Chapter Five
Holly awoke the next morning to bright sunlight and the weight of someone sitting on her bed. She forced open her eyelids to see Noel smiling at her.
“Wake up, Rip Van Jones,” he said. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”
“What time is it?” She sat up, conscious even in her sleepiness of how awful she must look with bed hair and duvet creases on her face.
“Eight o’clock.”
She groaned and threw herself back on the bed. “Go away. It’s too early.”
“It’s my birthday. And you’ve got to see this.” He pulled her arm until she sat up again, and she squinted as he walked over to the window. “Come on.”
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and struggled to her feet. “This had better be worth it.”
“It is.” He smiled as she walked toward him, and she frowned as he gave her pajamas a pointed stare.
“What?” She studied them. The long-sleeve top and pants were bright pink and covered in tiny red hearts.
“Nothing.” He nodded toward the window. “Look.”
She stood next to him and surveyed the scene outside.
And caught her breath.
“Oh my God.”
The entire landscape was white. Brilliant, shiny, virginal, crisp, clean white. Even the loch was silver, reflecting the sheet-metal sky.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.
“Hmm.”
She met his gaze, her heart beginning to pound. The memory of their kiss came flooding back, and she remembered the firmness of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his body, even though she’d been shivering from the cold. But they’d both been terribly drunk, and he’d just talked about his dead wife for well over an hour. He’d needed consolation, and she’d been happy to provide it, but that was as far as it went, she told herself firmly. She mustn’t start getting all dreamy-eyed.
Still, he seemed cheerful, the worry lines on his brow gone, and she smiled instinctively at his impish grin. “You look surprisingly well considering you downed almost a whole bottle of whisky yesterday.”
“I have a hangover the size of Ben Nevis, but I’m not going to let it dampen my spirits.”
She laughed. “Happy birthday, Noel. And Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.” He glanced out at the snow for a moment. “Holly…”
“Mm?”
He turned to look at her, his blue eyes sincere. “Thank you for yesterday.”
She wasn’t sure if he was thanking her for the kiss, for listening, or for just being there all day. “You’re welcome.”
“You play sax like a diva.”
“Thanks.” She smiled.
“I have a present for you.” He brought his hand from behind his back and gave her something that was about two inches square and flat, wrapped in Christmas paper.
“Oh, Noel, I didn’t get you anything. Now I feel awful.”
“It’s only small. I saw it in Carlisle on the drive up. Go on, open it.”
She tore off the wrapping to find it was a fridge magnet. It said, Music teachers do it in G-strings.
She laughed. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He grinned. “Now, coffee and breakfast, then I think we need a snowman in the garden.”
“Absolutely.” His happiness was infectious. “Give me fifteen minutes for a shower, and I’ll be down.”
He left her to get ready, and she showered and dressed quickly, not wanting to waste a second of the day. She still felt slightly drunk and a very tiny bit queasy, and she peed for, like, three hours, but once she’d dried her hair and applied a bit of makeup, she felt much better and ready to face the day.
Holly was stunned. Noel had made pancakes. Jackson hadn’t known which end of a frying pan to use, let alone what ingredients actually went into a pancake. But Noel made a pile of nice thick ones and served them to her with a bottle of maple syrup he found in Paul’s pantry. They ate in front of the fire in the living room, curled up on the sofa as they talked about the day ahead.
“What do you want to do?” Holly asked as she cut up her pancakes with a fork. “It is your birthday, after all.”
He thought about it. “I’d like to go out in the snow for a while. Maybe go for a walk again—I enjoyed that yesterday. Then come back and watch more movies while I eat too many mince pies.”
She laughed. “Sounds like a great Christmas Day.”
He hesitated, looking into his coffee mug before turning his serious gaze on her. “Incidentally, I haven’t forgotten you’re getting over a broken relationship yourself. I invited you here for the peace and quiet—not so I could bend your ear every minute of the day. Be honest with me—if you want to go off on your own, or sit quietly in the other room, just say so. I won’t be offended.”
Holly’s gaze drifted to the window. “He never asked,” she said absently, watching the snow starting to fall again.
“I’m not even going to try to work that one out.”
She realized what she’d said and rolled her eyes. “Sorry. He never asked me to marry him, or mentioned having kids. And do you know the weird thing? I never thought about it. But I do want a family. I’ll be thirty tomorrow, and I know my body clock’s going tick, tick, tick, but I never brought it up with him. Do you think I always knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to work out?”
Noel shrugged. “I’m not going to sit here and give you a big lecture on the meaning of life, and I’m not sure I believe in fate. I’m certainly not religious. And I’d never be so callous as to say you were meant to break up with Jackass or that Ella was meant to die. How can that be right? And yet…sometimes I wonder if there isn’t a bigger plan for us all. I wonder, if we could look ahead and see what life had in store for us, maybe everything we’ve been through would make sense.”
She nodded. Their gazes met and locked. Her heart sped up, and she opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the phone rang, and Noel excused himself and went to answer it.
It was his mother, by the sound of it. He said thank you, as she obviously gave him birthday greetings, and he wished her Merry Christmas. Holly sipped her coffee, tensing as she heard him say, “I’m not alone, Mum. I’ve got a friend here. No, he’s in Edinburgh for Christmas. No, he’s down in Kent until the New Year. I’m not being evasive. Yes…it is a woman.” Holly heard him sigh. “No, she’s just a friend. Um…I don’t know. No! Jeez. Look…” And then he pushed the door shut with his foot, and she couldn’t hear anymore.
She sat and sipped her tea, waiting for him to finish. When he eventually came in, he looked exasperated and slightly sheepish.
“Third degree?” said Holly, winking at him.
“Just a bit. I’m thirty-five for crying out loud! Why does she always make me feel like I’m fifteen?”
Holly laughed. “Mothers do that to you. Come on then, shall we go outside?”
“Yeah. I suppose you’ll want to go and put fifteen layers on again?”
“Absolutely. I don’t want bits of me dropping off from frostbite.”
“You’re such a wuss.”
“It’s, like, twenty below freezing out there. Your blood’s eighty percent proof, that’s why you’re not feeling the cold.”
“Hey, you kept up with me last night, young lady. You must have drank two bottles of wine all to yourself.”
Bickering amicably, they went up and pulled on thermals, sweaters, coats, and scarves and then went outside and played in the snow like a couple of six-year-olds. They built a huge snowman that Noel swore was the spitting image of Danny DeVito, giving her the giggles, then they had a snowball fight that left them both breathless and laughing in the cold December air.
They came inside and had a mug of tea and a couple of mince pies each, and followed that with another walk along the loch. This time they talked all the way, about school and music and movies and sport, about what they’d done with their lives and what they wanted in the future
.
At one point, Noel offered to help her over a fallen log, and when he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm afterward, she didn’t complain. It was very slippery, after all, and she felt safer hanging onto him.
It started snowing again, so they made their way back, changed into dry clothes, and prepared themselves a huge plate of beans and toast, settling down to eat it while they watched The Fellowship of the Ring.
Holly sat in the armchair to eat, thinking it was the best Christmas dinner she’d ever had. No hours of peeling potatoes and carrots, basting turkey that she didn’t like, or steaming Christmas pudding nobody would eat because they were all full. And for once, the whole house didn’t smell of brussels sprouts for hours afterward. There were no unpleasant yelling children, no relatives to make polite conversation with. Just Noel the Brave, eating his beans on toast with his feet propped on the coffee table, quoting lines from Lord of the Rings and looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.
After they’d finished lunch, they paused the movie, washed up the plates, and poured themselves glasses of wine, then returned to the living room to finish the film. Holly went to sit in the armchair, but Noel patted the sofa beside him, so she sat next to him, not touching him, but conscious of the warmth of his body all the same.
Later, she got the Gretsch and sang Christmas carols to him, and sometimes he joined in and sometimes he didn’t, seemingly content to watch her and listen to her voice. He took off his glasses, and for a while she felt unnerved by his intense blue eyes, but eventually she relaxed and just enjoyed the music, playing whatever Christmas songs came to mind, old and new, John Lennon and Slade, George Michael and Mariah Carey.
For tea, she fancied chocolate, so she made herself a chocolate-spread sandwich while he had bacon and eggs, and then they demolished a good three-quarters of a box of Milk Tray between them while they watched It’s a Wonderful Life.
Holly cried at the end. “It’s sickly sweet,” she said as she wiped her eyes, “but I love it anyway.”
“I told you not to have another caramel.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I was talking about the movie. ‘Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.’ It just makes me melt.”
He looked at her fondly and laughed as more tears trickled down her cheeks. “Come here, you daft thing.” He put his arm around her and pulled her against him, and she leaned her head on his chest and curled up, comforted by the thud of his heart beneath her ear.
He flicked through the TV channels for a while, and they watched half an episode of a sitcom and a chat show before deciding to watch another movie. “You choose,” he said.
“It’s your birthday,” she said, pushing herself upright.
“True. But I’ll defer this one to you.”
He looked at her over the top of his glasses, and a shiver went through her from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. There was something about the way he did it that completely floored her every time.
Standing, she looked along the shelves of DVDs and picked one out. He laughed when he saw her choice: Bridget Jones’s Diary. It was a test. Jackson hated it.
“Very apt, Miss Jones,” he said as she put it in the player. “Fuck Chechnya.”
She laughed. “Absolutely, Mr. Tits Pervert.”
He chuckled as she sat back on the sofa, and he held up his arm. She met his gaze for a moment. His eyes were open, honest, and calm, with no agenda evident, nothing except a desire for companionship and a warm body to cuddle up to. They both smiled, and she curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
…
They had another glass or two of wine during the movie, but nowhere near as much as the evening before. By the time the film finished and Bridget had chased Mark Darcy down the high street in her leopard-print pants, Noel felt pleasantly relaxed without being drunk, satisfied and content with the long, lazy day.
He stared at Holly, lifting off his glasses and leaving them on the arm of the chair. He couldn’t see her face, and for a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she lifted her head and looked up at him. She smiled, and her green eyes were gentle and unassuming, her cheeks rosy from the fire. She wore a long wool dress that made her all soft in his arms, and her mouth looked temptingly plump and kissable.
So, he kissed her.
Chapter Six
Holly inhaled when his lips touched hers as if he’d shocked her, but she didn’t pull away, so he didn’t stop. He moved his lips across hers slowly, sweeping his tongue into her mouth as she opened it, tasting the chocolate and wine she’d had, as well as the sweet flavor that was all her. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheek, giving soft sighs that sounded so erotic to his out-of-practice ears he was instantly aroused.
He was about to pull her onto his lap when she moved back, breaking the kiss and pressing her lips together. He studied her, wondering what he’d done wrong—if he’d moved too quickly or if she’d suddenly thought about Jackass.
She glanced out the window. “There’ll be six inches by morning,” she said absently.
He started to laugh. “I’m hoping it won’t take quite that long.”
She stared at him, her cheeks going scarlet as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, God.” She pushed herself off the sofa and walked out of the room, holding her hands to her face.
Noel sighed and put down his drink, following her into the hall. She’d opened the front door, and he stepped outside with her, shivering as the icy air sliced through his shirt. The snow was falling thickly, and the loch was silent, the wildlife buried deep in the woods—Nessie probably hiding deep under the water.
Holly’s face was still red with embarrassment. “Don’t say anything.”
He just chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets and trying not to shiver.
“Did you bring her here?” Holly asked, still watching the snow.
“Nessie?”
She rolled her eyes. “No. Ella. Did she come here?”
He studied her profile, her neat nose and full, sensual lips, her beautiful, angelic golden curls. “No.”
She nodded. “Noel…”
“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry I kissed you in there. I got caught up in the moment. It was Colin Firth, after all.”
She laughed, folding her arms and scuffing her toe at the snow on the ground.
“I didn’t mean to,” he said honestly. “That’s not why I invited you here, I swear. It’s just…it’s been a magical couple of days, and I’ve really enjoyed your company. But I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”
She gave him an exasperated look. “Stop being so bloody gentlemanly. You weren’t taking advantage of me. I wanted you to kiss me.”
He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “You did?”
She lowered her eyes again. “Noel, I didn’t come here for this, either. I’m very aware that this is your private grieving time, and I didn’t want to intrude on it. I know you miss your wife, and I wouldn’t do anything in the world to make you feel guilty for betraying her or her memory.”
Taking a deep breath, she raised her gaze to his. “But…I just wanted to say…I’m here.” She stared at his mouth as she continued huskily, “We’re two grown adults, and it’s Christmas Day, and we’re both single. If you want to…you know…I…” Her gaze came back to his. “I’d like to.”
Their eyes met, locked. There was a moment of silence, the world around them so quiet he could hear the rustle of the snowflakes as they landed on the bushes and the grass.
And then he took her in his arms.
She slid hers around him, raising her lips to his, and he kissed her firmly, passionately, trying to tell her with his body that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His mouth slanted across hers, and he cupped her head so he could kiss her deeply, plunging his tongue into her warm mouth and shivering as she moaned and pressed herself against him.
He lifted his head and stroked his thumbs acr
oss her cheeks, looking into her eyes. “I’m just crazy about you,” he said, hoping she could read in his gaze it was true.
She bit her lip. “I haven’t given you a Christmas present yet, have I?”
He studied her thoughtfully. “No.”
“Or a birthday present.”
His lips started to curve. “True.”
A mischievous light lit her eyes. “You remember those Christmas stockings I told you about?”
“Yes…”
“Well, I’m wearing them.”
His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
She looked embarrassed. “Not because I was expecting anything to happen. I…I thought it was a shame that nobody would get to see them, so I thought, screw it, I’ll wear them for me.”
“That sounds reasonable,” he said, heart thumping.
Taking his hand, she drew him into the house, closing the door behind them. She rested her hands on her thighs and inched her dress up her legs.
He looked down, expecting her to stop as the hem of the dress reached the top of her stockings. To his surprise, however, she grasped the bottom, and in one smooth movement, lifted it up over her head and dropped it to the ground.
…
Holly watched as Noel’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. She could have been wearing worse underwear, she thought. The white lacy bra and knickers went nicely with the white garter belt clipped to a pair of sheer ivory stockings. The band at the top of the stockings was decorated with tiny holly leaves and red berries.
“Merry Christmas,” she said.
He just stared.
“And happy birthday,” she added, shivering and thinking, Oh my God, I’ve done the wrong thing. He thinks I’m a slut, and he’s going to march me back inside and tell me to pack my bags.
He didn’t, though. He ran his gaze all the way down her and then slowly back up. By the time his eyes met hers, he was smiling. Possibly even smirking. “Are you freezing, or are you just pleased to see me?”
Kiss Me for Christmas Page 19