Christmas Spirit: An Enemies to Lovers, Forced Proximity, Age Gap MM Christmas Romance

by Ali Ryecart

  Between them, they pushed off most of the snow from the roof, and the windscreen, with the wipers and de-misters doing the rest. Moments later, Roland put the car into gear and they trundled their way along the path as Georgie watched the hotel grow smaller and smaller, then disappear as the path took them into the woods.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Roland glared at his satnav. It was top of the range, a signal guaranteed in any condition, supposedly, but the screen was nothing more than a blank, white square on the dashboard.

  “We’re going to have to retrace our steps from yesterday, and it would help if this thing was working.”

  He rapped his knuckles on the satnav screen, in the vain hope it would jump into life, just like his gran had done to her old TV to clear it of the crackle of static. If you thumped something hard enough it would fall into line, had been her philosophy, and it hadn’t only applied to cranky, ancient TVs.

  Next to him, Georgie silently stared out of the window. His lips were puckered, almost pouty, and Roland quickly switched his attention back to the road. He remembered the wet heat of those lips as they’d slid all the way down his cock, as his hands gripped the bedsheet and his toes curled, his hips ramming forward as he—

  The car lurched hard, throwing it to the left, and he and Georgie with it, as it bumped over a ridge of compacted snow. For a second the wheel ran away from Roland’s grip, but a hard wrench brought the car back in the right direction. It stalled.

  Roland let go of a long breath.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  Georgie nodded. “The seatbelt almost garrotted me, but yeah.”

  Roland restarted the engine and they set off again. He kept his eyes trained on the driveway, and attempted to keep his mind as blank as the path they were trundling along, pushing all thoughts of that strange, disturbing and pulse-raising dream, where he and Georgie…

  Stop. Right. Now.

  The driveway was slippery. The thin layer of snow that had settled, after it had been cleared at some point in the night, had made it little more than a skating rink.

  On either side of the driveway, woods hemmed them in, thicker and denser than when they’d first entered. Their boughs dipped low, heavy under the weight of snow, making it seem as though they were leaning forward and reaching out for the car. He hadn’t noticed the woods the night before, but then he’d hardly been aware of anything other than following the sign to the hotel.

  “I don’t remember these woods.” The words burst from Roland

  “What?”

  “These woods. I was sure it was open countryside, when we came down here yesterday. Fields. There’s no woodland for miles and miles from the Manor, except for a few small patches, and this is more than that. Way more.”

  “They’re woods now, which means they were woods yesterday. It tells us one thing, though, and that is we went a lot further than we thought. All those diversions.”

  Georgie was right, he supposed, because there was no other explanation. But… No, no buts. He’d been tired, irritated, and it had been dark. And open fields didn’t turn into thick woodland overnight. But there was a but, and that was that they were obviously a long way from town.

  “What I don’t remember is this driveway being so long. Feels like we’ve been on it for ages and—what the fuck?” Georgie shouted.

  Roland slammed on the brakes, the car fishtailing, lurching from one side of the path to the other, the steering wheel defying all his attempts to regain control and straighten up, before shuddering to a stop.

  “What—?”

  “Did you see that?” Georgie snapped his head around from the side window to Roland and back again.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A deer—”

  “For Christ’s sake, Georgie. A deer? You see deer every bloody day, we’ve a herd at the Manor.”

  “This wasn’t Bambi. It was staring out at us from the wood, and it was massive, with huge antlers. And I mean huge. It was like something you see in those wildlife programmes.” Georgie brought down the window and leaned out. “I can’t see it, now. It must’ve gone deeper into the woods.”

  The woods that hadn’t been there yesterday… Roland smacked the thought away. Of course they had been there. It was just his imagination playing tricks, the way Georgie’s imagination was now playing tricks on him. A shiver fell down his spine.

  “Close the window, it’s freezing. A giant deer? Who do you think it was? Rudolph? Donner or Blitzen, or Prancer?” Roland snorted a laugh.

  “Very funny. But I know what I saw, and it was a big fucker of a reindeer, okay?”

  “A reindeer? Was it pulling a sledge?”

  Georgie’s lips twitched. “Okay, okay, a deer. Not a reindeer, and no sledge. And before you ask, no, there wasn’t some old bloke dressed in red, either.”

  “I think you’ll find the old bloke is normally referred to as Santa.”

  “I don’t care if you don’t believe me,” Georgie muttered.

  Roland pressed his lips into a thin line.

  The way you didn’t believe me about the woods, you mean?

  For the second time since they’d left the hotel, Roland started up the engine.

  “Maybe it was a reintroduced species of deer,” Georgie said, a few seconds later.

  “It could have been, I suppose.”

  It wasn’t unfeasible. He’d heard of otters and beavers, and some birds being reintroduced, even wild boar, but that was always somewhere remote, like the Scottish Highlands. But giant deer?

  They drove in silence. The driveway seemed to go on forever and Roland kept his eyes glued to the path ahead. It was either that or give way to the lurid, neon-bright images that scratched and clawed at the edges of his brain. Lurid and neon-bright images of Georgie’s undulating body, of his dark, glossy hair falling away from his face as he threw back his head, his back arched, as he let out a—

  “Jesus Christ!” Roland yelled, slamming down hard on the brake.

  The herd broke from the wood. Deer. Bigger, heavier, more muscular than the ornamental breed in the grounds of Pendleton, streaming across the path and blocking their way.

  On the icy, treacherous drive, the car lurched from one side to the other, spinning around, defying all Roland’s attempts to bring it back under control. He pumped the brake hard but the big, heavy 4x4 just spun all the more. The steering wheel jerked from his grip, turning one way then another as though by invisible hands as the car careered off the driveway, picking up speed as it hurtled towards a wall of gnarled trees.

  The impact knocked every breath from Roland’s body. His windscreen fractured, his ears filled with Georgie’s cries and, glimpsed in the rearview mirror, a lone stag, huge and heavy, with antlers that seemed to go on forever.

  It was statue still, and watching.

  Roland’s world went black.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Georgie panted, his gasps shallow and fast. He lifted a shaky hand to the side of his head, and winced. A lump was already forming. But no blood, thank God.

  “Are you—?”

  Georgie’s breath stilled in his chest.

  Oh no. No, no, no.

  Roland was slumped forward over the steering wheel, his head turned towards Georgie, eyes closed, his arms hanging to his side as though he were nothing more than a rag doll. Blood trickled from his nose, dark and thick, stark against his bleached skin.

  “Oh God, oh Jesus,” Georgie breathed. “Roland? Roland?” he said, over and over.

  Georgie scrambled to remember his first-aid training but whatever he’d learned, it’d scattered to the four winds.

  Think. Think. Think.

  Pulse. Pulse, yes, that was what he needed to do, he needed to feel for Roland’s pulse.

  To feel if he was still alive.

  He pressed his fingers to Roland’s neck.

  I can’t feel anything I can’t—

  And then, small and weak, a fluttering against his fingert
ips. Relief surged through Georgie, as rising panic ebbed.

  “Roland? Can you hear me? I’m going to get you an ambulance.”

  He grabbed Roland’s phone from its cradle on the dashboard, where by some miracle it had stayed anchored.

  “Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it,” he cried.

  Nothing. No signal. No emergency calls only message.

  He threw off his seatbelt. Back to the hotel. Find Nicholas. Get help. He pushed the door open and was hit by a blast of icy air, and a hard, gusty wind, snatching the door from his hand.

  Next to him, Roland groaned.

  “God, what just happened?” Roland rasped as he pushed himself away from the steering wheel and slumped back into his seat. “My windscreen—”

  “Some deer ran out in front of the car, you swerved and lost control. We took quite a hit.”

  The initial panic and shock over, Georgie registered the tilt of the car, heavy on Roland’s side as though they had a couple of wheels in a ditch.

  “Is anything broken?”

  “Just my no claims bonus,” Roland said.

  Manic laughter bubbled up on Georgie’s lips, but he swallowed it down. He needed to stay calm, and get them both out of the car.

  “Your nose, it’s bleeding. It’s not broken, is it?”

  Without thinking, without realising, Georgie swept his fingers across Roland’s lips, smearing the blood that had dripped down. Under his fingertips, he felt Roland smile.

  What am I doing?

  “Sorry. Here, take this,” Georgie mumbled, fishing a tissue from his pocket. “It’s been used, but—”

  “It’s fine. And thank you.”

  “For—for a moment, I thought—”

  Georgie met Roland’s eyes. Clear and bright, there was not the smallest hint of dazed fogginess. Greener than emeralds, they were stunning, beautiful and spellbinding.

  Roland’s hand covered his, warm, firm and strong.

  Georgie looked down, at the long and tapering fingers, at the fine scatter of hair across its back. His skin tingled, the way it had tingled when Roland had touched him, trailing those long fingers over his nervy skin, as all around them candlelight fluttered and swayed, the flames stretching then shrinking back, before lengthening once more.

  It hadn’t happened, because it couldn’t have done.

  Georgie eased his hand from under Roland’s and dragged his gaze away.

  “I’m going to go back to the hotel to get help. I think you should be checked over at the hospital.”

  “I don’t need the hospital. I’m a bit battered and bruised, but that’s all.”

  “You blacked out, so you might have concussion. I’m going—”

  Georgie gasped. In the rearview mirror, growing bigger by the second as it hurtled towards them, was a gleaming snowmobile, atop of which sat a man in a bright red jacket.

  “Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear,” Nicholas said, as he helped Roland from the car. “The driveway is treacherous, so icy.”

  “How did you…?” Georgie began, but it didn’t matter how Nicholas knew of the accident. What did matter was that he’d arrived when he was truly needed.

  Nicholas settled Roland into the sledge attached to the back of the snowmobile, plumping up cushions and laying a tartan rug over his lap.

  Georgie took Nicholas aside. “I think he may have concussion,” he said, lowering his voice. “I don’t think there are any bones broken, but he blacked out for a few seconds. He needs to be checked over, which means getting to the nearest hospital. The car took a hit, so we can’t use that.”

  He looked over at the Range Rover, wedged up against a tree. A crack crisscrossed the windscreen, the front bumper had a deep dent, and one of the tyres was flat.

  “Can you call an ambulance, please, or take us to the nearest A&E? Preferably in a car.”

  Georgie looked at the sledge. He really didn’t fancy rocking up to hospital looking like he and Roland were on some kind of Winter Wonderland themed ride, complete with an old white-bearded guy dressed in a red and white anorak, a pair of black boots, and a more than casual resemblance to a certain person who was featuring on every Christmas card from Land’s End to John O’Groats.

  “I don’t have concussion,” Roland called over.

  Well, at least his hearing was all right.

  “How do you know? You should be checked out.”

  Roland huffed. “Although I appreciate the help, and the ride back the hotel, I’m perfectly able to walk in a straight line. I don’t have double vision, and I’ve not got ringing in my ears. I don’t even have the suggestion of a headache. I bashed my nose, that’s all, and the bleeding has stopped. It was the car that took the force of the impact.”

  “But you passed out.”

  Why was Roland being so damn stubborn?

  “For a handful of seconds, that’s all. I. Am. All. Right.”

  “Nicholas, will you please make arrangements for Mr. Fletcher Jones to be taken to hospital? The roads have been—”

  “Cleared, sir?” Nicholas shook his head as an apologetic frown furrowed his brow. “I’m afraid we’re completely snowbound. Nothing’s getting through, and all the surrounding roads have been closed. That’s why I came for you when I found you’d gone. To warn you. I came using the quickest way I knew how.”

  “But he should be checked out by a doctor. I don’t understand why neither of you see the importance of it,” Georgie said, throwing his hands in the air.

  “I think all Mr. Fletcher Jones needs is to rest in front of a roaring fire with a cup of tea. There really is nothing for you to worry about, Mr. Forrester.”

  “You think that, do you? Well, thank you for your opinion, but are you a doctor? A nurse? Are you? Because if you’re not, how the hell can you know?”

  “How do I know, sir? I just do.”

  Georgie glared at Nicholas, into eyes as blue, warm, and calm as a summer sky.

  “I…”

  I what? Georgie wasn’t sure.

  “Let me assure you, Mr. Forrester, no harm will come to Mr. Fletcher Jones, nor indeed to yourself.”

  What did Nicholas mean? His words didn’t make sense, but somehow, they comforted him, like hot buttered toast or a mug of the creamiest, sweetest hot chocolate laced with cinnamon.

  A sharp wind whistled down the driveway, and Georgie shivered.

  “It’s a north wind, coming from the Pole,” Nicholas said, looking up into the sky. “More snow’s on the way, so it’s no time to be outside. Come, settle yourself next to Mr. Fletcher Jones, and I’ll get the pair of you in front of the fire, with a plateful of mince pies and a fresh pot of tea, before you can say Jack Frost.”

  Georgie shook his head in resignation, and climbed into the sledge, next to Roland, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument.

  “Seems like we’re staying longer,” he muttered, and shivered again as a fresh gust of wind rocked the sledge.

  Tea and mince pies, in front of an open fire, a warm little haven against the buffeting wind… That wasn’t really so bad, was it? The idea wound itself around him like the snuggliest winter coat and he pulled it tighter, as they made their way back to the hotel.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Roland was on his third cup of tea, and nibbling on a mince pie between sips. As soon as the sledge had pulled up at the hotel, the snow had started to fall from heavy, yellow-tinged clouds as a northerly wind picked up strength.

  He was warm and comfortable and, as he gazed into the fire’s leaping flames, he didn’t feel like being anywhere else.

  Certainly not at home.

  A hard gust of wind, harder than the rest, slammed itself against the window. Home? That was a joke. His smart house was nothing more than a cold pile of bricks and mortar.

  If he was honest, Pendleton Manor was more his home. His heart slumped. It was a vaguely sad, even pathetic thought. His colleagues had been excited about Christmas, and looking forward to leaving the place behind for a couple of weeks,
because they had somewhere else to be, and loved ones to be with. But him? Nothing and nobody awaited him, and never would. He shoved his gloomy thoughts aside; he’d made his choice and he had to live with the consequences.

  Next to him, Georgie clattered his tea cup into his saucer. Roland looked up, and met his eye.

  “You can stop looking at me like I’m about to die. I’m fine.”

  He knew Georgie had been keeping a surreptitious eye on him since they’d got back, averting his gaze every time he turned to face him. It was sweet, and touching, Roland supposed, to have somebody who was genuinely concerned for his welfare.

  “People don’t always know when they’ve got concussion. And concussion is dangerous.” Georgie’s brow pinched in worry. “You might think you’re fine, but I knew somebody who smacked his head. Like you, he passed out. Said he was okay when he came round, just like you, and he seemed it. Then bang! He collapsed, and had to be rushed to hospital. A bleed on the brain. He got better, but it was a close thing.”

  So that was why Georgie was so concerned… But he did feel fine and there was no problem silently brewing. Roland didn’t know why he knew that, he just did.

  “I’ve had concussion before,” Roland said. Georgie’s face was awash with worry, and he wanted it gone, just like he wanted the shadows darkening Georgie’s grey eyes to be swept away. “I know what it’s like and I know the signs. This is nothing like that, because this is nothing. If I didn’t feel right, I’d let you know.”

  Georgie peered at him, his eyes narrowed as though trying to decide whether or not to believe him.

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes, of course it is.”

  No, of course it isn’t. If his lie allayed Georgie’s fears, it was worth telling. Roland met and held Georgie’s eyes, and didn’t flinch.

  “Okay,” Georgie said, at last.

  They sat in silence for a minute, or two, or three, Roland didn’t know or very much care. He couldn’t remember when he’d last been so comfortable and he was happy just to luxuriate in it.