by Emma Jackson
He leaned back on his hands, looking into the fire and tilting his head to the side before glancing over at me. The flames of the fire reflected in his glasses, but I could still read a twinkle of amusement. ‘Probably.’
‘Look don’t mince your words. That’s a “yes” isn’t it?’ I half groaned, half laughed, relaxing a little, because honestly, if anything was guaranteed to stop something happening between Nick and I, it was having my mother’s best friend bending his ear about my life story. ‘What has she been telling you?’
‘Probably nothing more embarrassing than my nan told you before I arrived.’ He was joking but there was a shadow across his face. Fine lines at the edges of his mouth that told me he was still worrying about that. Perhaps wondering if I knew he’d lost his mum recently and whether that was affecting the way I was treating him.
Because it was. I knew it from losing my dad. There was the way people looked at you before they knew and the way they looked afterwards. And despite experiencing this myself, I couldn’t deny the knowledge of Nick’s grief was making me read him differently. Whether that was a bad thing or not, I couldn’t say. It didn’t seem a bad thing; someone treating you with a little extra kindness and consideration when you were in pain, no harm in that right? But on the flip side, it was like an erasure. It made you the sum of your loss. And it’s hard enough to get back to living and remembering who you are or finding out who you can be, without constantly wearing the label of bereavement.
‘Well, your nan told me you were a pilot. Anything is more embarrassing than that. Being a pilot is not on the embarrassment scale.’
He shook his head. ‘Look I’m not knocking it; I love being a pilot. But really? I’m a glorified bus driver. It doesn’t warrant that much…reverence. Leonardo DiCaprio and Tom Cruise have a lot to answer for.’
‘Maybe it’s that. They do look very good in a uniform.’ I leaned back on my hands, mirroring his posture without consciously deciding to. ‘But it could also be the fact that you can handle one of the most amazing, complicated pieces of engineering the human race has come up with. It’s flying, Nick. Up in the sky. People aren’t meant to be in the sky.’
He gave me the full-on smile then. The one that made my heart jump like I’d just been jolted back to life with defibrillator paddles. ‘Yeah all right,’ he conceded. ‘It is pretty amazing. But I can’t play a concerto or teach someone to play the guitar or run a hotel.’
‘Oh God, she was talking about me?’
‘A little. But I already knew about the guitar and the hotel without her needing to tell me.’
‘I can’t run a hotel.’
‘Are you sure? Because it looks like that’s what you’re doing.’
‘I’m doing a very bad impression of Basil Fawlty, is what I’m doing.’ I rubbed my forehead hard, as though I could erase from my mind the sudden flood of problems I had to deal with, many of which I’d caused, and the consequences if I failed.
‘Hey.’ He caught my hand and pulled it gently away from my face, wrapping it in his. His fingers were still cool from his walk in the snow and the electric chill of it made my whole body jolt. He leaned over towards me, his voice a brush of kindness before he even said anything more. ‘You’re doing a great job.’
As soon as I heard it my craving for him ramped up from the purely physical and became a serious threat because I really needed to hear that. So much. Too much.
But how could I believe him? What did he know about running a hotel?
Unless he knew a lot about it because he was always inspecting them for his blog.
I could ask him. Now was the perfect moment. I tried to study those glorious blue eyes but the reflection in his glasses of my own miniature face and the flickering light from the fire obscured his expression.
I pulled my hand free of his on impulse – because that was apparently how I made all my important decisions – and reached up to steal his glasses. He breathed in a sharp, shallow breath and my final resistance took a battering.
He was gorgeous with the glasses, but they softened him somehow, made him appear more approachable. Without them those blue eyes were dangerous, the angles of his cheekbones and jaw more prominent. He was a whole different animal, one that had been camouflaged and allowed too close.
A dart of raw heat zoomed through my body and settled low, low down. I nearly dropped his glasses and he reached for them, without looking away, trapping me in his gaze. He hooked one of the arms over the neck of his jumper rather than putting them back on.
I swallowed. Noisily. ‘Sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.’ I lowered my hand, having no idea where to put it because what I wanted was to rub it along his thigh, his stomach, run it up his chest and deep into his hair, grab him and pull his mouth down to mine.
‘I think we both know that I don’t mind.’ His confession was a breath of sinful air blown straight to my ear.
‘Oh God, don’t say that.’ I took a shaky breath of my own and shut my eyes. He was going to kiss me – I was pretty sure that was coming next and I didn’t have the necessary will power to stop him. So, I just closed my eyes and waited.
And nothing happened.
I felt the coolness of space increasing between our bodies and I opened my eyes to see him leaning back again.
‘I’m sorry.’ He looked at me quickly, then tipped his head back to stare at the ceiling with a sigh. ‘You’ve told me already, you’re just out of a relationship and you’re not ready. You told Stephen, who told me. And Lydia just told me… I’ve no excuse, except…’ He looked at me and I could feel the mutual wanting humming over my skin.
This was ridiculous. Why was I torturing myself? Like Noelle said to me this morning, what was wrong with having a little bit of fun? As long as he didn’t invite me to live in his posh London apartment when I barely knew him – or even if he did, as long as I didn’t accept – then I wasn’t really repeating history. And ergo, we were all good here for the having of fun.
I rose up onto my knees, put one hand on his shoulder and swung my leg over his outstretched thighs. I didn’t sit down on him, not yet. I wasn’t that brazen, and my dress was going to ping up to my navel if I did, but I was going to make him see I wasn’t passive and unsure about this.
He stayed leaning back but I could see his pulse hammering in the column of his throat.
‘You’re right,’ I told him. ‘I don’t think I’m ready for dating yet. But this isn’t that, is it? I mean you want to kiss me, and I want to kiss you and if you’re happy with that, that’s all this has to be. We both know you’ll be leaving in a few days anyway.’
He studied my eyes, first one and then the other and then my mouth. ‘Are you sure?’
Was I? In that moment, yes, I was. This didn’t have to be anything more than it was: a great opportunity to kiss a very sexy man, in front of a log fire with snow piled at the door. It was the stuff of fantasies.
I moved my hands along his shoulders until my thumbs brushed that taut trapezium muscle either side of his neck. You could bet I was going to taste him there soon enough.
‘I’m sure.’ I lowered my head towards his. The leap of excitement in my belly transformed into a tsunami as he sat up to meet me halfway, lifting his hands to cup my face. A ragged breath – so close I couldn’t keep my eyes open anymore – and then his lips touched mine.
The kiss started off soft, like we had forever to frame gentle questions with our lips. His mouth was hot in contrast to the chill of his skin and the slow searching awakened something restless in my stomach. He sat up further, his height sending my head tipping back to avoid breaking contact. I did not want to break contact. My lips parted and he touched his tongue fleetingly to mine. He tasted of cherries and chocolate with a trace of bitterness beneath that made me crave more, though I wasn’t sure what it was. Him probably.
The restlessness became liquid fire and suddenly it wasn’t enough to ask questions, I wanted to go hunting for answers. I grabbed the neck of h
is jumper in a handful and pushed closer. My chest met his, the bottom edge of his glasses digging into my cleavage. I plucked them off and blindly dumped them on the table over his shoulder. Object removed, my body yielded into his, soft breasts, hard chest, heat prickling, building and aching.
‘Beth,’ he breathed, somehow. I knew I couldn’t. I was surviving on kisses alone; oxygen was nothing but a memory. I got my hands into that fabulous hair, threaded my fingers through gold and his arm banded around my waist. And we were spiralling…spiralling…spiralling down into something even though we were planted on the floor. He grazed his teeth over my bottom lip, tugged on it, before sliding his tongue, sure and deep against mine. I shuddered.
Was this kissing? It felt like I’d forgotten everything about it from before except that it involved mouths moving and tongues touching. There was so much more to what was happening here. Some puzzle piece I hadn’t known was missing. He traced my spine lightly, smoothed his palm over my lower back and along my hip and it was like I’d never known the shape of my own body. His hands rubbing like charcoal on paper over brass, bringing the image into relief. A school art activity now R rated.
I wanted to taste his skin but I was scared if I changed pace, if I got greedy, the magic of the spell would break. Because this couldn’t be real.
But then it ended anyway. Nick tore himself away, gasping, looking towards the door, frowning. I blinked slowly, hands still clenched in his hair. It was just like I thought, without his glasses his frown was dark and, God help me, that brooding expression even more toe-curling.
I turned my head in slow motion towards the door too, feeling drunk. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘I think Stephen’s back.’
‘Oh. Right.’ My body was undergoing some serious protest about the sudden end to the kissing, my lips numb and burning at the same time. I took a couple of deep breaths and dared to look back at him. He was staring at me, his blue eyes glazed, telling me he was struggling to readjust too.
‘We should move.’
‘Yeah,’ I agreed in principle but his arm was still a solid band around my waist, I was up on my knees with my body curving like a bowstring ready to let an arrow fly – except the arrow was me and I’d probably land on my arse on his knees.
He pulled me close again, his other arm wrapping around me too, and he lifted me off his lap, gently placing me on the floor. He was very careful; it wasn’t his fault I collapsed in a puddle on top of a bag of crisps.
I pushed at my hair as he clambered to his feet, grabbed his glasses, then offered me his hand. I took it, and he levered me to my feet but didn’t let go afterwards as we walked towards the door.
We found Stephen and Noelle at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Hey.’ Nick still wasn’t letting go of my hand and I tried not to read too much into it or feel self-conscious when Noelle’s eyes dipped to our linked fingers and her eyebrows raised. ‘Everything okay? Did you get them there in time?’
‘No.’ Stephen shook his head slowly and kept shaking it until Noelle gave him a one-armed hug and patted his chest. He looked about as with-it as I felt, the bonus being he probably hadn’t noticed Nick and I holding hands. Not that it mattered because it wasn’t a big deal. Just two consenting adults enjoying some kissing and intimacy for a couple of days. I think that was the plan we’d agreed on anyway – my memory was a little fuzzy.
‘I think he’s in shock,’ Noelle explained with a hint of amusement, but her face was pale enough that freckles I’d never noticed before stood out across the bridge of her nose.
‘What happened? Is Rachel okay? The baby?’ I managed to find my voice, maybe because I noticed a light prickle of sweat in Nick’s palm.
‘Oh yeah, they’re all good. Little girl. We swung by their house to grab her hospital bag but I could just tell she wasn’t going to make it to the hospital, so we got her inside and within I dunno – twenty minutes?’ She looked at Stephen for confirmation of her estimate but he just stared back at her. ‘Yeah, probably within half an hour, she was pushing.’
‘Oh my God. You delivered the baby? And they’re both all fine? That’s amazing.’ I shook my head. ‘Not because it was you helping, but you know, it’s just amazing that you were there and wow, now they have a baby. You absolute star.’ I let go of Nick so I could hug Noelle and she laughed. ‘Do you want anything? A drink? A piece of cake? What do you do after delivering a baby?’
‘Shower and sleep.’ She hugged me back and stepped away. ‘We’ll talk more tomorrow.’ She winked at me and patted Stephen on the shoulder as she walked up the stairs. ‘He might need a drink though. Night, all.’
Stephen blinked and looked after her as though he’d only just heard her.
‘Well done you, too.’ I offered him a smile, wondering if he’d be able to focus on me. ‘That must’ve been intense – trying to drive with all that going on in the car.’
‘Yeah.’ His words were a little slurred and he gave his head another shake, this one short and sharp. He didn’t look at me though; he stared straight over the top of my head to Nick. ‘Yeah, it was intense. I’m sorry I pushed you to take them earlier,’ Stephen added quietly.
There was a heavy silence and I glanced over at Nick. The mouth I’d enjoyed so thoroughly was now a thin line. Nick cleared his throat and pushed his hands into his pockets. ‘It’s okay.’
Silence descended again and if I could have blended in with the wood panelling and sidled off, I felt it would have been appropriate. They clearly needed to talk. But since I couldn’t disappear, instead I clapped my hands together and offered a bright smile, like I didn’t notice the Pinter-esque undertones.
‘Well, it has been a long day and an eventful night for us all. If you’d like a drink, Stephen, I’m happy to get you one, but then I’m locking up, as we’re all back safe and sound.’
Stephen declined my offer and started up the stairs. Nick looked after him but hesitated, glancing over at me, his eyes strangely bright. ‘I should probably check he’s okay.’
‘Sure, of course.’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow though.’ He looked up the stairs to where Stephen was turning up onto the next flight and hesitated again. Then he spun in my direction, caught hold of my shoulders and planted a brief, warm kiss on my lips. He pulled away but only a fraction before he was back again, mouth light and teasing, tying and untying knots inside me in a matter of seconds. He nuzzled his nose against mine, lips hovering but he took mercy on me and restrained himself. ‘Goodnight, Beth.’
‘Night, Nick,’ I murmured, finding my voice too late. He was already loping up the stairs two and three at a time to catch up with his brother.
Theft, baking, babies and kisses: it had been a long day indeed.
Chapter Twelve
Sleep did not come easy to me that night, despite my exhaustion. I was wired up like Nick had spiked my vodka with Ecstasy, just lying in my bed, one arm thrown over my eyes, trying desperately not to keep thinking about all the delicious kisses. And eventually the buzz of the Mince Pie Evening going smoothly and Rachel going into labour and then me giving in to my attraction to Nick leaked away; my mind wandering to less pleasant things while my muscles remained tense.
The weather app I’d checked before bed had been pretty clear. This snow was going nowhere. Tomorrow, I was going to have to do it all over again. Manage with what little staff I had, beg Neeta to work on Christmas Day. And if she couldn’t, I was going to have to figure out how to cook a three-course Christmas dinner for nearly two dozen people myself. I was no chef; my last attempt at cooking for a group of people had ended up with one of them puffing up like a piece of popcorn. And I’d never cooked a roast in my life. Growing up in a hotel had meant dinners were leftovers more often than not. My mum knew how to cook, but she rarely did it in the flat for us.
So, if I didn’t fix this dinner issue – the pinnacle of Christmas Day – the Hotel Hopper was going to write a terrible review. And in the wee hours of th
e morning, no matter how much I told myself that all I could do was my best, a voice that sounded suspiciously like Peter’s kept telling me that my best was unlikely to be good enough.
And just to add to the insomnia, I started to worry about how my grandad was doing and whether my mum was okay looking after him. Or if she was going crazy worrying about the hotel. Or worse, believing it was all fine because I was here ‘handling it’, setting herself up for the shock of a lifetime when she got back.
At some point my brain must’ve switched off because I woke up to the alarm going off at half past five, but my legs and arms felt like they’d been filled up with sand.
I waited until I had a jug of black coffee in my stomach before I tried talking to Neeta, explaining the events of the previous day and asking her if she could come in tomorrow.
The answer was ‘no’. This was not good. In fact, I felt well and truly doomed.
‘How d’you figure that one?’ Neeta placed her own steaming mug of coffee in front of me where I was slumped on the kitchen stool, similar to how Dorie had passed out the day before. Apparently, I’d spoken out loud about being doomed. ‘Sounds like you did an amazing job. Really pulled it out the bag. Today’s gonna be cake in comparison to that. And good riddance to that piece of crap, Henry. You know your mum treats her staff well. He was an ungrateful, grasping, sneaky little shit.’
‘Sure, today might be easier but what about tomorrow, Neeta? What about Christmas-frigging-dinner?’
She winced and looked down. ‘I’m sorry, honey, I just can’t do it. I’ve got family who’ve flown over to be here for Christmas—’
‘It’s all right.’ I lifted my hand in a calming gesture. ‘It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine but it is what it is. And what it is, is that I am doomed.’
‘Your mum still might make it back.’