“The same with Tessa. She was curious about the awards and took pity on poor, partner-less me.”
“Wait. I don’t buy it.” Alessa indicated Hugo. “You must be beating them off with a stick.”
“Thank you? Although that’s a strange image.”
She loved those crinkles at the corners of his eyes when he smiled. Could stare at them for hours.
“What I can’t understand—although I’m very grateful for it—is why you’re not picking and choosing from a line of men?”
Alessa shrugged. Mitch and his aftershave had been, wow, seven months ago? She’d had the odd date or few dates here and there, friends of whoever Keren was seeing, or guys she met while out with Keren or Beth or Chloe. “Probably too many broken dates when I was up against deadlines, or when a story ran long.” Luke had complained about that, she recalled, as had Callum, when she’d cried off his office party.
“Their loss,” Hugo assured her, guiding her to the lift and back to his room.
Again, he dodged an issue, she noted. Oh, well. She typed up and sent in a rather short article about the Chamber of Commerce award ceremony, mainly relying on the updated list of winners from the institute’s website and the photos Miguel had uploaded to the gallery for the editor to choose from.
Alessa mitigated the brevity of the report by dangling the development of Mill Island before Jim, with her assurances that she’d be speaking to the interested party later. She bit back a snigger at that. Oh, and profiles of the award winners, focusing on their contributions to the city? Maybe that could be for Maximum magazine, accompanied by some really good photos? And written by her, obviously, as she had these contacts? She included links to photos of Xander and Hugo. Jim would be able to see in an instant that they’d shift copies, and surely the men would want free publicity for their businesses. Oh, and did Jim know about Ubermensch? If he didn’t, reading the website she’d linked him to would blow what remained of his hair off.
“Finished?”
Hugo had been busy on his phone while she worked. Not hassling her or trying to see what she was writing. And it made her curious as to what he’d been doing.
“I’ve got my car,” Alessa explained outside in the carpark when Hugo tried to steer her to one side, the breezing cooling her cheeks, still flushed warm from Jeanne’s huge wink and thumbs-up as Alessa had walked out with Hugo, him carrying her bag.
“And that would be…” Hugo looked around.
“It’s that Mini,” she muttered, pointing to the small purple car.
“Really? I didn’t think they made that model this century! And do the racing stripes really make it go faster? I’ve always wondered.”
“Ha-ha. I suppose that pointed-ended, low-slung red sports car is yours?”
In reply, Hugo pressed his key fob and the doors of a car nearby unlocked. A new silver car, Mercedes-Benz A-Class model. He put a finger to Alessa’s chin to close her mouth. “Shall I lead the way? I’ll go slowly and wait to see if that plum-coloured shoebox starts, of course.”
“Joke’s on you, because sometimes he doesn’t!” called Alessa, rushing to Purple Reggie and hoping he was in the mood to start fairly quickly, first time. Ish. He was. Ish. She’d only taken her car to get into town quickly yesterday before the stores closed when she and Keren had realized the blue dress must still be at the drycleaners. And now it was only a few minutes’ drive before she copied Hugo, pulling into what Alessa understood to be the tiny private car park behind Whyte’s Gallery.
“Don’t tell me, you only wanted to work here for the city centre parking!” she queried, looking up at the back of the building. It wasn’t as impressive as the front.
“That’s a bonus,” Hugo agreed, guiding her out into the Montford’s half-Medieval, half-Victorian Lanes, the city’s cobbled, pedestrianised Old Town. “But I like to take on interesting, unusual projects.”
Alessa tried not to feel that was a description of her. As usual on a Saturday, the Lanes were dotted with loved-up couples shopping, more so this near to Christmas. She jumped when Hugo tapped her arm, indicating she should wind it through the crook of his. Oh, Right. Yes, the gentlemanly thing to do. She couldn’t help wondering if he’d ever gone on an Ubermensch date, even acted as a rented gentleman, perhaps out of curiosity, or when they were short-staffed? Where did they even find such paragons as the website promised? Which reminded her. She had a duty to ask questions.
“So, Mill Island? And I’ve paid in advance for the intel,” she reminded Hugo.
“Tell you later. When you stop for a hot chocolate with marshmallows.” He shuddered. “Exercise first.”
“Should have thought you’d got enough of that last night,” Alessa muttered, but allowed him to lead her through the December breeze and the chilled breath of a tiny flurry of snow to the town hall and its outdoor winter ice skating rink.
Chapter Six
“Harley’s is sponsoring this again? As usual?” Hugo indicated the Christmas Arcade, the traditional rink-side pop-up tents filled with festive gifts from the departments of the local store who funded the event. They said the old-fashioned store was modernising, and the hospitality space now boasted a self-service tent offering what looked like a selection from their delicatessen department, in addition to the usual waitress-service marquee. If he and Alessa remained in the town centre long enough, they could sample the smoked salmon and blinis with chilled vodka, or the fondue and mulled wine, depending on her tastes. The latter fitted the winter weather better, he supposed.
Alessa, long coat removed for safety, bent over to check her hired skates, and Hugo shifted. He hadn’t realized, when he’d met and held her yesterday, or when he’d seen her in the hotel bar in that stunning dress, just how pert her arse was. That understanding had come the second he’d had her over his knee, her lovely dress hiked up, revealing those oh-so-grabbable cheeks in their tight, high glory. When Alessa smoothed her too-large sweater down, Hugo wanted to moan. The little minx had to be doing it on purpose! But when she’d teased him yesterday, the light of challenge had shone in her eyes and she’d made sure he knew what she was about. No; Alessandra Marks was naturally sexy, in blue jeans and a knitted sweater, in a designer evening dress, in a strapless bra and soaked panties; in her striped shirt and no panties, or in nothing at all. Hugo hoped his erection wasn’t that noticeable and that he could still move.
“Come on!” Alessa ventured forth onto the fenced-off rectangle of ice in the centre of the town hall square. It looked festive, in the midst of the heavy civic buildings, especially later in the evening when the lamps strung around the kiosks and standing at the corners of the rink were lit. It even sounded good, a uniformed brass band tuning up their instruments and a row of costumed carol singers warming up their voices. Yes, the winter scene was pretty.
And Alessa was beautiful, her long blonde flying, her sapphire-blue eyes alight and her cheeks turning pink with the chill. Her just that little bit irregular front teeth were oh so slightly visible when her full lips parted, and it was the sexiest sight he’d ever seen. She whooshed along, all speed and no technique, and he would have caught her easily, except someone crossed his path and he had to slow and stop.
“Veronica, hello.” He had dated the platinum-blonde a couple of times, back in the spring. The thirty-year-old was pretty, making the most of what she had with subtle enhancements. But she hadn’t hidden the fact that now out of her twenties, she was looking for a meal ticket—the golden ticket, Piers had commented—and that, her eggs ripening, she would get started on the requisite two-point-however many children as said ticket holder wanted to anchor that, sooner rather than later.
He definitely hadn’t been looking for that, but the deal breaker for him wasn’t her huddling in his car with the heating turned up full-blast during Sunday football—Piers’ comment again—but that she didn’t share his tastes in the bedroom. He’d been down that route before, having a partner go along with his preferences not because they came n
aturally to her, but for reasons of her own, and he would not do it again.
He’d just about extricated himself when raised voices make him look over to one end of the rink—and his heart thudded. Alessa was being attacked! Okay, maybe attacked is too strong a word for it, he reasoned, calming himself as he raced over. But not by much. And by a man twice her size. The fucking coward!
“Me dare to show my face here?” Alessa stepped closer to the red-faced man. “You’ve got that arseways, for a start. You’re the one who was banned from the premises—the council building, that is, when you were kicked out for taking bribes to push through a planning application!” She’d raised her voice as her sentence went on.
Hugo reached her and went to move in front of her. Her hand on his arm stopped him, although he remained ready to spring.
“I’m sure you all remember former Councillor McDougal, everyone? And know about the criminal case pending against him? If not, please read about it in the Herald!” Alessa continued, to the gathering crowd who muttered and pointed.
“You think you’re so clever, girlie—”
“No,” Alessa cut the posturing McDougal off. “I think you’re so stupid. Firstly, if you try and ban reporters from attending council meetings, they’ll automatically think you’ve got something to hide. So, they’ll start looking into you, and find you approved a planning application for land designated for countryside—when your predecessor turned down the exact same request a year previously. And also find that the developer is a buddy who gave you a down payment and promised more when his multi-million-pound sale of the land went through. It’s not rocket science, idiot.”
“The fucking Herald.” The man spat on the floor. “Today’s paper, tomorrow’s chip wrappers.”
“Jesus, how out of touch are you? Chips aren’t wrapped in newspaper anymore!” Alessa threw up her hands.
The crowd jeered, calling the man some choice names.
“You government parasites, paid a fortune and you’re always on the take. Sod off out of here, while you can,” advised a man, pointing at the ex-councillor.
McDougal, still lambasting journalists in general and the local paper in particular, moved to go. Alessa was tense and shaking at his side, and Hugo couldn’t stay still a second longer.
“Hey, McDougal.” The slime turned, and Hugo was there, right in his face. “Don’t come near Alessa Marks again.”
The man, shrinking back and swallowing, made a last stand. “Or…”
Hugo simply stood there, letting his height and breadth and the cold darkness in his unblinking eyes convey his intent for him. “Just don’t.” He stared the man out and remained where he was, even when McDougal turned and slinked away.
“Good riddance!” called someone, and a few people cheered.
Hugo hurried back to Alessa. “All right?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not really. But I will be. I have to be.”
“I’m guessing that’s why you were nominated for Weekly Reporter of the Year last year?”
“Yup. I’m not an investigative journalist, and I guess I should have handed it on when I saw what was what. Those investigative guys are tougher than I am, plus I was kind of poaching in their preserves.” She shrugged.
“Let’s go.” The crowd’s murmurs and calls were sympathetic, but Alessa didn’t want their attention. He helped her sit and unlace the ice skates, taking off his own too, handing them to the attendant and retrieving their coats. She didn’t say anything until they’d walked away, back to the Old Town, her arm tight through his.
“I’m sorry. I know you wanted to skate.”
He tipped her face up to meet his gaze. “Skating’s overrated. Let’s go swimming instead.”
“What?” She searched his eyes. “Really? Where?”
“I know a place.”
“I don’t exactly have my beach stuff with me. Plus Montford’s pretty far from the coast. Oh, and it’s winter,” she sniggered.
“One moment.”
She gave a little squeal as he undid her coat to squint at her figure for a second.
“Okay. Wait there.” He pushed through the door of the boutique they stood outside. As he selected an item and took it to the counter, he could see her staring in the window, her forehead creased. He was back by her side in a minute, tasteful boutique bag in his hand, to take her back to their cars. “Follow me?” he asked her in the car park.
“Maybe…” Alessa’s wicked grin said he was in for it. “What’s it worth?”
“Anything.”
“Really? Like, me driving the Merc and you taking Purple Reggie?”
“Purple…” He shuddered. “Let me get this straight. You want to swop vehicles. Exchange your Purple Reggie for my Silver Lady?”
Alessa was doubled over laughing now, her tension and fear gone. “Ye-sss!” she gasped.
“You don’t think I’ll do it, do you?”
“Well…” She jumped up to catch the key fob he tossed her, her eyes wide.
He held out his hand for her keys. “If you have keys, of course, and don’t just kick it to start?” he called after her as she rushed to take possession of his Mercedes. “One thing before you get comfortable—give me a push? What? I’m assuming I’ll need it.”
He did need to adjust practically the whole interior to fit, but he managed, just as he managed to get the engine to turn over. Eventually. By which time, Alessa was chomping at the bit in the street.
“I hope I don’t see anyone I know!” he shouted, passing her.
It wasn’t far out into the county, and through the ribbon development of Blazeby village to turn off down the track to the old farmhouse he lived in. He pulled up to one side of the house and got out, stretching and cracking his bones. “I attached a brick on a rope, for brakes,” he teased Alessa, who was reluctant to hand him his car keys back.
“That’s one smooth ride,” she admitted. “And this…isn’t a beach. Or a swimming pool.” She stared at the two-story foursquare grey building
“Yes, it is.” Hugo hefted their bags and guided her to the wooden five-bar gate to the right. “Well. This bit is.”
He watched her take in the once barn, abandoned conservatory, now pool and gym, wondering what she thought of it all. The village, the house…him—
“Aha! So, that’s how you keep in such fantastic shape!”
He had to grin. She constantly surprised and challenged him.
“So, you’re a Blazeby Billionaire. That’s what they call people who live here, isn’t it?”
“Far from it, I assure you.” He unlocked the door to the changing room. “This place is falling to bits. I’m rebuilding a little at a time. It’s an old family property.”
“Ah.” Her nod rumpled her hair further and he wanted to run his fingers through her blonde tresses. “I know what that’s like. I have some. You drove it! Purple Reggie was my mother’s first, then my sister’s, and now mine!”
“Well, this is all yours.” Hugo handed her the pale puce-coloured bag from Pink Magnolia, holding the top closed when she went to peek. “In there. There should be towels.”
He watched her walk into the small wooden enclosure. The pool could be accessed directly via the back of the house, but this way, from the small courtyard, meant they wouldn’t have to walk the length of the pool in their street clothes…and Alessa would have the best first view of the pool. His changing stall was next to hers and he heard the rustle of the bag he’d given her and her exclamation as she took out the contents. The pause that followed was nerve racking, and he held his breath until more rustling signified her stripping—God, he would think of that, wouldn’t he?—and changing.
He was waiting when the wooden half-door swung open.
“I’m paying you for this.” Alessa indicated what was under the towel. “I needed a new swimming costume anyway. I still use my high school uniform one. It has all my diving badges sewn on.”
And that image, perhaps designed to deflate h
im, didn’t. “Let me see,” he husked. He’d see anyway when she swam, but he needed—
The costume was a vivid blue one-piece, cut high on the legs, and in a halter-style, its deep décolletage ending in a white zip that extended to her navel.
“I feel like a Bond Girl, with this thing.” Alessa fingered the zip’s white slider resting beneath the swells of her breasts. “What’s it even for anyway?”
“Do you really want me to show you the answer to that?”
She grinned and then looked around. “How come it’s so warm? I’m guessing you don’t leave the heating and lights on round the clock.”
“I called ahead.”
“To the butler?”
“No. To access the smart heating and electricity system via my phone. Smart tech has made butlers redundant.”
“I’ll do a piece on it.”
Alessa’s voice came absently as she explored the trailing plants, steps, columns and tiles. Hugo crossed to start some music playing. His throat dried when he saw Alessa standing under the shower in the arch. Within a minute she was wet, her hair sleeked back and her swimsuit clinging to her. He didn’t recall walking to her but found herself before her, and she pulled him under the water, her gaze following the streams running down his tanned body, their journey breaking over his nipples.
“This is lovely,” she commented. She sat on the side of the pool and hopped in. She twisted her hair into a tail and secured it to the top of her head with an elastic, and at the sight of her, arms raised, her breasts jutting proud, Hugo deemed it wise to dive in, the water providing a cover of sorts. His raised eyebrow challenged her to a race, and he showed off, overtaking her in a flashy front crawl. The race became a chase, which became a pushing and ducking and slipping free and gambolling between the other’s legs and Hugo couldn’t take any more.
He crowded her against the side for kisses and caresses he needed to bestow, having to grip hard against the slide of the water on Alessa’s now sleek skin. It was a lot quieter now, none of the splashing or shrieks and cries that minutes earlier had bounced stretched and echoing off the glass walls and glass ceiling. Just a slow, soft kissing, as malleable as the water bearing their weight.
Whispers of Winter: A Limited Edition Collection of Winter Romances Page 82
