Harlequin Romance December 2020 Box Set

by Susan Meier, Sophie Pembroke, Jessica Gilmore

  And she wanted it again.

  ‘So, what do you want to do now?’ Damon asked as she finished off the last spoonful of tiramisu. ‘Ready for home or…?’

  He trailed off. It didn’t matter, though. Rachel could hear worlds of possibility in his words.

  She should go home. She had dozens of felt mice to make, not to mention the fact that she was behind on the Hartbury’s social media because she’d been giving so much time and attention to the arcade.

  More than that, she knew that going home now was the least risky strategy. The one that protected her heart and stopped her getting Ideas, with a capital I. The longer she spent with Damon this way, the closer she got to believing there could be something more than friendship between them.

  And yet…

  ‘Or?’ Rachel picked up her almost empty glass of wine. It had to be the alcohol giving her the confidence to ask what her other options were. Heavens knew she’d never manage it on her own.

  Damon’s smile turned warmer somehow. More seductive. She could feel herself falling into his eyes…

  ‘Carol singing.’ He pushed his chair back from the table, leaving her blinking.

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s still early.’ Holding out a hand, Damon pulled her to her feet. ‘And they’re singing carols in Trafalgar Square this evening. If we leave now we could just about make it. Come on!’

  He flung some notes down on the table, waved a goodbye to Luciana and her son, and dragged Rachel back out onto the busy London street that had seemed miles away while they ate.

  Carol singing. Really?

  ‘So is this something else you secretly do all the time?’ she asked as they hurried along the pavement, while she tried to match his long stride with her much shorter legs.

  ‘Only in December,’ he deadpanned. Then he smirked at her. ‘No, it’s not. But…’

  ‘But?’ she pressed, when it became clear he wasn’t going to finish the thought.

  ‘But I wasn’t ready to say goodnight to you just yet.’ Suddenly, the December air no longer seemed cold.

  There was such heat in his eyes as he looked down at her, Rachel felt it flooding through her skin into her blood.

  That heat. Even Rachel knew what it meant, although it wasn’t something she was used to seeing in men’s eyes when they looked at her. She could feel the truth of it in her bones, and the relief of knowing she wasn’t the only one soothed her jagged edges.

  She knew Damon charmed everyone. Knew his easy smiles and his warm looks didn’t mean anything. Understood that even their unexpected kiss was just another part of who Damon was. Celeste had warned her but she hadn’t needed to, not really. Rachel had watched Damon through their university years, and after, from the periphery as always. She knew who Damon was.

  But she’d never had it turned on her before. All that charm. Those smiles.

  Right now, she understood all those girls who fell for him one weekend then spent the next week crying on the sofa in their flat after he let them down.

  She wasn’t one of those girls, though. She knew better. And not just because she knew Damon. She’d been here before. With Tobias, Gretchen’s friend, who’d turned on the charm and turned out to be a liar. Or maybe just a coward. With other men who thought she might be a good way to get closer to her stepsisters—and presumably their bed sheets. Apart from Tobias, she’d never been stupid enough to believe any of them. But that didn’t mean they hadn’t tried. Gretchen and Maisie were beautiful, rich, desirable. Rachel knew she was none of those things, and so did the men who lied to her and tried to convince her otherwise, just to get close to the women they really wanted.

  As if being close to Rachel would give them an advantage when it came to her stepsisters. It was laughable, but Rachel supposed the guys didn’t know how much Gretchen and Maisie despised her.

  Oh, they tried to hide it. Tried to pretend they were fond of her, in a ‘poor Rachel’ way. That they were helping her with their hideous clothing suggestions. Maybe they really thought they were. To start with, Rachel had believed it too.

  She knew better now, even if she didn’t say so. Always keeping the peace for her father’s sake, that was her. He was all she had left; she couldn’t risk anything else.

  But Damon… She knew Damon. He wouldn’t try to hurt her. He wasn’t trying to get close to her stepsisters. He genuinely seemed to enjoy her company. The charm and the smiles…they were just a part of him, something he couldn’t switch off. He’d used those on her back in university too; that was what had kickstarted her crush after that night they’d spent just the two of them. But the connection between them, the fizz and the pull she’d felt since their kiss, that was something else.

  Something she was starting to believe he might feel too.

  It defied explanation but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening.

  Damon Hunter wanted her. Whether he meant to or not.

  Now she just had to decide what to do about it—and how to protect her heart in the process.

  Because wanting, she knew only too well, wasn’t loving. And it would be all too easy for her to fall if she wasn’t careful.

  But it could also be something else. The next step to finding her freedom…?

  She’d already jumped, hadn’t she? Taking the job at the Cressingham Arcade, preparing for a life outside the claustrophobic family bubble she’d been caught in for too long. One where she could chase her own dreams, for a change, rather than always keeping the peace and keeping quiet.

  Perhaps a fling with Damon was just what she needed to give her the confidence to take the next move towards the future she’d been dreaming of for too long.

  * * *

  Carol singing. What the hell had he been thinking?

  Well, he knew the answer to that. He’d been thinking that he wasn’t ready for the evening to end—and that Rachel wasn’t exactly the sort of girl he could just invite up to his flat for a nightcap. And now, here they were, crushed into the crowd at Trafalgar Square, singing carols. Or silently mouthing the words in his case. It was nobody’s Christmas miracle hearing his appalling singing voice.

  Rachel had been thoughtful on the walk over, quieter than he was used to, although even that thought stopped him in his tracks. Rachel had always been quiet and thoughtful. That was who she was. But this week, working together, eating together, drinking hot chocolate together…he’d seen a different side to her. A more lively, talkative one that he suspected few people besides Celeste ever really got to see.

  It made him feel…privileged. Special.

  Lucky.

  She wasn’t quiet now, either. Holding up her carol sheet, she was singing loudly, her voice ringing in his ears despite all the others around them, beautiful and clear. Her eyes shone with festive joy and Damon silently thanked whatever impulse had led him to bring her here.

  Maybe it had been memory. A long-hidden memory of a Christmas at the university, swinging his legs sitting on his mother’s desk while he waited for her to finish up work. He wasn’t sure where his father had been—away, perhaps. That had been the case more often than not, back then. But it must have been Christmas, because he’d heard carols ringing down the hallways and he’d wanted to hear more. He’d slipped off the desk and followed the sound, finding the university choir rehearsing for their Christmas concert. He’d stayed and listened, mesmerised, until his mother had found him.

  She’d dragged him out of there and her words had stayed with him every bit as much as the music. ‘There’s no point listening to that. None of our family have ever been able to hold a tune in a bucket. You’re not going to be a famous musician, Damon, so don’t waste your time.’

  Because in his family, the only things worth time were the things they could excel at. Could be the best at.

  Damon hadn’t wanted to be the best. He’d just wanted to list
en to the music.

  He pushed away the thought and focussed on the here and now. The carols filling the square. And Rachel, singing unselfconsciously next to him.

  He wanted to see this Rachel more often. The one who sparkled when she smiled at him. The one who pulsed with delight at hidden mice and butterflies. The one who melted in his arms when he kissed her.

  He definitely wanted to see more of that one.

  But how could he without ruining the friendship and working partnership they’d built up? Without hurting her when she realised he couldn’t live up to whatever she was expecting from him?

  Rachel didn’t do meaningless flings, Celeste had been clear on that. And could anything between them be meaningless anyway? They’d been friends for a decade, even if mostly through Celeste. That had meaning.

  He didn’t do serious, or commitment, or anything that tied him down beyond his limited attention span. So, as far as he could see, he was right back where he’d been nine years ago, when he’d pulled away from her after a night of closeness, because he knew how easy it would be for him to get drawn into Rachel’s orbit—and how hard it might be to escape from it, afterwards. They were at an impasse.

  An impasse that had resulted in carols in Trafalgar Square, somehow.

  A sharp elbow in his ribs, mildly painful even through two layers of coats, broke his train of thought.

  ‘You’re not singing,’ Rachel said, speaking out of the side of her mouth, her eyes still on her carol sheet.

  ‘Trust me, that’s for everyone’s benefit,’ he murmured back. ‘Have you ever heard me sing?’

  ‘No, actually.’ She turned her head to study him, looking honestly surprised to have found some new aspect to his character that she hadn’t considered before. ‘Are you really dreadful?’

  ‘Terrible,’ he admitted.

  ‘Worse than Celeste?’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far…’

  Rachel laughed at that, then turned back to her carol sheet as the introduction for the next song was played by the small band at the centre of the square. She shivered a little as she did so, Damon noticed.

  ‘Are you cold? Shall I fetch you a hot chocolate?’

  She glanced back at him again. ‘No. I’m still full from the tiramisu.’

  ‘Do you want my coat?’

  Her brow creased with confusion. ‘No, because then you’ll freeze. I’m fine, Damon.’

  Except she wasn’t. He touched a hand to her face and found it icy. Clearly she was frozen, but she didn’t want to leave. And for reasons he wasn’t studying too closely right now, it was very important to him that Rachel not be cold. Or uncomfortable. Or unhappy at all.

  Well, if she wouldn’t take his coat, he’d just have to warm her up another way.

  He moved slowly, giving her plenty of time to object if she wanted to. The slightest sound or reaction from her and he’d have given up the idea completely. But as he stepped into her space, standing behind her, and wrapped his arms around her waist, he felt her melt against him. As if she was meant to be there.

  ‘What are you doing?’ she whispered, missing the next line of the carol.

  ‘Keeping you warm, so you can keep singing.’

  She didn’t respond to that. But a moment later he heard her sweet voice raised in song again and he smiled.

  * * *

  By the time the carols were over, Damon knew it was time to call it a night. That he should be seeing Rachel home safely, then going home to bed himself. Alone.

  He just didn’t want to.

  And he was starting to think that Rachel didn’t want to, either.

  She turned around within the circle of his arms until her breasts were pressed against his chest and she was looking directly up into his eyes. He could loosen his hold, he supposed, but that might mean she moved further away. He really didn’t want that to happen.

  ‘So,’ she said, her voice soft, the cold air turning to steam around her words. ‘What’s next?’

  ‘You’re not tired?’ he asked, desperately hopeful.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t want to call it a night yet. Do you?’

  ‘No,’ he admitted. He had a horrible feeling they were going to have to talk about it at some point. And that talking would probably bring it to an end. But for now… ‘How about we grab a drink?’

  ‘Good idea.’

  It was easy enough to find a pub with a small corner table free where they could warm up some more and talk without interruption. Damon fetched them both drinks then eased his body between the wall and the table to sit in the narrow booth seat across from Rachel.

  She took her glass of wine, her brow furrowed as she stared down at it, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Slowly, she twisted the glass round and round on the wood of the table, obviously lost in thought.

  And he… well. He just watched her think. Because he liked looking at her. Because he liked imagining what she might be imagining. Wondrous scenes for the arcade windows, perhaps. Or remembering the carols in the square. Or Luciana’s lasagne.

  Or even, maybe, him.

  Was that just wishful thinking? Damon had assumed so, until Celeste’s comment at Sunday lunch about Rachel having had a crush on him. And since then he’d been watching very closely. If she had, she had hidden it well—until tonight.

  Tonight, she’d sunk into his embrace as if it was where she belonged. And every moment she’d stayed there, that hope had grown. And when she’d said she wasn’t ready to call it a night…

  He’d been afraid that talking about what he felt growing between them would make her shut it down. Now, suddenly, he was afraid that ignoring it might scare it away. Or let Rachel think her way out of acknowledging it at all.

  She doesn’t know how to ask for what she wants.

  The realisation hit hard but he knew instinctively it was the truth. Just as she hadn’t been able to tell her stepsisters which dress she actually liked, or how she hadn’t put any of her mice in the window at the arcade until he’d suggested it. When she’d recounted the story of asking for fewer shifts at the department store, what had struck him most was how unusual it had been for her to ask in the first place. And how her family hadn’t seemed to listen anyway.

  Well. That was going to be a problem. Because there was no way Damon was going to do anything about the attraction between them unless she told him she wanted him to.

  Which meant getting her talking.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ It was a classic, but it made Rachel’s gaze shoot up to meet his.

  ‘What do you mean?’ She sounded flustered, her eyes wide, and suddenly he wondered if anybody ever asked her what was on her mind. Seemed to him, mostly they wanted to tell her what they thought she should be thinking instead.

  He wasn’t going to be that guy.

  ‘You look like there’s something on your mind, that’s all,’ he said nonchalantly, hoping it wasn’t obvious how desperate he was for that something to be him. ‘Want to tell me what it is?’

  He could see her steeling herself to speak, as if her courage were a coat she was pulling on. For half a second, he felt bad for making her do this, then he realised that, no, that wasn’t how he felt at all.

  He felt proud of her for trying. For whatever she said next. For having the guts to ask for what she wanted, when no one in her life ever seemed to have listened before.

  Then she said, ‘I want you to come to my work Christmas party with me tomorrow night. Will you?’ And he started rethinking everything all over again.

  CHAPTER NINE

  WHY HAD SHE asked that? Oh, why had she asked that?

  Rachel considered just hiding under the pub table but, really, the words were out now so what was the point?

  It was obvious that whatever Damon had been expecting her to say, it hadn’t been th
at. All the same, he rallied rapidly and tossed her a smile as he picked up his pint.

  ‘That depends,’ he said, before taking a sip.

  ‘On what?’ He probably had plans. Of course he’d have plans. It was a Friday night two weeks before Christmas. Everybody had plans. Hell, even she had plans, which meant that there couldn’t be another person in London who didn’t.

  ‘Will you wear the dress I bought you?’ He raised one eyebrow as he asked, a smirk hovering around his lips.

  Rachel’s breath caught, rendering her unable to answer. Which was just as well, since she had no idea what to say. It felt like a tease, like a joke she was too socially awkward to understand, and from anybody else, especially the guys in her stepsisters’ social circle, she’d be certain it was.

  But this was Damon. And as much as he might look and act like those guys on the surface, she was almost certain that underneath he wasn’t. Almost.

  She took a chance. ‘Do you…want me to?’

  He grinned. ‘Definitely. You looked gorgeous in that dress last week.’

  When he’d kissed her. Oh, no.

  ‘Then…yes, I could wear that dress.’

  ‘Then it’s a date.’ His grin suddenly faltered. ‘Wait. That’s not what I meant.’

  Of course not. As if Damon Hunter would ever go on an actual date with her. At least he was sweet enough to make sure she hadn’t got the wrong idea. Unlike Tobias.

  ‘No, of course, I didn’t think—’ she started, shaking her head as if she could simply shake away any idea of a relationship with Damon.

  Then she realised he was still speaking.

  ‘Unless you wanted it to be a date.’

  Her head shot up, her gaze hitting his, looking for any hint of deception or humour in his eyes.

  She found none.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Because none of this was making any sense to her any more.

  Reaching across the table, Damon took her hand. ‘I’m saying this all wrong.’

  ‘What happened to that patented Hunter charm?’

  ‘Apparently it doesn’t work with you,’ he said, and Rachel just about resisted the urge to tell him how very, very wrong he was about that.