Dating Mr. December

by Phillipa Ashley

  She thought she’d seen something special for her from Will. When he’d dressed her hands, on the crag side in his brief kiss, tonight when he’d asked her to give him a chance.

  ‘Can I do anything? Make you a cup of tea?’ she offered desperately.

  ‘That’d be good,’ said Bob. As she left the control room he added, ‘Then get yourself home. Will won’t be back for hours.’

  Emma knew he was right. She shouldn’t really be here. Hey, she didn’t know why she was here or maybe she did—and that scared her. She decided to make herself useful while she tried to figure it out. She crossed the corridor into the poky kitchen under the stairs and put the kettle on. She found a couple of mugs and unearthed some tea bags. The kitchen must have been a store cupboard once, she thought. There was barely space for the essentials, let alone for any comforts.

  When the tea was brewed, she put the mugs, plus a bag of sugar, out for Bob on a battered old tray. Then she set off for the control room. As she did so, an idea had already formed in her mind—not about the calendar, but about Will. It was nearly midnight by now and, ignoring Bob’s advice, she dragged an old chair—a relic from a school staffroom by the looks of it—into the kitchen. She tucked her feet under her and sat down to wait throughout the long night.

  ***

  ‘Emma!’

  In her dream, she was outside in the wind and rain; she could feel the gale buffeting her and the droplets of water running down her face. She opened her eyes and blinked in the glare of the strip-light in the little kitchen.

  ‘Wake up—what are you doing here at this hour?’

  It was Will, shaking her gently. His hair was stuck to his head, and he was completely soaked through. Water was dripping off his coat onto her face and arms. And he had never looked so meltingly, heart-stoppingly gorgeous.

  She uncurled painfully from the chair and winced as the feeling started to return to her limbs.

  ‘What time is it?’ her voice sounded sleepy and strange in the tiny room.

  ‘Nearly 4 a.m., Emma. What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘Waiting for you… for you lot,’ she ventured.

  Even in her befuddled state, she couldn’t mistake the look of pleasure, however fleeting, on his wet face. His dark brown eyes were gleaming, like sunlight on the surface of a lake.

  ‘Did you find the runaways?’

  He grimaced. ‘Eventually. They were halfway up Black Fell. No proper kit, and no food and drink apart from a couple of bottles of vodka. They set off after tea from a campsite “for a walk.” Then the mist came down and they got lost.’

  ‘Are they OK, though?’

  ‘Cold, wet, and terrified. I don’t think they’ll do it again. They’ll be fine.’ He smiled. ‘But they’ve been packed off to hospital for a check-up anyway.’

  She noticed that her top was wet from the rivulets of water which had run off his wet coat on to her. Some had splashed on to her top, soaking into the fabric.

  ‘Sorry!’ he laughed. ‘I’ll go and get out of this stuff… will you still be here when I get back?’

  ‘I’ll make you all a hot drink.’

  ‘Great.’

  Emma felt her stomach flip. She might have offered him the earth, not tea, for the pleasure she saw in his eyes. Then he went off to change while she took a deep breath in preparation for what she was about to do. She made the drinks and handed them round to those team members who had returned to base to stow the equipment and vehicles. Then she walked back to the kitchen, stood by the sink, and waited.

  So what happened now? The decision she’d come to before she’d fallen sleep had taken her over. Was it a leap into the unknown? An irrevocable step towards… who knew what? Her own mug was cooling in her hand when he came back, rubbing his glistening hair with a towel. He closed the door softly, leaving them alone in the tiny enclosed space. As it shut with a click, she could feel her pulse begin to quicken and her stomach flutter.

  ‘Well, Emma?’

  ‘Well what?’ she stalled.

  ‘Have you thought about my offer?’

  ‘What offer’s that?’ she said, suddenly feeling reticent.

  ‘To take you out to dinner. Purely platonic, cross my heart.’

  Emma thought she’d seen that gesture somewhere before and hadn’t been convinced. ‘The last time you made that promise was when you were cleaning my hands. You said it wouldn’t hurt, but it did…’

  ‘I didn’t say it wouldn’t hurt. I said I’d be as careful as I could… there’s a difference.’

  A big, big difference between saying he wouldn’t hurt her and saying he’d try not to. But was being careful good enough for her?

  He checked his watch. ‘Look, it’s half past four in the morning and I’m shattered. Is there any chance of a reply this side of Christmas? Will you come to dinner with me or not?’

  ‘I have replied—and the answer’s no.’

  He threw the towel down on the chair, making her jump. His eyes were dark again. ‘Don’t play with me, Emma!’

  His vehemence, the sudden change in tone, shocked her. This wasn’t the manner of a man who simply wanted a conquest, just to get her into bed. It was something more than that—as if her reply really meant something to him, unless he was just worn out from the night’s work. Maybe she was worn out too…

  ‘I won’t come to dinner,’ she murmured, ‘but I will spend the day with you.’

  Will nearly had to hold on to the door to steady himself.

  A whole day and an evening. But that meant she might… the effect was instantaneous and in this confined space there was no way of hiding it.

  ‘Purely on a platonic basis of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he echoed, but he was smiling broadly. ‘I’ll play the perfect gentleman—cross my…’

  ‘…heart and hope to die? I think we’ve already agreed that one’s worn out its welcome.’

  ‘But you will come?’

  ‘I said yes, didn’t I? Or has your hearing been affected by the rain?’

  ‘I just couldn’t believe my own ears. OK then. We’ll start with lunch—what could be safer than that?’

  Oh a lot of things, she thought. Stepping into a cage of tigers, playing Russian roulette, thinking she could spend an evening with this man without wanting to be touched by those long, strong fingers, taste the sweet heat of that mouth again. She suppressed a shiver.

  ‘Lunch certainly sounds very innocent, Will.’

  ‘And afterwards, if I behave, you’ll let me take you out for dinner?’

  ‘Now that doesn’t sound so harmless…’

  ‘What could be more straightforward than a man taking a woman out for a meal? You can go halves, if you like,’ he offered, his eyes glinting mischievously.

  ‘I fully intend to.’

  ‘Just like student days—paying your own way, eh?’

  ‘I don’t want to owe you for anything else after recent events.’

  ‘That’s settled then. I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning,’ he said, grabbing the towel from the chair. ‘And now—I’m going home to my bed, if that’s all right with you, Emma.’ And he was gone, leaving her astonished at her own daring.

  ***

  She’d waited for him. All night.

  He’d got his wish. Emma had agreed to spend a day with him and a small voice inside his head was whispering that he didn’t deserve it. No matter how hard he tried to tell himself that lunch meant a sandwich and dinner meant—well, dinner—he couldn’t help thinking of all the other delicacies that might, if his wildest fantasies came true, be on the menu.

  Despite being up for nearly twenty-four hours, six of them hauling equipment two thousand feet up and down a pitch-black fell side, sleep wouldn’t overtake him. He opened his eyes and threw back the duvet in frustration, stretching out his arms until he touched the outer edges of the bed. Oh God… his bed. He couldn’t help picturing her on the white covers, spread out like an exotic flower, ready and waiting
for him.

  He groaned and pulled the covers back over his aching body.

  Finally, he was willing to admit that much. He cared about her. Her determination, her spirit, the vulnerability that made him want to protect her from the world. He smiled at the anarchic thought. She’d have killed him for that one.

  And he was going to be a very good boy. He’d prove to her he could keep his hands to himself. That he wasn’t the crass, sex-mad wolf she obviously thought he was. Correction: he wouldn’t behave like a sex-mad wolf. Obviously, he was desperate to take her to bed. Just the thought of it was driving him mad, but he would wait, no matter what it took. Until she was ready for him. All in good time, he thought, but please don’t let it be long.

  A watery sun broke through the clouds and a refreshing breeze rattled the window panes of Ghyllside Cottage. Will reached for his watch from the bedside table and saw it was already almost 6 a.m. Despite the fact he’d already had one drenching that morning, he decided that a cold shower would be a very good idea and headed for the bathroom.

  Chapter 8

  The knock on Emma’s door on a bright Saturday morning was as she’d expected: over-confident and very loud. Not a good start to her date—no, she corrected herself—trial by combat, with Will.

  She’d had some restless nights over the past week, waking at odd hours, her stomach fluttering, wondering if she’d been right to take a chance on him and give him the benefit of the doubt. Stepping into the wolf’s lair was a risky move, but the only way to find out what she needed to know. Could a man who seemed to have behaved so ruthlessly be ready to give more to her? She’d be safe, wouldn’t she? After all, he’d promised faithfully it would be strictly hands off. She had to hope that, on this occasion, Will Tennant was a man of his word and, more important, that she could keep her part of the bargain.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to find him standing there, a gift-wrapped parcel under one arm.

  ‘Hi there,’ he said casually, bending down to brush her cheek with his lips. The resultant fizz went all the way down to her toes and straight back up through the middle. Not good—it was barely 11 a.m.

  She saw him take in her floaty skirt and camisole top with a critical look.

  ‘Well? Will I do? I assume we are going for lunch?’ she said, and then she noticed the combat trousers, T-shirt, and inevitable boots. ‘Or maybe not…’

  ‘We are going to lunch—and, personally, it would suit me fine if you stayed just as you are. But I’m afraid you’re going to have to lose the skirt for now. The top can stay, though… as long as you bring something warm to put on.’

  ‘You had better not be planning what I think you are,’ she warned.

  ‘If you mean climbing, then no, not today. But you will need these,’ he added, offering her the package.

  Taking it cautiously from his hands she took in the sophisticated handmade paper and soft-wired ribbon. They made her think of only one thing: provocative underwear. Surely, it was beyond the realms of possibility he would have even dared…

  ‘I hope this isn’t…’

  ‘Call it a peace offering.’

  She pulled apart the paper with trembling fingers and pulled out a pair of combat trousers. Trendy in a high-tech sort of way, but undeniably practical. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Will, on the other hand, looked perfectly relaxed, stretched out on her chocolate leather sofa, a gleam of amusement playing in his eyes.

  ‘Of course, you’ll need a rucksack too, and maps, maybe a survival bag…’

  ‘Tell me you’re joking!’

  ‘Nope. Deadly serious. You can come into one of the shops and I’ll fix you up with everything you need’—He started ticking items off on his fingers—‘compass, torch, whistle…’

  ‘A whistle!’

  ‘Oh yes. Essential and, what’s more, I’m going to make sure you know how to use them properly.’ He grinned broadly at her.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ he asked, indicating the trousers dangling from her fingertips. She was holding them like a poisonous snake that might strike at any moment.

  ‘Very nice.’

  ‘Nice… Is that it? Is that all you’re going to say? If you’re out on the fells and get soaked through in those tight jeans you insist on wearing, you’ll regret it,’ he explained patiently. ‘These are far more suitable, although I nearly didn’t hand them over when I saw that skirt…’

  ‘In that case, I’ll go and change right now.’

  As she wriggled into the trousers in front of her bedroom mirror, Emma could tell straightaway they were a little bit too small. She peered at the label in the waistband—she must have put on a bit of weight in the past few months. Not that it mattered too much. She’d lost a good few pounds in her final months in London, all of which and more had now found their way back on to her hips and tummy. Getting dumped and fired on the same day had done wonders for her figure, she thought ruefully.

  And as for the trousers—well, he was only being thoughtful; he really did care what happened to her on the fells. It was such an… unexpected gift. So practical… so unlike anything Jeremy would ever have bought for her. She pulled a face in the mirror. He would have howled in derision at the thought of her in walking trousers. La Perla, Agent Provocateur he would have approved of, expected even—but North Face or Columbia? Never in a million years.

  Her stomach flipped. This gift, so mundane, so not her, had touched her because she had to acknowledge that Will wasn’t just having a joke at her expense. He wanted her to be safe, to fit in with this new world… his world.

  No, don’t go there, she told herself, you’ll only crash and burn. As she went back into the lounge, any thoughts of asking him to change them for a bigger size had been set aside.

  ‘Perfect,’ he exclaimed as she stood in the middle of the lounge, red-faced under his gaze.

  ‘And you’re sure they fit?’

  ‘Like I said—you look perfect,’ and he jumped to his feet indicating there was to be no debate on the matter.

  ‘Get your boots on. We’re going.’

  ***

  A few minutes later, as they took the twisting Lakeland roads at alarming speed, she risked a glance at Will. He was wearing his wraparound sunglasses and driving along with one hand, the other resting casually on his thigh. If he hadn’t been wearing walking gear, he’d have looked every inch the clichéd seducer.

  Emma wondered if he would really stick to his promise to keep things platonic. Surely, she asked herself, at some point today—or more likely tonight—he’d make a move on her. He had to. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he did and worse, she wasn’t sure whether she wanted him to or not. Even the thought made her shift restlessly in her seat. She wanted his body, there was no denying that, but she also wanted to see if he could keep his word.

  She fiddled with a button she hoped would open the electric windows.

  ‘Comfortable?’ asked Will, rapidly changing down the gears to negotiate a sharp hairpin bend. ‘I can turn up the air-con if you want …’

  Shaking her head, Emma tried to show a keener interest in the scenery. She flinched as they rattled over cattle grids and skimmed alarmingly close to dry stone walls. Finally, he stopped the Range Rover in a tiny lay-by at the side of a track. For a moment, she half-expected him to press a button, recline her seat, and jump her. Instead, he got out, hoisted the inevitable rucksack out of the boot, and pointed to a steep path up the hillside.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, seeing her hesitate. ‘It’s not far.’

  It was a warm, still day as she trudged up the hillside beside him. This time he hadn’t lied. It really wasn’t far and suddenly, breasting a cleft between two crags, he halted, pausing while she caught up with him. Spread out on a small plateau below them was a miniature lake, still and inky blue, the perfect mirror image of the mountains upended in its glassy surface.

  ‘Will this do for our picnic?’ he asked.

  The view took her
breath away. ‘It’s beautiful.’ Dark and beautiful like you, she thought. Heaven knows what lay beneath the surface either.

  Unpacking the rucksack, he brought out two plates and some cutlery, a bottle of champagne, and two fluted glasses. After spreading out a picnic rug on the grassy fell side, he proceeded to take out some smoked salmon, strawberries, and cream. A mayfly buzzed past her lips and Emma realized her mouth must be hanging open in astonishment. She rapidly shut it.

  ‘So this is essential equipment for a mountain rescue leader, is it?’ she asked, smiling.

  ‘Of course. On his day off, anyway. What can I tempt you with?’ he asked mischievously. ‘Foie gras? Gravadlax? Champagne?’

  ‘All three,’ she replied, watching him uncork the Champagne with quiet efficiency. It took her back, over half a year now, to London and Jeremy. He always made a great show of opening any bottle. Half of it had usually ended up on her dress or the floor, but Will had managed not to spill a single drop. She shouldn’t have been surprised really, so why had her heart flipped as the cork had whispered out of the bottle?

  She held the glass he handed her up to the light and indicated the bottle.

  ‘Will, did you know this was Krug Champagne?’

  He whistled. ‘No! You don’t say? Well, I thought it was a bit pricey for a bottle of plonk.’ He was laughing at her and, she had to admit, she deserved it.

  ‘We may be a bit rough and ready up here but we’re not complete heathens. I can read a label.’ He took a sip from the glass. ‘And I like having the best. Nothing sinful about that, is there?’

  Seeing the expense he’d gone to, Emma was reminded that he was, after all, a wealthy guy. She wondered again about his business and his plans for the hotel. She really knew very little about him, despite the fact that they’d shared some very intimate moments.

  ‘Depends on who you use to get the best,’ she replied.

  ‘I think this conversation is heading in the wrong direction,’ said Will evenly. ‘Now eat up. I’m not carrying this lot down with me. Strawberry?’ he asked, offering her a basket.