12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  “Over there.” He nodded his head toward the lake.

  There was only the Mereside Inn opposite. “But that’s a pub. My local…not that I go in there all that often.”

  “Trust me,” he replied, knowing she wouldn’t. He decided to throw caution to the wind after all and risked a hand on the small of her back, guiding her in the direction of the pub beer garden. She moved briskly forward. Even through the fine wool of her shawl, the warmth of his touch was only just bearable.

  “Carry on,” he said, steering her through the tables and chairs toward the lakeshore, ignoring the amused glances from drinkers enjoying the early evening sun.

  At the edge of the garden, stretching out over the water, was an old wooden jetty. Emma caught her breath as she got her first view of the restaurant.

  All thirty-four feet of her.

  A yacht was riding tranquilly at the pier, her slender mast pointing at the few pale pink clouds barring the otherwise perfect sky. A smile touched her lips as she saw the name on the hull.

  Artemis.

  Greek goddess of the hunt. She glanced at Will to see if he’d spotted the irony, planned it even, but she saw only a look of pleasure in his eyes. Later on, she might have to enlighten him.

  She turned to see him, watching her silently, waiting for her reaction.

  “If you wanted me to be impressed, you’ve done it,” she admitted. “Mission accomplished on that score.”

  “Not what you were expecting?”

  “Two minutes ago, I was expecting a pub meal in the beer garden, so yes, I’d say this has definitely come as a surprise.”

  “I thought you’d have had your fill of three-star restaurants down in London. This,” he said, looking out over the shimmering lake, “you can only experience right here.”

  Her eyes took in the jagged mountains across the lake, now turning indigo against the setting sun. She continued to look at them because she did not dare risk a glance at him, her heart was so full.

  “For once, I’ll agree with you. We could only do this in Bannerdale.”

  “Hi there, Will. You’re a bit late…as usual!” The shout came from on board the yacht. A trim, gray-haired woman dressed in a sweatshirt and jeans beamed at them as she uncoiled a rope with brisk efficiency.

  “Sorry, Jane!” he called back. “I had business at the rescue base.”

  “I’ve heard that one from you before. What’s with the fancy suit? A special occasion?” teased Jane Stanton, the yacht’s owner, as she climbed deftly onto the jetty.

  “Emma here thinks I live and sleep in hiking gear. I wanted to show her we can be civilized in Bannerdale. Where’s Charles?”

  “Just preparing to get us underway. Aren’t you going to introduce me, then?” she asked, kissing him on the cheek.

  One thing was obvious, thought Emma as Jane greeted Will like an old friend: he’d done this many times before. His easy familiarity with the Stantons told her that much. She should have known she wasn’t the first to get this kind of treatment, but just for a moment, she’d let herself believe this was laid on especially for her. Suddenly, her pashmina didn’t seem warm enough.

  “Ready to climb on board?” asked Will, unaware the warm reception he’d received had provoked a frosty one from Emma.

  “I’m terribly sorry, but you’ll have to take those off,” apologized Jane, pointing to her shoes.

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s the stiletto heels, I’m afraid—they don’t do our deck any favors. Do you mind?”

  “Er…no, not at all. I wouldn’t want to cause any damage, naturally,” she replied.

  “Thanks for being so understanding. Jump on as soon as you’re ready,” said Jane cheerfully, climbing back over the rail.

  Fine, Emma thought. Now she’d be barefoot for the whole evening. Will must have known she wouldn’t be able to keep them on. She bent down to take off her shoes, but someone got there first.

  Will was actually kneeling down on the jetty in front of her. “Let me help you. I know I should have warned you, but you could hardly walk down here in boots with that outfit.”

  She pursed her lips. “I suppose I’ll have to forgive you then, but I’m quite capable of taking my own shoes off.”

  They were the most ridiculously impractical and mouthwateringly sexy pair of shoes he had ever seen. As he loosened the buckle, he couldn’t help encircling her ankle with his thumb and finger. He swept his hand down the smooth blade of her skin as he slipped off the shoe, expecting her to snatch her foot away at any moment.

  She didn’t.

  She let him hold it for way longer than he deserved, and when he finally placed her bare foot down on the wooden jetty, she wriggled delicate toes painted in a shimmering pastel shade. And then actually held on to his shoulders for balance as he unbuckled the other shoe. He felt like a servant granted a special favor by his mistress, and funnily enough, he didn’t mind.

  “Will, we must get underway.” Charles Stanton was leaning over the rail and beckoning them to get on board.

  That was one mercy, concluded Emma as she felt the cold jetty under her feet: she could climb on board more easily without shoes. Taking them from Will, she popped them onto the deck and let Charles hand her over the rail before Will could get the chance.

  Once on deck, she stopped to catch her breath. She’d been on a floating gin palace in Cannes once with Jeremy—a corporate bash to celebrate the launch of their latest GPS system. This bore no comparison. Jeremy had been drunk on the free champagne by nine o’clock, and she’d spent the rest of the evening boosting the egos of braying executives.

  This was not as glamorous but somehow more real and far more beautiful. As they glided away from the shore, the light breeze on land was translated into a stiff wind, setting the sails flapping and the halyards clattering against the mast. On the deck, a small table was laid out for dinner between the bench seats.

  Charles handed her a glass of Pimm’s as the yacht tilted alarmingly first to port and then to starboard. As they sailed across the lake, she clutched her drink in one hand and the rail in the other. One moment, the water was inches from her back; the next, she was soaring through the air, the waves skipping by six feet below. Will, lounging on the cushions on the other side of the boat, looked like he’d seen it all before.

  “You’ve chosen a nice night for it,” commented Charles. “For once, it’s dry and we’ve got plenty of wind. Otherwise, it would have been the iron sail for us, and that’s hardly romantic, is it?”

  Hardly romantic? Even if they had had to resort to the engine, Emma couldn’t think of anything more romantic. If she’d been trying to get herself into bed, she’d have chosen this method too. It was obviously Will’s certain seduction technique. The sinking feeling in her stomach was impossible to ignore. She glared at him as he admired the scenery, his hair tousled by the wind.

  * * *

  He knew she was eyeing him, and he knew it wasn’t a friendly look. He sighed as he gazed out over the lake.

  He’d really thought he was getting somewhere on the quayside. She’d allowed him to guide her toward the jetty and—he couldn’t believe it—take off her shoes. It had certainly been no hardship, kneeling down in front of her, having no choice but to touch her skin.

  He watched her as she pretended to take an interest in a passing yacht, his eyes drawn again to those slender ankles and calves and higher, to where her thighs were pressed tightly together. She wriggled her toes against the deck, and even that slight gesture turned him on.

  He noticed the shawl was still bound protectively around her. He should be wrapped around her instead. He should be huddled up close to her, keeping her warm with his body…

  Emma swung around and darted a wary glance at him, opening her mouth as if she was about to say something.

  “Sorry to disturb you, but wou
ld one of you like to choose some wine?” Jane Stanton had popped her head out of the saloon gangway. The aromas of cooking wafted out from the door, and Emma wished she could summon up an appetite.

  “Thanks, Jane,” said Will, then turned to Emma. “Do you want to choose?” he asked.

  “It’s OK,” she muttered to him. “You do it.”

  Emma realized she needed a few moments away from his far-too direct appraisal. As he ducked his head beneath the cabin door, she took a sip of her Pimm’s and tried to imagine that she was in the South of France on a sultry August night. She wasn’t alone for long.

  Charles Stanton appeared, bearing a tray of canapés. “Lovely evening,” he said, offering the tray. “Will’s been lucky—it poured down the last time we saw him.”

  She decided to ask a question she already knew the answer to. “Does he do this often, then, hire Artemis, that is?”

  “Oh yes! He’s been on here…let me see…it must be four times since last summer.”

  “Oh.” So it was his favorite seduction method, and what woman could resist it?

  “He’s one of our best customers,” continued Charles. “He’s always bringing clients on our corporate sailing days, but”—he lowered his voice—“I probably shouldn’t say this, but this is the first time he’s ever brought a young lady on board.”

  Her stomach flipped as the wind tore another strand from her hairdo. Her mind focused on those three words: the first time. She knew her delight at hearing them was way out of proportion to what it should have been. It didn’t mean he hadn’t taken a woman out to dinner before. But not here—like this. For one night, at least, she was special.

  “I’ll leave you to it,” Charles said as Will emerged from the cabin.

  The hesitant smile that greeted him was such a contrast to her previous scowl that he had to swallow hard.

  “So. What have you chosen for us?” he heard her asking.

  Us. The breath caught in his throat. He waited for the lurch of panic that would tell him to run away from the intimacy of the word, but it didn’t arrive. All he felt was a sense of warmth, pleasure, and togetherness, which was all much more scary.

  “White, I think…yeah. Something French anyway. To tell you the truth, it’s just slipped my mind. I hope it’s OK.”

  She shuffled along the seat, leaving a space next to her. “I’m sure it will be fine. Look, why don’t you join me here? It’s silly shouting at each other across the boat like this, don’t you think?”

  “Oh absolutely,” he replied, treating her to a glance so sexy she almost melted. He sat down tentatively, keeping a discreet distance from her. She knew he was trying to give her space. If only he knew she wanted the opposite from him: closeness, warmth, affection.

  The ensuing silence was punctuated by the cries of gulls and the rush of the water as they made for a small bay on the opposite shore. “Do you know about the name of the yacht?” she ventured. “Artemis—interesting choice.”

  He looked at her quizzically, but his tone was amused. “Why do I feel I’m about to be taught a lesson?”

  “Artemis—virgin goddess of the wilderness,” she declared. And fertility, she could have added, but she decided to keep that one to herself. “She hunted down a man called Actaeon who watched her bathing naked—”

  “Bathing naked?” he echoed.

  “Oh yes. She turned him into a stag and set his own hounds on him.”

  He cleared his throat. “Sounds like a real charmer. Still, that’s something else I didn’t know about you. You’re an expert on mythology.”

  “Classics MA.” She nodded sagely.

  “Wow. I’m impressed.”

  Teasing him was fun and sexy, but she couldn’t keep up the pretense any longer. “Actually, I read it in one of my niece’s Horrible History books. I did English at university.”

  Will was too warm. He wanted to undo his bow tie and the top button of his shirt. And to take his jacket off. But it would have looked odd when a fresh breeze was whipping up whitecaps on the lake and pricking Emma’s flesh with goose bumps.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  “Over into that little bay,” he replied, glad of a subject that didn’t involve wet and naked goddesses. “We’ll have dinner there, where the water’s calm.”

  Ten minutes later, the yacht was almost motionless, riding gently at anchor in the bay. Dinner was served on the deck, the food giving them both a relatively safe topic of conversation. Emma didn’t know how she managed her starter and main course; the butterflies in her stomach left no room for anything else. A gentle fluttering stirred every time Will looked directly at her or refilled her wineglass…or just breathed in and out.

  Lust must affect men and women in different ways, Emma concluded, seeing him devour his own meal and half of hers. All that walking and climbing, she thought, and he was so terribly big. Tall, that is, tall and strong… Oh, for goodness’ sake, she had to try and calm down. Dessert arrived, and with it the chance for Will to point out the fell tops they could see silhouetted against the setting sun.

  The evocative names—Harrison Stickle, Pike o’ Blisco, Crinkle Crag—rolled off his tongue and set off the butterflies as she heard a tiny, incredibly sexy trace of his Cumbrian accent. She saw the pride in his eyes as he told her about the climbs he’d enjoyed, the rescues he’d helped with—some ending happily, humorously even. Many not.

  She found herself warming to his unashamed passion for the place he lived in, the people and landscape. There was no cynicism now, no glib remarks or sarcastic comments. It seemed natural to take her chance. “Will,” she ventured as he slotted the bottle in the ice bucket, “this afternoon, you asked me why I was here in Bannerdale. I told you the truth. Now it’s your turn—why are you here?”

  “Always have been—apart from university,” he answered, placing his glass on the little table.

  “Where did you go?”

  “Scotland.”

  “Why?”

  He grinned. “Big mountains.”

  “Ah, silly me. Should have known.” There was silence. “You’re not helping me out here…”

  He smiled and put down his napkin on the table. “I studied geography. I was all set to be the archetypal bearded teacher in tweeds and brogues.”

  The image brought a giggle to her lips. “Somehow I can’t quite imagine that…but then again, you do have the makings of a beard sometimes…all that designer stubble…”

  Laughing, he rubbed his chin. “Life’s too short for male grooming, but I do make an effort for special occasions.” The look he gave her was so knowing that she felt her stomach clench with desire.

  “And?” The word came out as a squeak. “Let’s have your life history. You can’t get away from me here, on this boat.”

  “If you really insist, but I warn you, it’s very boring. Born and brought up here. Bannerdale Primary School, local comp, university, and a postgraduate certificate of education. Then the geography teacher bit. That lasted six months. Told you I was boring.”

  She wagged a finger at him. “You’re not getting away with that. I want to know more. Much more.”

  “Ask away then.”

  “Anything?”

  “You can ask anything you want.” He smiled. She was well aware he hadn’t actually promised to answer.

  “Don’t worry, I will—but don’t forget it was your idea.” She made a show of considering her first question. “OK then. Number one, what made you start your own business?”

  “I was a useless teacher.” His eyes were twinkling. “Seriously, I really like kids, but it wasn’t for me, the day-to-day and all the admin. I’d always wanted to start my own business, stay as close as I could to the great outdoors. I suppose I would have launched Outside Edge one day, but Dad dying made it happen sooner than I’d expected.”

  “
Oh. I’m so sorry…” Her voice trailed off as her enthusiasm for the game drained away.

  “It’s all right, Emma. You haven’t upset me,” he said, reassuring her. “It was a long time ago. I don’t mind talking about it now. He had a heart attack while he was out walking the fells on his day off.” He gave a bitter laugh. “He never smoked or drank much, always kept in shape—I suppose that’s just the way it goes.”

  “When was this?” she murmured. “You couldn’t have been that old.”

  “I was twenty-four, and Dad was barely fifty. The rescue squad went to help. Bob Jeavons was there, in fact, but there was nothing they could do. That’s that, I’m afraid.”

  “Life’s so unfair,” she said limply. “I mean he was young, your dad, far too young. It must have been a terrible shock for you and your mum. I’ve been lucky.” As he let her closer to him, her heart started to beat a little faster.

  “He made sure he looked after us, though. He’d worked so hard, saved all his life, so there was a decent amount of money and some insurance. Not loads, but Mum insisted on me having every spare penny. It got me started in the business, and things just grew from there.”

  He got up from the table on the deck and motioned to her to sit back on the bench with him. Still, he didn’t crowd her or offer to put his arm around her, but she could feel the heat from his body and smell his sharp citrusy aftershave.

  She knew he was being deliberately vague about his success. He must have worked incredibly hard to go from one store to a big network in ten years…and he was harboring ambitions in property too, if the hotel was anything to go by. It was on the tip of her tongue to ask him about it, but it seemed trivial after what he’d just told her. Trivial and churlish. He had a right to do whatever he wanted with his money. It wasn’t as if he’d inherited a fortune or a stately home or anything. Still, it would be nice to see him doing something positive rather than just expanding his empire even further.

  “Where does your mum live?” she asked tentatively.

  “A cottage in Bannerdale. She moved out of our family home when Dad died and made me have the profits to start the business. The cottage is what the tourists call ‘quaint,’ which means no double glazing, steep stairs, and an open fire. Mum refuses to move even though I’ve offered to buy her something more practical. She just won’t have it.”