It’s impossible to forget…

Matilda ‘Tilly’ Carter has had the week from hell – and now, with all trains cancelled, it looks like Christmas will be too! With a mascara-streaked face, a broken heel and nowhere to go, there’s never been a worse time to run into the man who once broke her heart. Especially when he looks better than ever.

The one that got away…

For Dean, Christmas has always been hard. The Tilly standing before him is no longer the firecracker of his memories—even if the way she makes his heart race hasn’t changed at all. He is determined to uphold the promise that kept them apart nine years ago. But spending a cosy Christmas with Tilly would break a better man and each accidental touch, heated look and stolen kiss is taking its toll on Dean.

After all this time, can the magic of Christmas bring Tilly and Dean together at last?

Also available by Aurelia B. Rowl:

Popping the Cherry

A Girl Called Malice

Christmas is Cancelled

Aurelia B. Rowl

Copyright

HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2014

Copyright © Aurelia B. Rowl 2014

Aurelia B. Rowl asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

E-book Edition © June 2014 ISBN: 9781474008440

Version date: 2018-07-23

AURAURELIA B. ROWL

lives on the edge of the Peak District in the UK with her very understanding husband, their two fantastic children, and their mad rescue mutt who doesn’t mind being used as a sounding post and source of inspiration. She regularly wows them all with her curious, hastily thrown together meals when she gets too caught up with her latest writing project… or five!… and she has developed the fine art of ignoring the housework.

Aurelia writes young adult, new adult and contemporary romance. To find out more about Aurelia, or to check out her latest news, you can visit her website: www.aureliabrowl.com

This book has had quite a journey.

In October 2011, I decided to try my hand at writing. In spring 2012, I saw a call-out for Christmas stories and set about writing Tilly’s story. Despite being the first story I ever completed, Christmas is Cancelled was snapped up and released back in December 2012, receiving wonderful feedback. During 2014, my debut story found a new home with Carina UK and I had the enviable task of being able to make improvements and put the text back into my native British English, ready to be re-launched.

The acknowledgements from that early edition still ring true today:

“Although they are unlikely to ever read this, I dedicate this book to my husband and my two incredible children; without their love, support, and understanding, it would never have been possible. Huge thanks must also go to my ‘ABCs’ – you know who you are, and you’d better read it! – for keeping me on track, for supporting me, and for never failing to answer my call. Thank you to everyone who believed in me… I did it!”

I would now like to add to this though, and offer my thanks to my editor, Anna Baggaley, for helping to enhance my debut story and make it shine even brighter. I would also like to thank Carina UK for accepting a previously published story and giving it a new lease of life.

It’s been a crazy two years, during which I have been fortunate enough to meet (in the virtual sense) some wonderful readers and book bloggers, many of whom have since joined my merry troupe of ‘Antics’ along with those ‘ABCs’ that have been with me since day one. Thank you for seeing something in my stories and my writing and for sticking with me, I truly appreciate it.

For my family…

Contents

Cover

Blurb

Book List

Title Page

Copyright

Author Bio

Acknowledgements

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Visitors’ Book

Endpages

About the Publisher

Chapter One

‘You have got to be kidding me?’

Out of breath, Matilda Carter hunched over and panted, yet kept her gaze glued to the departures screen. There had to be some mistake. She read the screen for the third time, willing the word to change, but it continued to flash at her…

Cancelled.

Just when she thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse.

Betrayed, homeless, out of a job and now stranded in a train station. All on the same day. And not just any day – oh no – it had to be Christmas Eve! As if she could forget. Christmas songs were belting out from every vendor, garish lights twinkled, and the smell of hot chestnuts squeezed her famished stomach. When had she last eaten? She’d been too distressed to contemplate food after……

Tilly groaned and bit back the urge to scream like a wild banshee. Envious of all the happy travellers making their way home for Christmas, she scowled at anybody who happened to look her way. They gave her a wide berth, maybe sensing that she was about to lose her very last shred of control and rip somebody’s head off. Not literally, of course, that would just be gruesome – but the man in a rail uniform foolish enough to walk into her line of vision didn’t know that.

The instant he noticed her heading towards him, his eyes widened. He flicked a glance left and right in the obvious hope that she was charging towards somebody else. Or at least she would have been charging, had she not snapped the heel off one of her shoes in her mad dash to the station. Instead she lurched clumsily, her face burning from both exertion and embarrassment, dragging her battered wheeled suitcase behind her.

One suitcase: all she had to show of her life.

It wasn’t even a very big suitcase.

His gaze swept over her, no doubt noticing her dishevelled appearance, then he bravely took a step in her direction. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he called across to her.

Miss?

Did she have a sign above her head flashing the words, ‘I am single again’ to the world? Okay, so she was being unreasonable; the man was only trying to be polite, but so what? Not even a saint could cope with the day she’d had to endure. ‘Bad’ didn’t even come close. Neither did ‘hellish’. With her jaw tensed and her teeth gritted, she stalked right up to him.

Older than he’d looked from a distance, he had kind eyes with those little lines creasing the corners suggesting he smiled a lot. He wasn’t smiling now though; his face was a picture of concern. How could she possibly scream and rant at this man? Just like that, the fire inside her fizzled out. ‘The train to Southampton, is it really cancelled?’

‘Yes, miss. Unfortunately, you are quite correct.’

‘What time is the next one, please?’ Tilly knew from poring over the timetables all afternoon that there wasn’t another train leaving today but it didn’t stop her hoping for a miracle. Wasn’t that what Christmas was all about? ‘I need to get to my brother’s house. For Christmas…’

‘Ah.’ He said it in such a way, her stomach plunged to the floor. ‘Not in time for you to get to your brother’s, I’m afraid. A goods train came derailed and damaged the track along with a signal box. All of the main lines headed south have had to be closed. The engineers are working as fast as they can, but it’s going to take a few days to repair – what with it being the holidays.’

‘A few days?’ Trapped in a vicious nightmare, Tilly considered pinching herself in a bid to wake up. ‘Isn’t there a replacement bus? Anything –’

Her throat closed up, unable to say another word at the sight of him shaking his head before she’d even finished asking.

‘No, nothing. It’s local journeys only,’ he said, dashing her final glimmer of hope.

‘Great. Just great.’ Tears welled in her eyes and clouded her vision. ‘I can’t even hire a car since the place is all closed up for the night.’

The kindly old man reached across to pat her arm gently. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I hope something comes up for you.’

Not bloody likely.

Unable to force a sound past her throat, she nodded and turned away. She’d barely taken a step before the first disloyal tear forged a track down her cheek for the rest to follow. With her suitcase tucked in behind her, she wandered blindly towards the exit.

Crowds swarmed around her, threatening to swallow her whole as they rushed en masse in the opposite direction. Men and women of varying ages jostled past, using their briefcases and suitcases as battering rams. Clusters of students and family members presumably heading home for the holidays added to the usual rush-hour melee of commuters and forced her to take refuge behind an advertising board.

Tilly sucked in a lungful of air. Then another. Neither one helped. Suddenly claustrophobic, the noise and chaos left her dizzy. Painfully aware that she’d made a spectacle of herself once already, she really didn’t want to be the cause of yet another scene but she had no choice. She had to get out of the station before the bloodcurdling scream building in her lungs could claw its way free.

Broken heel or not, she launched into a run and forced her way past startled passengers. The exit blessedly in sight, she raced through the glass doors and out into the biting December chill. Glad to be out of there, her waterlogged eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, dreary sky after the bright station lights. She didn’t dare slow down, desperate to escape the throng of festivities and merriment.

Right on cue, the carol singers assembled outside burst into a jovial rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” full of joy and happiness.

Fools.

Didn’t they know Christmas had just been cancelled?

‘Ooof!’ Tilly smacked her shin against the edge of a low bench, too dark to see in her attempts to dodge the growing audience. She ended up sprawled across the seat and dropped the handle of her suitcase with a loud clatter. At least the pain shooting down her leg gave her an excuse to be crying. Unfortunately, it meant she had to stop running too.

Not good.

Whenever things got too tough, too intimate, or too confrontational, you could rely on Tilly to make a run for it. Running away was what she did best. Call it her M.O. In truth, she’d been a fugitive for almost ten years: on the run ever since her world had come tumbling down on the night of her eighteenth birthday. The night that Dean, her brother’s best friend, had told her he didn’t want her – that she didn’t even register on his radar – although he hadn’t put it as brutally, but she’d got the message.

Tilly sighed and shook her head to clear the memory. With no place to go, she sat and stared blankly at the world going about its business until a tall figure loomed in the edge of her vision; something vaguely familiar about the man’s loping gait.

In an effort to see him more clearly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands then cringed inwardly at the black streaks now etched all over them. Super, she could add impersonating a panda to her day from hell as well then. Instead of helping, the mascara stung her eyes and rendered her unable to focus properly. She blinked furiously and studied the man striding towards her, trying to work out if she knew him.

Unaware that he was being watched, he talked into a mobile phone. He drew alongside her and then spoke again in a deep voice that resonated throughout her entire body. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A surge of adrenaline rushed to her legs, numbing the pain, and her subconscious screamed at her to run.

Now!

The cloaked figure stopped mid-stride as if he’d heard her gasp. ‘Mike, I’ve gotta go,’ he said gruffly. He hung up the call instantly then backtracked until he stood directly in front of her. ‘Basmati?’ His tone had changed from a growl to one of surprise. ‘Is it really you?’

Bugger.

Tilly hadn’t heard the stupid nickname for years: nine years, four months and… sixteen days, to be exact – her disastrous birthday party – and even then, only one person had ever actually used it. That very same person she’d been hiding from all these years. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head from side to side.

No. No way.

Absolutely no way could this be happening to her. Not now. Not today of all days. Talk about kicking a girl when she was down. Although she looked quite different now. Maybe she should pretend it wasn’t her? Mistaken identity and all that? She could probably pull it off and get away from him. No harm done. Even as she tried to convince herself to do it, a little voice inside her head told her it was futile to resist.

It pained her to agree.

To not to speak to him – to not look at him and see the man he had become – would kill her. Or at the very least, it would drive her mad trying to work out why he’d strayed so far from home. Nine years was a long time. Maybe he’d have forgotten all about how she’d thrown herself at him, humiliating herself to the extent that she’d fled her hometown?

Yeah, and maybe pigs had suddenly learned to fly too.

‘Hi, Dean,’ she mumbled.

‘It is you,’ he said, his tone friendly and sounding pleased to see her. If only she could deny feeling the same. ‘I knew it.’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ She stared down at his feet like the timid and shy teenager she’d been when her brother had first introduced Dean to the family. Except she wasn’t that person any more. No, she may quite probably be even worse these days but he didn’t know that. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. ‘Long time no –’

Her jaw actually dropped and her mouth gaped open to betray her reaction. Smart brogue business shoes – well-polished – gave way to an expensive-looking grey pinstripe suit – Armani, if she wasn’t mistaken. He’d teamed it with a crisp white shirt and a deep red silk tie – the colour of blood – tied in a fancy Windsor knot, and then he’d completed the ensemble with a dark woollen overcoat. Left undone, it only served to highlight his spectacular physique.

Butterflies took flight in her belly, fluttering wildly. Where were the scruffy jeans and baggy T-shirts? Tilly committed every inch of this new Dean to memory but couldn’t bring herself to look beyond the shirt collar and tie. Sure to be her undoing, she stared at a button on his coat and swallowed, salivating over him already. She’d always had a thing for men in suits, and she’d always had a thing for Dean; putting the two together was sure to be a winning, or maybe that should be losing, combination.

Dean pocketed his phone then joined her on the bench, sitting so close he could probably hear her heart pounding ferociously against her rib cage. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘Yeah. Fancy that.’

‘Are you all set for Christmas then?’

Since when did Dean give a damn about Christmas? Ripped from her daydream – the one where Dean tracked her down to declare his undying love to her before whisking her away to a country manor – the events of the day came crashing back down on her. The shock and excitement at seeing him drained out of her, seeping out of her shoes into the concrete slabs that were as cold and harsh as the reality she faced.

‘No, not yet. Speaking of which, I really must dash, I’m afraid.’ Afraid being the operative word. Tilly stood, fighting the urge to flinch at the pain lancing through her leg. ‘Bye, then.’ She did her best to saunter off casually, rather than obviously running away. From Dean. Again!

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Damn it, he must have spotted her limp. He caught up with her in a matter of strides, the crowds parting for him whereas she struggled to swim against the tide.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Fine?’ He gripped her shoulders then spun her around to inspect her. She didn’t want to contemplate how bad she looked. ‘Pull the other one.’

Stunned by her body’s reaction to his slight touch, she staggered back a step. ‘I said I’m fine.’ She sounded sullen and brattish even to her own ears. ‘I also said I have to go.’

‘What happened to your shoe?’

She could easily picture the way his brows would be knotted together, frowning down at her, but she didn’t want his concern. She wanted him to leave her alone. Didn’t she? In reality, she was pitifully torn between pushing him away or throwing herself into his arms and clinging on like a frightened child. ‘It doesn’t matter, just forget it.’

Dean either missed the hint and the dangerous edge to her voice or he chose to ignore it. ‘It does matter, and I can’t just forget it. Are you injured?’

Now Tilly really glared at him. ‘For Pete’s sake! I said I’m fine. Just let it go.’ Argh! She’d been right to avoid looking above the shirt collar. The poor light did nothing to hide the transformation he’d gone through. She couldn’t hold the glare; she’d already seen too much. Heat built in her core and merged with the fire that had erupted inside her at his touch.

‘No.’ A hint of menace crept into his voice. It couldn’t possibly be protective; he had no reason to be protective of her. Well, he’d been warned –

‘Who the hell do you think you are?’ Tilly jabbed her index finger into his chest and knocked him off balance. ‘It’s not like you care or anything, we’re practically strangers,’ she said, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she unleashed her temper on him. ‘You made your choice a long time ago, Dean, and I bet you had a good laugh at my expense. You must have celebrated for days after I left town.’

‘Bullshit!’ Dean grabbed her hand. The sudden zap sent a shudder through her bones powerful enough to paralyse her entire arm. He pinned it to her side anyway and then reached for the other one but she didn’t have the physical strength to attack him any more.

‘Swearing really doesn’t mesh with your new image.’ She made a point of looking him up and down. ‘What the hell happened to you anyway? Did you get dragged kicking and screaming onto one of those makeover shows?’

‘This isn’t about me. What’s going on?’

‘None of your business. Now let go of me.’ The heat from his hands warmed her skin through her winter coat and muddled her brain. Tilly tugged her arms up to try to get free but Dean held on.

‘No.’

‘You can be such a bastard.’ She tried again, twisting and pulling at the same time but it didn’t get her anywhere. If anything his grip tightened. ‘Let go of me right now, or I swear I’ll scream my head off.’

‘No, you won’t.’

‘I will.’ She met his stare with defiance.

‘You seem to forget I know you far too well.’

‘Like hell you do. You don’t know me at all. Not any more. Maybe not even back then.’ Except he did, and the arrogant son of a bitch knew she’d been calling his bluff.

Well, she’d show him.

Tilly didn’t give a damn about her dignity or about causing a scene any more. Her need to wipe the smug look off Dean’s face outweighed all of that – not that she’d actually seen it, she didn’t dare look at him again, but it had to be there. What was one more humiliating memory to add to the collection?

***

Dean waited, trying not to smirk. Tilly would never do it. No way. But then she took in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and tried to deafen him. Shocked into action, he swooped down and covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sound into himself to muffle it.

The scream stopped with a squeak and Tilly’s knees gave way so he was the only thing keeping her upright. He tried not to notice how delicate she felt in his arms, small and petite; he could probably still wrap his hands around her waist. And he absolutely did not notice how soft and pliable her lips were under his, or how warm they were despite the cold air, or how perfectly they fitted against his.

It wasn’t like he was kissing her – hell, no – this was nothing but damage limitation. Now he just had to convince the rest of him. In startling 4D clarity, he could imagine exactly what it would be like to kiss her and he wanted it badly. No, it went deeper than ‘want’: he needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.

But he couldn’t… he’d made a promise.

Dean pulled back abruptly and dropped his hands to his sides. The cold air hit his face and palms, chilling him to the bone. His breath deserted him in a rush but if he ever made a move on Phil’s little sister, things would get very complicated indeed so he ignored his racing pulse and the blood pumping through his veins. ‘Have you finished?’

She nodded then swayed precariously.

‘Whoa.’ Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her again except his hands made a beeline for her waist. ‘You OK?’

Tilly darted a glance up at his face before checking herself. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, talking to his torso. ‘So, er… Right. Yes. Well. It was… um… good to see you again –’ she squared her shoulders and pulled herself up the tallest she could go. ‘– but I’d best be off now.’ She took a step backwards but he matched her movements. She jinked to the opposite side to try to break free but Dean didn’t let go. He couldn’t let go, not wanting to let her get away.

‘Nice try.’

Her shoulders sagged and her eyes closed. Long eyelashes feathered her cheeks, some clumped together with the makeup that hadn’t yet smudged itself all over her beautiful face. Tilly looked pale even without the stark contrast of the black against her fair skin. She gulped in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, deflating in his arms and drooping over until her forehead ended up propped against his chest.

Even in high heels, she barely reached his chin, or rather high heel. Singular. An arrow of alarm pierced him. Had she been mugged? Or… or… He couldn’t even entertain the other option which sprang to mind.

‘What’s wrong?’ he whispered into her hair.

‘Everything.’ She spoke so softly he almost missed what she’d said but the pain in that one word wounded him, cutting deep into his soul. Whoever had done this to her would pay. He’d rip them to shreds with his own bare hands. Nobody treated his Tilly like this and got away with it.

No.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, determined to restrain the rage ripping through his veins. Violence was never the answer; he’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago but that wasn’t what made him stop wanting to shake her, to demand names and details. While he might not be an expert on women, especially emotionally overwrought ones, he was pretty sure she wasn’t looking for a bodyguard or some kind of enforcer. What she needed was a friend, and somehow she’d ended up with him.

Dean unclenched his jaw, determined to keep his voice gentle. ‘Why don’t I take you home?’

Tilly sobbed, little whimpers at first but soon turning into big heaving sobs. He tried to pull her close but she resisted, raising her hands and pressing them against his chest. ‘Your shirt, it’ll get ruined,’ she said, in between gulps of air. ‘I’ll get mascara all over it.’

‘So what?’ He let out a sigh and shifted his hand to cradle the back of her head, drawing her gently into his chest. ‘I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Surely you know me better than that?’

Tilly stopped fighting and relaxed her arms. She buried her face into him and his shirt soon grew damp with the deluge of tears. Dean tightened his hold until he clutched her to him, his heart breaking a little bit more with each sob and shudder.

Overcome with a savage need to shield her from the whole world, Dean ignored his better judgement and stooped down to retrieve her suitcase. ‘Come on.’ Keeping one arm looped around her waist, he led her to the taxi rank outside the station where a line of black cabs waited. ‘Let’s get you out of here…’

Chapter Two

Tilly sat huddled up to Dean on the back seat of the black cab with her suitcase stowed beside her feet. He’d tucked her under his arm so that her head lay against his chest. His warm and surprisingly rough free hand held hers, and the arm draped around her shoulder held onto her so tightly, she might as well have been sitting on his lap.

Utterly electrifying, there wasn’t so much as an inch between them from shoulder down to hip and the more she tried to ignore the tingles, the stronger they got. She didn’t believe for a second that Dean could be as calm and unruffled as he appeared. His nostrils were flaring for a start, but she admired his attempt at control and emulated it so that she could finally stop snivelling all over him.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her nose so bunged up her voice came out sounding like the rail platform announcements she’d been subjected to.

‘We’re on our way to my house.’ Dean brushed the pad of his thumb across the back of her hand. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere public but we can go somewhere else if you prefer?’ His gaze bored into her head, pulling her own gaze up to glance at him and see his face thrown into shadow by the orange streetlights.

A flicker of apprehension marred his features and her fingers itched to smooth away the worry lines. No way would she be able to stop there though; ever since she’d set eyes on him, she’d wondered how his new clean-shaven jaw would feel if she touched it. Handsome to a fault anyway, Dean had really smartened up his appearance.

Gone were the dark, shaggy tresses that used to hang scruffily around his face and past his chin. Instead, he had a smart yet stylish haircut with his hair swept back off his face but still long enough to run her fingers through. The only things that hadn’t changed much were his amazing eyes, shining bright in the darkness. She didn’t need the light to know they were almost charcoal in colour with flecks of sapphire blue hidden in their depths.

‘Your place is fine. Thank you.’

‘Great.’ He gave her hand a squeeze. ‘It’s not far now.’

Sure enough, the taxi pulled up at the kerbside long before she’d worked out why Dean was being so nice to her. She had no idea where he’d brought her either. They’d left the industrial, urban sights of Manchester behind several miles back and it had been too dark to see much else. Not that she’d particularly been looking; the windows had steamed up so she’d spent the majority of the journey surreptitiously checking him out.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Dean paid the fare then helped her down from the cab. Tilly stepped onto the pavement and got her first view of a row of stone-terraced houses, staggered as they climbed up a steep hill. They looked old, like they’d been there at least a hundred years already.

Dean grabbed her suitcase then led her up to the first house with his arm around her waist. ‘Please excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting visitors.’ He turned the key then pushed open the front door, reaching inside to flick a switch before blinding her with the bright light. ‘After you,’ he said, gesturing with his free hand.

‘Thanks.’ She’d expected a porch or a hallway once she’d stepped across the threshold but found herself standing inside the front room. Tilly couldn’t help but be drawn farther into the room and ran her hand over the dark leather sofa, soft and cool to the touch. The whole room smelled like him too, masculine and woody.

Dean thankfully mistook her shiver for being cold. He walked to the wood-burning stove, all set up and ready to go with the simple toss of a match.

Lots of natural wood welcomed her inspection, not a hint of chipboard in sight, yet Dean had managed to combine it with glass and chrome. Somehow it worked, with the modern aspects complementing the original features and the age of the property rather than looking vulgar and out of place.

‘It’s beautiful, Dean.’

‘Thanks.’ The smile that tugged at his lips wasn’t your everyday smile. This one lit up his entire face and showed off his teeth, even the very back ones. ‘It’s been a labour of love but I’m getting there. You should have seen it when I bought it, talk about a mess, I had to strip it right back to its shell and start from scr–’

‘You did all this?’

Dean nodded and his smile somehow grew wider.

‘Wow. It’s amazing.’ She knew he’d always been good working with his hands, doing odd jobs for cash even when he’d still been at school from what little she could gather about his past, but this was something else.

‘Would you like the grand tour?’ Dean did his best to appear modest but failed dismally. Tilly swore a hint of red crept into his cheeks making him look more like a child with a new toy, over-excited and desperate to show it off.

‘You bet.’ No way could she possibly refuse him, so she shrugged off her coat then kicked off her shoes. Her stockinged toes sank into the plush carpet and she wiggled her toes but then noticed Dean shucking off his shoes too, except he also removed his socks. The sight of him in full business suit with tanned bare feet took her breath away.

‘Should we start downstairs?’ Far too sexy for his own good without trying, Dean didn’t even seem to realise the effect he had on her but at least she was managing not to stare… or drool… much.

‘Lead on…’ she said, impressed at how calm she sounded considering her stomach had gone all out on perfecting cartwheels and a stampede of elephants was busy trampling across her chest.

A simple two-up, two-down, the ‘grand tour’ didn’t take long but it was clear that Dean had put a lot of work into the house. She shouldn’t have been nearly as thrilled by the lack of femininity throughout, especially in the master bedroom, yet it wasn’t your typical bachelor pad either. It was cosy, yet classy. Comfortable, yet sophisticated. A few girly touches here and there were all the place needed to become her own idea of heaven.

Dean directed her to the sofa. ‘You grab a seat, and I’ll make the drinks.’ He disappeared into the kitchen. ‘I’ve got tea, coffee, wine, or beer?’ he called through the open doorway.

‘Wine, please.’

‘Red or white?’ he asked, reappearing in the doorway with a bottle of each in one hand and two wine glasses and a corkscrew in the other.

‘Um…’ If ever a day called for alcohol, it had to be today. ‘Both?’

Dean grinned and walked all the way into the room. ‘I like your thinking.’ He set down the bottle of red along with the glasses then deftly uncorked the white – no screw-top in this house – and poured out two glasses before handing one to her.

‘Thanks.’

Job done, Dean sank onto the sofa beside her and crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. ‘Cheers,’ he said, accompanying it with a wink that made her heart flutter.

‘Cheers,’ Tilly repeated, chinking her glass against his before taking a sip. The wine tasted like nectar, tap dancing on her tongue. ‘Mmmh… this is good.’ She chased the first sip down with another. ‘I needed this.’

‘I’m glad you like it. I figured white first since it’s chilled, and it’ll give the red time to breathe.’

‘Sounds good to me.’ She leaned her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. The flames from the stove emitted an orange glow that flickered against her lids while the heat washed over her, coaxing out a deep sigh from her chest.

Despite everything that had happened, she felt peaceful – content – until she opened her eyes and discovered Dean studying her intently. Her stomach did a loop-the-loop. Dean quickly averted his gaze and stared into his glass before taking another sip of wine but she’d seen how his pupils were dilated. She recognised an emotion she didn’t dare label but they definitely weren’t the eyes of somebody only looking out for an old mate’s little sister.

‘Shit!’ Tilly bolted upright, managing to slosh ice cold wine down her front. She set her glass down on the floor then rooted through her handbag for her mobile phone.

Dean watched, his eyebrows raised in question, waiting for an explanation.

‘I need to call Phil.’

‘Oh, I see.’ Dean’s eyes grew colder and his posture tensed. ‘The signal round here is patchy at best, you’re better off using the house phone.’

‘Right, thanks.’ She hesitated, unsure how much she wanted Dean to know. At least on her mobile, she could go outside or into the kitchen.

As though reading her mind, Dean grabbed the digital handset and passed it to her. ‘Don’t mind me. I need to go upstairs and get changed anyway.’

Her gaze fell on his torso and she couldn’t help but laugh. In addition to the patches of mascara and eyeliner she’d already smudged all over him, there was now a rapidly growing wet patch as well. She must have made him jump when she’d lunged for her bag. Set free, the black makeup streaks had grown tentacles and were manoeuvring haphazardly across his chest, trying to camouflage themselves in the smattering of dark hair visible all the way down to the shot of dark fuzz disappearing beneath his waistband.

Tilly couldn’t tear her gaze away from the shirt becoming more and more see-through as each second passed. She prayed her skin hadn’t turned pink as a result of her hot flush – talk about a dead giveaway – and her mouth grew so dry she had trouble swallowing, let alone talking but she had to try. ‘Thank you,’ she squeaked, trying to stop her fingers from shaking. She plucked the phone from Dean’s outstretched hand, being extra careful not to touch him. ‘I won’t be long.’

***

‘Take all the time you need.’ Dean fixed a smile on his face then made his exit. He’d reached the last stair before Tilly spoke into the phone.

‘Hi, Phil, you won’t believe this,’ she said ruefully. Dean froze on the spot, gripped by fear at the thought of her mentioning him. ‘Yeah, problems on the line apparently. They don’t know when it will be fixed but said it’s likely to be a few days.’

He let out a sigh of relief.

Torn between eavesdropping or giving her the privacy he’d promised, Dean forced his feet to climb the last step then faltered. Battle raged inside his brain but his conscience eventually won out. He crossed the landing to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the knot in his tie. If Tilly was supposed to be on a train to Phil’s, that at least explained the suitcase. It didn’t explain her odd behaviour though.

Admittedly she’d always had a crazy streak and a bit of a temper, but she wasn’t usually so erratic. Meek one minute and full of fire the next, Dean got the impression she was trying to be someone else and constantly fighting against her true nature. She’d accused him of going through some sort of makeover, but it was a wonder he’d even recognised her.

When he’d flicked on the house lights, he’d been too stunned to speak and had frantically searched for something to do to buy some time to get his head around the dulled-down version of the girl he once knew better than himself. Dyed brown hair, dark, drab suit… the difference disturbed him. What had happened to the flame red hair? The colourful clothes? Had she had a personality transplant in the years since she’d left home?

Dean sighed and let his head fall into his hands. He could try and psychoanalyse her all he liked, but she wasn’t the only one behaving erratically tonight. Sat beside him on the sofa with her head back and her eyes closed; he’d been spellbound. His pulse stuttered just thinking about how close he’d come to leaning across and stealing a kiss. And the look in her eyes just now, stood there with her skin flushed and her breathing ragged, betraying her attraction to him… Christ, it was a wonder he hadn’t jumped her right there and then.

Time had let him down. He was just as attracted to Tilly now as he’d ever been. Nobody else had come close to making him feel the same way in all the years since, which was pathetic since he’d never even kissed her – their close encounter outside the train station definitely didn’t count – and their relationship, for want of a better word, had always been purely platonic. Mostly because he hadn’t let anything happen between them but heaven knows how he’d managed to keep his hands off her for so long.

Over ten years since had passed since he’d promised Phil to leave his little sister alone. More to get Phil off his back than anything but Phil wouldn’t have let it drop. After months of being ground down, Dean had eventually allowed himself to been brainwashed that it was for Tilly’s own sake, so she could get over her ‘silly teenage crush’.

It didn’t feel like a teenage crush at the time, though. Tilly had been a very mature teenager for a start, and he’d been twenty-one. He’d had feelings for her, too, yet he’d made the promise anyway out of loyalty to his only friend, plus there was the fact that big brother always seemed to be watching.

Phil isn’t here now though…

‘Shit.’ Dean jerked upright then crossed to the window to draw the curtains. What he needed now was a shower to clear his head and it might not be a bad idea to make it a cold one. He quickly undressed, discarding his clothes on the window seat, then wandered to the bathroom.

Tilly’s voice floated up the stairs, not clear enough for him to make out the actual words. Whether it was for the best or not that he couldn’t hear her, Dean still couldn’t decide. He tried to tune it out yet he knew the exact moment the call ended because the house became eerily quiet.

As if a starter gun had gone off, he shut off the water and jumped out of the shower, leaving a trail of footprints in his dash back to the bedroom. His jeans snagged on his wet legs and he cursed, finally getting them done up before pulling a top over his head. He left the bedroom and padded quietly down the stairs.

His pulse spiked at the sight of her stood in front of the window, deep in thought with a frown creasing her forehead, to the extent he forgot all about the creaky step. The sound echoed in the silence and Tilly whipped her head round to look at him, spearing him with eyes so vivid he could see how green they were from the other side of the room. They were wet too. She’d either been crying again or was just about to start.

‘All done?’ he asked.

‘Yes, thanks.’

‘Phil okay?’

‘Yeah, the usual. You know Phil…’

Dean didn’t bother to tell her they weren’t in touch any more. After Tilly had left, they’d drifted apart making him wonder if she’d been the only thing keeping them together. ‘Were you meant to be staying with him for Christmas?’

‘It’s fine, he wants me to go down for New Year instead,’ she said with a shrug, not really answering his question. She broke eye contact first and pointed out of the window. ‘Are those hills over there?’

Smooth subject change… not. ‘Yep.’

‘But we’re only just outside Manchester?’

‘I know. Great, isn’t it?’ Dean joined her at the window. ‘Welcome to the Peak District. You should see the views in daylight.’

Tilly turned away, keeping her back to him. ‘So how come you’re working up here anyway? I thought you hated the north.’

‘It’s a long story.’

‘Well, there’s one and a half bottles of wine left over here.’ To plead her case, she crossed the room to top up her glass then spun around to face him and waved the open bottle in her hand.

Dean gulped; he’d never been a religious man but he prayed to every saint he could think of for assistance. Whether she’d undone her blouse on purpose or whether the buttons had come apart when she’d tried to dry herself off was neither here nor there. Either way, his eyes feasted on the sight of Tilly, standing before him with her top gaping open.

The plunging neckline offered him a perfect view of her ample breasts, concealed only by a sheer pink bra with delicate green buds threaded throughout. At odds with the rest of her outfit, it offered the first sign that the real Tilly was still in there somewhere, lurking beneath the sombre facade.

‘And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go,’ she continued in such a nonchalant, matter-of-fact tone that he might have been fooled had he not been determinedly staring at her face.

Call it divine intervention or pure goddamn luck, he’d seen the way her face had twisted. Pain and uncertainty shone in her eyes before she’d looked away and her grip tightened on the wine glass so that her knuckles turned white. A different Tilly stared back at him less than a heartbeat later. There was a sense of hardness surrounding her and a glint of steel in her eyes, combined with tension in her cheeks and jaw.

This Tilly was on the offensive, ready and waiting for another confrontation. Dean didn’t consider himself a patient man by any means. Ask anyone and they’d tell you he was more of an impulsive, no-nonsense kind of guy. They’d be right too, but he bit his tongue knowing full well that if he pushed her now, they’d only have a repeat of earlier and Dean didn’t much fancy another fight, especially with her looking irresistible.

Any form of passionate outburst could be highly dangerous so he kept his gaze glued to her face and his feet firmly planted where they were. ‘I… I’m a property developer now,’ he said, his voice strained. ‘I came into some money a few years back and it made…’ Come on, he could do this, although maybe he just needed to clear his throat again. ‘It made sense financially, what with the north being cheaper than the south.’ Not to mention the fact he’d always harboured hopes of bumping into her or at least hearing about her somehow.

Tilly lost some of the aggression, but her stance remained guarded.

‘I’ve built up a pretty decent business here now,’ he continued. ‘Made a lot of contacts along the way…’ His voice trailed off. Who the hell was he kidding? He couldn’t do this, not at all. The strain of keeping his gaze above the level got the better of him so that breathing proved a challenge.

‘I thought you said this was a long story?’ she asked, the tough edge audible in her voice.

Dean swallowed and raised his hands to cover his wandering eyes ‘Please don’t be offended…’

‘What the –’

‘I’m enjoying the view immensely but it’s killing my train of thought.’ Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of him and his admiration verged on embarrassingly obvious.

‘Oh!’ She slammed her glass onto the table with so much force, it almost smashed.

‘Maybe you’d like to pop upstairs and get changed? You’re welcome to use the shower.’

‘Good idea.’ She shuffled past him to get to the stairs.

‘Don’t forget your –’

Tilly took off so fast, he didn’t get chance to finish.

Dean waited for the sound of the bolt sliding across the bathroom door before he grabbed her forgotten suitcase. At the top of the stairs, he hesitated outside the bathroom before knocking.

‘Yes?’ she squealed, the sound coming from immediately behind the locked door.

‘The towels are in the cupboard next to the bath. I’ll put your suitcase in the spare room for you.’

‘Oh, right. Thank you.’ The roar of the shower cut off any further conversation.

Dean dropped off her luggage then went back to his own room and sank onto his bed, trying not to imagine the water cascading over her naked body. Once he’d finally got his mind out of the gutter, it dawned on him how nice it was to have somebody else in the house for a change, especially since that somebody else was none other than Tilly.

He hadn’t realised quite how much he’d missed her and Christmas would certainly be more bearable with her around, assuming he could keep his hands to himself, of course. Her plans had already been ruined, but, maybe with a bit of effort he could make it a better Christmas for both of them?

Chapter Three

Tilly stood beneath the shower and closed her eyes. Fierce jets of water bounced off her head and shoulders with the sharpness of a million needles. Twelve hours or so ago, she’d been doing the same thing, or trying to anyway under the poor excuse of a shower back home. Except she didn’t have a home any more.

Tears collected inside her eyelids, seeking a way out but Tilly scrunched her eyes tightly shut. Determined not to waste any more tears over Brian, she blinked the moisture back. The cheating bastard wasn’t worth it. Eyes stinging, she turned so the spray hit her full in the face. The powerhouse of a shower was exactly what she needed to wash away all trace of her old life. Dull and ordinary at its best, her entire adult life had been boring and humdrum at its worst. She imagined it running off her in black rivers, merging with her leftover makeup, before swirling down the plughole.

Unable to resist Dean’s expensive-looking toiletries, Tilly scrubbed at her skin with zealous abandon so that she didn’t even smell like herself by the time she’d finished. Finally shutting off the shower, she heard banging overhead and the sound of boxes being dragged across the ceiling. A few muffled curses echoed through the floorboards but then the banging stopped, replaced by shuffling out on the landing before footsteps clattered down the stairs only to come straight back up again.

Her curiosity piqued, Tilly tugged the towel tightly around her then inched open the door. She poked her head through the gap and found the landing empty. With no sign of Dean nor any clue of his activity, she left the safety of the locked bathroom and streaked across the landing. Heart racing, she ran straight into the spare room, slamming the door behind her. She let the towel drop to the floor and raided her suitcase, pulling out her favourite comfort clothes of yoga pants and a tie-front shirt.

After dressing in record time, she scraped her wet hair back into a twist then defiantly secured it with the tortoiseshell clip Brian had always loathed. Less than five minutes after jumping out of the shower, she followed Dean downstairs only to be confronted by the sight of him mid-fight with an artificial Christmas tree.

Almost as tall as him, the green monstrosity filled up the entire corner of the room with Dean on the losing side by the look of it. Not that it had dampened his enthusiasm in the slightest judging from his merrily hummed rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’.

‘Need a hand?’ she asked, struggling not to laugh.

Dean turned and threw her an outlandish grin, undermining her efforts. ‘I don’t suppose you have any body armour in that suitcase of yours?’

‘No, sorry.’ Her giggle leaped out of her throat.

‘Never mind. Now don’t just stand there; this is war.’ He dived back into the heart of the tree with a wild battle cry.

For some bizarre reason, the rakes in the historical romances her mum had always loved sprang to mind – those same ones Tilly had then ‘borrowed’ and read by torchlight at night. Only now did she understand why the heroines swooned at the rakes’ feet, having come face to face with such raw enthusiasm too contagious to resist.

Three hours later and down to the dregs of the second bottle, they high-fived triumphantly then collapsed back onto the sofa. The tree erected and decorated, its lights twinkled away in full multicolour glory despite looking ridiculously out of place in the stylish surroundings.

Her muscles aching from the impromptu workout and too much laughter, Tilly leaned back against the soft leather and admired their handiwork. ‘It’s bloody awful, but I love it.’ She darted a glance at her partner-in-crime but he kept his gaze fixed on the tree.

‘You will stay, won’t you?’ Dean spoke quietly, a hint of nervousness in his tone. He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand and sent shivers down her spine, turning the unfamiliar lightness in her soul into something much more thrilling, much deeper, and much more dangerous. ‘Not just tonight, but for the rest of Christmas?’

Would she?

The idea certainly appealed and given the choice of whom she’d rather spend Christmas with – between Brian, Phil, or Dean – she’d pick the same option every single time. No contest. If nothing else, Dean offered a roof over her head for a couple of days and the chance to forget her problems. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t still be there waiting for her, like a black hole in her peripheral vision, but time out to regroup could only be beneficial.

Perhaps the more pertinent question then was, should she?

Dean waited patiently for her answer, his gaze fixed on the tree. Even after he’d humiliated her all those years before by publicly rejecting her – turning her into a laughing stock in front of all of her friends at her own birthday party – she’d never fallen out of love with him. The damage had already been done. With Dean setting the benchmark, no other man stood a chance of capturing both her heart and her soul. Not even Brian.

Especially not Brian.

Truth be told, she’d gone out of her way to find Dean’s opposite; someone steady and reliable, responsible and financially viable. Basically all the things Phil would approve of but look where that had got her. Doing the safe thing hadn’t worked out for her, so maybe – just maybe – she should start taking some risks again. Dean already had her heart so by that reasoning she had nothing left to lose but if there was even a remote chance of something happening between them, then it had to be worth exploring, surely?

Decision made, she squeezed Dean’s hand and waited for him to turn to her, meeting his anxious gaze head on. ‘I’d love to.’

A beatific smile erupted on his face that warmed her from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. ‘Great!’ With equal enthusiasm, he tugged on her hand, pulling her across his lap then wrapping his arms around her for a hug.

Tilly’s breath caught in her throat but she embraced him back tightly. Drawn together like magnets, she tilted her head up and moved towards him. Dean dipped his head to meet her halfway. His eyes darkened and her heart galloped, his lips drawing tantalisingly near. Impossible to keep open, her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation and she waited. Expectant. Except nothing happened.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ Dean murmured.

‘What?’ Tilly opened her eyes. So much turmoil swirled in Dean’s gaze, her own pulse spiked. ‘Why not?’ she whispered, raising her hand to cup his cheek.

Dean screwed his eyes tight shut and pulled back from her but then contradicted himself by leaning into her touch. His stubble scratched her palm like fine sandpaper. The most vulnerable she’d ever seen him, Tilly sensed his control wavering. Quite frankly, she’d be a damn fool to turn down the best opportunity she could ever hope to get. Her pulse kicked again and she made her move, tentatively brushing her lips against Dean’s.

Years of longing came to fruition and left her light-headed but it paled in comparison to the intense shudder that ripped through Dean. She did it again, lingering this time. His lips were soft and warm, unyielding beneath hers yet he hadn’t pushed her away. Emboldened, Tilly traced her tongue over his lips, desperate to taste him.

Dean’s spine tingling groan could have been hot-wired directly to her core. Suddenly, he kissed her back, using his lips and tongue to expertly tease hers, over and over again, until her bones melted. A shrill ringing erupted from her handbag and they both jumped. ‘Ignore it,’ he mumbled against her lips, parting them. His tongue traced the fullness of her bottom lip and sought permission to enter.

Tilly could only moan, communicating her agreement by granting access.

Appeased, Dean dipped the tip of his tongue inside her mouth. She’d waited all her life to be kissed like this but, by God, it had been worth the wait. Except now she wanted more. Careful not to break the kiss, she adjusted her position until she sat astride his lap with her legs straddling his hips. She rocked back and forth against him, able to tell just how much of an effect she had on him through her lightweight trousers.

A growl exploded from Dean’s chest and he raised his hand, fisting it in her hair. He slipped his other hand beneath her shirt, spanning her lower back and scorching her bare skin. Dean seized control of the tempo and moved her rhythmically against him.

Tilly panted, unbelievably close to coming, but then her mobile rang again. She broke off the kiss and dropped her head against his shoulder. ‘God damn it!’

‘Do you have to take it?’ he asked, his breathing as ragged as her own, and their chests rising and falling sharply.

‘I better had.’ She lifted her head up to meet Dean’s gaze. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his flushed cheeks and his eyes, black and full of desire. His ruffled hair tempted her to mess it up even more by running her fingers through the silky strands all over again, but the ringing phone refused to go away. ‘It’s Phil. He’ll only keep on trying until I answer. We’d never get any peace.’

Dean frowned and muttered, ‘I should have known.’ He dropped his hands limply to his sides, releasing her.

‘Just give me two minutes to get rid of him, okay?’ She climbed off his lap. ‘He’s probably checking up on me, making sure I haven’t done anything stupid.’

‘Are you sure you haven’t?’ The phone fell silent and Dean’s words hung in the air, amplified by the sudden absence of any other sound. Something in his tone sent a chill right through her.

Tilly spun around, hoping to see a smile playing on his lips to let her know it was a joke but his expression was deadly serious. ‘Wh–’

Right on cue her mobile rang again.

Dean’s fists clenched. ‘Hadn’t you better get that?’ His voice came out cold and dismissive.

‘Yes, I had.’ She hit the green button and lifted the phone to her ear. ‘What’s the big emergency, Phil?’ she snapped, her voice coming out harsher than she intended.

Two minutes dragged into five and still she couldn’t get rid of her brother to find out what the hell had got into Dean. Sat perfectly still on the sofa, he didn’t so much as glance at her. Conflicted and closed off, he’d shut her out. He appeared to be fighting some internal battle of his own that she wasn’t privy to, but she had a pretty good idea it had something to do with Phil.

As if she’d called Dean’s name, he lifted his head to study her, a question in the arch of his eyebrows. She met his cloaked gaze and searched his eyes but she might as well have been looking at a mannequin. Dean shook his head slowly and climbed off the sofa far more elegantly than she could ever dream of achieving, then started to walk around her.

Aware that if she didn’t do something now, she’d lose him, Tilly lunged and grabbed hold of Dean’s hand. She pulled him to a stop then rose onto her tiptoes to plant a silent kiss on his lips. Caught by surprise, Dean’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. Disaster averted, she put the phone back to her ear. ‘Sorry, Phil, can you say that again?’

Dean chuckled and wandered into the kitchen. The smell of cooking soon reached her nose, prompting her tummy to let out an almighty roar. Phil heard it too, at the other end of the line, giving her the perfect excuse to finally get him off the phone.

Tilly hit the off button and stowed the phone in her bag. She entered the kitchen to find Dean stood at the cooker with his back to her. Oblivious to her arrival, he reached out to pick up chopped peppers and onions in one large handful then tossed them into a frying pan. ‘I’ve turned it off now,’ she said, raising her voice to be heard over the loud sizzle.

‘Oh, okay.’ Dean picked up a wooden spoon and stirred his creation, releasing an incredible aroma to tease her taste buds.

‘Something smells good.’

‘Penne della casa Deano. I hope you’re hungry?’ He finally turned around to face her, his face slightly flushed from the heat of the stove.

She opened her mouth to answer but her belly let out another loud roar beating her to it.

Dean smiled and nodded towards the table, now fully laid. ‘Grab a seat, it won’t be long.’ He’d certainly kept himself busy while she’d been stuck on the phone to Phil; there was even a bowl of freshly cut crusty baguette in the centre.

Phil.

Could he really be a factor in Dean’s switching moods?

Tilly crossed the room then sank onto a chair. A barrage of questions ambushed her head, matched by a flood of mixed emotions in her heart. She snatched up a chunk of bread, picking out crumbs one at a time to give her hands something to do.

***

Dean dumped the pasta into two bowls, not caring about the splatters on the counters for once.

Phil had done it again. A further demonstration of his uncanny ability of knowing when something was about to happen with Tilly. Dean had no doubt whatsoever about what would have happened without big brother’s interruption. The only question was whether they’d have made it to the bedroom or not – probably the latter – but now he’d never know.

Annoyed at himself as much as Phil, Dean grabbed a bowl in each hand then turned towards the table. Tilly was sat bolt upright, staring into space again, with her brows knitted together and her mouth tight. Her fingers pecked at a lump of baguette like a bird, turning it into a hollow tube. His feet turned to lead and his step faltered.

‘Penny for them?’ he asked.

Tilly yelped, startled from her reverie. She tilted her head up to look at him and the despondent look in her eyes vanished, replaced by a bright spark. Her lips parted and she dazzled him with a smile. Whatever troubled her, it seemed unlikely that he could be the source.

‘Oh, it’s nothing much,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking about Phil.’

‘Right.’ Dean resisted the need to squirm for fear of slopping pasta in her lap and plonked the bowls roughly onto the table.

‘Thanks, this looks great!’

‘So is he okay about you spending Christmas with me?’

Tilly hesitated, her loaded fork raised halfway to her mouth. A guilty flush crept into her cheeks and she made a great show of looking down at the food. After an agonising pause, she shrugged then thrust the fork into her mouth so she physically couldn’t say any more.

A prickle of terror laced with excitement raced along Dean’s spine. ‘He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?’

Her cheeks reddened even more and she avoided his gaze. ‘Mmmh, so good,’ she moaned, swallowing down the forkful then chasing it down with another with great gusto. If she did it with the intention of distracting him then it worked.

Watching Tilly eat was crazily seductive and Dean couldn’t help imagining the sounds she might make if he ever got to make love to her. With his resolve crumbling and big brother’s radar down, there was every chance Dean might be about to find out. Not trusting his voice, he followed her lead and began wolfing down dinner.

The meal passed in relative silence, the odd bit of small talk, but she didn’t offer any more clues about what had happened to her and he was too flustered to ask. Their bowls lay empty, mopped clean with the bread, and Dean cast a glance at the clock.

‘Bloody hell!’ He jerked back into his seat. ‘It’s after midnight already.’

‘Really?’ Tilly followed his gaze. ‘That would explain why I can’t keep my eyelids open.’ She turned back to him and smiled sleepily. ‘Do you mind if I go on up to bed?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Are you coming too?’

‘No, not yet.’ The later he could put off going to bed, the better. Christmas Eve was his worst night of the year, closely followed by Christmas Day. ‘I’ll clear up here first.’

‘Oh. Let me give you a hand,’ she said, stifling a yawn.

‘No, you’re okay, I’ve got it covered. Besides, you’re my guest.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Just don’t go getting all excited thinking Father Christmas has arrived if you happen to hear me out on the landing when I come up to bed.’

Tilly laughed and the sound wrapped itself around him like comfort blanket. ‘Right, I’ll try to remember.’ She climbed out of her seat to leave but then she paused beside him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. ‘Good night, Dean.’

‘Good night.’ Dean listened to her footsteps all the way to the top of the stairs. A door closed and he let out the deep breath he’d been holding.

Even stripped of makeup, Tilly’s natural beauty outshone all of the women he’d dated. If that’s what you could call the women who liked to collect him as a trophy on their arm. They never really gave a damn about him, only interested in the man he’d become and how much money he had in the bank. Not Tilly though. He’d been scruffy and penniless yet she’d still cared for him.

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