Trying to keep up with the times, they’d turned most of the top floor into a hairdressing and beauty spa, raising the ire of those who’d preferred the haberdashery and handicrafts departments, and transformed the ground floor’s tourist and souvenir section into a bright, breezy grab-and-go café with its own door into the street, incurring the wrath of various local coffee shop owners, who felt challenged by the competition. Alessa felt the latest addition sat oddly next to the stout leather and sturdy canvas of the Luggage and Travel Accessories department, but she loved the old Edwardian building and its uniformed assistants who directed its loyal shoppers to various sections, lifts and stairways in the higgledy-piggledy store.
She knew her way, and soon slid through Gifts and Toys to stick her head around the door of Kaye’s office, where she learned Harley’s were thinking of making over the waitress service restaurant, with its vases of flowers on the linen-clothed tables, into an ultra-modern self-service one. It would be good to report that update, if she could swing it past Jim. Hopefully get readers writing in, either in favour or against, and act as a free puff for the store. Oh, she could run past Phil Soames, the paper’s Old Monty, city memorialist, the idea of doing a piece on locals’ memories of bygone stores and shops! Even if that would mean hours digging in the picture archives and—
“Yes, Jim?” Alessa said on a sigh, grabbing her ringing phone and making an apology face at Kaye, miming showing herself out. Seemed the editor possessed clairvoyant powers now and could see his staff slacking off. “Don’t worry. I know it’s the local Chamber of Commerce Business Awards tonight. I haven’t forgotten I’m covering it, as well as knowing I’m one of the visible faces of the Herald for the award we sponsor.”
Well, Maximum, the weekend magazine, was the sponsor, strictly speaking, but the edict of don’t embarrass the mothership was the same. And damn. She’d forgotten to ask Miguel to go as her partner, as well as the paper’s photographer.
“Not that. Well, that as well. Just got a call about activity at Mill Island.”
Alessa pulled her phone away to hide a snort, staring at the Christmas window display that took her back to childhood. Honestly, that sentence of Jim’s sounded as though it came straight from the Hardy Boys or Nancy Drew. “As in mysterious lights and spooky noises? Do you want me to call the police?” she deadpanned.
“Don’t arse me around,” came the blunt reply. “Do you know anything about planning permission being granted for the land or any buildings there?”
“From council meetings? No.” And she sat through as many as she could. Always had, which was how she’d uncovered—
“Neither does anyone else here. Well, not likely to. You far away?”
“As Miguel says, nowhere is far away from anywhere here in Montford. So, no. Want me to check it out?”
“If you’d be so kind.”
She pictured him rolling his eyes, almost cracking a smile, and set off, short-cutting through the University of Art and Design campus down to the canal, stopping to buy a hot drink just to keep her hands warm. She really should invest in one of those magic gel hand warmer things.
It almost felt like her working day was done—this was the route she took home to the canal side quay development she lived in. Now, however, she walked right, past the converted warehouse block, that swinging-singles complex, trying not to feel she was ageing out of its catchment demographic. Funny, the living arrangements route around any city. People went from university residence halls to shared student houses, followed by young, free and singles apartments, and then their first shared home—usually in one of the city’s more laid-back and child-friendly neighbourhoods—before buying out in the county, children in tow. Here she was three steps in, and it didn’t look as though she’d be taking a further stride anytime soon.
Is Mill Island even the place’s name? she wondered, practically jogging to the loop made by the canal coming around a bend to flow alongside the river for a bit then bulge around this lump of land and rejoin the river at its tip. It was what the area was known as anyway.
She took the narrow road that linked the canal to the island and then across to the riverbank, resting her hand on the bonnets of the couple of cars on the island as she made her way. Still warm. The vehicles didn’t seem to have anything to do with those old factories or storehouses, still in use, on the canal bank now behind her. The old buildings on the island must have been a flour mill and supporting structures and those yonder connected to the mill in some way. Alessa jumped as her phone rang, her movement shaking her fur-lined hood from her head.
“Keren?” she queried, approaching the old mill through the overgrown grass and bushes.
“God, my brain hurts,” moaned her flatmate. “I’ll need a glass of vino for lunch. Still wanna meet?”
“For…?” Alessa circled one end of the old stone building. It must have been pretty, in its day. Could be, again, the way the river tumbled past. She could imagine the mill wheel turning, and a few benches and tables among the trees.
“You to get something nice, for the awards dinner? So you’re not wearing the same dress time after time?”
“I like that dress!” Alessa protested. Keren liked shopping. Alessa…not so much. “I do need something new, but…” She caught sight of movement through one of the ground floor windows and moved nearer. “I can’t, sorry. I’m working. Can I borrow your blue one with the zip?”
“Aren’t you in town anyway? I’m too hungover to remember, but don’t you have a thing in the centre?”
“I did,” Alessa replied, leaning back to see if anything was visible through the upper windows. “I’m at an old mill and…”
“And what? There’s an old bag of flour? An old bread roll? Don’t leave me hanging here!”
“There’s a man inside!” Alessa whispered. “Inside the mill floor bit, I mean. He’s got his back to the window, but…” But what she couldn’t say, except she couldn’t take her eyes off the tall figure. Something about him drew her, until she was creeping nearer as stealthily as a child playing Grandmother’s Footsteps. She’d almost reached the wall when he half-turned and stilled, staring out at her.
“Well? Details! Alessa, carry on!” Keren squawked.
“Oh, holy God, he’s stunning!” Alessa could hardly breathe. The stranger turned fully, revealing a strong-boned, tanned face with well-defined dark eyebrows. He looked at her looking at him.
“Stunning how? Handsome?”
“D’uh.” Alessa gripped the phone tighter in her sweating palm. “Charming and debonair, you know? Yet roguish. A bit wicked.”
“Which bit?” Keren quipped. “Is he tall, short, old, young…?”
“He’s tall and broad-shouldered. Older than me—his hair’s going grey. Silvering, you know? Silver foxy? At the temples and on the sides. Still dark though.”
It must have been very dark brown at one time, and was still thick and full, brushed back and over from a side parting. The man was so still that Alessa felt a little spooked, as if there was something uncanny about it, but then he moved, giving her a comprehensive up and down once-over that lingered. She almost wished she was wearing Keren’s evening dress, despite the cold, rather than her thick hooded coat.
“He looks strong and confident,” she continued. “His eyes, oh, Keren, they’re gorgeous! Midnight blue. And a sort of twinkle in them.”
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know! He’s not exactly wearing a name tag.” She looked, anyway, glancing at the lapels and front of his thick overcoat. It was a very dark blue, complementing his eyes, she realised. Alessa was so close to the building and its window now. She must look like an idiot standing there, staring stock-still and talking into her phone. “You’d love his coat,” she continued. Keren stole her boyfriends’ shirts and sweaters whenever she could. She’d slap that overcoat on.
Keren snorted. “He can’t hear you, can he?”
“Obviously not. These walls are really thick, so the glas
s in the window he’s behind must be too.”
And then the man smiled, the realignment of his muscles bringing the most perfect crinkles to his eyes and mouth, robbing his face of any sternness. “Oh, what a glorious smile!” Alessa blurted. “And you know, he even smells nice! Must be cologne. It’s woody and floral. Sort of powerful but gentle. Sexy and romantic.”
“Er, Alessa—”
“Like leaves, almost. Yeah, leaves and ambergris and a touch of lemon.” She closed her eyes and took a deep inhalation.
“Alessa, you moron! If you can smell his aftershave, there can’t be any—”
Her shocked eyes pinged open and her numb fingers dropped her phone onto the ground as she figured it out for herself, understood that the window was empty, just a square of wood, the perfect frame for the tall man standing there. And as if to prove it, the man reached through the space where a pane of glass as thick as the walls, thick enough to have protected her, should have been, and cupped her face.
Chapter Two
It never works when animals do that freezing thing! We can still see them! So why the bloody hell am I doing it? Her eyes were the first thing to move, opening wide as the strong hand with long, elegant fingers ending in well-kept, well-shaped nails cupped her cheek, warming it, and the man leant forward. He stroked his thumb along her lip.
“Chocolate.”
His name can’t be chocolate? His voice certainly wasn’t chocolate. It was smooth yet seasoned, Peaty, perhaps? Oaky? I spend too much time in pubs. He pulled his hand away and sucked his thumb into his mouth.
“Chocolate and marshmallow. I don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but you taste delicious.”
Oh. Catching on, she scrabbled in her pocket for the paper napkin that had come with the hot cocoa she’d not long finished. But before she could find it, or a tissue of any kind, he was holding out a handkerchief. A proper one, starched linen. He went to dab at her mouth, but she plucked the white square from his fingers and wiped her lips herself. The pristine white soon bore a chocolate smear and most of her lipstick. Damn. She stared at the hanky she held.
“Keep it,” the man said. “And you don’t need lipstick anyway. You’re very beautiful as you are. And you know, you smell wonderful too. Sort of sugar and spice.”
“I feel extremely foolish,” Alessa stated, trying not to crumple the linen square in her hand.
“You look extremely beautiful,” the man countered, his gaze roaming from her dark-blonde hair down to her pointed chin.
“Thank you, but I still feel a complete idiot.”
“And I feel completely flattered.” The man smiled again. “I’m not sure of the etiquette in situations like this. Do I come out or invite you in?”
“Situations… Oh. Right.” Alessa was suddenly recalled to her duty, her job. Her reason for being there. “Are you planning to turn this building into trendy city-living-on-the-riverbank housing?”
“No.” The man’s sexy lips thinned.
“Or an oversized halls of residence to accommodate expanding student numbers at the universities, despite no extra teaching staff being hired, and the subsequent strain on resources this will impose?”
“No. I’m against the city council’s practice of selling up every damn building it can get its greedy hands on for housing, homes that locals can’t afford. And I’m also against the equally greedy pile-’em-in policy of Montford’s higher education institutes, seeking to capitalise on the university’s rankings and varsity sports success. My plans for this space are something else entirely.”
Alessa blinked. Oh. “Could you tell me them? Your plans?”
“What’s it worth?”
“Excuse me?” Alessa wanted to step back. The man’s eyes had darkened and looked half-hooded. Sexy. Sexier.
“What do I get in return for divulging that privileged information?” His voice had deepened.
“What…would you like?” she asked.
“This.”
Before she knew what was happening, he vaulted to sit on the wooden frame of the window, facing out, and Alessa squeaked when he pulled her hard between his long legs. The window was high, and even with him seated, she wasn’t much taller than him, so the hand at her nape didn’t have to bend her head down very far for his kiss.
No, not a kiss. That didn’t do justice to this overdose of sensations. The feel of the thick wool of his coat and his body heat engulfing her. The scent of his cologne, stronger now, but not at all overpowering. More…addictive, as though she wanted to walk through it. That woodsy feel. His skin, cool on hers, the slight prickle of his chin and cheeks. And his mouth. God. Firm, commanding, and firing every nerve she possessed, making every pulse pound with need. The sensation was truly shocking. She jumped at the touch of his tongue along the seam of her lips, opening for him in an instant, and the way he took her mouth in one strong, powerful sweep sent shock waves zinging through her.
More chocolate and marshmallows, came her dazed thought as the stranger tasted the inside of her mouth as if learning her, before coaxing her tongue to partner with his in a dance in which she followed his lead and initiated her own steps, tasting and exploring in her turn. His fingers were firm on her face and his body was hard where she pressed against it. He slipped from his impromptu seat to stand, pulling her full-length against him and Alessa cursed the layers of clothes they both wore. She reached up to cradle his face, and as if to go one better, he speared his fingers through her hair.
“You? You go?” called a man’s voice from above, and it broke the spell enough for Alessa to take it as a cue.
She disentangled herself and pulled away, as hard as that was, like ripping Velcro apart, she thought, frowning. Huh. Then she grinned. “And there goes the rest of my lipstick.”
She still held the hanky, so dabbed his lip with it for him. “I’d say it looks better on you, but it doesn’t.” He was no metrosexual. Although his lashes were thick and dark, profuse and set close enough together to make his dark-blue eyes pop, Alessa would bet anything he wasn’t wearing guyliner and would never.
“Wait!” The man shot out a hand when she moved off. Alessa dodged it, and instead pushed his handkerchief into it.
“Keren?” She backed away and picked up her phone, still looking at the stranger. “Are you still there? Guess what? He’s a brilliant kisser too! All in all, this is proving a fantastic Friday so far!” And with a wink, she turned and left. It was never going to get any better than that—nicer to leave now with her illusions intact and her fantasies of a tall, dark, and handsome stranger with the twinkling eyes of a rogue and who kissed like an angel—or demon—still firmly in place.
“Hu? Hugo?” Piers called again, but Hugo Winters didn’t respond. He stared after the blonde woman. He’d have thought her an apparition, appearing and vanishing like that, but his senses told him otherwise. He was still half-hard, for God’s sake! He’d heard her, seen her and felt her, could still taste her, and her scent, whether perfume or her, was still impregnated on his skin, just as his fingers still felt the softness of her skin on their tips. Very like some sort of ghost, then, haunting me. A ghost who left footprints in the frosty wet grass. He could track her. Be a lot easier if she’d left her phone, of course, but it wasn’t impossible, if he was so inclined. Should he? Or let things be? That would be the easier…and less painful in the long run thing to do.
“Hugo, there you are!” Piers came up behind him. What the hell are you doing out there? What… Is that lipstick?”
“Piers, are you performing in a gender-swapped farce this season?” Hugo enquired. “Because that sounded exactly like you arrived home early to catch your husband in flagrante and there’s a woman hiding in the wardrobe.”
“No, and don’t deflect.” Piers pointed at the white linen square in Hugo’s hand. “Have you just applied lipstick to test it and wiped it off cuz it’s wrong for your skin tone?” He could hardly speak for laughing, and his hand shook as he indicated Hugo’s lips. He ran his ha
nds through his strong waves of red-gold hair, leaving it springing back from his forehead, in the intense way his growing body of fans liked. “You’ve even missed a bit!” He tapped his own upper lip, under the moustache of his neat goatee beard, in illustration. “What’s going on here?”
“It’s not mine, you clown.” Hugo made no attempt to wipe his mouth. He’d keep mystery woman’s taste and impression as long as he could, if that was all he was to have of her. He vaulted back into the room.
“What, some woman just popped up outside the window, you jumped out for a smooch, and she pissed off?”
“Quite.” Hugo looked around the space. “Wish I’d got her name and number, but…”
“Name, rank and number, what?”
“Sod off, you thesp.” Hugo had to grin. It was impossible not to with Piers ,or indeed any of the Ubermensch gentlemen. Taking the piss was an art form amongst them. Fine, Hugo being a former Household Cavalry officer, in one of the smarter regiments, as Piers liked to put in, made him fair game for quips, but if he’d ever been the snooty, drawling-voiced idiot Piers loved to imitate, it had quickly been knocked out of him by the group of friends he’d acquired since coming to live in Montfordshire. Much the same way they all kept Piers’ luvvie tendencies in check.
“So. You going to tell me why you brought me here?” Piers flicked a hazel-eyed glance around the mill floor.
Hugo cocked his head, listening to cars pull up. True—mystery woman hadn’t driven off. He didn’t think she was still lingering though. She looked as though she’d walked here, and rushed off. “As soon as they get here.”
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 78
