12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

Will slapped his friend hard on the back. “It’s a deal. Off you go then—get me a double orange juice. I’ll be along in a minute.”

  Max didn’t need asking twice and set off in his Porsche, unnecessarily spinning the wheels and sending the gravel flying. Will guided the Range Rover up the drive at a more leisurely pace. At the top of the drive, he pulled on the handbrake and got out. He was visualizing the stone pillars at the entrance with a new sign for the center.

  The keys to the car were in his hand when an exotic bird glided past the gates—one with a very pretty tail he’d have recognized anywhere. Today, encased in a long, fitted skirt that clung in all the vital places, the effect on him was instant and alarming. However, this time, he was in no danger of giving himself away.

  Emma had made it a few feet past the hood of his car before he called out, “Ms. Tremayne. For a moment there, I thought you hadn’t recognized me with my…”

  “Clothes on? Why even bother saying it, Mr. Tennant?”

  The bird had paused, deciding whether this particular insect was worth her time. Then she turned, and Will felt the full effect of her jade gaze. He felt like blinking in the glare even though the mist was already descending below the mountaintops.

  “We must stop bumping into each other like this. People will talk.”

  “You’re the master of the original chat-up line,” replied Emma.

  “A chat-up line?” he echoed. “Was that what it sounded like? If you want to make assumptions…”

  “At least you’re properly dressed today,” she countered, obviously taking in his suit and tie.

  “You too—if, dare I say it, rather posh for Bannerdale. Where are you off to? A corporate presentation? Or the mini-mart?”

  Emma glanced down at her linen suit, gauzy scarf, and suede document case. Yes, she did stand out a bit among the hikers in their windbreakers and walking boots.

  “The launch of the new Wordsworth Center, actually. Anyway, what’s your excuse for having a shave? Not your birthday, I take it?”

  Will’s hand moved to his chin, and he wanted to kick himself for rising to the bait. Instead, he folded his arms casually across his chest.

  “Does that mean you object to a bit of rough then? Or do you think I’m a wolf in sheep’s clothing?”

  A wolf, eh? thought Emma. A dangerous predator with a civilized face. Heavens, he looked even more intimidating in a designer suit than he did stripped bare. She could almost see him, eyes blazing, licking his lips as he moved in on her for the kill. And the most frightening thing of all was that part of her wanted to be devoured.

  She stood up, clutching the folder tighter to protect herself.

  “You’ve got me wrong, Will. I don’t mind a ‘bit of rough,’ as you call it. I don’t judge anyone on appearances, even though I may be from the sophisticated south.”

  His lazy smile as he listened to this, arms folded, was incredibly infuriating.

  “But sometimes a wolf is a wolf, whatever his disguise—or lack of it,” she said.

  “And just how does a woman spot this wolf?” asked Will. “By his stubble? His brand of sunglasses? Or can she actually read his mind?”

  “By his arrogance and lack of respect for other people’s ideas.”

  “Ah, we’re back to the calendar now.”

  “No. You’re entitled to your opinion on that. As a matter of fact,” she said, tapping the folder in her arms with her fingertips, “I’ve got the proofs in here.”

  A direct hit for me, she thought as his arms and smile slipped.

  “Have you now? Have you been examining the pictures closely?”

  “Actually,” she said coolly, “I’m going to present them at the next team meeting. Will you be gracing it with your presence?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Now can I give you a lift to your launch party? It’s started to rain, or hadn’t you noticed?”

  She hadn’t, but the first drops were already splashing onto the linen sleeve of her suit, soaking into the weave. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to the weather up here, it changed so quickly. When she’d set off, there’d been blue skies over the hills. Now she could barely make out even the lower peaks.

  “Will you dare step inside my lair, or do you want to turn up to your do looking like you’ve dived into the lake?” he asked.

  She had no choice. Taking a step toward the gleaming black four-by-four, he opened the door and held out his hand to help her in. She didn’t want to accept it, truly didn’t want to, but it was too late, and she felt the firm grip of his fingers on hers as he helped her up into the plush interior.

  Getting into the driver’s side, he put the keys in the ignition, then turned to her.

  “How are your hands? Better? Let me take a look.”

  “This really isn’t necessary, you know…” But he was already holding them lightly but confidently in his long, strong fingers. Once again, his touch made her tingle all over, and she cursed herself for her reaction.

  “Hmm…two weeks makes a big difference,” he commented, then abruptly put her hands back in her lap. The engine purred into life at his touch. “Better be off. I promised to meet up with a mate, and he’ll be wondering what I’ve been up to.”

  And probably won’t believe it if I tell him, thought Will as he negotiated the village one-way system. Won’t believe that I’ve been flirting unsuccessfully with the most stunning woman in Bannerdale. The one who thinks she’s a tough, sophisticated babe but can’t see that she’s sweet and vulnerable.

  Thinking of Emma like that made him wonder again why he wasn’t asking her out while he had the chance. He braked sharply and told himself to keep his mind on his driving before he squashed a tourist. The traffic was backed up in the village as walkers hurried down off the fells and sought shelter from the rain in the cafés and shops. The sidewalks were heaving, some people spilling out onto the road. They were going to be here awhile more than he’d anticipated, and with Emma now cool and silent, it could seem like a very long drive.

  “Busy at work?” he asked, desperate for something neutral to say.

  “Naturally. It’s the start of the tourist season.”

  “Of course. Stupid question.”

  The diesel engine ticked over, and the wipers swished monotonously as they waited in the traffic. Will debated whether to turn on the CD player, then remembered that he had Meat Loaf’s Greatest Hits in it. He casually turned up the air-conditioning as the windows began to mist.

  “Outdoor Pursuits business good?” she asked, startling him.

  Under normal circumstances, Will would have had a ready answer to a question like this. He wasn’t nearly as averse to a bit of spin as he’d made out when it came to his company.

  “It’s, um…OK. Good, actually. Why do you ask?”

  “I saw your business feature in the Gazette. It was on page three, wasn’t it?”

  The amused edge to her voice left him in no doubt she was winding him up. “Their reporter badgered me to do it, and our marketing people thought it would…”

  “Be good PR?” she teased.

  “Well, yeah.”

  Will changed gear, thankful the traffic had started shunting forward again, albeit far too slowly. At this rate, Max would have given up on him.

  “They look intriguing, your development plans for the hotel,” said Emma.

  He smiled inwardly and also felt a tug of surprise. She was definitely interested in him. Maybe just in a professional sense, as the tourist board would be in a project that affected the community. Maybe in more than that. He wasn’t sure which, but he was going to play his cards close to his chest anyway.

  “I think they’re interesting, but it’s very early days yet. The Gazette is making a mountain out of a molehill, as it usually does. There’s not a lot of exciting news around here, as you’ve prob
ably found out.”

  “I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” she said, turning to him as they queued at the village’s only set of traffic lights. “Some of it is absolutely fascinating.”

  “Even my business strategy?”

  “Depends what it is. Who’s going to benefit? If your plans contribute to the community and might bring more visitors here, then of course I’d be interested—from a professional point of view, that is. That was Lakeshore House you picked me up outside, wasn’t it?” asked Emma.

  Picked her up? Will saw the irony of it but let the remark lie.

  “Yes. I was taking a look at it with the architect,” he said easily, suspecting exactly where the conversation was leading.

  “And what did you think? Did it suit your big plan?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. We’ll have to see how it goes when I get the surveyor’s and architect’s reports.”

  “I expect it’s none of my business, but you’ll be treading on a few toes if you’re planning to develop it for residential use—unless you mean to provide affordable homes, that is. That would be different.”

  Will felt himself simmering. “So you feel qualified to comment, do you, having been up here five minutes?”

  Emma turned to him, and their eyes locked. “It’s an important local issue, I’m entitled to my opinion, and I know most of the local people would agree with me. I must admit I was rather surprised when I read the report. I mean, I’d have thought it wouldn’t do your image any good to get their backs up. Is it really worth alienating people just to make a fast buck?”

  “Perhaps you’d know more about making a fast buck than me, Emma. Hanging round with all those city types with their massive bonuses,” snapped Will, then regretted it. He tried to keep his voice steady. “Look, I didn’t mean to be rude, but things don’t work like that up here. Fast bucks aren’t that easy to come by.”

  “I can assure you I’ve never seen anyone’s massive bonus—and I wasn’t interfering, merely giving my opinion,” snapped Emma.

  Will gripped the wheel tighter, feeling very annoyed. He could, if he wanted to, tell her his plans for the outdoor center, but damn it, why the hell should he? It wasn’t that he didn’t trust her; it was the principle of it. He thought it best to keep his business tactics private for now, and after being hectored by her on a subject that was dear to his heart, he didn’t see why he should enlighten her.

  An impatient hoot from the car behind made him swear.

  “The lights have changed,” said Emma.

  “I can see that.”

  He thrust the car into first gear, and it roared forward. He pressed his lips together and said no more, though now he was not only irritated with Emma but also angry at losing his cool.

  On the other side of the lights, the traffic began to thin. She didn’t ask him anything else. He put his foot down as much as he dared with so many walkers about, and within minutes, he was steering the Range Rover up the steep drive to the Wordsworth Center. He parked as close as he could to the front doors. The rain thundered down on the roof of the car, and Will was glad he wasn’t on rescue duty.

  “Thanks for the lift,” said Emma, fiddling with the seat belt.

  He hesitated a second before popping the button for her and jumping out of the driver’s seat. She’d made it halfway out of the passenger door before he got there and wrenched it fully open, leaving him standing like a chauffeur holding the door back. He barely heard her muttered “cheers” as her back view disappeared like quicksilver into the center, the rain coming in torrents now, soaking his shirt until it clung to his chest.

  * * *

  As she stepped through the doors into the Wordsworth Center, Emma heaved a sigh of relief. Whew. Ten minutes in a confined space with Will Tennant was more than enough for any woman.

  How dare he pop the seat belt for her! Or think she needed him to open the car door. She almost snorted out loud. As for taking her hands in his like that, it made her shiver at the thought, a shiver that was so like a tingle of desire it had her shaking her head in disgust at her own weakness.

  Will, she told herself firmly, wasn’t worth wasting any time on. He had been so defensive about the newspaper story, probably because he was going to make a fortune out of turning the place into luxury flats. That would be another hotel gone and used as second homes by wealthy people from…well, from places like London. It was a huge issue up here, the way house prices had sky-rocketed until local people couldn’t afford to live and work in the place where they were born. Will was going to be very unpopular indeed if that was what he had in mind. Not that she cared, of course. It was just one more reason to keep her distance.

  “Emma, you haven’t forgotten your speech, have you?”

  “Of course not, James,” she replied, smiling, as her boss greeted her at the door. The usually immaculate James had a smear of baby milk on his unironed shirt. She accepted a glass of orange juice from a waitress as he ushered her into a quiet corner.

  “Emma, I meant to email you a list of the center’s benefactors from home, but I’ve been so busy. Can you believe how little sleep a newborn baby needs?” He rolled his eyes. “Now for goodness’ sake, don’t forget to mention the sponsors, or there’ll be hell to pay. Most of them are here to bask in the glory and to see their names on the plaque.” He indicated a red curtain, waiting to be unveiled by the mayor.

  Reaching into his pocket, James pulled out a crumpled printout and handed it to her. Emma scanned it quickly. She recognized the owner of a hotel group, a local supermarket, and some government department. There, at the bottom, was the name of the managing director of a large chain of outdoor equipment stores.

  Mr. Will Tennant—Outside Edge.

  Her heart sank. Had he been deliberately put on this earth to torment her?

  “Profuse and heartfelt thanks will do nicely,” James was saying with a grin. “Major groveling to benefactors always goes down well, but you don’t need me to tell you that.”

  “Do I really need to mention them all by name?” she asked, the list drooping from her fingertips.

  “Each and every one, I’m afraid.” With what she thought was a particularly cruel twist, he added, “Especially Tennant. He’s put up the biggest share, although he doesn’t seem to be here. Not his kind of thing, I suppose. Probably climbing a cliff somewhere.” He looked at his watch. “Oops. I must go. I’m supposed to be on paternity leave, and now I’ve shown my face, it’s back to the breastfeeding. I make the tea,” he added—unnecessarily, in Emma’s opinion.

  “James, wait—”

  He’d gone. Leaving her holding the baby. Thanks, James, she thought crossly. Grovel to Will? She didn’t think she could do it without choking, but at least he wasn’t there to see her do it, she consoled herself as she buttoned up her jacket and headed over to the podium.

  Five minutes later, she was stepping up onto the little stage and taking the microphone, feeling cool, calm, and almost confident.

  Oh no. Please, no. Please, ground, open up and swallow me.

  There at the back of the room, head and shoulders above most of the audience, was a figure she couldn’t mistake. Dark and ruggedly handsome and more than a little damp. She just managed to stop her jaw from dropping as a hush descended on the room and a very small sea of expectant faces gazed up at her.

  * * *

  Groveling hurt. It hurt a lot, and when it was all over, the ripple of applause was started by the tall, dark-haired man who was now smiling despite his soggy shirt. And who was now making straight for her, a glass of wine in his hand.

  “Nice speech,” Will murmured as he brushed past her.

  “Nice shirt,” she hissed as she noticed the steam rising from the damp cotton.

  “Nice ass.”

  No. He couldn’t have said that. Not even Will would have dared be so sexist. She must have mish
eard or imagined it. Risking a glance behind her, she saw he was already talking to a slight man with a pink shirt and a goatee. Emma recognized him as Max Coleridge, the center’s architect. They were laughing out loud at some shared joke.

  Will deserved a slap on the face, and if they hadn’t been in public, she’d have been tempted to give him one. She grabbed a glass of juice and took a deep breath. Bother, she couldn’t see his face from here, just his broad shoulders and the shirt clinging to the muscles in his back.

  “I didn’t know you were a friend of Will Tennant’s?”

  Emma tore her eyes away from Will’s broad shoulders to see Annette Croft, the center director, beaming at her.

  “I’m not. I mean, I’ve met him once or twice. I help out with the mountain rescue PR,” she added neutrally.

  “He’s one of our main benefactors. Very generous.”

  “I’m sure he is.”

  “We’re very lucky to get a commitment like that from the business community. It’s not easy, as you might think, but Outside Edge have always been supportive. Will and Kate always tried to help us if they could.”

  “Really?” asked Emma, toying with her glass, her fingers feeling clammy against the stem.

  “Oh yes. Kate Danvers was a local solicitor. Will’s fiancée. Ex-fiancée, I should say.” Annette lowered her voice. “Although I shouldn’t say anything at all about her, really. Nice girl. Such a shame it all went so wrong.”

  Emma was tempted to do the second most unprofessional thing she had ever done. But the words It was hardly her fault she was left at the altar stayed inside her head and didn’t make it out of her mouth. Mainly because she was sipping her juice at the time.

  Annette had no such scruples. “Everyone was very surprised when it all fell through.” She glanced at Will. “Shocked even. Who would have thought it?” Her eyes traveled back to Emma, and she smiled ruefully. “Still, we can’t let it affect our professional relationships, can we? Whatever he may have done in his private life, he’s still a much-needed sponsor. Would you like another drink, dear?”

  “I have to be getting back to the office, actually,” replied Emma. And right now, she thought, I can’t spend another minute in Will’s company. As she walked out of the building, grateful to find the rain had stopped, she thought back to the day’s events. Will’s defensiveness about the hotel development, his appearance on the sponsor’s list at the center, and Annette Croft’s comment about the community needing his support whatever he chose to do—all these things added up, and the balance was not in Will’s favor.