Harlequin Romance December 2020 Box Set

by Susan Meier, Sophie Pembroke, Jessica Gilmore

  ‘I—’ Rachel started, glad that Hannah seemed too preoccupied by whatever had happened to the window display to have noticed the dress, but Damon interrupted her.

  ‘Ms Hartbury? So nice to meet you. I’m Damon Hunter, an old friend of Rachel’s.’ The smile he shot her way as he said it made Rachel blush and caused Hannah to pause and turn her full attention to him instead.

  ‘How nice of you to accompany her tonight,’ she said, with the same scepticism her daughters had shown. ‘I wasn’t aware Rachel was bringing anybody.’

  ‘It was kind of a last-minute thing,’ she said hurriedly, drawing Hannah’s attention back to her. Which was a mistake.

  ‘You’re not wearing the dress I bought you.’

  ‘Oh, well. Um…you see…’ Rachel tripped over her words, trying to find the ones that might appease her stepmother.

  ‘That’s my fault, I’m afraid, Ms Hartbury.’ Damon’s voice was smooth, but not exactly apologetic. ‘I saw this one in your shop and couldn’t resist buying it for Rachel. Don’t you think it’s just perfect for her?’

  The way Hannah’s gaze zipped up, down and back up again over Rachel’s outfit, she suspected her stepmother thought the exact opposite. Neat and slim, like her daughters, Hannah had always frowned about Rachel’s curves, as if the body shape she’d been born with—the one she had inherited from her mother—was something to be ashamed of. Embarrassed of, even by association.

  Damon liked her curves, though. He’d bought her this dress to show them off before they’d ever even kissed.

  That thought made Rachel stand a little straighter and smile a little more. ‘It’s very “me”, don’t you think?’

  ‘I suppose,’ Hannah said, doubtfully.

  ‘Is this thing on?’

  Rachel jumped at the sound of her father’s voice, coming across the PA system. Turning, she found him standing half in one of the windows, talking into the microphone.

  As the rest of the partygoers turned their attention on him too, he smiled and stepped down, holding the microphone out for Hannah, who was already striding towards him.

  ‘What now?’ Damon whispered.

  ‘This is Hannah’s traditional motivational speech for the workers.’ Rachel patted his arm. ‘It’s about as awful as it sounds.’

  As always, Hannah stood up at the front of the store, half on top of Rachel’s window display, and made a horrible speech about teamwork and the shop being like a family—even though all the seasonal workers would be unemployed again in a couple of weeks. Rachel held onto her warm wine and willed it to be over.

  Of course, then Hannah dragged Rachel’s father and Gretchen and Maisie up front while she talked, speaking about the whole family being a team together too. Rachel was perfectly used to being left out of that sort of thing—and happier, to be honest—but she felt Damon tense beside her as Hannah threw out a casual mention of her existence.

  ‘Oh, and thank you to my stepdaughter, Rachel, of course, for her work on the window displays again this year.’

  Nobody turned to find her. Nobody clapped. But then, Rachel hadn’t expected them to.

  Hannah was about to move on to the next part of her talk, the part traditionally dealing with expected behaviour at the party—no vomiting in the display mannequins—when a sound cracked through the room. Two hands, clapping.

  Damon’s hands.

  He was applauding her. Her window displays. In a way that no one else would have even thought to.

  Rachel could feel the heat flooding her cheeks, the embarrassment of being the centre of attention in a family and in a place where she was always an afterthought. She’d never wanted this, never wanted to be looked at, to be noticed, even.

  But now it was Damon doing the looking, the noticing…and it turned out she didn’t mind it half as much as she’d imagined she would.

  Of course, when one person started clapping, human nature dictated that others would follow. And soon the whole room was applauding her little windows—even her stepsisters, for all they looked as if they’d rather be having their fingernails pulled out.

  It was too much. Rachel twisted towards Damon to tell him to stop, but the thing had a momentum beyond him. He pulled her into his body, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, and she just knew everyone was watching.

  ‘Look at me,’ he murmured, and she couldn’t help but obey. She met his gaze with her own, and had only a moment to recognise the warmth there before his lips lowered to hers.

  She was kissing Damon Hunter. Again.

  It shouldn’t be such a surprise; they’d agreed to a fling, after all, hadn’t they?

  And yet…oh, and yet…

  Rachel sank into the kiss, letting the world around them fall away as his tongue teased her lips. This wasn’t a deep, passionate kiss, she realised—it was a show kiss, meant to show her family and colleagues that he was here as her real date tonight. That he wanted to be with her. That he liked her dress, her curves. That he liked her.

  All the same, Damon’s hands gripping her hips, holding her tight against him, and the small growl she heard from the back of his throat told her he wasn’t quite as unaffected by this as he might pretend to be.

  Good. If her entire self was melting and reforming under his kiss, a growl was the least she could expect from him.

  Someone, somewhere, maybe very far away, let out a whoop, breaking through the delicious bubble of solitude she and Damon had built around themselves. Then the real world began to leak in, starting with Hannah’s voice over the PA system again, and Rachel pulled away from the kiss.

  ‘Yes, well. Anyway, of course we want you all to enjoy yourselves tonight,’ Rachel’s stepmother said, somehow managing to make enjoyment sound like a punishable offence. ‘But here at Hartbury’s we do have certain standards to maintain.’

  ‘I’m guessing we fail to meet the standard,’ Damon whispered, and Rachel stifled a laugh. ‘I think we proved our point, though. So… Want to get out of here?’

  She did. Except the party was only halfway through. And she hadn’t cleared up whatever mess was in one of the window displays. Could she really just walk out right now? In the middle of Hannah’s speech?

  ‘I didn’t sort out the display,’ she hedged, glancing towards the door.

  Damon raised an eyebrow but didn’t deign to answer that one. Instead, he ran his hand up over her hip, to her waist, then back down again. An innocent enough touch in public really, but one that shot through her body as if he’d been touching her somewhere else entirely.

  And if she went home with him now, maybe he would.

  Oh, hell. The cleaners would be in soon enough anyway. And it really wasn’t her job…

  ‘Let’s go,’ she said, and Damon smiled.

  * * *

  Somehow, it took both too long and too short a time to get back to his penthouse apartment. Damon had left the car in the secure garage under his building, figuring he might want a drink or two to get through the party, so they had to hail a black cab. They fell into the back of it together, Damon reluctant to let go of Rachel’s hand even for a second, in case she slipped away.

  Thankfully the driver wasn’t the chatty type, but Damon found he couldn’t make conversation with Rachel either. The tension, the chemistry between them, filled the cab until it was almost a visible fog. What could he say beyond ‘I need to make love to you or I’m going to lose my mind’? Somehow he didn’t think Rachel would appreciate him saying that in semi-public.

  So yeah. He needed to get there quickly so he could say the words and, hopefully, follow through.

  Which was the thought that made him think maybe he needed more time in the cab after all. Because this wasn’t a one-night stand, wasn’t a casual fling he was bringing home and would see for a few dates before they went their separate ways for ever.

  This was Rach
el.

  And for all that she’d insisted that this was just a Christmas fling, and for all that he’d enthusiastically agreed to that, he hadn’t considered how things would work after. Once things were over but they were still in each other’s lives. They were friends, he hoped—through Celeste even if not in their own right. They were working together and he hoped that would continue past Christmas. The Cressingham Arcade would need social media support year-round, not to mention spring windows, summer windows, autumn windows… In fact, the odds were good that Rachel could be still working with the Arcadians, as he liked to call them, long after he’d moved on to his next project.

  It was more than just that, though. More than friendship or working relationships. He knew Rachel. However determined she’d tried to sound suggesting the fling, her voice had wavered ever so slightly. This wasn’t how she did things. Rachel Charles didn’t have flings; she didn’t fall into bed with just anybody. She was careful, especially after her past experiences. She’d chosen him and that meant he had to live up to her expectations. Not just in bed, but out of it too.

  He couldn’t hurt her; that was the first rule he’d set for himself. So he always had to be upfront about what he could give, and what he couldn’t. So far, that had been easy enough.

  But the next stage… Rachel wasn’t good at speaking up, at asking for what she needed. He knew that. She was not used to being seen, or heard.

  He saw her.

  And he’d hear her, if she talked. But what if she didn’t? What if she didn’t tell him what she needed and he wasn’t good enough to guess? He wanted her so badly that chasing his own pleasure was a necessity. But he wouldn’t push her too far, ask for too much, or take her anywhere she wasn’t comfortable.

  So how did he make sure of that?

  Rachel’s hand landed hesitantly on his thigh and he looked up to see her chewing on her bottom lip.

  ‘Okay?’ His voice came out hoarse, embodying the strain on his whole self not to kiss her again right now.

  ‘You looked like you were thinking hard,’ she said, softly. ‘I just wanted to say, if you’ve changed your mind…you know, about the whole Christmas-fling thing—’

  ‘No!’ Damon shouted, loud enough to make the silent taxi driver glance up at his mirror to check everything was okay. He tried to lower his voice as he carried on. ‘Definitely not. Trust me. It is taking every bit of my self-control not to kiss you right now.’

  ‘You could, you know,’ Rachel replied, smiling prettily.

  Damon shook his head. ‘No. Because if I start kissing you, I won’t be able to stop there.’

  Her cheeks flared pink, even in the dark of the cab. ‘Oh?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He met her gaze, letting all the wanting and the needing show in his eyes, and watched as her cheeks grew darker.

  The cab stopped abruptly and, when Damon glanced out of the window, he saw they were at his flat. He still hadn’t figured out exactly how any of this was going to work, but he knew one thing for sure: he was going to find a way to make it work.

  No, she was. Because that was the answer, wasn’t it? He had to surrender himself to what she needed.

  He could do that.

  Tossing some notes at the driver, and not waiting for any change, he opened the door and drew Rachel out behind him.

  ‘Before we go up,’ he said as they stood on the pavement, ‘I want one thing to be very clear. You’re in charge here, okay?’

  She blinked at him. ‘Um…okay? I don’t really…’

  ‘Once we get into that flat, nothing happens that you don’t ask for. You can have basically anything you want, within reason. But you have to ask for it. Okay?’

  He watched the war behind her eyes, the conflict of wanting what he was offering, and having to go against her own nature to get it.

  But Damon knew that you only got what you asked for in this world. And if she wanted him, Rachel was going to have to learn to ask.

  * * *

  Damon’s flat was everything she’d expected: expensive, stylish and soulless. At least, that was as much as she could tell from her brief glimpse around it as she stumbled through the door. After that, all she could focus on was Damon himself. Decor could wait.

  ‘So…?’ Damon stood before her, a wicked smile on his face. Her back was against the front door, the wooden frame something solid in a world that seemed to be shifting under her feet.

  There was too much space between them, she realised, watching him. He was holding back, staying away. Waiting.

  Waiting for her.

  ‘Once we get into that flat, nothing happens that you don’t ask for.’ That was what he’d said.

  And now he was making good on that promise.

  Rachel swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. With want—yes, definitely. But with fear too.

  Asking for what she wanted sounded like such a simple thing to do. After all, she knew exactly what she wanted from Damon. She’d been fantasising about it ever since their kiss at the fake New Year’s Eve party. She’d imagined every single way he would touch her, kiss her, make love to her.

  Knowing what she wanted wasn’t the problem—in fact, it rarely was, in her life. She knew. She was just…oh, hell, she was scared to want it.

  Scared to ask, in case the person who could give it to her said no. Scared to admit how much she wanted of the world, in case the world laughed in her face and asked her who she thought she was to demand such things. Just as it had when she’d asked the universe to save her mother. Or when she’d asked Tobias to love her, just as she was.

  Scared of her own desires. Scared of screwing it up. Scared of a broken heart, further down the line.

  The world was a terrifying place outside her bubble and outside the tiny perfect realities she created in her windows. Asking for more than she had, well, that had always seemed like rudeness. Entitlement. As her stepmother had told her often enough, she was lucky to have a nice home, a job, a family who accepted her, after her own mother had died. She was lucky. She still had her dad, at least.

  What right did she have to ask for more?

  And the last time she had asked, the last time she’d believed she deserved more love and affection than she was given…well, that had led to the whole debacle with Tobias. Was it any wonder she was scared to ask for more than her little life already gave her?

  But she had, she realised suddenly. She’d already asked for more. Already stepped outside her bubble into the world of the Cressingham Arcade. She’d asked to change her shifts and the world hadn’t ended. She’d taken Damon to the Christmas party, worn the wrong dress and, snide comments from her stepsisters aside, nothing terrible had happened. In fact, quite the opposite.

  She’d asked Damon for a Christmas fling and he’d said yes.

  ‘Rachel?’ he asked now, a worried frown creasing his brow. She’d been thinking too long. Years too long, perhaps.

  Now it was time to speak.

  ‘I want you to kiss me,’ she said, proud that her voice barely wavered at all.

  Damon’s frown disappeared into a warm smile and he stepped closer, his hands moving to her waist as if they belonged there. Maybe they did.

  ‘Like this?’ He pressed his lips to hers almost chastely, then pulled back.

  She swallowed. ‘No. Like this.’

  Resting her palms against his shoulders, and hoping they weren’t too sweaty, she stepped up into his space, until she could feel him sucking in a breath at her closeness. His whole ribcage moved, and, boy, did she love that she could affect him that way.

  The power rush gave her the confidence to continue, reaching up on tiptoes and kissing him. There was nothing chaste about what she wanted from him, or about the kiss. The moment their lips touched, she felt the heat between them ignite and there was no holding back any more. It was as if, having decided to give in, her body w
as going to take full advantage of the opportunity and go for everything.

  And despite Damon’s obvious determination to let her lead the way, she could tell he was barely holding back from taking everything he wanted too.

  Well, she wanted him to take it.

  Breaking away, reluctantly, she tried to catch her breath—gratified to see that he was panting too.

  ‘Too much?’ he asked.

  She shook her head. ‘Not enough. Bedroom. Now.’

  Rachel knew what she wanted. And she was ready to ask for it.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  RACHEL DIDN’T KNOW how many hours later it was. Damon’s bedside clock had been sacrificed to a particularly enthusiastic manoeuvre some time ago and her phone could, quite honestly, be anywhere. It didn’t matter. Time had ceased to have any importance here in the cocoon of Damon’s bedroom.

  He’d made love to her with a thoroughness that shouldn’t have been sexy, but really, really was. His attention to detail and focus in this particular area had been unsurpassed. But he’d been true to his word and had made her ask for every single step of it. She’d used words she hadn’t previously even admitted to herself that she knew just to get where she needed to go.

  And he had got her there. Twice.

  ‘You okay?’ Damon’s voice was warm, private, and a little husky as he pulled her closer into his arms.

  ‘More than.’

  ‘Good.’ He paused for a second, then asked, ‘Do you need to get home tonight?’

  She tried not to freeze but it was hard, even in the warmth of his arms. It’s just a fling, Rach, remember? Maybe flings don’t stay the night.

  She wouldn’t know. She’d never had one before.

  Suddenly, she felt as if she’d gone from having all the power to having none at all.

  Just ask. Wasn’t that what Damon had been showing her tonight? All the things that could be hers if she just asked for them?

  She swallowed. ‘Do you want me to go?’

  His arms tightened around her. ‘No. I’m hoping I can keep you here all night so we can do that again once I’ve recovered from the first round. I haven’t even shown you my walk-in shower yet. I bet you can think of a few things to ask me to do in there.’