Kiss Me on This Cold December Night

Charlotte Phillips

A division of HarperCollinsPublishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Contents

Copyright

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Charlotte Phillips

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

HarperImpulse an imprint of

HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013

Copyright © Charlotte Phillips

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Charlotte Phillips 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.

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written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © December 2013

ISBN: 9780007536375

Version 2014-09-30

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

For my lovely mum and dad. Mum, thanks for everything. And Dad, wherever you are, if it has internet access I know you’ll be reading everything I write and forcing everyone else to do the same. Love you both.

CHAPTER ONE

‘A suite if you have it, but I’ll take anything.’

Tom Henley wrestled his credit card from his wallet. He might have had his plans thwarted by the bonkers British weather, which for some insane reason had decided to dump a shedload of snow over the entire country in late December, putting it bang on track for the first white Christmas in years, but that didn’t mean he had to take it lying down.

‘Odds on for a white Christmas,’ the receptionist said, giving him a wink.

He stared at her beaming smile across the marble counter.

‘And that would be a good thing because…?’

When you’d spent Christmas in Barbados every year for pretty much your entire life, snow was not something to be excited about. On the contrary, it was a complication. Christmas to him meant sunshine and white sandy beaches and swimming in the calm Caribbean sea. And family of course. Let’s not forget that. This year, family responsibility would feature more than ever before. He pressed his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose. The day had been on a steady nosedive since he’d attempted check in at Gatwick five hours ago only to be told that the entire place was at a standstill because of ‘the wrong sort of snow.’ Faced with the prospect of sleeping rough in the airport concourse, there was no way he was about to see it as a great adventure. A quick change of plan and now he was checking into the Lavington Hotel, his place to stay of choice whenever he came to London. Crystal chandeliers, velvet sofas, marble floors and freshly brewed coffee. Just what he needed after hours of airport tannoys, irritable crowds and fast food outlets. The relaxed luxury and familiarity of the place soothed him.

Or would do, if everyone would stop with the excitement over the UK’s inability to cope with a bit of frozen water.

The receptionist’s smile faltered.

‘It’s romantic, isn’t it? Doesn’t everyone always dream of a white Christmas? It’s only a week away, I’m sure we’ll hang onto the snow long enough for that. And it’s really not that bad in London. The North has got the worst of it.’

Hang on to the snow? Oh just bloody great.

‘I don’t dream of a white Christmas,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve got commitments.’

‘Work, is it?’ Her tone had an edge of frost now that perfectly matched the weather.

‘Work and family,’ he snapped. The two things were going to be inseparable for him, more now than ever. ‘The airport was at a standstill. It might not be too bad in London but apparently it’s the wrong sort of snow. Whatever the hell that means. And there’s some kind of issue with fog and visibility. In twelve hours I’m meant to be holding a glass of eggnog at the yearly family reunion and instead I’m stuck here for the foreseeable.’

Not that he had any particular sense of excitement about going. Anything lost its charm when you’d done it twenty-eight times. But of course the Christmas trip had nothing to do with his own excitement or his idea of what might constitute R and R. It was about duty and responsibility; had been for years now. And in his world those were things that weren’t to be messed with.

‘Ah well, that’s what you get when you tie yourself into tradition.’ An amused voice drifted across from the adjacent check-in line, a faint west-country burr lacing it, and he turned to look at the girl checking in next to him – obviously another snow-lover, was he completely surrounded? His intended cutting response never made it out of his mouth.

Ella carried on filling in the check-in documentation without looking up.

‘Get hooked on traditions and you just set yourself up for a ton of stress when things don’t work out,’ she carried on. ‘Can’t see the point myself. Go with the flow and make the best of the situation, enjoy London in the snow for once. No one’s died, although my will to live is on its last legs listening to you lamenting about some eggnog get-together. I’m sure your family will all still be there in a few days.’

Unlike her own, who’d never actually managed to be present often enough to qualify any situation as ‘tradition’. To her the snow was an exciting twist to what would otherwise be a fun weekend away. Christmas shopping in London had been elevated to something a bit more magical.

She finished signing her name and glanced across to look at him, knowing she was probably about to get a mouthful but really not caring because he was sucking the joy out of the room. She looked straight into the eyes of the one person she’d never expected Christmas to throw at her again.

***

His mind slipped back down the years to the last time he’d looked into those almond-shaped hazel eyes with the slight tilt at the outer corner. Her hair was still the same light brown, not windswept by the sea air today but curling against her neck beneath a knitted beret. The fine-boned face gave her a fragile look that belied the girl he remembered. She had known exactly what she wanted and she took it without hesitation. His blood was pumping faster just at that recollection. Her nose and cheeks were pink from warmth of the lobby after the icy cold outside and her eyes sparkled with the cheeky grin that now faded from softly curving lips. Her eyes widened as she looked him in the face and he knew instantly that she’d recognised him too.

‘Ella Scott,’ he said, her name returning easily to his lips without the slightest need for searching his mind. Wherever he’d buried that brief encounter - it must have been five years ago almost to the day - it clearly wasn’t half as deep as he’d thought it was.

A brief pause as she clearly debated whether to acknowledge him or possibly deny she even knew him. Maybe even make a sharp exit. After all, that was what she’d done back then.

‘Devon. Christmas 2008,’ she said. The hazel eyes now wore a guarded expression. As well they might. She’d left without saying goodbye, leaving him to sleep on alone in his hotel room on the misty-cold seafront that last freezing morning before he flew out to Barbados, the Christmas family get-together not to be missed even back then. He’d never seen her again.

‘What the hell happened to you?’ he said.

***

He took his key card from the receptionist on autopilot, not even glancing her way, and took a step towards Ella, a light disbelieving frown touching his eyebrows as he looked her up and down. She pressed her teeth together hard and arranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression that would hide the fact that her brain was flashing a series of progressively more vivid recollections through her mind. Recollections that made her heart pound in her chest and her cheeks feel like they were on fire.

Oh my fuck he’s seen me NAKED! Oh my life did I really DO all those things? With a STRANGER?

The whole point of a one-night stand was that you didn’t have to worry about your behaviour being cringeworthy or about shocking your partner with uninhibited suggestions. Who gave a toss about a little thing like embarrassment when you were never going to see the other person again? You were in it for the moment, no consequences to think about. All you needed to do was make sure there were no repercussions that could come back and bite you on the arse in the future. She’d learned that from her parents, both of whom had failed epically on the no-consequences front, and there was no way she was going to repeat their mistakes. She’d made a clean break of it and walked away, no phone numbers, no addresses, no comeback.

Until now.

***

‘You remember me then,’ he said.

How could she not remember? One scorching night in her memory with nothing to taint it because she’d made sure she walked away immediately, before any of that could happen. She hadn’t hung around to listen to him backtrack and talk his way out of the situation. She knew better than anyone what one-night-stands turned into in the cold light of day, and there would be no awkward morning-after goodbyes in the cold for her as he exited her life as quickly as he’d entered it. She’d circumvented that completely.

‘I should have known it was you just from the complaining,’ she said, not looking him in the eye in the hope that he wouldn’t notice her blushing. ‘I’ve never met anyone else before or since who goes to eggnog parties. Still heading out to Barbados every year then?’

She saw his eyes narrow at that and another memory came from nowhere, filling in one of lots of fuzzy blanks that fitted around the not-so-fuzzy images of hot sex. He’d been negative about the Barbados Christmas back then too, while she’d been fighting down a spike of jealousy. Not about Barbados, although of course if someone ever happened to offer her a ticket there she would rip their arm off in her eagerness for a luxurious beach break. More about a Christmas filled with your entire family. Christmas 2008 had been particularly sparse for her on that front, though she was used to it now.

‘It’s a family tradition,’ he said. ‘The whole point is that you repeat it on a regular basis.’

Family had come first with Tom Henley, she remembered that too. And clearly it still did. One-night stands were meant to only be about sex, but there had been hours of talking too, lying awake with the soft background sound of the tide and the slant of moonlight in the velvet darkness of the seafront hotel room. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been relegated to totally forgettable in her mind. Sex was one thing, but they’d had more of a connection than just that. And maybe that was part of the reason she’d left, because she’d had a glimpse of what it could be like between them if there had ever been more than one night and it had been crystal clear at the time that one night was all it would be. No suggestion of more had made it to being verbalised by either of them.

When it came to leaving, all she’d really done was get in first.

He moved closer, not quite into her personal space but close enough to make her pulse jump. The intense expression on his face, as if he was remembering how she looked without her clothes, the way his eyes were fixed upon hers, the knowing smile touching the corner of his mouth, told her that hers wasn’t the only mind being treated to a hot rerun of their last encounter. The burn in her cheeks refused to stand down. She needed to get out of here, away from that boiling hot gaze that was making her stomach feel like it was melting.

‘So what are you doing in London?’ he said, an interested smile crinkling the gorgeous grey eyes. ‘How have you been?’

Oh my life it was beyond awkward. Her toes curled at his attempted polite small talk when surely his mind must be full of x-rated images from what happened last time they were in the same room. She glanced around her for an easy escape route and shifted her bag from one arm to the other, keeping her door key card in her hand as walked toward the curving staircase. He kept pace with her while she groped for a brush-off comment that would allow her to make a fast exit up the stairs.

‘It’s a long story,’ she said, in a closed tone of voice that she hoped would tell him she wasn’t remotely interested in relating it but he simply stood his ground and looked at her expectantly.

It was clearly going to take more than a hint to fob him off. She turned to face him.

‘I’d love to catch up but I’m meeting someone,’ she said.

***

A stabbing sensation deep in his chest felt like jealousy, but was clearly his pride kicking back in at her detached brush-off. Brief acknowledgement – check. Polite ‘hello,’ – box ticked. Tom Henley knew perfectly well that his next move should have been to continue with his stay at the hotel and let her do the same, keeping out of her way for the duration of his (hopefully short) visit. Separate ways well and truly intact.

That would have been the sensible next move, and the one suited to his life and to the way he thought he had categorised her in his head: fun evening, hot night, nice memory, no bearing whatsoever on the present.

Except that deep down he knew he was kidding himself.

Instead, the file in his mind that related to Ella Scott was unfinished business and it was her fault for simply disappearing. No contact, no saying goodbye. No woman had ever left him before or since and let’s face it, it wasn’t as if there’d been a shortage of opportunity. The demands of medical training combined with his regimented upbringing – boarding school, heavy on routine, heavier on expectations – had meant that the short-term relationship was the only type he had any interest in.

He knew absolutely zilch about her beyond her name and a bit of background. And the fact that there was a silky inch or two of skin just at her inner hip that was so soft against his lips it had driven him crazy. He tightened his grip around the smooth leather handle of his holdall at that particular thought.

After she’d left, he’d been plagued with doubt that their unbelievable night really hadn’t been all that great for her and this blow to his pride had bothered him for far longer than it should have done. Why should he care, as long as he’d had a great time? It wasn’t as if she was the first, or the last. And he’d intended on walking away himself just a few hours later, just not in the abrupt cut-all-ties way that she had done. He’d become so accustomed to being the one in control, the one who backed away, that her no-show had been a bolt from the blue. It simply hadn’t entered his radar for a second that she could walk away first.

Devon had been a stopgap for both of them. He’d been visiting a friend for a few days before his annual departure for the house in Barbados. She’d been on the Christmas break from her college course, working crazy hours in a restaurant on the seafront, making the most of the holiday overtime. Passing through, the both of them.

Instead of just leaving the encounter in the past where it belonged, it had remained a loose end in his mind. In the months that followed, his ears pricked up whenever he encountered a patient with the surname Scott, wondering randomly if it might be a relative of hers. Hankering after something he couldn’t have and didn’t need were diversions he couldn’t afford and he’d made an effort to push the what-if from his mind ever since. Tom Henley didn’t allow himself to be diverted from his path in life, not by anyone or anything. He hadn’t been raised that way.

Now he had a few days staring at four walls while he waited for the airport to reopen. No friends to visit; they were all doing their own usual Christmas thing. And when he eventually got to Barbados it would be the beginning of a new era as he stepped into his father’s shoes, the culmination of nearly thirty years of career preparation, and one which filled him with a crushing sense of being hemmed in.

With that prospect bearing down on him, the resurrection of a non-thinking, mind-blowing repeat of the most exciting, sensual encounter of his life felt suddenly like the Christmas gift to end all Christmas gifts. A brief respite before the walls closed in on his life in the New Year. Not to mention the fact that it would redress the balance and kill off that what-if once and for all.

She glanced at her watch and gave him a polite must-dash smile. Unfortunately, she wasn’t looking like it was that attractive a prospect from where she was standing.

‘Someone?’ he clarified.

She stole a glance at the revolving doors as they spat another snow-covered guest into the lobby.

‘A friend. She’s actually due any minute,’ she gabbled.

She? So not here as part of a couple then? His interest intensified at the revelation and he shrugged easily.

‘She’s probably delayed because of the snow. It’s bad out there,’ he said, stating the obvious. ‘Can I buy you a coffee while you wait?’

An awkward pause and then she gave him a perfunctory smile.

‘I don’t think it would be a good idea,’ she said, not really meeting his eyes.

‘I’m getting seriously mixed messages here,’ he said. ‘There I was thinking you were instigating a rerun and you won’t even do coffee?’

‘A rerun?’ she said.

‘I suppose you’re going to tell me it’s a coincidence that of all the places in the lobby, you chose to stop and chat to me right here?’

She stared at him through narrowed eyes, wondering what the hell he was going on about, then followed his gaze as he looked up, one eyebrow cocked knowingly. An enormous bunch of mistletoe tied with a red silk bow was suspended directly above them. Her stomach made a warm, melting flip and she hefted her holdall in front of her as if to ward him off.

‘Coincidence,’ she said, her cheeks warming. ‘Pure coincidence. I had no idea that was there.’

‘Oh really?’ His tone was amused, as if he didn’t believe a word of her excuse and was thoroughly enjoying this, toying with her. And let’s face facts, he probably was. Of course after her wanton behaviour of five years ago, Tom Henley thought she was an easy lay. And could she really blame him? Because five years ago for one night only, she’d been exactly that.

‘No! I really am NOT that kind of girl,’ she gabbled desperately, then saw his cocked eyebrow, his half smile, realised he was teasing.

She rolled her eyes at the ceiling and grinned as she looked back at him.

‘I just realised how that sounds,’ she said. She sighed and put her bag down for a moment on the marble floor, passing a hand over her eyes. ‘Believe it or not I don’t do one-night-stands, I don’t actually do any kind of stand. What happened in Devon was a blip.’

‘A blip?’

A smile played on his lips, as if having her on the back foot amused him all the more.

‘A one-off,’ she clarified madly.

It was true, that night in Devon had been a one-off, never repeated before or since. For some reason that night the conditions had been perfect for one-night-stand requirements. Need to prove herself alive – check. Don’t-care attitude – check. Both had come from the loss of her grandmother a few months earlier, which in light of the fact that when it came to parenting skills, her mother and father had proved themselves on a par with a chocolate teapot, had meant Ella was truly on her own in life at the age of twenty-two. Add in the fact she was sacked from her waitressing job and that Tom had come to her aid, and mix in the fact that he was leaving the country the next morning. No repercussions to worry about when the other person was on another continent – right?

Result – a one-night stand that had been so hot it made her toes curl just thinking about it. And the whole point of one-night stands was they stopped at one night. The clue was in the name.

‘It’s nice to see you, Tom,’ she said. She kept her tone detached, polite. ‘But I really need to get settled in.’

This time he didn’t follow her, but she felt his eyes on her as she took the stairs to the galleried landing above.

‘Coffee,’ he called after her. ‘Open invitation, grab it while you can. The moment the snow melts I’ll be out of here.’

CHAPTER TWO

She had absolutely no intention of grabbing it while she could.

It was perfectly simple. This was the UK after all, not Lapland. How long could the snow possibly last before he would be winging his way to Barbados as planned? One day? Surely two at most. All she needed to do was keep her head down and stay out of his way until Liz got here, avoiding any further encounters. Unfortunately, her ready-made excuse of a travel companion still hadn’t shown up. A harried phone call later and she understood the reason why.

Turned out Tom Henley had a point. Liz’s train was delayed by at least three hours due to snow on the bloody tracks. Plans to simply hang out in the room for a bit until her friend showed up suddenly morphed into the most boring waste of time imaginable.

Half an hour later and she’d drunk two coffees and eaten all the complimentary biscuits in the room. She bounced on the bed and glanced through the hotel information brochure for the second time, thinking it over. She could stare at four walls while she waited for Liz or she could while away some time in the award-winning Spa.

No contest. She stood up and tugged her swimsuit from her case.

***

A gorgeously relaxing ambience, muted lighting, fluffy towels and complimentary robes. The Spa was virtually empty, it being that lull just around lunchtime, between check-in and check-out. With all the snowy London sights to take in swimming wasn’t a big daytime attraction. Ella swam a few laps of the pool, then climbed out and settled herself on a wicker lounger, magazine at the ready. Soothing background music filled the air. Bliss. Not a sign of Tom Henley anywhere. And of course there wasn’t. With a flight on standby at any moment, Tom Henley was hardly likely to change into swimwear and be parted from his mobile phone, right?

Wrong.

Ten minutes later and she glanced up from her magazine to see him stroll casually into the pool, a towel slung around his neck, dark blue swim shorts topped with perfect tight abs, broad muscular shoulders and damply tousled dark hair. It seemed that for all his grouching about missing eggnog parties, Tom Henley was in no rush whatsoever to get back to the airport. Her heartbeat immediately picked up as if she’d done a couple of circuits in the beautifully equipped gym. She saw him clock her from the opposite side of the pool and he sauntered over leisurely.

‘What, no friend?’ he said, when he was a few feet away as if he thought she was some billy-no-mates with a fictional travelling companion. He sat down next to her, although the room was full of empty loungers and her stomach knotted into a ball of tension.

‘Liz is delayed in the snow,’ she said. ‘A bit like you.’

She saw his eyes sharpen.

‘So you’re at a loose end, then? Time to kill.’

The look on his face was open and friendly. His smile was as melting as she remembered, the way it started slowly and then moved upwards to crinkle the corners of his eyes. And she’d forgotten he had a way of holding her gaze with his that made her limbs feel like they might turn to jelly. She forced herself to sound detached.

‘Not for long. Just until her train makes it through, then it’ll be on with the Christmas shopping weekend.’

‘I thought you didn’t do Christmas,’ he said.

He was referring to the fact that back in Devon she’d turned the festive season into nothing more than a work opportunity, waiting table or bartending all the hours she could muster, all geared towards glossing over the fact that there was actually anything to celebrate. She was surprised he remembered that kind of detail about her and had assumed his recollections would be all about the bedroom.

‘I don’t.’ She shrugged. ‘Liz won a competition. A weekend for two Christmas shopping in London. She asked me along.’ She glanced around the beautifully-finished opulence of the Spa. ‘It seemed a shame to turn her down for a principle. Shame she’s running late.’

He settled himself back on the wicker lounger next to hers, propped up on one elbow to face her, clearly intent on a proper conversation. And what the hell, maybe if she got it over with, did the whole small talk catch-up chat, he would leave her be.

‘So how’ve you been?’ he asked. She thought she saw genuine interest in his eyes now. ‘You had another waitressing job lined up didn’t you? Back in Devon. Did you finish college?’

A smile rose on her lips as she remembered her former self. Big dreams. Not on his scale of course with his medical training and his father’s footsteps, but big for her who’d dropped out of school and drifted from one temp job to the next.

‘I did,’ she said. ‘I did the jewellery course. I’m surprised you remember.’

A brief hesitation and then she held her small hand out towards him, a swirl of beaten silver on her forefinger. Without thinking he took it in his; the resulting flip in his chest at the touch of her soft skin took his breath away. When had he last been this on edge with a woman? His love life had been a bit of an afterthought these last months as his family piled on the work pressure. Without realising what he was doing he automatically checked beside the silver ring for a wedding band. There was none. She withdrew her hand and he let it go.

‘I sell some of it online now,’ she said. ‘I’ve been trying to build up a business but it takes time. I do craft fairs, that kind of thing. And in between I still give good waitress.’ She smiled. ‘What about you?’

He shrugged.

‘After you left Christmas went pretty much as planned. Then I went back and got on with my medical training.’

Again, pretty much as planned. As planned played a big part in his life.

She smiled. Her light brown hair was pinned up on her head and she wore a blue and white striped bikini which was far from skimpy but which still did nothing to hide her slender frame and long legs. Just looking at her like that made heat begin to course through him.

‘We’re from different worlds, you and me,’ she said. ‘You had your rugby playing, your future medical career, your public school background, your family, your life plans. I waited tables at a hotel in Ilfracombe that Christmas and I was sofa surfing my way around my friends. It’s amazing we ever hooked up at all really.’

He remembered that. How she’d had no real base, no family ties, and most of all how she made that seem liberating instead of lonely.

She looked away, and he followed her gaze back across the glassy surface of the swimming pool.

‘For a while I stayed with my Gran at this time of year but now I just go wherever the mood takes me,’ she said. ‘Last year I waitressed in a hotel in the Lakes – the Christmas lights were just the prettiest thing ever, but it was freezing cold. Even more than this. The year before that I did charity work in a soup kitchen and the year before THAT I was working my way round France.’

She counted off the Christmases on her fingers. He only needed one finger for his last four Christmases. Every single one had been the same.

‘And this year?’

‘I’m doing this weekend with my friend Liz. She entered some competition on the back of a breakfast cereal packet. It’s supposedly for Christmas shopping, all expenses paid and some spending money thrown in. But I’m going to try and drag her round the sights a bit. Shopping’s not really my thing.’

‘What about after this weekend?’

‘Well then I’m working again. I’ve got a waitressing gig back in Cornwall. In Looe. I lived there for a while with my Gran. Brilliant time for earning, Christmas, if you’ve got nowhere else you need to be. My speciality is unsociable hours. When this weekend is over I’m booked up right through Christmas and New Year, I’ll barely have a minute to think. Whereas you’ll probably be having cocktails at sundown and a leisurely break – right?’ She sat back in her lounger and looked at him with interest. ‘Come on then, give me a rundown of your last four Christmases.’

‘Well I don’t need to use my fingers to count them off, if that’s what you mean,’ he said. ‘Touch down in Barbados a few days before Christmas. Catch up with friends and family. Head back after New Year.’

His tone was throwaway, unenthusiastic. Then again, mustering up excitement when you’d done the same thing year on year since you were a kid couldn’t be easy.

‘Your life is one big déjà vu,’ she said, and seeing the fed-up expression on his face she couldn’t resist adding, ‘And where’s the fun in that?’

There was a spark in his eyes as he held her gaze a moment too long and smiled, and she realised, too late, that he’d considered that comment a flirt. She whipped her eyes back down to her magazine, feeling warmth rise in her cheeks. She really ought to get her mouth under control and get this encounter over with right now.

‘I’d better get back,’ she said. ‘Check my phone, see when Liz is getting here.’

She tossed the magazine onto a low wicker table and climbed off the lounger, being careful to swing her legs off onto the floor first to avoid giving an impression of beached whale. And since she really didn’t have the confidence or the heeled wedges to pull off flouncing out in a bikini, she settled for wrapping the towel around her hips sarong style. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away from him and then, just as she thought she was home-free, in her fluster she managed to take the left turn toward the crystal steam room instead of the right turn into the ladies’ changing room.

The option was there, of course, to scuttle back the other way, thereby losing the unruffled poise she was doing her best to channel. But he’d shown no sign of following her so instead she opened the glass door and sat down on the tiled bench in the small square room, letting the hot mist wash over her skin. She could while away five minutes in here and then nip off to the showers with her poise intact.

She had the steam room to herself and she sat back with a sigh on the bench and leaned her head against the smooth tile of the wall. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the soothing scent of the aromatherapy oils clinging to the steam.

And then the glass door slid open and closed, letting the steam clear a little, and she was looking through the mist right at him.

Oh hell.

***

He ignored the empty bench opposite and instead sat down next to her. Up close the steam was clearer, she could see tiny droplets of water clinging to his hair.

‘I thought you were heading out?’

Heat was pulsing through her that wasn’t entirely down to the steam room.

‘Changed my mind,’ she said airily. ‘Thought I’d have a quick steam first.’

As if she were a carrot or a stem of broccoli.

A pause that was long enough for her to wonder if he might actually just want to sit in silence next to her and take in the relaxing facilities, and then his deep voice echoed slightly in the tiled room.

‘You ever think about it, what it was like back then?’

From time to time, when she couldn’t sleep, but she wasn’t about to tell him that.

Her heartbeat had leapt into instant thundering mode. Instead of answering, mad laughter cackled forth at the utter craziness of the situation.

‘Ahahahaha! It?’ she questioned preposterously. He didn’t so much as flinch.

‘Us,’ he clarified. ‘You ever think about us?’ He lifted a hand and tucked a damp stray curl of hair behind her ear. ‘I do.’

Her pulse was going crazy at his light touch and part of her, the part she really needed to crush into submission here, wanted to go with the flow. What the hell, let him go ahead, just to see if his kisses were as bone-melting as she remembered. She made a last-ditch effort to hang on to sense.

Rules, Ella, think about your life rules. They’re there for a REASON!

‘Tom,’ she said, speaking slowly in the hope that it would make her voice steady and that he might actually listen to what she was saying. His thumb continued to stroke her jaw lightly. Her stomach was pooling with heat that had nothing to do with the steam. ‘You’re here for – what – a couple of nights while you wait for your plane to be rescheduled? If what you’re hoping for is some kind of rerun, it’s just not going to happen. I’m not that kind of girl,’ she said. ‘I never really was.’

‘Where would be the harm?’ he said. ‘What would be the big deal? It’s not like we haven’t been here before.’

And of course he had a point. Any reservations had been discarded five years ago. They’d been intimate on such an intense level that maybe it was really no leap at all to pick up where they’d left off all that time ago.

She drew in a breath, ready to list all the reasons why, actually, it was a big deal. How it would be a regression, how it couldn’t possibly end well, and then he stopped all planned protestations with a kiss. His hand slid back from her jaw to cradle the nape of her neck, his tongue slipped softly against hers and her stomach dissolved like melting toffee.

His hand slipped to her bare thigh, began stroking its way higher. Her mind followed it, inch by slow inch, although her eyes were tightly shut. He reached the delicate skin of her inner thighs and then his fingertips teased their way beneath the edge of her bikini bottoms. She gasped into his mouth as he slid two fingers inside her in one smooth movement and she felt him smile.

‘Tell me again, why this is a bad idea,’ he whispered, the ball of his thumb now beginning to circle her most sensitive spot, while his fingers continuing their slow rhythmic grind in and out. The sweet friction made her feel weak. Reasons jumbled into a mess of words in her mind.

‘I don’t do second-time-rounds,’ she managed. ‘Of anything. It’s kind of like a personal rule of mine.’

‘Still living in the moment then?’ he said, holding her gaze. ‘You haven’t changed.’ He smiled, moved his lips to her ear. ‘No one around but us,’ he whispered. ‘I could have you right now and no one would see.’

The recklessness of it all had its own seductiveness, it took her straight back to the last time they were together. At the time, her own situation had been what drove her, the need to escape from the yawning absence of family and love that Christmas had been throwing at her from every angle. He had been the perfect distraction, a reason to disengage from everything that was going on around her.

No such excuse this time. In fact, all sense of rationality warned her off. Yet still there was the voice in her mind breaking through, reasoning with her, working with that physical desire for him. Where, really was the risk? He’d be gone in a couple of days, maybe even sooner. She would return to her life again just as she had before, unscathed. Couldn’t she just step back into that moment again, enjoy a rerun of the delicious past encounter?

She let her own hand slide over his hot, damp skin, over hard muscle. He caught her fingers in his free hand as she reached his shorts. Her hand was drawn away and held still while he continued to stroke her, adding a third finger, increasing his pace, stretching and teasing until she could think of nothing else but the sensation. The steam room was forgotten, hotel was forgotten, self-preserving life rules were forgotten and she cried out against his neck as he took her over that delicious edge.

As consciousness began to slip back she realised shadows were moving outside the glass door, the heat was intense now and they were both dripping sweat. He withdrew his hand, not rushing, just as the door clicked open and a middle-aged couple took the bench opposite, vague outlines in the steamy air. She kept her head down as if they might by some super power know what they’d just been doing in here, stood up and tugged him by the hand out of the steam room and immediately turned left into the circular aromatherapy shower. He curled his arms around her waist, pulling her hot skin against his and she forced herself to STOP THIS RIGHT NOW. Her body might have been conquered by the heady combination of hot steam and his intoxicatingly expert touch but her mind still just about had a handle on reality.

‘What now then?’ he said, his voice was thick and she could feel his rigid erection hard against her. ‘We could go up to my suite.’

The way they had five years ago? She’d been there, done that and moved on.

‘I don’t think so,’ she said, disentangling herself.

‘Really?’

‘It’s just not a good idea.’

He looked down at her, grin creasing the corners of his grey eyes.

‘You’re actually going to leave me hanging like this?’ He glanced downwards.

She gave him a sweet smile.

‘Of course I’m not, let me just fix that for you.’

She pressed the button labelled COLD and pushed him into the shower well.

CHAPTER THREE

He caught up with her by the exit, as she walked through the spa bar, cheeks still pink as she attempted to pull off a swift exit.

‘Dinner?’ he said, clearly not remotely put off by the cold shower.

She carried on walking, heading back through to the lobby while her heart made a mad sprint. Even without their history, he was asking her to dinner, and there was that niggling little question of when she’d last been asked out. Two years was it now? Liz would know, she was always trying to pressgang her into dates she didn’t want. But her heart could sprint as much as it pleased, there were rules to be adhered to here, rules that she lived by for very good reasons and Tom Henley was a clear-cut case.

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