Hot Christmas Nights

by Rachel Bailey

  “Did you?” His voice cracked. “Get over me?”

  She looked down in the direction of her bare feet, noticed the reindeer had broken one of its antlers in its crash to the floor. “I don’t know that I ever really did. I doubt I would have fallen so easily into bed with you today if I was truly over you.”

  “Technically, we fell onto the sofa,” he said, and she looked up to see his grin.

  She managed a shaky smile in return. “Okay, the sofa. You know what I mean.” She took a deep, steadying breath. “What I’m trying to say—perhaps not very well—is that I don’t for one moment regret going when I did. I needed to grow, I needed to learn. I would have been stunted if I’d stayed in Sydney. That might be difficult for you to hear.”

  He crossed his arms tight across his chest. “Yeah. It is. It tells me I was collateral damage.”

  “You might see it like that but—”

  “Then again, if I’d allowed you to talk to me and explain, things might have been different.” She blinked. For Dylan to acknowledge that was a huge step forward.

  “Perhaps. But however it might have turned out, I’m really glad we had today.” She was trying so hard not to sound as though she had expectations that they could start up again where they’d left off. The memory of his rejection still stung.

  He frowned. “You say that as if today is all we’ll have. Surely we can—”

  “Spend more time together?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Carly ached to throw herself into his arms and take him up on that suggestion—to kick off that time with him right now. This was Dylan, the man who still took up a lot of space in her heart—so much, perhaps, there had never been room for any other man. But despite her explanations and apologies there was still no forgiveness from him—and without it she didn’t think she could move forward.

  “I’m not sure we should rush into anything. I…I mean more than we already have rushed. Besides, I have to go. It’s late and tomorrow is a work day for me.”

  “But it’s Christmas Day tomorrow. You shouldn’t have to work.”

  “Tell that to eight hungry cats.”

  Carly looked around for her panties and bra. Smothered a laugh when she saw her lacy white bra dangling from a branch of the Christmas tree, obscuring the face of a vintage glass Santa Claus ornament.

  Dylan followed her gaze and burst into laughter. “You’ve made old Santa a very happy man,” he said. “Though you might be on his naughty list for this year.”

  He reached out to pull her close. “And you’ve made me a happy man, too,” he said in that deep, husky voice. “More happy than I could ever have imagined I would be again.” He cradled her face in his big, warm hands. “Don’t go, Carly. Please don’t go.”

  Dylan waited as Carly took a long moment before she replied. “Am I still on your naughty list Dylan? Will I be getting coal in my Christmas stocking from you this year?”

  Dylan’s first thought was to laugh at her comment but the expression in her eyes told her it was no joking matter. And that his answer had better be the right one.

  He looked down into her face, once so very dear to him. Still dear to him. Was he being given a second chance with Carly? He couldn’t blow it.

  She placed her hand over his where it rested on her smooth cheek. There was comfort and understanding in her touch. She got him. She had always got him. He had been able to share his deepest thoughts and concerns with her knowing she understood him and loved him. For how much longer did she need to suffer because of his stubbornness? He felt something hard and unyielding deep inside him start to shift, as if a huge boulder he’d used to block the entrance to his heart was rolling away.

  “No coal for you this year,” he said gruffly. “You deserve better than that. I understand now why you left me and…and I forgive you. I hope you can forgive me for my cruelty.”

  Her smile was luminous. “Oh, Dylan, thank you. Just thank you. And of course I forgive you.” The happiness in her eyes zapped that boulder into a fine dust that spiraled away on the great gust of his relief.

  “We both made mistakes,” he said. “I’m glad they’re behind us.”

  “Me, too,” she said, her smile lighting her eyes with sparks of green.

  He kissed her, a slow, tender affirmation of their history as lovers, as friends, as a man and a woman who had hurt and been hurt—but found their way back to each other. Was there hope for a future?

  Finally, Carly pulled away from the kiss but reached for both his hands to hold them in hers. Her cheeks were flushed. “I’m not sure I want to let go of you.”

  “You don’t have to,” he said, tightening his grip on her hands. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She smiled. “You realize I might have to give Morris some extra treats? Without him, we might not have got this chance to see each other again and…and make amends.”

  “Kitty treats from a top-class chef? I’m sure Morris’s owners would approve. What are your plans for Christmas Day?” he asked.

  She sighed. “Getting back into my Fifi’s Felines uniform and taking Christmas cheer to the pampered kitties of the lower North Shore. And cleaning their litter trays too, of course. My least favorite part of the job.”

  “And after that? Are you seeing family or friends?”

  “No. For the same reasons I didn’t see them today.”

  “Good. That means you can be here with me for Christmas Day.”

  “There is nothing I would love more.”

  He sensed a but coming up.

  “But I can’t.” She pulled a mournful face. “Morris is cat number eight. You saw what time I ended up next-door this afternoon. The deal is each cat gets thirty minutes of my time. They need to be cuddled and played with as well as fed. Then there’s the driving to the house and parking and—”

  Carly had slipped back into his life so easily. She could slip out again with the same ease. He had to have her with him for Christmas. “I can help you. We’ll split the visits. You do four, I do four.”

  She shook her head. “Not so easy. Felicity runs a tight ship as far as security and client confidentiality goes. Some of these cats live in beautiful homes filled with treasures. The owners don’t give the keys and the alarm codes to just anyone. I can’t just hand them over to someone else—even you.”

  “Then we’ll do it together. Fifteen minutes of your time plus fifteen minutes of my time gives the required thirty minutes. If we start early we can get the visits done in plenty of time for lunch.”

  “You’d do that?”

  “If it means spending more time with you on Christmas Day.”

  “Oh, Dylan, thank you. This way we actually get to spend all day together. You were always very good at problem solving. What about division of labor?”

  Her sneaky little smile told him exactly what she was getting at. He’d seen it many times before. He rolled his eyes. “I do the litter trays. You do the food. We split the playtime between us. And I don’t wear a pink uniform.”

  “Sounds fair to me,” she said with an adorable giggle. He kissed her again. Eventually she pulled away from the kiss, flushed and panting. “Now that’s not fair. I can’t stay to finish what you so obviously want to start.”

  His breathing wasn’t coming too easily either. She wasn’t wearing any underwear under her flimsy white dress. “Why not?”

  “I have to go. My stuff is at Felicity’s place in Cremorne.”

  “That’s only ten minutes away. We can drive over and get it so you can stay here.” He pulled her back to him, looked into her face. “I want to wake up with you beside me on Christmas morning.”

  Was she dreaming? Or was this her dream come true? She reached up with fingers that weren’t quite steady, to trace his cheekbones, his nose, his lips. “I still can’t believe this—us—is real. Can you?”

  He caught her fingers with his hand and kissed them. “I believe it. And I thank whatever power it was that brought you back to me.”
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  Her heart—the heart that still belonged to him—skipped a beat. “There’s nothing I want more than to open my eyes on Christmas morning and see your face.” She paused. “But I don’t have a gift for you.”

  “You being here with me is all the Christmas gift I need,” he said as he held her close.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Christmas Day lunch at Dylan’s house was nearly over, with only dessert to come. Carly, glad she’d worn her festive red dress, sat next to Dylan at the big round table in the indoor-outdoor dining room. It was too hot to open up the wall of folding glass doors to let the outdoors in, or to actually sit outside. Instead they could enjoy the spectacular view in air-conditioned comfort.

  Dylan, handsome in buff colored chinos and a blue shirt, was very much the host in his multi-million dollar home. Carly thought again what a long way he’d come. He’d worked so hard for it. If she’d dragged him off to Europe with her, would he have got where he was? Crewing on a super yacht mightn’t have gone down well on his résumé—not in his high-flying world of finance.

  She was seated close to Mikey and his delightful girlfriend, Rachel. Mrs. Burke, who was no longer Mrs. Burke but Mrs. Something Else, sat across from Dylan with her husband. Through all the years Carly had dated Dylan, his mother had never suggested Carly call her by her first name and it wasn’t going to happen now. Carly didn’t care. The older woman was making an effort to be pleasant about the sudden reappearance of the “high-maintenance little madam” in her son’s life. Thanks, no doubt, to strong words from Dylan.

  The meal had been superb—and Carly hadn’t had to help with a thing. The party planners had provided everything, including a charming waiter who didn’t celebrate Christmas and didn’t mind working on the day. There was just dessert to come.

  “Your professional verdict on the food?” Mikey asked. He’d greeted Carly with a big bear hug, not hiding his delight in seeing her. She’d realized how she’d missed Dylan’s smart, funny brother.

  “Absolutely first class,” she said. “A perfect mix of traditional favorites and cool new dishes that suit our climate. Kudos to Rachel for recommending the party planners.”

  Dylan smiled his approval and squeezed her hand under the table. He was treating her as his hostess. And making it very clear to his guests that Carly and he were together. The fact he could hardly keep his hands off her, and the way she kept glancing up at him scarcely able to believe he was real, would have clued them in even if he hadn’t.

  “The party planning company is looking for a new head chef,” Rachel said. “Would you be interested?”

  Before Carly had a chance to reply, Mikey chimed in. “You’re here for another three days. They could probably organize an interview in that time.”

  The table fell silent. In spite of their renewed intimacy, Carly had been too scared of damaging its fragile new growth to risk talking with Dylan about the future. “Th…that sounds great, Rachel. I’ll, uh, get the details from you.”

  Mikey barged right in. “So you’re going to stay?”

  Carly looked to Dylan. “I, uh, can’t think about that right now,” she stammered. She noticed Rachel gave Mikey a good jab with her elbow.

  Only a subtle tightening of his jaw indicated Dylan wasn’t as composed as he appeared. “I know we’re all glad Carly is home for Christmas. But her career is in London and—”

  “I have some decisions to make,” she said firmly, as she placed her hand on his arm to show their unity. Decisions not least of which had to do with the phone call she’d got that morning.

  The waiter chose that moment to start serving dessert. Carly thought she heard a collective sigh of relief from around the table. “This ice-cream cake made with dried fruits is what I was talking about before—traditional Christmas cake adapted to suit a summer celebration,” she said. “I can’t wait to taste it.”

  Dylan caught her eye as he added. “You’ll all have to be quick choosing what you want from the fresh fruit platter or I’ll grab all the mangoes.”

  “You’ll have to fight me for them,” she said. “I haven’t eaten a decent mango my whole time living in London.”

  The awkward moment passed. But Carly knew there was too much still unsaid between her and Dylan. And not a lot of time in which to say it.

  Dylan ached for time alone with Carly. But it was early evening before his family and their partners departed. He stood outside on the balcony, enjoying the southerly breeze that sprang up in the evenings to cool Sydney down after a hot, humid day. Carly was putting things away in the kitchen—even though he’d told her she didn’t need to help. That was typical of the Carly he’d known.

  Initially he’d thought she hadn’t changed. But she had. During her time away from him she’d grown more confident, more assured. Ready to stand by her opinions. More grown-up. She would be with a man because she wanted him. Not because she needed him. He liked the new Carly. And he wanted to keep her by his side.

  His hands gripped the balcony railing as he closed his eyes and imagined what it would be like to have Carly living here. For her to be cooking in their kitchen, sleeping beside him in their bed. Fierce longing for his imagined scenario to be real swept through him. It was followed by equally strong despair when he imagined the loss of her warm, vibrant presence. The house would be unbearably empty if she left now. His life would be unbearably empty.

  He was a one-woman man, all right, and he had never stopped loving Carly de Luca. What the hell was he going to do about it?

  She came up behind him, so quietly he hadn’t realized she was there until she wrapped her arms around his waist and nestled her head into his back. “Thank you, Dylan, for the most wonderful Christmas Day,” she murmured. “Thank you for helping me with the cats, thank you for the superb food, thank you for making me feel so welcome.”

  Welcome? Like a guest? Guests went home. He wanted her to belong.

  “I should be thanking you. This house finally feels like a home because of you.”

  “But I didn’t do anything, no cooking, no—”

  “You didn’t need to. Just your presence by my side was enough. Having my family there was a bonus. Mike was overjoyed to see you. Even if he did drop a few clangers.”

  “He meant well. So did Rachel. I thought she was delightful, by the way. They seem very happy together.”

  “She’s good for him. Like…like you’re good for me, Carly.”

  She didn’t reply and he couldn’t see her face. Was he taking this too fast, too far? “And you for me,” she finally said in a voice so low the breeze seemed to catch it and carry it away from him.

  All sorts of words and declarations were churning in his head but he didn’t know what to say. Until the words came out all by themselves—the only ones he needed. “I love you, Carly, I never stopped loving you.”

  He turned around to face her. She slid her hands up to rest on his shoulders. Her eyes shone with the intensity of her feelings, even before she said the words. “I love you, too, Dylan.”

  He kissed her, long and sweet and loving. Hope sprang to life, only to be vanquished as she broke away from the kiss and took a step back away from him. “We need to talk,” she said.

  Dread settled in his gut. No good ever came of those particular four words. “Fire away,” he said gruffly.

  The words spilled from her. “I’ve been offered the job in London. The one I’ve been hanging all my hopes on. They called me this morning.” Her dress had a red ribbon around the neckline and she twisted the end of it between two fingers.

  “When? How—” Just when he’d allowed himself to believe in a future with her—this from left field.

  “When you were parking the van outside the apartment block where the third cat lives.”

  “On Christmas Day? They called on Christmas Day to offer you a job?” He shouldn’t be surprised. Carly had always worked anti-social hours.

  “Remember Sydney is eleven hours ahead of London. It was still Christmas E
ve there.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me then?” He felt like he was being plummeted back to the past. The woman he loved making plans to leave—before they’d had a chance to talk things through.

  “I thought it better to wait until after your Christmas lunch.”

  He was grateful for that, at least. Having her here with his family had felt so right. He couldn’t bear the thought she might not be with him next Christmas.

  “This is your dream job? The one you want so much your toes as well as your fingers are crossed?”

  “Yes,” she said, with all her ambition and longing loaded into that single word.

  Blackness fell over his soul. She was going to do it again. Leave him for greener pastures. “I suppose I should offer you congratulations,” he said through gritted teeth, hands balled by his sides.

  Carly was taken aback by Dylan’s dark reaction. Why had he jumped to the assumption she was going to take the job? After she’d just told him she still loved him. After all the progress they’d made in the last two days in getting over the mistakes of the past. How could he have thought she wouldn’t talk the job offer over with him? Discuss the implications for their newly revived relationship? In some optimistic corner of her heart she had thought they had come further than that.

  Then she realised why—he saw history repeating itself. While he could forgive, could he forget? Could she?

  Four years ago, she had flown out of Sydney without saying goodbye. Would trust always be an issue for him? She had left him because it was the only way she could achieve her dream—he had refused to compromise and issued her with an edict.

  She thought of the wooden reindeer that had smashed to the floor. Dylan had glued its antler back on and put it on display, warning everyone to be careful with it. Could something that had been broken, ever be as strong again?

  “Congratulations would be nice,” she said. “Only I haven’t accepted the job yet.”

  His brow furrowed. “But it’s the job you really want.”