12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  The moist warmth of his mouth stunned her with sweetness, even as his stubble rasped against her tender skin. And his hands. They were holding her around the waist, his fingers slipping in the sheen of sweat on her back. And unmistakably, pressed against her, she felt his body, hard and unyielding. She twisted the soft cotton of his T-shirt in her fingers and darted her tongue into his mouth, seeking out more.

  There was no more.

  Will had opened his eyes and looked into hers, seeing them gleaming and hopeful, waiting for something. Something he wasn’t ready to give…

  “Emma,” he said softly, dragging his hands from her waist and taking a step back. He felt his heart pounding and his stomach churning at the mistake he’d so nearly made. Because in that moment, when he’d seen her flushed cheeks, her touching gratitude for doing something he had done a dozen times before, he just hadn’t been able to stop himself. Hadn’t been able to deny it: that powerful need to protect her, to wrap her in his arms and shelter her.

  And he had wanted something else. Something more basic and earthy, and he’d wanted it right then and there. He’d wanted to pull her against him and force her to feel how hard she was making him. How hard to the touch and how soft inside. For that moment, he’d felt he had to have her, and if that meant going down on his knees and begging her to come to the cottage, he was ready to do it.

  But now?

  He had to get away from her. Away from the overwhelming feeling of lust and something far more dangerous that had threatened to make him say something very silly indeed. So he’d dropped his arms from her waist and let her down.

  Gently but very, very firmly.

  “Emma, we really have to be going now,” he said.

  Turning away, he shrugged the rucksack onto his back.

  * * *

  Emma’s lips were searing from his kiss. She could still feel his firm grip on her waist, his touch on her skin, the force of his erection pressing against her, but he was already on his way, striding down the hillside, putting more and more distance between them by the second.

  The adrenaline ebbed away as fast as a mountain stream. Her legs didn’t want to support her anymore, and she sat down heavily on the fellside. When Suzanne came to collect her, she had no idea how long she’d spent sitting on the grass, staring sightlessly out over the landscape. All she knew was that Will had ignited a fire that had threatened to consume her at any moment. A fire that he’d put out before it had even had a chance to flicker properly into life. Now he’d left her, cold and empty, as he walked off down the hillside.

  Chapter 5

  Well, that had knocked him for six, thought Will as he strode across the parking lot back to the Land Rover. That kiss—that flick of a small moist tongue darting into his mouth, her small, determined hands on his back, grasping his T-shirt, holding on tight. And his fingertips on her bare skin, pressing against the fine muscles of her back, gripping her flesh, hot and sweat sheened. Her beautiful breasts had been pressing against his chest, and he couldn’t believe how turned on he’d been. He’d wanted to grind his pelvis against hers, lift her legs, and hold her to him as she wrapped herself around him.

  But he hadn’t. He hadn’t because that would have been crazy—he was crazy. This was what happened when someone got too close and was in danger of making you care about her. Really care…

  The gears on the Land Rover crunched alarmingly as Will pulled away from Stickle Crag parking lot. He winced. Even his driving was going downhill.

  What had he thought he was doing anyway? To kiss her like that, take her in his arms, touch her… Well, he didn’t do close, and he didn’t do caring. He did casual, fleeting relationships. A drink, dinner, no-strings sex, and then end things before the slightest hint of anything emotional.

  Then again…maybe he’d misread the signals. Maybe that was all she’d wanted too. Perhaps these days, he was getting paranoid, and all Emma wanted was his body. He sure wanted hers, naked, spread-eagled across his great big bed.

  As he squeezed the vehicle into a too-small space outside the base, bells were going off in his head, deafening alarms that told him she was dangerous. Beautiful, sexy, and the biggest threat he’d encountered for a very long time.

  Hauling the rucksacks into the equipment room, he dumped them on an old table.

  A threat? he repeated to himself. How could Emma be a threat? Come on, Will. Don’t be such a wimp. She’s gorgeous, she’s available, and she’s got the hots for you. Since when did you let an opportunity like that pass you by?

  Thrusting the ropes and harnesses roughly onto the shelves, he felt his stomach clench. He didn’t look too closely to see if it was regret, desire, or something else, but even he couldn’t deny it. Emma alone had brought on that kick and that fierce ache.

  “Will, mate. Everything all right?”

  He turned to find one of the other volunteer rescuers grinning at the door.

  “Fine.” He forced a smile to his face. “Fancy a pint later?”

  “OK, why not?” the other man said. “I think the missus will let me out, if I’m very good. She wants me to put up a few shelves this afternoon.”

  “The joys of DIY,” laughed Will, trying not to think of taking a naked and panting Emma over a flat-pack table.

  “See you in the Dog around eight-ish, then?”

  Will turned back to the equipment, still feeling shaky with lust. “Yeah, sure,” he grunted.

  The man had gone, and Will found himself preoccupied with Emma again. He’d missed an opportunity back there, he told himself. If he got the chance again, he wouldn’t pass it up. He was a grown man, and he knew how to control his emotions. They’d been kept under lock and key for two years now, and he definitely wasn’t going to let Emma change that.

  * * *

  Emma leaned against the kitchen worktop and waited for the reassuring whistle of the kettle. Shifting against the counter, she felt her aching back protest. Her thighs objected too, and as she reached for a mug, she saw the grazes across her knuckles. She must have knocked them when she slipped against the rock at the top of the cliff.

  She sloshed the boiling water on a tea bag in the bottom of the mug because she couldn’t be bothered to get the teapot out. Not for one person. She couldn’t face waiting for it to brew either, so she squashed the tea bag against the mug with a spoon before tossing it at the trash can. It missed, spattering brown liquid against the cupboard.

  Who cared about cleaning anyway? Who cared about anything? It had only been a kiss, so why were her eyes stinging as she felt his mouth on hers again and again?

  Later, the mug of tea cradled in her hands almost cold, she tucked her legs underneath her on the sofa and gazed through the window of the flat. Once again, she was back on the fell, with Will’s arms around her, molding her like putty, making her soft enough to agree to anything he might have offered. Back then, for the brief moment she’d felt his mouth hot against hers and the unmistakable hardness of him against her stomach, she’d felt that one night would have been enough. Even if he’d asked her to make love with him there and then on the hillside, she knew she’d have said yes.

  But now she knew she wanted something more…something more extraordinary than that. More than just sex. Something Will Tennant didn’t have to give—or didn’t want to. She bit her lip and thumped the mug on the table in disgust.

  What else could you expect from a serial commitment-phobe? A guy who had led a woman almost to the altar before beating a retreat and who now relished playing with Emma’s feelings as much as the challenge of getting her into bed.

  From now on, she vowed, it was strictly business between her and Mr. December—and he was going to know about it.

  * * *

  “You’ve got a visitor, Em.”

  Emma glanced up from the computer screen in the tourist center to find Jan Edwards beaming down at her. Her
post-kiss resolve to become a workaholic had lasted, well, considerably less time than it ought to have. But how she’d longed for a bit of peace and quiet at first. And she had to admit, life had been satisfyingly dull these past ten days or so.

  “There’s someone to see you in the boardroom,” repeated Jan.

  The boardroom? Someone to see her? Emma felt a small knot starting to form in her stomach before a jolt of common sense unraveled it. She told herself it was impossible. She smiled back at Jan, realizing it must be the calendar designer or the printer.

  “Is it Lakeland Graphics?” she asked, refocusing on the keyboard.

  “No-oo.”

  “Westmorland Print, then?”

  “Wrong again, Em.”

  She clicked on the Print icon so she could send her cottage holiday article to the printer.

  “A strippergram?”

  “You’re getting very warm.”

  Emma lifted her hand from the mouse and sat back slowly in her chair.

  “OK. Hit me with it.”

  “It’s Mr. December.”

  “Right.”

  “‘Right’? Is that all you’re going to say, babe? Not ‘oh my God’ or ‘where’s my mascara’ or—”

  “Will Tennant is the last person I expect or want to see right now.” She saw her friend open her mouth to protest, but she put up a hand. “And I’d ask you to leave it there. Please, Jan.”

  Jan’s eyes widened, and she nodded. “Enough said. That’s me told off. But he is waiting, and he did ask for you.”

  “Couldn’t you tell him I’m out of the office?”

  “Nice try, but no can do. He’s parked right next to your Mini.”

  “Say I’m in a meeting with the boss.”

  “Sorry again. It was James Marshall who told him you were here. I’m only the messenger.”

  “Oh dear.”

  Emma knew Will had her backed into a corner again, but what on earth could he want this time? It had been almost OK while he was physically out of her sight, but having him here and now…that was different. At least he was on her territory, she reasoned; that made a lot of difference, surely.

  She risked a glance at the goldfish-bowl, glass office where her boss was talking on the phone. Just at that moment, he caught her eye and raised his Warning: New Daddy mug to her cheerfully.

  “That man would be dangerous if he had a brain,” muttered Emma.

  “Who? Will?” asked Jan.

  “No—oh, it doesn’t matter.” She grabbed the mouse again and grinned. “Let him wait a bit longer.”

  “OK, but it’s your funeral.” She heard Jan tutting as she walked back to her desk, and she carried on clicking at the mouse, totally oblivious to what was on the screen, panic rising. What was Will playing at, coming to the office like this? Maybe he’d come to apologize—but for what? He hadn’t acted like he’d done anything wrong. He’d just rejected her. Just pulled back a bit. And it had hurt. So it wouldn’t do him any harm to wait.

  Sighing, Emma sank back in her chair, trying to think how she was going to deal with their meeting. He’d be expecting her to be annoyed with him, maybe even hostile, so she’d be cool, calm, and collected as if nothing had happened. Nothing, absolutely nothing, would give him the slightest hint that he’d upset her.

  “Emma.”

  The New Daddy mug had appeared on the desk by her elbow. She turned to see her boss, smiling benignly as usual. She resisted the urge to tell him he had baby sick on his tie. “Yes, James?”

  “Sorry to hassle you, but you do know that that Tennant guy is waiting in the boardroom for you, don’t you?”

  “I was just finishing off this press—”

  “Only I wouldn’t like to think an influential local businessman had been kept waiting deliberately by one of my staff. Would I?”

  Emma nearly exploded. Influential businessman, my backside! she wanted to cry. Instead, she smiled, sweetly and in a nonthreatening kind of a way. “No, James.”

  Her boss might come across like a genial Labrador, but inside lurked the soul of a Rottweiler.

  James narrowed his eyes at her. “Be nice to him, Emma. You’re good at being nice to people. That’s why I gave you the PR officer’s job, remember?”

  “Yes, James.”

  Ten minutes later, she found herself with a palm around the handle of the boardroom door. Five minutes previously, she had been in the ladies’, reapplying her favorite cherry lip gloss, washing her hands, and trying to breathe.

  None of which had helped.

  And now?

  She wished she’d put on a longer skirt that morning. A baggy sweater and maybe a Victorian high-necked blouse. Maybe even a chastity belt. How could she face him after what had happened? Realization dawned on her. He hadn’t pulled back—she’d practically forced herself on him. Oh, the humiliation of letting him kiss her like that—of her responding so…so physically. God, she’d actually pushed her tongue into his mouth. Worse, she’d looked…well, far too needy, judging by the way he’d rejected her.

  How could she have had so little self-respect—after what had happened with Jeremy too. Over and over again, for the past ten days, she’d told herself that Will had done nothing. He hadn’t slept with her, promised her the earth, dumped her for her boss, and stood by while she’d been sacked.

  He had done nothing.

  Then why had it hurt so much?

  She didn’t want to answer that, especially right now when she had to face him again. Well, there was nothing for it. This was business, and she was going to show him just how businesslike she could be.

  * * *

  Twenty minutes! Will repeated to himself. Over a quarter of an hour she’d kept him waiting in this damned boardroom. There wasn’t even a window, and it was time, he reminded himself, he could ill afford to spare in the middle of the workday. Hey, he’d even canceled a meeting with his chief buyer to come here. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered…

  He took a slow, deep breath, the way he did before he tackled the last, difficult section of a particularly tricky climb. It would be worth it, he told himself, when she saw how professionally he could behave, how magnanimous his proposal was, and that there were no hard feelings over the calendar. For whatever else he was, Will told himself, he was a consummate professional in every sense of the word. OK. Maybe strike out the “consummate” bit. That probably wasn’t a good word to use in reference to Emma, but “professional” he liked. In his business, in his role as rescue team leader, in everything as far as work was concerned, he would show her he could be dispassionate and objective and fair.

  If only she would bloody well deign to come down and speak to him.

  He knew she was here. James Marshall had told him as soon as he’d entered the foyer. Besides, her trendy little car was outside—the one with the nodding dog in the back window. He supposed it was meant to be ironic. The kind of thing that was considered trendily tacky in London but that folk up here just thought was daft.

  He smiled to himself, then noticed the clock on the wall… This was getting ridiculous. How much longer was she going to make him suffer? Right, he decided, she had five more minutes before he had her paged by reception. Five more minutes before he had her cute derrière hauled down here.

  * * *

  Emma sucked in a last breath, straightened her back, turned the handle on the door…and felt her legs melting.

  Will was standing at the head of the table. Six feet three inches of clean-shaven, suited, and booted danger. Every inch the successful managing director, he looked just as at home in a boardroom as he did on a mountain in combats and shades. As she walked toward him, her hand outstretched, she felt a momentary wobble. He clearly wasn’t in the mood to take any prisoners, and neither was she. Her nose twitched. What was that fabulous smell? She almost had to stop herself from sni
ffing the air. She even recognized the brand of aftershave he was wearing—had almost bought a bottle from Harvey Nichols for Jeremy until she’d seen the price.

  Where had he gotten it from up here? Damn the man!

  His eyes narrowed as she approached. Backbone, Emma told herself, like her old hockey mistress at school. Not that she’d ever been any good at hockey.

  “Mr. Tennant. So sorry to have kept you waiting. I had a call from the national press to deal with. Unavoidable, I’m afraid. You know how it is with journalists.”

  * * *

  Will knew things weren’t going well when he felt his dick jump to attention as soon as the door opened. It seemed as though Emma only had to step into a room now, and he was losing it. No bloody wonder, though…she had that suit on for a start. The black one she’d worn at the mountain rescue base the first time he’d met her. The fitted jacket was buttoned up and stretched tight across her breasts, and he could just see a scrap of lace peeping out from the V at the top. Around her throat, she was wearing a necklace with a simple drop design that pointed the way tantalizingly to her cleavage.

  And the skirt—it was, as ever, just long enough to be businesslike but easily short enough to inspire disreputable thoughts. But worse than all this were her shoes: black high heels and, if he wasn’t mistaken, sheer black thigh highs. They had to be. There was no way, he thought, that Emma Tremayne would wear tights, not in a building this overheated…

  He forced himself to concentrate on her face, giving what he hoped was a confident and conciliatory smile, but she looked unimpressed.

  “Do take a seat, Mr. Tennant,” she said coolly.

  “No need to be formal,” he snapped, instantly regretting rising to the bait. To his surprise, she backed down and smiled back at him.

  “I’m sorry. Do take a seat, Will, and tell me how the tourist board can help you.”

  Why was she acting like this—so calmly, so reasonably, so…plain bloody weird? And why wasn’t she being sarcastic? It was scary.

  In fact, he didn’t quite know how to handle her in this mood. He’d breezed in here, totally in control, ready to take charge and make an offer that he knew would floor her and she’d find impossible to refuse. But somehow, without a single word, she’d put herself in the driving seat the moment she’d opened the door. He watched, fascinated, as she perched on the chair on the other side of the desk and placed her suede folder on the wooden surface. Unzipping it with slender fingers, she opened the writing pad inside at a virgin sheet of paper.