White-Hot Christmas

by Serenity Woods

  When she finished, she stood up with a sigh, doing the sun salutation once more before turning, her eyebrows rising and her cheeks flushing as she realised he was watching her. “How long have you been there?”

  “Long enough.” He smiled, opening his arms as she walked up to him. He gave her a hug, wrapping his arms around her, nuzzling her hair. “Did you use to do ballet?”

  “Till I was eighteen, yes. Why?”

  “I can tell. You’re so elegant, like a swan.” He kissed her. Then he kissed her again, longer this time.

  She pushed him away, laughing. “I’ve got to get dressed. We’re leaving in a minute.”

  “Spoilsport.” He let her go into the room and rummaged through his wardrobe as she dressed. Eventually he settled on a light blue short-sleeved shirt and slid it on, doing up the buttons, listening to her humming one of The Beatles’ songs he’d played to her that morning, which made him smile. Then he turned around.

  He stared. She stopped in the middle of putting in an earring. “What?”

  For the first time since he’d met her, she wore trousers. They were cream and very, very tight around her ass, falling to a slight flare at the bottom, touching the ground over her shoes, which were wedges and several inches high. She wore a tight black top with a deep V that only just covered the hickey he’d given her. Although he’d looked at her body often enough over the last few days, it was the first time he realised how shapely she was, and what incredibly long legs she had.

  “Wow.”

  She finished putting the silver hoop through her ear and looked down at herself. “What?”

  “Your legs are, like, six miles long.”

  She laughed. “I don’t often get the chance to wear heels, but I think I can get away with it, with your height.”

  He came up to her, pulling her against him. “You look like a model. You’re amazing.”

  She flushed, clearly pleased with the compliment, though she murmured, “Oh rubbish, hardly.” She pushed him away. “I have to do my hair.” He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as she scooped the long blonde locks in one hand and twisted them up, securing them with a clip at the back. Blonde strands fell in curls around her long, slender neck.

  He sighed as she put a slick of lip gloss on her lips. “Well, you know that’s a waste of time.”

  She shot him an amused look in the mirror as she pressed her lips together. Then she blew him a kiss.

  “Oh crap, this is going to be like torture.” He walked out of the room in a huff. Why had he agreed to spend the evening with other people? He should have kept her to himself!

  As the evening wore on, though, Neon began to realise he was enjoying himself and finally conceded it had been a good idea to go along. The Italian restaurant was intimate and the food was great. The company was fun too. He’d grown up with Jake, and they were more like brothers than cousins. He’d taken an instant liking to Bree, who was sharp, sassy and funny. Together the two girls were witty, teasing and a great double act, teaming up against the boys occasionally, knowing perfectly well how to wind them both up.

  Like when Merle cast Jake a glance halfway through the evening and said, “Jake, sweetheart, you do realise that’s my leg you’re rubbing your foot up,” causing great merriment and making Jake stutter with embarrassment.

  Bree grinned. “Could have been worse, could have been Neon’s.”

  “Do that to me and you’ll be swallowing your teeth,” Neon told him wryly, making them all laugh.

  They toasted him happy birthday with several bottles of wine, and he watched Merle gradually loosen up, as if she had been nervous of the event, although he couldn’t fathom why. Perhaps she didn’t want to go on a date with him? Perhaps it was too serious a gesture when they only had one day left with each other. But he could see she was enjoying herself.

  He wished he could sit with her and talk about what he was feeling, but he knew it was out of the question. She mentioned her mother a couple of times during the evening, and each time, he saw her eyes lower as she remembered her responsibilities and felt the weight of her duty. There was no point in telling her he didn’t want her to go. He knew she liked being with him, but she’d never had any plans for anything serious. What could they gain from saying anything else to each other? It would be like making plans for an invasion when you knew you didn’t have the forces to fight.

  The evening gradually came to an end and they had the tiramisu, the coffees and the liqueurs. Then it was time to go. Jake insisted on paying, as it was Neon’s birthday treat, returning to the table as Merle left to visit the bathroom.

  Neon watched her walk between the tables, the tight trousers framing her butt perfectly. He looked across, seeing Jake grinning at him. When he spoke, Jake’s speech was slightly slurred. “So, do I owe you any money yet?”

  Neon stared at him, not sure to what he was referring. Then he suddenly realised. The bet! He’d forgotten all about it. He glanced across at Bree, who was finishing off her brandy. “No…”

  Bree put down the glass. “Money for what?”

  Neon gave a slight shake of his head, but his cousin was too drunk to notice. “Neon bet me a hundred bucks he could get Merle to say she loves him before she goes back to England.” He grinned. “I thought I’d lost, but now I’m beginning to think I stand a chance.” He patted Neon’s hand. “You’ve still got one day left though, mate.”

  Bree turned to stare at Neon. He shifted in his seat and frowned. “What?”

  “So that’s all this is to you? A bet?”

  He glared back. “You can talk. How much do you owe Merle? Does she ring you every time we have sex? Are you keeping count?”

  Bree reddened slightly and shot a fiery look at Jake, who had the grace to look ashamed. She looked back at Neon, angry now. “Merle’s not even mentioned it to me.”

  “I saw her note to you, Bree, so get off your high horse.” She glared at him and he sighed. “Don’t let’s argue. I’m glad you pushed her—otherwise I wouldn’t have had so much fun over the last few days. But that’s all it is—fun. We both know that. We’re not under any illusions.”

  Bree studied him. “I hope she breaks your heart, Neon Carter, I really do.”

  He said nothing, seeing Merle coming out of the bathroom, and they stood, walking out to the two taxis waiting for them.

  “Well, good night,” said Jake awkwardly.

  Bree looked at Neon. He sent her a pleading glance. Don’t tell her! Her face softened and she came forward to kiss him on the cheek before turning to her sister and giving her a hug.

  “Have a great day tomorrow.” Bree’s lips curled and she winked at Merle. “I hope you can walk at the end of it!”

  Merle grinned back. “See you Friday morning.”

  They got into their separate taxis. Neon put his arm around Merle and she cuddled up to him as the car left the restaurant for the short drive to his house.

  He thought about Bree’s words to him. I hope she breaks your heart, Neon Carter, I really do. He’d never had a broken heart before. In fact, come to think of it, he’d never had a woman break up with him. It was always him who had done the breaking. He looked at Merle, her blonde head resting against his shoulder. Walking away from her on Friday was going to be the hardest thing he’d ever had to do.

  Bree’s words settled on him like a curse.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Even though the house was only five minutes from the restaurant, Merle was dozing by the time the taxi pulled up. Neon paid the driver and led her, sleepy and sighing, into the house and through to the bedroom.

  “I’ve eaten so much I’m going to pop.” She dropped her clothes on the floor and climbed into bed without further ado.

  He smiled. “Why don’t you get comfy? I want to get a glass of water.”

  She curled up in the bed, already half asleep. “Don’t be long.”

  “I won’t.” He watched her eyes close before going back into the living room.


  He hesitated in the kitchen, then got out the bottle of Laphroaig whisky he kept in the cupboard and poured himself a small glass. He went over to the window, looking out at the garden. It was dark outside, although there was nearly a full moon, its beams painting the bush with silver.

  He took a swallow of the whisky, feeling Merle’s presence in the house even though she was in another room, as a Geiger counter might pick up radioactivity. He liked having her there. He felt comfortable with her around. She didn’t make any demands on him, she didn’t keep asking where he was or following him around like a puppy. She was just there when he needed her, which was pretty much all the time, he had to admit, but that wasn’t the point.

  What was the point? He wasn’t sure. He couldn’t formulate his feelings into words. Probably the drink, he thought, looking into the glass, the thin layer of whisky coating the bottom. He wasn’t a man used to having to think about this sort of thing. It was always the women who did the thinking, and he had to react to their declarations of love. But Merle hadn’t said she loved him. She hadn’t said anything to him, and somehow he knew she wouldn’t.

  There was nothing to be decided, no thoughts to formulate. On Friday, this whole episode would be over, and then he could get on with his life. Without her.

  Finishing off the drink, resisting the urge to guzzle the rest of the bottle and numb his mind, he went into the bedroom and undressed, sliding in beside her. She’d turned over so her back was toward him, and he curled around her, pressing a light kiss on her cheek before settling down.

  It was a while before sleep claimed him, though, and he lay there for ages, looking out into the darkness, the kiwis’ mournful crying echoing his aching heart.

  The next morning, he was awoken by a rustling noise and the brush of someone’s lips on his. He opened his eyes to see Merle leaning over him.

  She smiled. “Morning, sleepy.”

  “What’s the time?”

  “Eight thirty.”

  “Eight thirty!”

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s not quite lunchtime.”

  “I know, but I’m always awake by seven.”

  She laughed. “Must have been all the alcohol!” She sat back and he rolled onto his side to see her sitting there with his guitar.

  “What’s going on?”

  She held up a finger, then placed her fingers on a C chord. Strumming, she sang “Happy Birthday to You”, changing chords to G and F awkwardly, her tongue poking out of the side of her mouth each time, making him laugh when she hit a bum note but managing to get to the end of the song.

  When she’d finished, he gave her a long kiss before saying, “Where did you learn that?”

  “I found it online. I’ve been practising for half an hour.”

  He lay back, smiling. “Well, thank you, that’s probably the nicest present I’ve ever had.”

  “Ah, but you haven’t opened this yet.” Her eyes gleamed. She handed him a package, about six inches square.

  He stared at it, then looked back up at her. She wrinkled her nose at him. He tore off the paper and lifted the lid of the cardboard box. It was a mug.

  He pulled it out and turned it around, then began laughing. He knew you could buy kits with a blank white mug and special pens to draw your message as he’d once got them for the kids in the family. She’d carefully drawn the seal of the President of the United States, the American eagle complete with olive branch in one talon and thirteen arrows in the other and the scroll in its mouth, and above it, she’d written The West Wing. He turned it around. On the other side, she’d written What’s Next?

  He studied it for a moment. What was she saying? Was she drawing attention to the fact that in a few days she’d be going back to England? That she would then be free to find another man to replace him? What’s Next? More like Who’s Next?

  Her excited smile faded. “Don’t you like it?” She tapped the writing. “I wasn’t sure whether to write WWLD—What Would Leo Do, or what the President always says.”

  Realisation washed over him—she was referring to President Bartlet’s favourite line. They’d actually joked about it the other day, saying it to each other after they’d made love—okay, done that, what’s next? His throat tightened. “I love it.” He forced a smile on his face. “Thank you.”

  “So polite,” she teased, leaning forward to kiss him. “I got the kit from Bree. I did it the other day when you were working out.”

  He put his arms around her. “It’s even better than the guitar playing.”

  “Well, duh.” She kissed him again. “And now I’m going to make you a cup of coffee the way you like it.” She leapt out of bed, completely naked. “You want any breakfast?”

  “Not at the moment, thanks.”

  She looked surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you turn down food.”

  He laughed. “Coffee would be great.”

  He watched her disappear and heard her singing in the kitchen as she ground the coffee and put it in the espresso machine, then foamed the milk. He lay back, thinking of how she’d sung to him and the time she’d taken to draw on the mug. She hadn’t bought him an expensive present—there’d been no glamorous declarations of love, and yet he didn’t think any woman had ever done anything so thoughtful for him.

  He covered his face with his arm. His stomach was churning. Damn Bree and her stupid curse!

  True to their word, the two of them stayed in bed all day and gradually worked their way through episodes of The West Wing on the TV in his bedroom, interspersed with various breaks for food, drinks, a swim in the pool and lazy bouts of lovemaking, sometimes even during episodes, when the mood arose.

  Merle didn’t think she’d ever had such a wonderful day. After the initial weird atmosphere when she’d given him her present, Neon had relaxed and returned to his normal mischievous self, playful and good-humoured, teasing and warm at the same time.

  As they watched one of the episodes, curled up together, she wondered about the odd look that had appeared on his face when he’d opened the mug and studied her artwork. Had she overstepped the mark in buying him a present? She couldn’t think why. She’d purposefully picked something lighthearted, although she had taken a long time doing the drawing. But it wasn’t as if she’d bought him an expensive piece of jewellery, or one of those necklaces with a heart broken in the middle where you both wore a piece of it. And he had told her he expected a present, after all.

  In the end, she decided not to worry about it. He’d put the mug next to his bed and she saw him glance at it occasionally. Maybe it had touched him more than she thought.

  The phone rang several times during the day. Once it was Bree, wishing him happy birthday, then another member of his family, and the third time it was Julia. That had been an amusing call.

  “Hi,” he said when he heard who it was. They were lying in bed, the DVD paused, halfway through a tub of hokey-pokey honeycomb ice cream.

  Merle heard Julia sing “Happy Birthday” down the phone to him and watched him roll his eyes, although he smiled afterward. “Thanks.” He listened for a moment, then he glanced at her. “Yes, she’s here.” His eyes took on an exasperated look. “We’re in bed.” He grinned at Merle. “Well, you did ask. No, I’ve chained her to the headboard.” Merle shook her head, alarmed. God, Julia must think she was such a slut. “Mum, I’m not wearing her out, more like the other way around.” Merle whacked him with a pillow and he laughed. “She’s giving me a bit of S and M now.” Cheeks burning, she walked off into the kitchen, hearing his laughter echoing along the corridor.

  He came out shortly afterward and went up to her where she was washing up the plates from lunch, putting his arms around her.

  “Your mother must think I’m a complete hussy.”

  He laughed and kissed her head. “Hardly, she thinks you’re good for me.” He rested his lips on her hair and she stopped cleaning, her heart thumping. They said nothing for a moment. She closed her eyes momentarily. This was gett
ing harder and harder. Every time she thought about walking away from him tomorrow, she got a pain in her chest.

  She swallowed and finished washing up a glass, placing it in the rack. “Well, she can’t mean food-wise. I don’t think I’ve eaten anything healthy for the past week.”

  He kissed her ear. “Do you want some pasta for dinner?”

  “That would be nice.” She kept her tone light-hearted. “I’ll cook for you. It is your birthday.”

  “Nope, I insist. It’ll make a change. I normally only cook for one.”

  Merle smiled, wiping her hands on a cloth. She reached out and took his hand. “Why don’t you come and play for me for a while.”

  She led him back into the bedroom and curled up on the bed as he took the guitar and began to play George Harrison’s “All Things Must Pass”. She sighed inwardly, wondering why he had chosen the song. She’d asked him to play because he usually looked happy when he was singing, but she sensed this time he was thinking more about the words than the music, his eyes surprisingly sad when he glanced up at her as he sang.

  The rest of the day passed in much the same way, bittersweet, although they both made an effort to cover it. He made her some pasta, and they finally got dressed and sat outside in the warm sunshine to eat it, keeping the conversation light, talking about films and other series they’d watched and loved, and about their favourite periods of history—anything but the inevitable moment that was rapidly approaching.

  As the day lengthened and the sun began to set, they went back to bed and made love, then curled up together, watching more The West Wing. A heaviness settled on her chest, her heart thumping each time she thought about leaving. But she continued to say nothing, knowing it was pointless and would only make it harder for them both when the moment finally came.

  Eventually it was late and they were both drowsing, but neither of them could bring themselves to turn off the DVD, so they dozed, waking occasionally to see the episode had changed, until the titles came up and the DVD turned itself off.