But I can’t leave her, Bree. She’s our mother, and even if she is being manipulative, it’s only born out of loneliness and fear. And she’s not well—you’ve got to remember that. The cancer frightened her and she’s terrified it’s back, and she’s going to get sick and have to cope on her own.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.”

  The two girls hugged for a while, and then Merle told her sister she was going to bed. Bree left her, and Merle undressed and slipped beneath the covers, leaving the curtains open so she could stare outside at the darkness. Neon was at the station, working through the night. Had he thought of her at all? Or had he put her out of his mind completely, glad he didn’t have to worry about her going supernova like Ella?

  It didn’t matter either way. She wouldn’t be seeing him again. At least she had the memory of the fun they’d had. She could replay it like a favourite DVD when she got back to England. But she did feel a pang of loss at the thought that she would never see him, never touch him again. Never have him touch her in that way that made her feel so good. Suddenly she wasn’t sure it was better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.

  No, she wasn’t going to lie there and say she wished she hadn’t met him. Of course she was glad. She’d had great fun, and he’d taught her sex didn’t have to be clumsy and awkward and occasionally painful because your partner missed his target. He’d been good for her because he’d made her realise she needed more from a relationship than a warm body. She wanted that “zing”, that attraction all the time, and she knew she wouldn’t rest until she found it again. And if she didn’t find it again, well, she would have to do without.

  A sudden wave of panic swept over her. Stay a spinster for the rest of her life and never experience love, or sex, or have babies, ever? That wasn’t going to happen, surely. He wasn’t the only man out there who was good in bed—there must be others who could make her feel the same way. Weren’t there? Of course there were.

  She didn’t believe in soul mates. There wasn’t one man in the world she was meant to be with. And even if there was, he wasn’t Neon Carter. There was a man out there who was gorgeous and fun, and with whom she had lots in common. The relationship wouldn’t be based on sex. Good sex. Passionate, fun, hot, raunchy, blow-your-mind sex. There were more important things you needed in a relationship.

  Trouble was, at that moment, lying there imagining Neon’s hands on her, Merle couldn’t think of a single one.

  Monday dawned bright and sunny—again. Merle was starting to get used to the beautiful weather. At one point she’d asked Bree and Jake how long it was likely to be before the weather broke, and they’d both burst out laughing, explaining though it did rain in the Northland—heavily and frequently—you were guaranteed beautiful sunshine at some point every day during the summer.

  In the morning, she took a leisurely walk into the town centre, only ten minutes from their house. She browsed through the shops, buying a few souvenirs to try to convince her mother New Zealand wasn’t the worst place in the world, and then she had a coffee and a muffin in on
e of the cafes, sitting at a table on the pavement, surrounded by palm trees, looking up at the brilliant blue sky.

  She returned slowly, enjoying the warmth of the sun on her limbs, arrived at Bree’s house around one o’clock and saw a car she didn’t recognise out the front. She walked around the back of the house, only realising who the car belonged to when she saw him lying on a lounger on the decking with Jake, stretched out, sunglasses covering his eyes and his hands behind his head.

  “Oh crap.” She ducked into the house and walked through to the kitchen where Bree was preparing a salad.

  “Hey, did you have a good walk?” said Bree.

  “Great. Bree—what’s he doing here? How come every time I walk into a house he’s flat on his back, lying in wait for me?”

  “Right back at you, Cameron.” Neon’s voice carried to them clearly through the open windows.

  Merle swore. Bree burst out laughing. “You kind of walked into that one.”

  Merle glared at her and walked outside to stand over him, hands on hips. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be in bed?”

  He lifted his glasses and looked at her, his warm brown eyes filled with amusement. “Are you offering?”

  Jake snorted and Merle shot him a look. “I meant sleeping. Haven’t you come off shift?”

  “I’ve had a few hours. I don’t usually sleep much the first night as it makes it harder to get back into a routine.”

  “Oh. So what made you decide to come over and torture me, then?”

  He gave her an exasperated glance. “I’m just lying here having a Coke—if anyone’s doing the torturing, it’s you, standing there with your see-through skirt and no bra, as per normal.”