White-Hot Christmas

by Serenity Woods

  He studied her for a moment. “I came to see how you are.”

  “I’m fine. See? You can go now.” She turned and picked up her case.

  “Merle… Bree told me about your mother. About how she’s been behaving.” His voice was noncommittal. Was he sympathetic or angry that her mother had caused Merle to finish their relationship?

  She paused, her fingers clutching the case. Her throat tightened so much she couldn’t speak.

  He continued. “Bree also told me you’ve moved out. That you’ve told Susan you’re not going to be at her beck and call anymore.”

  She put the strap of the case over her shoulder. “Yeah, well. She’s still my mother.”

  “I know.”

  “I can’t just abandon her…”

  “I know, Merle.” His voice was gentle. “But I’m still glad you stood up to her.”

  She looked at her feet and closed her eyes momentarily. This was too hard.

  “The boy’s going to be okay.” He cleared his throat. “The boy I rescued. He made it through. I’ve been to see him. I bought him a Fireman Sam book.”

  She turned. “I’m glad. Thanks for letting me know.” She walked toward the exit.

  “Don’t go.” His voice was gentle. “Stay and talk to me for a bit.”

  “Talk about what? How my mother ruined our relationship? Or how you insulted me?” Her cheeks burned with indignation. “I don’t think so.”

  “Merle, wait. I’ve come thirteen thousand miles to see you.”

  She spun around. “I didn’t ask you to.”

  “I know. But at least hear me out.”

  “I don’t want to. I don’t want to listen to you.” Anger and hurt threatened to overwhelm her. She felt a mishmash of emotions all knotted up like a bunch of worms wriggling around in her stomach. Anger at her mother, guilt over her relief at finally being free, hurt at the memory of what Neon had said to her, panic at seeing him again. New Zealand had been a stupid mistake—why did he have to come here and remind her of it? She turned to go.

  “For God’s sake, will you talk to me for a minute?” He stopped as one of the doors opened and a student stuck his head in.

  “Miss Cameron, can you tell us what time the seminar is—”

  “Get out!” Neon yelled. The student disappeared hurriedly.

  Merle stared at Neon, aghast. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  “I want—”

  “It’s not all about you, Neon! This is my place of work, my life. You can’t walk in here and do this to me. How dare you interrupt my lecture—how dare you yell at my students!”

  He glared at her, hands on hips. She could see him biting back his words. She met his gaze, letting her anger and hurt fill her eyes. Eventually his gaze dropped, and he looked at the floor. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

  “No, you shouldn’t have.” She was close to breaking down. “I’ve got a job to do—I would never have come into the station and demanded you drop everything and speak to me.” She took a deep breath. “I appreciate you flew here and it’s a long way and it’s expensive, but you should have asked first. My holiday was fun, and I had a great time, but all that belonged to New Zealand—it doesn’t belong here. I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want to talk to you.”

  He slid his hands into the pockets of jeans, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry. Don’t go.”

  She walked past him, pausing at the door. She was trembling, but she knew she had to be hard. “Go away, Neon. I’ve got another lecture soon, and I need to concentrate.”

  “Please, Merle. Look, if not now, then later? A little bird told me you sometimes go to The King’s Head in the evenings. Meet me there, say, seven o’clock?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t.”

  “Just to talk.”

  “I can’t, Neon.” She bit her lip, tears pricking her eyes. “Leave me alone, please. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Unable to look at the despair in his eyes, she turned and walked out the door.

  Chapter Nineteen

  A handful of Merle’s students were waiting outside, but they parted as they saw the look on her face, and she walked through them and along the corridor to her office. Inside, she locked it, sat behind her desk and burst into tears.

  After ten minutes, she dried her eyes and put on some face powder and mascara, trying to make herself look decent again. Part of her had thought he would come to her office and not give up so easily, but he hadn’t appeared.

  She put her head in her hands. On her back, between her shoulder blades, she was sure she could feel where he’d written his name, branding it into her skin. It would be there to the day she died. How could he have done this to her? How on earth could she sort out all the emotions roiling in her brain and stomach?

  The past two weeks had passed incredibly slowly. She’d started looking for a place to stay, although as yet she hadn’t found anywhere she liked. She didn’t have much money saved, and her wage wasn’t great. She could barely afford a small flat, and the ones she’d been to see were seedy, damp or right on top of the railway station. Currently, she was staying in a bed and breakfast, but it wasn’t a long-term solution.

  Bree had flown back after a week. It had been a difficult parting, and they’d both cried. But Bree had told her how proud she was of her for standing up to their mother. Merle hadn’t replied. Although she knew she’d done the right thing, it didn’t stop her from feeling like a heel.

  Bree had asked if she had a message for Neon. Merle couldn’t think of anything to say that would make the hurt go away. In the end, she’d thought about the party on Christmas Eve, when they’d had sex in his aunt’s bathroom and he’d kissed her goodbye outside. “Just say, ‘see you’,” she told Bree. “He’ll know what it means.”

  And now she was truly alone. She’d been around to see her mother, just calling in to make sure she was okay, but she made sure she didn’t ring every day. It should have made her feel good, independent, free. Nobody needed her anymore. She had no responsibilities and all the freedom in the world. It was her chance to start a new life. And she had no idea what to do with it.

  All this mixed with the incredible hurt that swirled inside her from Neon’s last words. The pain on his face when she’d told her mother he didn’t mean anything to her would always haunt her. And yet it didn’t justify what he’d said to her. If he’d let her, she would have explained why she’d said it, but he hadn’t given her a chance. To throw the fact that she’d made a bet with Bree back in her face, to imply she’d only slept with him for money, was the ultimate insult.

  He’d come all this way to find her, true. But he’d been as self-centred as ever, barging into her place of work, demanding to be heard, yelling at her students. She could only imagine what he would have said if she’d done the same to him. Neon “Feral” Carter. She’d been so careful not to be demanding when she was with him, to step back, to give him no excuse to call her clingy or needy. And here he was, doing the exact opposite to her.

  She looked at the clock. It was time for her next lecture. She would have to think about this later. She couldn’t afford to ruin her career over him. She still had bills to pay.

  Forcing her brain to concentrate on carbon dating and its uses, she gathered up her notes and her laptop and headed out.

  All day, she pondered on whether she should meet him in the pub that evening. Her heart pleaded yes, but she knew she shouldn’t listen to it. She didn’t want to talk to him, didn’t want to keep being reminded of how briefly wonderful it had been. What good would it do to go over old ground again, churning up the emotions that had just started to settle like silt in a river? She needed to put him out of her mind. She needed to move on.

  So she decided she’d stay in for the evening. Then she got annoyed. Why should she stay in? She usually went to the pub after work for a glass of wine and a bite to eat. It made her feel as if she were being sociable, ev
en if she always ate on her own with her head buried in a book. No, she would go out, but she’d go to another pub, and he could go hang.

  So that evening, at six forty-five, she paid for her glass of Sauvignon and took a seat in front of the log fire, toasting her feet on the hearth. The Green Man was the university local and not her favourite pub, but it was close to her B&B, and the food wasn’t bad. It was already half full of students, but they were being fairly quiet, and she huddled in her coat and sipped her wine as she tried to concentrate on her book. Half a mile away, Neon was sitting in The King’s Head, waiting for her. She stomped on the guilt that threatened to rise within her. She’d told him she wasn’t going. If he was there, waiting, it was his fault for not taking no for an answer. Arrogant ass.

  She stared into the flames and tried not to think about how the warmth of the fire reminded her of the New Zealand sun, its rays hot on her arms as she’d leant on the edge of the swimming pool and studied Neon, his body glistening with droplets, his tattoo curling around his arm like a fern. She shook her head crossly and forced her eyes to focus on the book. Developments in dendrochronology. That was bound to eradicate any lustful memories simmering in her brain.

  A noise over at the exit eventually disturbed her thoughts, and she glanced over. A bunch of students were yelling and laughing. She ignored them, returning to her book.

  The noise at the door didn’t quieten and, if anything, it increased. She glanced over again, frowning. Then she stared.

  A tall man, dressed in a firefighter’s uniform, complete with hat and a reel of hose over his shoulder, was pushing through the crowd, carrying a portable stereo.

  “Did someone order a stripogram?” called the barman.

  Merle’s eyes widened. She sank slightly in her seat, her gaze darting to the left and right to try and spot an escape route, but it was too late, he’d seen her. How had he found her?

  Neon strode over, the crowd parting for him, cheering. He put the stereo on the bar and turned it on. “Come Together” by The Beatles started playing. It was one of the songs he’d played to her on his guitar, following it by telling her he wanted them to do what the title ordered. She blushed to think about it, sinking even farther in her seat, hiding in the collar of her coat, trying to ignore the cheering students.

  He turned to face her. His eyes were alight with the mischievous look she remembered so well. He pulled the reel off his shoulder and handed it to her. “Can you hold my hose for me, sweetheart?”

  Merle stuffed her hands in her pockets and closed her eyes momentarily. This wasn’t happening.

  Hanging the hose on her chair, he took off his hat and put it on the table. As the rhythm of the song kicked in, he started to move to the music. The girls in the crowd cheered. Neon shot them an amused look but stood before Merle, moving his hips. She had to look at him—there was nowhere else to look. It was the first time she’d seen him dance, and he had incredible rhythm. She sighed, leaning an elbow on the table, massaging her forehead with a hand.

  Very slowly, he pulled off the massive gloves he was wearing and threw them in her lap. Somewhere in the crowd, a girl screamed and everyone laughed.

  She glared at him. “What are you doing?”

  “Bringing you a bit of New Zealand.”

  She realised he was referring to her comment at the university, My holiday was fun, and I had a great time, but all that belonged to New Zealand—it doesn’t belong here.

  “How did you know I’d be here?” she said, puzzled.

  “Followed you.”

  “You followed me?” she said indignantly.

  He rolled his eyes. “Will you shush? I’m trying to be sexy.” He started to undo the Velcro flap covering the zip of the jacket, very slowly, sliding his finger down, still moving his hips to the music. She sat back in her seat, looking across at the girls in the crowd, who were shooting him admiring glances. She could imagine them planning to ask him for his number when he was finished.

  Now his fingers clasped the zipper, and he began to lower it slowly. She stared, alarmed. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath the jacket except a pair of red suspenders.

  “Neon…stop.”

  He shook his head. “Not until you agree to talk to me.”

  She huffed a sigh. He raised an eyebrow and flicked the zipper down completely. Slowly he began to pull the jacket off his large shoulders, rolling them with the music, fixing her with his gaze. As the chorus ended, he let the jacket slide completely off his arms.

  A huge cheer went up in the pub. Merle stared, going completely scarlet. He dropped the jacket over the back of the chair beside her and raised his eyebrows.

  Next to her, a woman cheered and leaned over, taking a rolled-up five-pound note and tucking it in the top of his trousers.

  “Thank you.” He pretended to tip his hat. He turned his other hip toward Merle. “Any offers from this fair lady?”

  Merle reached out and stuffed the wrapper of her packet of peanuts into his belt.

  The crowd booed. Neon put his hands on his hips and fixed her with a challenging stare. She crossed her arms, glaring at him. Suddenly she was tempted to force him to strip the whole way. Serve him right.

  He saw the glint in her eye, and his lips started to curve. Slowly, he began to move to the music again. Winding his hips, he stepped a little closer to her. One of the women in the crowd started to fan herself. He hooked his thumbs in his braces, pushing them off his shoulders. He slid his thumbs into his belt. Slowly, he undid the loop at the side of the trousers. Then he undid the Velcro band. She met his gaze, her heart thumping. His brown eyes were hot, defiant. His fingers slid to his fly. Carefully, he began pulling the zipper down. He was going to go the whole way, she realised. And she wasn’t sure if he was wearing any underwear.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” She stood up and turned off the music. The crowd yelled. She faced him, breathing quickly.

  “Are you going to talk to me?” He put his hands on his hips again.

  She hesitated. “Neon…”

  “Right, that’s it.” He bent and, before she realised what he was doing, he heaved her up in a fireman’s lift over his shoulder, one arm around the back of her knees, holding her tightly.

  She squealed, and everyone in the pub cheered. Upside down, Merle’s cheeks flamed again. “Put me down!”

  “Nope.” He turned around carefully, picked up his jacket, then turned back and headed for the door.

  “Napoleon Carter, put me down!” She smacked his backside repeatedly, but she might as well have been hammering at a brick wall. She heard him laugh, and she cursed as he passed through the cheering crowd, through the door and into the street. He walked a short way along the road, ignoring the whistles of people they passed, then stopped around the corner, in a quieter street.

  “Put me down!” she shrieked for a third time.

  “Are you going to behave?”

  “Neon, I swear…”

  “Are you going to talk to me, properly? Because I can stand here all night if I have to.”

  She did swear then, loudly, and got a spank on her butt in response.

  “Language, my lady.”

  She sagged against him. It was hopeless. She knew perfectly well he was capable of holding her there until the sun came up. “All right, I’ll talk to you. Just, please, put me down.”

  He bent and lowered her feet to the ground, pushing her up. She stepped back, straightening her clothes, red and flustered. He pulled on the jacket he was holding in his hand.

  “Finished embarrassing yourself?” she said sarcastically.

  “Too right—it’s fucking freezing out here.”

  In spite of her fury at him, she had to give a short laugh. “You are certifiable.”

  “Thank you.” He did up the zip and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He studied her, his eyes mischievous. “I would have done it, you know. Gone all the way. For you.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “Why on earth did you do
this?”

  “Hey, a guy’s got to work with his good points. I’m not stupid, I know what mine are.”

  She studied him, her anger dissipating. “Don’t underestimate yourself, Neon. You have other good points, ones not related to physique and occupation.”

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re sensitive and thoughtful and brave. Although they may not be the sort of things prized in a Kiwi man, you have them, in large measure.”

  “No I don’t. I’m selfish and arrogant and completely inconsiderate.”

  “Well, that as well.”

  He heaved a sigh. She frowned. “Look, as I said at the university, I’m touched you came all this way, but you can’t walk into my life and expect me to drop everything for you, it doesn’t work like that.”

  He stepped forward and fixed her with his brown-eyed stare. “Why don’t you let me talk? You did promise.”

  She sighed. “Okay. The floor’s yours.”

  Neon studied her. There was so much to say that suddenly he couldn’t think where to start.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Speechless? That’s a first.”

  “It’s not easy. I don’t do it very often.”

  “What?”

  “Apologise.”

  She tipped her head, amusement in her eyes.

  He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. Firstly, I’m sorry for turning up at the university, that was stupid, I was going for a cheap shot. I wanted to shock you, but I didn’t mean to upset you. I shouldn’t have done it. You’re right, you would never have done it to me, and whatever I am, I wouldn’t call myself a hypocrite.”

  Her eyes softened. “No, I’ll agree with that.”

  He heaved another sigh. “Secondly, I’m sorry for what I said the last time we were together.”

  She met his gaze. “You practically called me a whore.”

  He swallowed. “I know. I wanted to hurt you. Because—and this is the important bit—this is the bit you need to focus on—I was about to talk to you about us. About where we were going.”