A Winter's Dream

by Sophie Claire

  ‘Liberty?’

  She shook the frying pan of potatoes. She didn’t want his pity, but she was so thrilled to see him her heart was spinning. She wanted him to leave – but she also wanted him to stay. The contradictions made her feel dizzy. She snatched a handful of cutlery and set it on the table with quick, frenetic movements.

  ‘Lib, stop. Please.’

  ‘Hm?’ She straightened a knife.

  ‘Liberty, look at me.’ He was so close she caught a hint of coffee.

  She stopped. ‘What?’

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked gently.

  ‘Nothing. I’m just surprised, that’s all. You didn’t say you were coming. You could have texted or called, you could have warned me.’

  ‘You’re unhappy that I’m here?’

  She wanted to laugh this off, to deny it. But that would be the easy way out, the coward’s way. She refused to be a coward.

  So she forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I’m thrilled that you’re here, but it wasn’t necessary. I don’t want your pity, Alex.’

  ‘Pity?’

  ‘You keep saying you’re concerned for me, that I have no one to check I arrived safely and no one to spend Christmas with, but I do. I have friends. It’s just that this year I’m here and they’re in England.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I don’t need you to turn up and do the knight-in-shining-armour routine to rescue me. I’m fine on my own. Perfectly fine. No pity required.’

  He looked stunned. ‘That isn’t why I’m here. I know you’re fine. I …’

  She waited, eventually biting back a sigh when he didn’t speak. He didn’t know what to say because she was right and he didn’t want to admit it.

  He pushed a hand through his hair, and she snapped. ‘You always do that! Why?’

  ‘Do what?’

  ‘Mess your hair up. It’s so annoying!’

  ‘You know what I find annoying? You always have pieces of thread on your clothes!’ He picked one off her sleeve to prove his point, then grinned affectionately.

  She smiled too, the tension defused a little.

  ‘I don’t pity you, Liberty,’ he said finally. And the look in his eyes was so earnest, she almost believed him. ‘Far from it.’

  ‘Then why are you here?’ she asked quietly. Although she tried to stop them, her hopes lifted.

  Seconds passed, feeling like minutes. Finally he said, ‘Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.’

  Her hopes sank. ‘Feeling sorry for me.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Then what?’

  He appeared to fight a silent battle before he admitted, ‘I wanted to be with you. I want to spend Christmas with you.’

  She couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Really?’

  He nodded. What did this mean? He’d said he wasn’t interested in a relationship or commitment.

  ‘As a friend,’ he added quickly. ‘I think you’ll enjoy it – to experience a French Christmas first hand. Different traditions and customs. And I want you to meet my family. You’ll like them.’

  There was a stunned pause. ‘You’re inviting me to your family’s home for Christmas?’

  ‘Wouldn’t you have done the same for me if I’d been in England over Christmas? Included me in your plans?’

  Of course she would. They both knew it. It was in her nature to look after everyone around her.

  The timer rang, making them both turn. ‘Dinner’s ready,’ she said, though her mind wasn’t on the duck or potatoes any more.

  ‘Why don’t you think about it while we eat?’ he said quietly.

  They sat down and he took his jumper off, revealing a pink shirt. ‘It’s warm in here.’

  ‘Toasty.’ She smiled. ‘I can’t work out how to turn the heat down.’

  The same could be said of her relationship with him.

  They shared the duck, the potatoes and salad. After, she offered him bread and cheese, but he shook his head.

  ‘So what do you say?’ he asked. ‘Do you want to stay here over Christmas, or come with me and spend it with my family?’

  ‘They won’t mind? They don’t even know me.’

  ‘They won’t mind at all.’

  She hesitated. It would be strange spending Christmas with strangers, but it was also tempting. She was curious to experience the festivities in another culture.

  ‘Go on, Lib.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘Come with me. It’ll be fun.’

  ‘I was going to count it as a tick in my book – spending Christmas alone.’

  ‘Can’t it be a tick to spend it with a French family? Wouldn’t that be a new experience?’

  He was right. It was better than spending it alone, sewing. In fact, now she saw that her plans hadn’t been brave at all: she’d simply been reverting to her default settings.

  She grinned. ‘Let’s do it.’

  ‘Sure?’

  ‘Yes. What was it you said? Carpe diem. It’ll be fun to experience a French Christmas.’ And she’d get to spend more time with him, a devilish voice whispered. She happily ignored it.

  ‘A Provençal Christmas,’ he corrected.

  ‘Is that different from the rest of France?’

  ‘A little,’ he said, as they cleared their dishes. ‘We have our own traditions around here, which are unique to the area. The thirteen desserts, for example.’

  ‘Thirteen desserts? I’m sold already.’ She put her plate by the sink and turned to him. ‘And, Alex?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Their eyes met and held. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Coming here, inviting me to your family’s home. I’m sorry if I was ungracious before, but I hate the idea of being the object of anyone’s pity.’

  ‘I don’t pity you, Liberty. You’re the bravest person I know.’ A whirlpool of joy began to spin inside her. ‘Most people don’t acknowledge their own fears. They don’t talk about them openly and they certainly don’t take steps to face them and overcome them.’

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘I’m thinking of my father, who was afraid of responsibility, my mother, who’s afraid of being in the limelight. I know people who are afraid of social situations, or being alone, or of confrontation. No one talks about these things but we’re all afraid of something. We keep our fears to ourselves, like shameful secrets, but you are open about yours. You’ve faced them all and defeated them, like a dragon-hunter.’

  ‘Dragon-slayer,’ she corrected, with a giggle. Pride swelled in her and she didn’t know what to say. There was a long pause. Then she asked curiously, ‘So what’s your fear?’

  His brow creased as he thought about this. ‘I don’t know …’

  She laughed. ‘Of course, you’re used to racing at three hundred miles per hour. You’re fearless.’

  While Liberty was in the kitchen, Alex called his mum to let her know he was coming home – and bringing a friend. He was excited she was coming with him, excited for his family to meet her. His mum was delighted, as he’d known she would be, and not just because he’d be home. He heard the hope in her voice as she asked about Liberty.

  ‘Mum, it’s not like that. She’s just a friend. We’ll sleep in separate rooms.’ That night at Poppy Cottage burned his mind, but he hurriedly quashed the memory. He’d made a promise and he intended to keep his word.

  When he’d finished the call he went over to the window, which looked on to the village square. The tall Christmas tree glittered in the night and the cafés were still busy even though it was late.

  He could hardly believe Liberty had thought he pitied her. It couldn’t be further from the truth. He admired her so much. He knew she’d been excited to arrive in France and discover this picturesque village and the castle – he’d heard it in her voice when he’d called her. But he’d also heard her vulnerability and bravado when she’d realised she was stuck here over the holiday, and it had stirred something in him.

  Not pity, though.

  What, then? Pro
tectiveness? A sense of responsibility? A nagging sensation that he wasn’t where he should be, that he needed to be where she was? Whatever, in the end it had won out and he hadn’t been able to stay away.

  He was simply doing the right thing, he told himself. He thought of the desperate, yellowed letters from M to his father. Alex refused to be the kind of man who abandoned people when they needed him.

  And now he was here, he knew he was where he should be.

  Liberty was his friend and they were going to spend Christmas together, that was all. He’d be with his family, and she wouldn’t be alone. It was simply the convenient solution to a problem.

  Liberty finished tidying, then went back into the lounge. She smoothed down her dress, a little tense, a little nervous. For the third time in three days her plans had been upended by unforeseen events and she’d had to adapt accordingly.

  ‘When do you want to leave?’ she asked. ‘Tonight?’

  Alex was standing by the window. It was late. The square below was noisy with laughter and chatter, footsteps fading. As she joined him, she looked outside and guessed the bars were closing.

  ‘I drove all night and all day,’ he said. ‘It would be safer to wait until the morning – if that’s all right with you?’

  ‘You want to sleep here?’

  A beat passed. ‘Yes.’

  Her heart flipped.

  Immediately, she tried to quell the excitement. He’d rejected her only the other day, and she agreed that keeping her distance from him was the rational thing to do. The sensible thing.

  But she wasn’t feeling rational or sensible right now.

  She felt daring. Audacious. Reckless.

  And she wanted him.

  She hadn’t felt this temptation, this longing with Ethan. What she felt for Alex was so intense, so visceral, so different from anything she’d ever felt before – in any of her past relationships. It frightened her, but it was also exciting. Enticing.

  ‘How many beds are there here?’ he asked.

  ‘One.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Her lips curved. Mischief tugged. Desire spiralled through her.

  He looked around the room. ‘I could sleep on the sofa.’

  ‘You could …’

  There must have been something in her tone because he turned back, one eyebrow raised. Their eyes connected and in that glance an unspoken message was communicated. She read his surprise, immediately replaced with caution. It made her smile. He was so honourable, always keen to do the right thing.

  But tonight she wasn’t interested in doing the right thing.

  She stepped forward. ‘But you don’t have to,’ she finished softly.

  The air crackled with tension.

  His eyes darkened as she reached to touch his lips. She traced them with the pad of her finger and hunger stormed her, deliciously sweet and tempting. When she lifted her lids to look at him, he seemed a little stunned. His eyes were dark as a forest night, and his breathing was ragged. She felt a surge of satisfaction.

  ‘Liberty,’ he whispered, ‘I promised you it wouldn’t happen again.’ His brow was furrowed, and she could see he was fighting a battle with himself.

  ‘But you want it, don’t you?’ Her voice was low. Seductive. She knew what she wanted. She was certain in her mind. She rested her hands on his shoulders. Their mouths were so close she could almost feel his warm lips on hers. ‘There’s a spark. You feel it too, don’t you?’

  ‘You know I do. But we mustn’t …’ His hands came around her waist, and their touch sent a dart of electricity shooting through her. ‘I won’t stick around. You know that.’

  She held his gaze. ‘That’s okay.’

  ‘It is?’

  She smiled. ‘I don’t expect any more from you than you’re willing to give.’ She brushed the hair back from his face, giving her words time to settle.

  ‘But – but you said you wanted a man who—’

  She didn’t let him finish. Need was making her impatient. ‘I did. I still do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun while I’m waiting for my Dream Guy to show up.’

  She kissed him. It was as exhilarating – more so, even – than she remembered.

  ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Liberty. I don’t want you to be disappointed because this won’t lead to what you want.’

  The regret in his voice made her heart fold up. He made it sound like she was fragile – but her challenge had changed her. Made her curious, more adventurous, eager to try things she’d previously written off as too dangerous. Now she was willing to take a chance. She was braver. And propositioning a man who wouldn’t commit was a pretty brave thing to do, wasn’t it?

  They would be good together, she was certain of it. This might give her a taste of something she would never otherwise have experienced. For once she wanted to live in the moment and simply enjoy it.

  ‘Don’t look so worried. I’m sure this is what I want, and I’m brave now, remember?’ She smiled mischievously. ‘Anyway, this will count as a tick in my book.’

  He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘I’m not sure how I feel about that.’

  ‘Well, how do you feel about this?’ She dropped a trail of light, teasing kisses along his jaw and his throat. She unbuttoned his shirt and kissed his chest. He sucked in air and held her waist, as if to steady himself. She placed her palms flat against his torso and his muscles tightened beneath her touch.

  ‘Lib, you’re sure?’ His voice was low and throaty, as if he was clinging to the last threads of his self-control.

  ‘Very sure.’

  His gaze locked with hers.

  Finally, he seemed to be satisfied with what he saw there, because he closed his eyes in surrender, dipped his head and kissed her. Fiercely. Passionately. She lit up inside like a glittering chandelier.

  He kissed her as if he’d waited an age for this, as if it meant the world to him too. She held on and poured all her longing into that kiss. He touched her cheek and she closed her eyes, savoured the heat of his fingers on her skin, heard his breathing quicken, felt her heart drum against her ribs. Everything else shrank away. She wanted this so much.

  Of course he wasn’t just a tick in her book, he was so much more.

  But this would have to be enough.

  Chapter Twenty

  God, it felt good. To kiss her. To finally kiss her and let his body have the closeness it had been craving for so long. Alex wrapped an arm around her waist and drew her against him, burying his hand in her hair, filling his senses with the scent of her, her heat, her softness.

  He’d been so sure he shouldn’t do this, that he was wrong for her. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might want a light fling. But Liberty McKenzie knew her mind. And, anyway, who was he kidding? A man would have to be made of steel to resist her. He wanted this, he wanted her.

  He pushed her hair aside and kissed her neck. She gave a soft moan and tipped her head for him. The skin beneath her ear was pale and smooth, and he felt her pulse quicken beneath his lips, heard her breathing become shallow and rapid. His muscles coiled tight. She pressed herself against him, her hips locking with his, a perfect fit.

  She’d already tugged his shirt open. Now he reached behind her to unbutton her dress. His hands were unsteady and he fumbled with the buttons, relieved when they sprang free. He kissed her again and as he did he drew the velvet fabric down, releasing her arms, and letting it fall in a puddle at her feet.

  His breath hitched. He ran his gaze over her and whispered her name. Her eyes burned into him, dark with desire. His hands shaped the indent of her waist and the swell of her hips. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was perfection.

  And tonight he wanted to find a way to show her – without words.

  Wednesday, 24 December

  Alex opened one eye. He was lying on his front and his body was still so heavy from sleep, he couldn’t even find the strength to turn over. The faint hum of cars and people’s voices carried in the air, and it took hi
m a moment to work out where he was.

  When he did, he felt a jolt of panic. What had he done?

  He remembered Liberty’s words – That doesn’t mean I can’t have fun while I’m waiting for my Dream Guy – and relaxed again. The physical pull between them had been so strong that it was a relief not to have to fight it any more. He was only planning to stay in Provence for a week or so, and a week was too short for anything more to develop. Intimacy, closeness: they had no place in his life. Especially now, when he wasn’t sure which direction his career was going to take him. By the end of this week the passion would have burned itself out, Liberty would return to Willlowbrook and he – well, he’d go wherever life took him.

  He stirred. Liberty was staring out of the window, apparently in a daydream. She smiled when she saw he was awake and murmured, ‘Morning, sleepyhead.’

  Her face was soft from sleep, her hair tousled and spilled across her bare shoulders. ‘You must have been exhausted from the long drive,’ she said, moving closer so her face was next to his.

  His gaze dipped to her full lips. ‘Not just the drive.’ He smiled because it had been late – very late – before they’d succumbed to sleep last night.

  She propped herself up on one elbow and traced the scar lines across his shoulder. He let his eyes fall shut as her light touch lulled him.

  ‘These injuries must have been so painful,’ she said quietly.

  He opened his eyes again, and pictured the cross-hatch pattern of lines and ridges on his shoulder and the ugly thick line that marked his spine. ‘They look more dramatic than they were.’

  ‘Don’t believe you.’ She bent to kiss his spine and he savoured the sensations. Her lips were warm on his skin and her hair brushed over him.

  Then she lay down next to him and said, ‘Tell me about the crash.’

  He rolled over and gazed up at the chalk-white ceiling. ‘Which one?’

  She tucked herself against him. ‘Both.’

  ‘The first was in Malaysia.’

  He heard a metal shutter being lifted and pictured the bookshop beneath them opening. Today would be busy with people doing their last-minute Christmas shopping.