12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  Moving to the bar, Emma was still cursing the village’s shortage of salubrious pubs. Why tonight? she asked herself. Why did he have to walk in here? Still, she told herself, just because he was in the same bar didn’t mean she had to speak to him.

  However, she also knew that ignoring Will wasn’t going to prove that simple. Her only strategy was to join the queue at the bar, keeping as much distance as she could between herself and Will and Tara. She was still close enough to hear them, though.

  “Will, aren’t you going to buy me a drink, darling?” squealed Tara, swaying on her vertiginous heels.

  “I’ll get you an orange juice. If you take your hands away from my backside.”

  “But it’s such a lovely one,” she slurred, squeezing harder. “And I don’t want orange juice. I want a proper drink with vodka in it.”

  “I really think you’ve had enough already, pet.”

  “Don’t be so boring,” she replied petulantly. But Emma saw Tara swap her grip for a stranglehold around his neck.

  Saw his grimace too, as he replied, “Boring or not, that’s all you’re getting from me, Tara.

  “Two orange juices please, Dave,” Will called to the barman. “And whatever the lady at the end of the bar is having.”

  “Which lady would that be, sir?”

  “The cracking one with long, dark hair trying not to look in my direction right now.”

  “Ah, that one, sir.” The barman came over to her and inquired, “What’ll it be, madam? The gentleman is paying.”

  The cracking one with long, dark hair. Hmm. Very smooth. Too late, she realized she should have answered sooner, because Will was now doing it for her.

  “She’d probably like champagne…but as this is Lakeland, a pint of Bluebird.”

  “No! I don’t drink pints!”

  “White wine spritzer, then, madam?”

  “Yes please…I mean no!”

  Dave had already turned his back and started pouring the wine. Tara snatched her arms from Will’s neck in disgust and stormed off to the ladies’.

  Emma was mortified at falling into Will’s trap. His arrogance infuriated her. He obviously thought it was funny to act like he owned the place…and her—and she’d fallen for it, hook, line, and sinker. She glanced across at him angrily.

  He wasn’t smiling now. He looked serious and handed her the drink.

  Emma took the wineglass as if it were a poisoned chalice, ordered Jan’s wine and soda, and went back to her seat without thanking Will. She saw him shrug his shoulders and return to his friends in the corner of the bar, watching her from a safe distance. When she reached their table, Jan wasn’t there. She spotted her through the old arch into the pub lounge, chatting away at breakneck speed with Pete Harrison, the photographer from the photo shoot.

  So it had come to this, reflected Emma. Here she was at last: drinking chardonnay alone in a bar with Will Tennant a few feet away, throwing a too-casual glance in her direction every few minutes in a way that made her feel like a suspect under surveillance.

  She decided that as soon as she’d finished her poisoned chalice, she was going to call a taxi and leave. She’d barely taken a sip when the space next to her was filled by a friendly face.

  “Hi, Emma.”

  Emma felt relieved and smiled. “Hi, Suzanne.”

  “Haven’t seen you for a bit,” said Suzanne, putting her glass of Coke on the table. “What have you been up to?”

  “Oh, you know, just busy. You know how it is. I’ve been busy tying up a sponsorship deal for the calendar.”

  “That sounds promising.”

  Nodding vigorously, Emma crossed her fingers. “I hope so. If it comes off, it should swell the funds a lot.”

  “We’ve missed you at the base.”

  “I don’t have any real reason to visit now…the calendar’s at the printers.”

  “You don’t need a reason to come down to see us. You’re almost an honorary member now,” said Suzanne, grinning. “Especially after your adventures at the rappelling.”

  Emma pulled a face.

  “It’s not because of Will, is it?”

  She tried to hide her discomfort with a smile. “What has Will got to do with anything?”

  “He’s not the reason you’ve stayed away, is he?”

  “Of course not. Why on earth would he be?”

  “He did give you a hard time over the calendar…and if you don’t mind me saying, it looked like the two of you had words after the rappelling…”

  Emma wished Suzanne wouldn’t sound like she was trying to coax “the real trouble” out of a reluctant patient.

  “We just don’t see eye to eye, you know that.”

  “You could have fooled me!” laughed Suzanne. “But why don’t you get on? What’s he done to upset you?”

  “He hates the calendar.”

  “Come on. That’s not all. Is it?”

  She risked a glance at Will, joking with his friends, then looked down at her hands as they gripped the glass.

  “He’s got a bit of a reputation.”

  “Who with? You can’t mean Tara McKinnon?”

  “Not just her.”

  “Well, you needn’t worry about Tara,” said Suzanne patiently. “She’s much too young, much too in your face, and far too brainless for Will. For heaven’s sake, he’s pretty well-off and, though I hate to say it, a very attractive guy. He’s bound to have his fair share of admirers.”

  “He doesn’t have to act on all his offers though.”

  “Emma! Don’t be so naive. He’s not a monk, but he’s not Casanova either.”

  “There’s something else…Kate Danvers.”

  Suzanne looked taken aback but picked up her wineglass. “What about Kate?”

  Emma almost wished she hadn’t mentioned Kate, but it was too late now. “Well. There’s no nice way of saying this, but I know what happened on their wedding day. He jilted her, didn’t he?”

  With the glass midway to her mouth, Suzanne paused. “Who told you that?”

  “I just heard…on the grapevine. It is true, isn’t it?”

  Sue placed her glass carefully on the table. “I’m afraid you’ll have to ask Will himself. Though you’ll be a braver woman than me if you do.”

  “But you’re not denying it, are you?”

  “It’s not for me to discuss his private life. Talk to him if you want to know the intimate details, and don’t rely on what others tell you.” She squeezed Emma’s arm gently. “I’m afraid I’ve got to get an early night. I’ve got morning surgery tomorrow, and I can see that Tom’s desperate to get off home. Let’s hope we see you at the base soon, and please, remember what I said about getting your information firsthand.”

  As she nodded goodbye to Suzanne and her husband, Emma was left alone to think over the GP’s words. That was it—she’d decided. She was simply not going to sit on her own in a pub any longer. She finished up her wine at an unhealthy speed and reached into her bag for her cell phone to call her own rescue service: Bannerdale Taxis.

  As she keyed through the contacts list on her phone, Emma was suddenly aware of a pungent combination of beer and tikka masala. The smell overwhelmed her before she even heard the rasping invitation.

  “On your own, love?”

  Oh fantastic, she thought. Here was another jack-the-lad trying to buy her a drink she didn’t want. Only this one had definitely not been on orange juice and seemed to have consumed the entire menu of the local takeout. She could hardly fail to notice as he was now leaning over her head, leering down her top, and about to occupy the remaining space on the bench seat before she could move to fill it.

  “No, I’m with a friend…”

  It was pathetic, but it was the only safe reply she could think of in a moment of panic. Drunk the guy might be, but
he was still a lot bigger than she was. She was in no real danger, but getting out of this situation without making a scene wasn’t going to be straightforward or pleasant.

  “Well, whoever he is, he doesn’t seem to be looking after you very well.” Masala man leered, his inviting grin looking anything but.

  Emma caught another whiff of curry and couldn’t help but hold her breath.

  “If you don’t mind my saying, love,” he rasped, “what kind of a bloke leaves a lovely thing like you sitting on her own in a pub?”

  “This kind.”

  Inwardly, Emma sighed with relief as she saw Will standing about six inches behind the drunk. The mask of politeness on his face barely concealed the hostility underneath, and he had a deceptively smooth edge to his voice. Suddenly, she was very glad she wasn’t in masala man’s doubtless smelly shoes.

  “This ‘lovely thing,’ as you so accurately describe her,” said Will, “is with me, and she doesn’t need a drink or your company. So if you’ll just leave us to get on with our date, I’d be greatly obliged.”

  Emma saw panic register on the drunk’s face as he stood up and found he reached to the top of Will’s shoulders. He was met with a smile about as warm as the glaciers that had carved out Bannerdale.

  “Sorry, mate, I—I didn’t realize you and the lady were together…”

  “Well, now you do, mate. Goodbye, and have a nice evening.”

  The man was already beating a hasty retreat to the bar when Will turned back to Emma. His smile now, she had to admit warm enough to melt a glacier in ten seconds flat, was already defrosting her resolve and threatening to move her on to a slow cook.

  “What’s this? A rescue-o-gram?” she joked, trying to laugh off the incident that had left her more disturbed than she cared to admit.

  “I only step in when I think I’m needed. You seem to need it more often than most.” He placed two glasses of Coke on the table. “Well, are you going to let me sit down? Or am I going to get the brush-off like our charming friend there?”

  “There really isn’t room for you here…”

  “Oh, I think there is. If you don’t mind getting up close and personal. Now squash up,” he said as he nudged his way onto the bench. “I can only get half my bottom on this seat at the moment.”

  Emma knew there really wasn’t room, not for someone that big—not in that small a space. Before she knew it, his thighs were pressed right up against hers. His arm was resting along the back of the bench, and his fingertips couldn’t help but keep brushing her far shoulder every time they made brief but frequent contact with her silky top. She could smell him: clean skin mingled with a subtle, spicy aftershave.

  Although she knew it was impossible, she thought he might actually hear her heart beating. Worse, she knew very well he was now in the perfect spot to see down the front of her top, to her cleavage. She had to get a grip. Be cool, calm, and collected, she told herself. Resist all his attempts to…to do whatever he had planned this time.

  * * *

  Will knew he was pushing his luck. He shouldn’t really be crowding her like this. He should be taking his time, taking things one step at a time, coaxing her, gently but firmly, the way he had on the cliff when she’d frozen. Not rushing in on her like he had at the office, like a bull at a gate. But hell, she looked so mouthwateringly gorgeous, he couldn’t resist it. And now, squashed up this close on the pub bench, she was driving him crazy. He was trying desperately—and mostly failing—to be a gentleman. But that silky top, the buttons open enough for temptation, was proving a hell of a distraction.

  She had such lovely breasts. Firm and generous. He’d made a study of them and was currently in a debate over which particular bit of her was more luscious. Maybe it was the whole gorgeous package wrapped up in an irresistible, feisty sweetness. A blend of softness and spirit that he’d tried to resist for a whole week. Finally, when he’d seen her there in the pub, by far the most gorgeous woman in the place, he’d given in to temptation.

  After she’d given him the brush-off at the bar, he’d resolved to take the hint and leave it. Better for them both if he kept his distance as he’d been struggling so hard to do. But stand by and see her propositioned by a drunken lout in a bar? No man with an ounce of self-esteem could let that happen to any woman. It was his duty to step in.

  Except he wasn’t any man, Emma wasn’t any woman, and if he’d really wanted to do his duty, he wouldn’t be sitting here now, squashed up so close to her you couldn’t have slotted a beer coaster between the two of them. If he really wanted to do his duty, he’d already be giving her a lift home or, better still, have called her a taxi and walked away from all temptation.

  * * *

  Emma felt fire touch her face—and other places she was ashamed to admit to. It had been just about OK while she wasn’t physically in his presence. In the safety of the flat or at work, she could almost convince herself she had forgotten him, that he meant nothing to her. At a range of zero inches, she had absolutely no defenses. No protection from his physical presence and, worst of all, from the brisk tenderness that was threatening, once again, to strip her bare, body and soul.

  “Where’s your groupie?” she asked. She’d meant it to sound witty and flippant. Too bad it came out as petty and jealous.

  Will didn’t seem to take offense. “If you mean Tara, she’s gone home to her mummy,” said Will. “A friend called her brother to come and rescue her.” He grinned and tapped the cell phone in his pocket, making it clear who the friend was.

  “So she’s not one of your conquests?” Emma persisted.

  “My what?”

  “Your conquests.” How incredibly silly that sounded, she thought suddenly.

  “I’m not sure exactly what you’re getting at, but if it’s what I think, then—no. Tara McKinnon is definitely not one of my ‘conquests,’ as you so delicately put it.”

  She hadn’t thought it was possible for him to get any closer to her, but she was wrong. She could now feel the muscles in his thigh tauten with the tension, and she realized she had, after all, touched a raw nerve.

  “Is that why you keep avoiding me?” he said evenly. “Because you think I’m on a quest to have my wicked way with all the women of Bannerdale?”

  “The thought had never crossed my mind.”

  “Never?”

  She shook her head firmly.

  “That surprises me, considering what happened in your office.”

  “I’d prefer it if we didn’t discuss that.”

  “No hard feelings, then? On your part, I mean.”

  “I won’t dignify that remark with an answer.”

  “You just did.”

  “You really are impossible, Will. You know that, don’t you?”

  “I do try.”

  She could have sworn he shuffled up a little closer to her. Then, smiling, he added, “So despite all the evidence, you’re not afraid that I might try to add you to my roll of dishonor? Just like all those other women?”

  Emma shook her head. He really was outrageous, she thought. Sexist, despicable, and totally outrageous. So why, a small voice whispered in her head, was her heart trying to escape from her chest?

  Her next words, meant to seem cool and smooth, came out squeakily. “Let me make this clear. I am not afraid of anything you might have in mind for me. I should have thought that much was obvious by now.”

  “Good. Because in that case, you’ll have no objection to coming out to dinner with me.”

  “Yes. I mean, no.”

  “You seem a little confused…”

  “On the contrary. I’m quite clear—and the answer is no. We are, in effect, colleagues. And I don’t believe in mixing business with pleasure. You of all people should know that by now.”

  If she’d wanted to remind him of their meeting in the office, she had a nasty suspi
cion it hadn’t worked. Because of all her remarks to him, she suddenly realized this was probably the most unwise of all. He smiled at her and remarked, slowly and deliberately, “So going out with me would be considered a pleasure?”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t.”

  “Strictly business, then?”

  Yes—an incredibly dangerous business, she might have replied. “I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said, snapping her mouth shut.

  “Oh.”

  He looked so downcast, like a little boy who’d been denied a special treat, that Emma’s heart almost melted. Her insides had already started dissolving sometime earlier.

  “Not even to give me a chance to prove myself? Show you I’m not as wicked as you seem to think I am? You know I mean well. I even offered to sponsor the calendar, not that you accepted my generous proposal. What about accepting this one? Dinner, on me.”

  She shook her head resolutely and moved to pick up her wineglass. “I’m not allowed to accept business gifts.”

  Will’s hand closed around her fingers on the stem. His eyes were intent, not teasing now. Suddenly, he looked different. Serious and, she had to admit, sincere—which was more of a turn-on than anything he’d ever done before. Her womb clenched in response. No. It couldn’t be possible. Will didn’t do sincere; he did one-night stands, disappointment, and rejection.

  But how hard it was to refuse him! His voice was deep and steady, its calm resolve reminding her of when she’d been stuck, terrified, on the cliff face. Why did he make her feel she had no choice but to do whatever he wanted?

  “I know you don’t trust me,” he said. “Or is it that you don’t trust yourself?”

  She was crumbling as she felt the heat of his strong fingers around hers, looking into his dark eyes. She was opening her mouth to reply when the words were snatched away by a loud beeping coming from the direction of his trousers. She couldn’t possibly have thought of a more appropriate warning alarm.

  “What’s that noise?”

  “My pager.” He frowned and glanced briefly at the electronic screen clipped to his belt. “We’ve got a call-out. I’m afraid I’ll have to go.”