His Christmas Surprise

by Harper, Grace

  “I’m sorry, Dean, I didn’t know. What was his name?”

  “Cedwyn, but I called him Uncle Winnie. He had been in a home for a while. Cedwyn didn’t want anyone to know, he was a proud man. The nursing home would tell me he would try to do a runner every day, standing by the front door waiting for a gap in the automatic door to escape but he was too slow on his three-wheeler walker to get a foot in the door.”

  “Your uncle sounds like he had a great spirit.”

  “He was actually my great uncle, just past his ninetieth birthday.”

  Dean led us out of the Drawing Room, back into the living room where the fire was lit. I hadn’t realised how cold it was next door until the furnace-like fire hit me in the face.

  “What will you do now? Will you come here for the summers again?”

  “I’m hoping I’ll have an excuse to come back now that Charlie is going to settle here. Once they have kids, I’ll want to be around for them but there’s my job.”

  “Which is what exactly?”

  “I’m an investigative journalist for hire. They send me on a story giving me breadcrumbs of half-truths, and I go and find out if it’s true. This last job has lasted a year. I can write the rest of the report here and submit it but it’s a hard one to write and I’m not sure if it’s going to bring me trouble.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “Child prostitution.”

  “Oh Lord, that’s not a good subject. What kind of trouble?”

  “Political mainly. There have been times where I’ve been undercover for months to get the story and then my editor have caved in and not published it. My gut is telling me to miss my deadline.”

  “Is your gut ever wrong?”

  Dean looked me square in the eyes, swallowing hard as he sat down in his writer’s chair.

  “Not usually, no.” He answered immediately. “It’s what keeps me out of trouble. My editor wants me to go back to get one more piece of information then we can put it to bed.”

  “Go with your gut, I say, mine never steers me wrong.”

  “I need to finish the report, be the best man ever, then I have to get back on a plane to Kenya for one last piece. Then I’m done with the whole story.”

  I tried to make light of the situation. Dean’s great uncle passing away, the hideous article that he had written and now being snowed in with me while I nursed a blister as big as my head. I felt pathetic in comparison to this man’s life.

  “Your gut never steers you wrong, ever?” He asked.

  “Nope,” I said, popping the P as I circled the desk, ignoring the snowstorm outside. “I only ever go wrong when I don’t listen to it.”

  “Good,” he said.

  I landed on Dean’s lap. He had me secure in his arms, the table lamp the only light in the large room apart from the dying embers of the fire.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to attempt to remind you of your drunken kiss, see if it feels as good as it did a few days ago. I have wanted to repeat the kiss ever since you tapped on the window.”

  “That was you?”

  “Shut up for a moment, will you?”

  I nodded, trying not to grin. I remembered the kiss just not who it was. I met Dean halfway, pressing my lips to his, playfully kissing his mouth. A rumble sounded in his chest, a sound I really liked and wanted to hear again, preferably when we were naked.

  Dean held me tighter as he hungrily kissed me back, bringing us closer, sighing and heavy breathing as his kiss grew more intense. I took my thumb out of the bowl and counted. I reached twenty seconds and then whimpered. He pulled away, checking my face and shoulders, never looking at or below my chin to my breasts. God love that man for holding himself back. I could feel his erection, it was only fair if he wanted to take a look at my boobs.

  “Did I hurt you?”

  “No, I was testing my thumb, it’s back in the bowl now, you can carry on.”

  “Was it as good as you remember?”

  Dean stroked my cheekbones with his thumb as he held my head in his hands. He was desperate for a definite answer. My eyes dropped to his wet lips, plump pillows of softness, begging to be kissed again.

  “Better, I’m sober, and this time I didn’t lose a bet to kiss you. What about you?”

  “Sweeter, now that I know who you are. I’m following my gut here. I don’t know where kissing you again will get me, but I fear you have the power to turn my life inside out.”

  I’d never had a man say anything remotely resembling a romantic sentence. Welsh men tended to get to the point without any messing about. Dean made a point with all the feels.

  “What’s your gut telling you now?” I asked.

  Please say more kissing.

  “To take you to bed, but that’s a bit too forward. I’ve known you for less than twelve hours.”

  “Maybe we could establish second names, to begin with, and perhaps some dinner if we’re going to be holed up here overnight together.”

  I can’t believe I didn’t try to change his mind about sex. My gut was saying to take this slower than a one-night stand. I wanted to know this guy before I slept with him, like if he visited his mother on her birthday.

  “Let’s go back into the kitchen, you can sort out what you need to do for the cake, I’ll help, and then I’ll make us dinner. Does that sound like a plan?” He asked.

  “Yes, but be warned, you may have to decorate the wedding cake yourself.”

  “OK, it will turn out sub-standard. You could read my article in exchange and give me a critique.”

  “That is not my area of expertise,” I replied.

  “Neither is decorating cakes for me. We can stumble through this together.”

  Chapter 6

  Bronwyn

  Thursday – Two days until Mollie gets married

  I weighed and measured the ingredients for the butter icing and ordered Dean to mix the icing sugar, butter and chocolate until it was smooth. With my thumb easing with pain, I had a solid thirty seconds before it set itself on fire and I needed to plunge it back into the icy water. The butter icing went on quickly and covered Mollie’s personal bespoke cake. We were finished within half an hour.

  Dean covered the entire surface with chocolate buttons because I kept melting them with my hot as hell thumb. Once he was satisfied that all the buttons were equidistant, he carried it to the refrigerator for me and finally I could relax.

  I had two days until the wedding, well technically one full day tomorrow and then the wedding was the next day. That was plenty of time to decorate and assemble the main wedding cake. I could finish it off tomorrow morning. I wanted to head to bed and get some rest.

  “Do you want some painkillers for your thumb?” Dean asked when he came back into the kitchen.

  “You’re asking this now? After four sodding hours?”

  He took a whole step back, eyes wide for a moment followed by a crestfallen sigh. He raked his hands through his hair, blowing air like a whistle out of his mouth.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think. I’m used to trying to cope in third world countries with first world problems.”

  I held up my good hand in apology. It was the tiredness that was making me snappy, and Dean had been fantastic since I’d burned myself.

  “I’m the one that should be sorry. I appreciate the help you’ve given me, and I'm a whiny bitch.”

  “Burns are horrible, sweetheart, the pain must be excruciating. Can I have another look?”

  He’d edged his way towards me as we spoke, testing out the prospect of me lurching at him with a serving spoon. For some reason, that was what I was holding when I yelled at him for offering me pain relief. He took it from my hand, laid it on the tabletop and took my hand by the wrist. He shook the water from my fingers and held up the offending thumb and forefinger, bulbous with blisters.

  It was an ugly sight, and I hoped it would have burst by the time the wedding arrived.

  “Whatever you do,
don’t be tempted to burst this,” Dean said, appearing to read my mind.

  “I can’t be the ugly bridesmaid, with podgy, swollen fingers.”

  “No chance of that, I don’t care who your competition is. The skin is already healing under the blister. The liquid from the blister is keeping the skin moist as it heals.”

  I smiled wide, chuffed at his compliment. Dean tried to hide his mirroring smirk and squinted at my thumb.

  “How many seconds?” He asked.

  “Forty, forty-one, forty-two,” I said.

  “Good, getting better. Your nerve endings will wear out soon. Within the hour, you won’t feel any pain at all.”

  “Maybe I will take some painkillers, should take the edge off enough for me to get some sleep. Which bedroom is mine?”

  I needed to get far away from this handsome man that could kiss like a champion. Thinking of bed led me to sex and sex, led me to his bare arse when I first arrived.

  “When I get up in the morning, will I see your bare arse again?”

  “That depends if I’ve finished the piece for my editor. If I haven’t, I can’t guarantee I’ll be clothed.”

  “I hope for temporary writer’s block,” I said before thinking.

  Dean yanked me closer before making sure my thumb was safely in the bowl on the table next to us. He’d trapped me against the welsh dresser, the crockery clinking as he rocked against me.

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah, best man, that’s right.”

  He kissed me again, soft and gentle, warm tongues and heavy breathing once again. I felt so content, stranded in the large mansion of a house, with this stranger.

  “I’ll try my best but no promises,” he said and let me go.

  We cleared the used utensils to be washed up and left the kitchen in darkness. The air had turned frigid in the rooms we travelled through to get back to the living room. The fire had all but gone out while we were messing about in the kitchen.

  “It’s freezing now, do you think it’s still snowing?”

  I moved to the window, my bowl replaced with a mug of cold water. With my good hand, I pulled back the curtain a few inches to look outside.

  The silence was deafening, there was nothing but snow as far as I could see. An animal had made its way through the snow, a trench was visible, which was probably why the outside light had come on. A moment later, my view was shrouded in darkness. Once again wondering where my car was.

  “I don’t think I have ever seen snow this deep before, it’s quite something isn’t it?” Dean said over my shoulder.

  I hadn’t either. In all the years I’d lived in West Wales, I had never seen more than a foot of snow. This was a storm coming in from who knew where and was already at window ledge height. How the hell Mollie and the rest of the wedding guests were going to get here was anyone’s guess.

  That was a problem for tomorrow.

  “Your lips are blue,” Dean said.

  “Then tuck me into bed and kiss them pink again.”

  Chapter 7

  Dean

  Friday – One day until Mollie Gates gets married

  Last night I showed Bronwyn to her room like a gentleman. Her eyes were telling me that she wanted more, but I still remembered what she’d said last Saturday. She didn’t want to sleep with a man on the first night. She was blind drunk that night, so last night counted as the first night.

  As soon as Bronwyn’s lips touched mine, I meant the kiss. Bronwyn was like a balm to my soul. Not knowing who I was, but kissed me anyway. The women sleeping in my bed was probably the only person to flirt in my direction and not want anything in return in years. Many journalists, male and female, had turned on the charm to get an inside deal on my stories, but Bronwyn wasn’t one of them.

  I wished that the house was in better shape to have overnight guests. Since my great uncle died, the only rooms to be transformed from mothballs were the Drawing Room for Charlie and Mollie’s wedding ceremony and the Great Hall for the reception. As soon as I got here last Saturday, I’d stocked up on wood and expected to spend most of my time in the living room writing and editing the report I’d been investigating for the past twelve months. My old bedroom was kept clean, and so were the kitchens. I’d given Bronwyn my room and had slept on the sofa in the living room. Dragging the couch in front of the fireplace, I made a nest to keep me warm while I thought of the warm body up the stairs.

  I continued to write until my eyes drooped closed and woke up with the dawn light, forgetting the close the curtains. With the article all but finished I was content to wake up Bronwyn to help her with the wedding cake. The snow had deepened further overnight, making it challenging to open the back door. I had to get the shovel early this morning and create a path around the house so I could get back and forth to the generator. The electricity had gone out at some stage during the night. Before I kick-started the generator into life, I wanted to make sure I had everything ready to make some breakfast. The noise of the generator would wake the dead it was so loud and it was no way to start the day.

  Thankfully, the cookers were gas, which meant I had the makings for full cooked breakfast. Carrying the tray up the back stairs, I gently pushed open the door to where Bronwyn was sleeping, hoping I didn’t catch her naked walking to the shower. She’d get a shock when she turned on the water.

  Elbowing the door wider, I stood at the threshold and gazed at the sleeping beauty in my bed. Blonde hair splayed all over the pillow and Bronwyn’s face. The duvet and blanket were pulled up high to her neck. The room was big, with high ceilings and large windows that let in all the cold. My uncle didn’t put in double glazing as he preferred the lead-lined windows and a cold bedroom. I, on the other hand, liked a warm toasty bedroom, but he said it wasn’t good for my health.

  I placed the tray on the bedside table and smoothed away the hair on her face. Still serene in her sleep, it was a crying-shame to wake her, but she was adamant that she didn’t want to sleep later than eight as she had so much to do today. Her hands were safely tucked away under the blankets, her thumb must be feeling better.

  “Wake up sleepyhead,” I said softly, kissing her forehead. It seemed the most natural thing to do to wake her gently.

  She stirred onto her back, the blanket slipping a few inches showing me the collar of a red tartan pyjama top.

  My pyjama top.

  “What time is it?” Her voice was groggy from a deep sleep.

  “Eight-thirty, I had a slight detour before I could come up and wake you.”

  “Why is it so cold in here?”

  “Cadwyn’s orders. He believed in a cold bedroom and a warm living room.”

  “If he were alive, I would have liked to argue that point, my nose is freezing.”

  I pulled a hot water bottle from the bag on my shoulder and handed it to her, trying to ignore the robot cover. It was from my childhood, but the water bottle was a relatively recent purchase looking at the seal for the stopper.

  I slipped it under the blankets, and she hugged it like a life raft.

  “I could have done with this last night,” she said, barking out the words.

  “Not with that blistered thumb, better that you were nowhere near heat, even if you were asleep. I didn’t want to make it any worse.”

  “You’re a real hero.”

  “Not really, just practical. Let’s look at it.”

  She stuck her thumb out of the blankets, waving it about, making it impossible for me to focus on the blister. I snatched her wrist in my hand to keep it still, giving her a warning glare.

  “Did you squeeze this blister?” I asked her.

  “No.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Bronwyn,” I said, not hiding my laugh.

  “I was messing about with the squishiness of it. I found it fascinating.”

  “You shouldn’t be playing with it. You’ve expanded the blister area, it could have burst.”

  “Sorry. The pain had all but stopped, and I wanted to
know how much damage there was.”

  “I’m trying to be practical here, you have a cake to decorate.”

  “I like your practicality. Is that food under the silver dome,” she asked, pointing to the tray next to the bed.

  “Yep, for two if you don’t mind sharing a plate?”

  “I don’t mind, want to hop in?”

  Bronwyn shifted across in the bed, trying to hide her shock of the cold patch in the large double bed and patted the vacated space.

  “Why don’t you come back to the warm side and I’ll sit on the cold side.”

  “Too late now, I’ve warmed up this side, just get in. I’m hungry and can smell deliciousness under that cover.”

  Agreeing to what she suggested, I took her place where she’d slept and plumped up the pillows behind my head and back. Stretching for the tray, I settled it between us. Me sitting on top of the duvet and her underneath, she hugged the hot water bottle to her chest and then dropped it to her lap, patting down the duvet on top.

  “I made a sausage sandwich and a bacon sandwich, what would my lady want?”

  “The bacon sandwich, but only if you have tomato ketchup.”

  “I have brown sauce and ketchup, do you want to change your mind?”

  “I don’t know now, such a choice.”

  “What about half each?”

  I got a face splitting grin in response.

  “Tomato ketchup on the bacon sandwich, and brown sauce on the sausage sandwich. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  She sprinted from the room like her arse was on fire, bolting towards the bathroom. I got to work on her requirements, not entirely liking her choices, but I wanted to make her happy, especially when she found out the generator had died and we were on gas only supplies. Food and coffee would be fine but heat, not so much. I had enough logs to keep the living room warm but not much else. The logs outside would take too long to dry out. The wedding would happen before the logs dried. The snow had about forty hours to clear before the marriage was called off or at least couldn’t happen at the house.