She was getting used to this.
‘This was Alice Archer’s dress?’
She nodded. ‘This is Alice Archer’s dress. She offered to give me something to wear a few days ago when she heard I was coming to the party.’ Grace ran her palm across the smooth satin. Just the barest touch let her know the quality of the fabric. ‘I had forgotten. When I walked in this morning she had it hanging up waiting for me.’
He moved closer again, his shoulder brushing against hers as he lifted his cocktail from the bar. ‘Well, I think it’s a beautiful dress. I have no idea how old it is, but it looks brand new.’
Her heart gave a little soar. The dress was definitely a hit. She’d need to buy Alice a thank-you present. A Christmas song started playing behind them, causing the rest of the people in the room to let out a loud cheer. The dance floor filled quickly. Grace sipped her drink.
‘Do you want to dance?’
She shook her head. ‘Not to this. I prefer to spectate when it’s something wild. I prefer slow dances.’
She hadn’t meant it quite to come out like that, but as her gaze connected with those blue eyes the expression on his face made her suck in a breath.
She could practically feel the chemistry between them sparkling. She wasn’t imagining this. She just wasn’t.
It wasn’t possible for the buzz she felt every time he looked at her, or touched her, not to be real.
‘I’ll take you up on that,’ he said hoarsely, before turning back to the barman. ‘Can we have some more cocktails?’
* * *
His senses were on overload. Her floral scent was drifting around him, entwining him like a coiling snake. His fingertips tingled where they’d touched her silky skin. The throaty whisper of her voice had sent blood rushing through his body as if he were doing a marathon. His eyes didn’t know whether to watch the smoky eyes, the tongue running along her succulent lips, the shimmer of the silver satin against her curves or the way her curls tumbled around the pale skin at her neck. As for taste? He could only imagine...
What was more, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shut his senses down.
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t spent time with women since Anna had died. On a few occasions, he had. But those encounters had been courteous, brief and for one purpose only.
There had been no attachment. No emotional involvement.
But with Grace? Things felt entirely different.
He wanted to see her. He wanted to be around her. He was interested in her, and what she thought. He didn’t want to see her a few times and just dismiss her from his life.
It had been twelve years since he’d really dated. One date with Anna had been enough to know he didn’t need to look any further. And right now, with his stomach tipping upside down, he wasn’t sure he knew what to do any more.
Oh, he knew what to do.
He just couldn’t picture doing it with emotions attached.
All of those memories and sensations belonged to Anna. He knocked back the last of the cocktail and lifted the Festive Shots that had appeared on the bar. He blinked, then tipped his back and finished it before turning to Grace.
Wow. Nope, nothing had changed in that millisecond. She was still here with her tumbling curls, sensational figure and eyes that looked as if they see down into his very soul.
She gave him a suspicious look as she eyed the shot glass. ‘Who are you trying to get drunk, you, or me?’
He signalled to the barman again, who replaced his shot. He held it up and clinked it against her glass. ‘This is only my third drink and it’s only your second. Somehow, I think we can cope.’
She clinked her glass against his, then tipped back her head and downed her shot too. It must have hit the back of her throat because she laughed and burst out coughing. He laughed too and gave her back a gentle slap. ‘It hits hard, doesn’t it?’
She nodded as her eyes gleamed a little with water. ‘Oh, wow.’ She coughed again. ‘Festive? More like dynamite.’
The music slowed and she glanced over her shoulder. ‘Something you like?’
She tipped her head to the side as if she were contemplating the music. ‘Actually, I really love this song.’
He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He held his hand straight out to hers as Wham’s Last Christmas filled the room. ‘Then let’s dance.’
She slid her hand into his. Her fingers starting at the tips of his, running along the palm of his hand and finishing as her fingers fastened around his wrist. His hand slid around her waist, skimming the material of the dress as they walked across the dance floor. He gave a nod to a few members of staff who nodded in their direction.
They were attracting more than their fair share of attention. He should have known this would happen. But the truth was, he didn’t really care. This wasn’t about anyone other than them.
Grace spun around as she reached the middle of the dance floor. Her hesitation only showed for a second before she slid her hands up around his neck.
It wasn’t exactly an unusual position. This was a Christmas slow dance. All around them people were in a similar stance. If they’d stayed apart it would have looked more noticeable.
He kept his hands at her waist as they moved slowly in time with the music. Grace was already singing along with her eyes half closed. ‘Hey, isn’t this a little before your time?’
Her eyes opened wider. ‘Of course. But I don’t care. I just love it. I loved the video even more. I watched it a hundred times as a teenager.’
Finlay wracked his brains trying to remember the video. For the first time he actually heard the words to the familiar tune. ‘You like this? Isn’t this the video where the girl dumped him and came back the next year with someone else?’
She threw back her head and laughed, giving him a delightful view of the pale skin at the bottom of her throat. His teeth automatically ground into his bottom lip. He knew exactly where he wanted his lips to be right now.
‘Yes, that’s the story. But I liked the snow in the video. It looked romantic. And I like the tune.’
Her body was brushing against his as she moved in time to the music. He pulled her a little closer as he bent to whisper in her ear. ‘I can’t believe this is your favourite Christmas song.’
She stepped back a little, grabbing his hand and twirling underneath it, sending the bottom of her silver dress spinning out around her, with the coloured lights from the disco catching the silver sequins on her bodice and sending sparkles around the room.
Her eyes were sparkling too, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. Grace was like her own Christmas decoration. When she finished spinning her hands rested on his chest.
He almost held his breath. Would she feel the beat of his heart under her fingertips? What would she make of the irregular pattern that was currently playing havoc with any of his brain processes—that must be the reason he couldn’t think a single sane thought right now?
She finished swaying as his hands went naturally back to her hips. He could see a few staff members in the corner of the room looking at them and whispering. He might be the boss, but Grace worked with these people. She did a good job. She brought a little life into the hotel. She deserved their respect. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin that.
As the music came to an end he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards the exit. All of a sudden the room felt claustrophobic. There were too many eyes. Too many whispers. He didn’t want to share Grace with all these people.
He wanted her to himself.
‘Hey, Finlay—what’s wrong?’
He leaned into the coat check and grabbed her stole, leaving some cash as a tip. He could hear Grace’s feet scurrying behind him as he lengthened his stride to reach the exit as quickly as possible.
They burst outside i
nto the cold night air. He spun around and put the stole around her shoulders. She was breathing heavily; he could see the rise and fall of her chest in the pale yellow light of the lamp post above them. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high. She sounded stressed.
He took a deep breath. He had no idea what he was doing. But could he really admit that?
He reached out and touched her cheek—just as he had on the roof that night.
‘I needed to get out of there.’
He kept his finger against her cheek. It was the slightest touch of her skin. The tiniest piece beneath his fingertip. But it was enough. Enough to set every alarm bell screaming in his brain. Enough to let his senses just explode with overload.
He was past the point of no return.
Grace reached up and captured her hand around his finger, leaving it touching her cheek. ‘Why, Finlay? Why did you need to get out of there?’
He could hear the concern in her voice. She didn’t have a clue. She thought this might be about something else. She didn’t realise that every tiny part of this was about her.
Guilt was racing through his veins in parallel to the adrenaline. Feeling. He was feeling again. And the truth was that scared him.
Guys would never admit that. Not to their friends. Not even to themselves. But most guys hadn’t loved someone with every part of their heart, soul and being and had it ripped out of them and every feeling and emotion buried in a brittle, cold grave.
Most guys wouldn’t know that they didn’t think it could be possible to ever get through that once. Why would they even contemplate making any kind of connection with another person when there was even the smallest possibility they could end up going down the same path?
Once had felt barely survivable. He couldn’t connect with someone like that again. How could he risk himself like that again?
Where was his self-preservation? The barriers that he’d built so tightly around himself to seal his soul off from that kind of hurt again.
Somehow being around Grace had thrown his sense of self-preservation out of the window. All he could think about right now was how much he wanted to touch and taste the beautiful woman in front of him.
She was still watching him with those questioning brown eyes. She was bathed in the muted lamplight—her silver dress sparkling—like an old-fashioned film star caught in the spotlight.
He stopped thinking. ‘Because I couldn’t wait to do this.’
He pulled her sharply towards him, folding his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against the length of his body. He stopped for a second, watching her wide eyes, giving her the briefest of pauses to voice any objections. But there were none.
He captured her mouth in his. She tasted of cocktails and chocolate. Sweet. Just the way he’d imagined she would. One hand threaded through her tumbling curls and the other rested on the satin-covered curve of her backside. He’d captured his prize. He wasn’t about to let her go.
After two seconds the tension left her body, melding it against his. Her hands wound their way around his neck again, her lips responding to every part of the kiss, matching him in every way.
This was what a connection felt like. He hadn’t kissed a woman like this since Anna died. This was what it felt like to kiss a woman you liked and respected. It had been so long he hadn’t even contemplated how many emotions that might toss into the cold night air.
Her hand brushed the side of his cheek, running along his jaw line. He could hear the tiny scrape of his emerging stubble against her fingernails. The other hand ran through his hair and then down to his chest again. He liked the feel of her palm there. If only it weren’t thwarted by the suit jacket and shirt.
Their kiss deepened. His body responded. He knew. He knew where this could potentially go.
Grace pulled her lips from his. It was a reluctant move, followed by a long sigh. Her forehead rested against his as if she were trying to catch her breath. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest.
His hand remained tangled in her soft hair and for a few moments they just stood like that, heads pressed together under the street light.
He eventually straightened up. Should he apologise? It didn’t feel as if the kiss was unwanted. But they were right in the middle of the street—hardly the most discreet place in the world for a first kiss. He could ask her up to the penthouse but somehow that didn’t feel right either—and he was quite sure Grace wouldn’t agree to come anyway.
‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ he said quietly.
Her voice was a little shaky. ‘You’re welcome.’
He took a step back. ‘How about I get one of the chauffeurs to drop you home?’
He had no idea what time it was—but whatever time it was, he didn’t want her travelling home alone. He trusted all the chauffeurs from The Armstrong. Grace would be in safe hands.
She gave a little nod. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ This time her voice sounded a little odd. A little detached. Had she rethought their kiss and changed her mind?
He put his arm behind her and led her back to the main entrance of the hotel, nodding to one of the doormen. ‘Callum, can you get one of the chauffeurs to take Grace home?’
She shivered and pulled the stole a little closer around her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to get you another coat?’
She shook her head, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll be fine when I get in the car. That’ll be warm enough.’
For a couple of minutes they stood in awkward silence. Finlay wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do next. And he couldn’t read Grace at all.
The sleek black car pulled up in front of them and the driver jumped out to open the door. Grace turned to face him with her head held high. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Finlay,’ she said as she climbed into the car.
‘You too,’ he replied automatically as he closed the door, and watched the car speed off into the distance.
One thing was for sure. Finlay Armstrong wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.
CHAPTER SIX
SHE COULDN’T DESCRIBE the emptiness inside her. It was impossible to put into words.
She stared at the texts on the phone from her friends, teasing her about the party and assuming she’d had the time of her life.
She had—almost.
But last night when she’d opened the door to the cold and empty flat, everything had just overwhelmed her.
Silence echoed around her.
Unbearable silence.
The home that had once been filled with love and happiness shivered around her.
She actually felt it happen.
Even when she flicked the light switch, the house was dark. Emptiness swamped every room. She’d started to cry even before she’d made it to bed, wrapping herself in her gran’s shawl, her own duvet and wearing the thickest pair of flannel pyjamas imaginable—but nothing could keep out the cold. Nothing at all.
That feeling of loneliness was enormous. Somewhere, on the other side of the planet, her mother was probably cuddled up to her husband or sitting around a table with her two children. Children she actually spent time with.
It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. Getting pregnant at sixteen would be difficult for any teenager. But to move away completely and form a new life—without any thought to the old—was hard to take.
It made her more determined. More determined to never feel second best with any man. She’d spent her whole life feeling second best and a cast-off. Although her relationship with her gran had been strong and wonderful, there had still been that underlying feeling of...just not being enough.
For the briefest spell tonight, under that lamp post, she’d felt a tiny bit like that again. All because of that kiss. Oh, the kiss had been wonderful—mesme
rising. The attraction was definitely there. But the connection, or the sincerity of the connection? She just couldn’t be sure if when Finlay kissed her he was thinking only of her.
She shivered all night. The heating was on in the flat and it didn’t matter how high the temperature was—it just couldn’t permeate her soul.
The night with Finlay had brought things to a precipice in her head.
Alone. That was how she felt right now.
Completely and utterly alone.
She’d thought being busy at Christmas would help. She’d thought decorating the flat the way it always used to be would help.
But the truth was nothing helped. Nothing filled the aching hole that her grandmother’s death had left.
A card had arrived from her mother. The irony killed her. It was a personalised card with a photo of her mum with her new husband, Ken, and their two sons on the front. They were suitably dressed for a Christmas in Florida. It wasn’t meant to be a message. But it felt like it.
Her mother had moved on—playing happy families on another continent. She’d found her happy ever after. And it didn’t include Grace. It never had.
She received the same store gift card each year. Impersonal. Polite. The sort of gift you sent a colleague you didn’t know that well—not the sort of gift you sent your daughter.
As she rode the Tube this morning people seemed to be full of Christmas spirit. It was Christmas Eve. Normally she would be full of Christmas spirit too.
But the sight of happy children bouncing on their parents’ knees, couples with arms snaked around each other and stealing kisses, only seemed to magnify the effect of being alone.
Tonight, she’d go home to that dark flat.
Tonight, she’d spend Christmas Eve on her own. There was no way she could speak to any of the girls. They were all too busy wrapped up in their own lives, finding their own dreams, for Grace to bring them down with her depressed state.
The train pulled into the station and she trudged up the stairs to work.
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