12 Men for Christmas

by Phillipa Ashley

  She refused to be goaded by this or sidetracked. Not now he’d started. Besides, she’d never been so happy to be wrong about someone. “So not a luxury second-home development that will make you a fortune?”

  “Not unless people want to share their exclusive apartment with fifty unruly kids having a great time thinking they’re doing dangerous stuff.” He smiled. “Safely, of course.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

  “You seemed to have made your mind up already.”

  Emma didn’t want to have to agree with him, but for once, he was right. She recalled their earlier conversations in the car and in her office. He hadn’t helped, though, by being so defensive. Now, however, he was smiling at her and gently stroking her bare leg. Those days, their first sparring matches, seemed so far away.

  “Anyway, I’m telling you about my plans now,” Will went on. “But don’t get too excited,” he cautioned, one big, warm hand half circling her thigh. “It may never happen. There are other big developers interested too. A fantastic old place like that right on the lake would indeed make some very swish apartments and make someone a very nice profit. Whatever you think, my pockets aren’t that deep.”

  He shifted her in his lap so she fitted more perfectly against the hardness inside his jeans.

  “Does that set your mind at rest? Not only am I hot as hell in bed, I’m public spirited too. Now, is there anything else you want to know about me? Childhood illnesses? Criminal convictions? Favorite position for making love to you? But hey—you already know that…”

  “Not yet,” she added softly, tracing a fingertip over his chest and refusing to be diverted. “I’m still not absolutely sure…and you still haven’t told me if you paid for the base.”

  “Now that will have to remain my secret, I’m afraid. As for positions, I think it’s high time you did some more research.” He smiled. “Let’s go inside. I can see you’re getting cold.” He checked his watch. “Then I’ve got to have a shower—I’ve got a lunch meeting shortly.”

  Emma’s face fell. Was this the signal she’d been dreading? The hint? She forced her question to sound casual. “A meeting on a Sunday?” Her smile fell short of her eyes, but he was no fool.

  “It’s Max and Francine.” He smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Architect friend of mine and his pregnant French wife. I think you might have met him that day at the Wordsworth Center.”

  “The one with the Porsche? Goatee and pink shirt?”

  “That’s Max. We went to school together. He never changes—always had to have the latest football shoes and gadgets.” He shook his head, laughter lighting his dark eyes. “The two of us need to sort out some very boring legal issues before the planning meeting on Monday morning. I wouldn’t have arranged it, but you see, sweetheart, I never expected you to stay over. I hoped, was desperate in fact, but I didn’t assume.”

  Emma narrowed her eyes at him. Did she believe him? Probably not.

  “However,” he added in a serious tone, “before I give you a lift home, there’s still time for you to join me in the shower. Do you have any experience of Edwardian plumbing?”

  “No, but I really need to brush up on my history,” she answered, squealing in indignation as he tried to undo the remaining buttons of her shirt.

  As they walked back to the house, even Will’s evasiveness couldn’t stop her heart from soaring. He stopped again in the boot room and pushed her against the wall to give her a long, deep French kiss that made her reel with pleasure. Then he tugged her by the hand, giggling, through the door into the kitchen, insisting she share a shower with him. She flinched as her feet touched the cold kitchen tiles and stopped.

  He seemed so relaxed, so happy, that Emma wondered if now was the time. Should she tell him about her job offer and see what he had to say? What his reaction would be? Should she ask him what she really wanted to know? About…Kate?

  He leaned against the kitchen table, pulled her to him, held her between his legs. Standing here like…like they’d known each other for years, wearing his shirt, in his kitchen, Emma felt the intimacy drugging her. It was like a warm tide flowing through her, an emotional muscle relaxant that sucked away caution, leaving her boneless. She dared to do anything at this moment. To challenge him, to see what she really meant to him.

  She loved him.

  He must know that now. He must feel it emanating from every pore of her body. Everything felt so right, so easy, she felt that nothing could go wrong, not this time…

  “Emma. What’s the matter? You’ve gone quiet, sweetheart. That’s not like you,” he said.

  It didn’t raise a smile.

  “Oh…it’s…it’s…”

  His scrutiny was intense as he reached up and pulled a willow leaf from her hair. Emma stepped over the edge and took the biggest risk of her life.

  “Will, I haven’t been entirely straight with you. When I said there was something I wanted to know…there’s something I have to tell you.”

  “This sounds ominous.” Yet still, he was smiling. He didn’t expect anything serious.

  “It, well…it’s not…it’s just…”

  He stroked her hair.

  “Yesterday afternoon before you came, I had an email.”

  “Hmm…”

  “From Echo GPS. You must know them.”

  “Of course. I’ve got their gear in all my shops.”

  “Well, they are the ones who’ve agreed to sponsor the calendar.”

  The relief on his face this time was tangible. He laughed out loud.

  “And you thought I’d be angry…put out after you’d rejected my offer?” He stroked her cheek and kissed her hair. “I’m not that petty, Emma. You did well to get money out of Echo. They drive a hard bargain.”

  There was no going back now. It all came out, like a river in flood.

  “That’s not it. Not all, I mean. Will, they’ve offered me a job.” Still standing between his thighs, she felt his body grow tense as her stomach began to churn.

  “Not here, I take it.”

  “No. Not in Bannerdale. In London. As their director of communications. It’s lots more money, a high profile, company car.”

  “Ah.” He took his hands from her waist. “And are you taking it?”

  “I—I don’t know. It’s a fantastic opportunity. And it means I could go back…”

  “Home?”

  “Yes. I suppose so. Home.” The word sounded hollow.

  “Then you’d better take it, sweetheart. If that’s what you really want.”

  Emma felt her stomach was somersaulting. Please, Will, her mind begged, tell me it’s not what you want. Tell me you want me to stay with you. Ask me, please…

  Will didn’t help her out, forcing her to fill the silence. “I’ve almost decided to…to go, but I feel…guilty about leaving everyone. The tourist office, the rescue squad, the friends I’ve made—”

  “I’m sure we’ll survive somehow,” he replied bitterly. “I mean, we’ll miss you, Emma, but no one would stand in your way, not if that’s what you really want. I know what you’ve given up to come up here. It’s hardly the land of opportunity, not for someone like you.”

  Emma wanted to scream. Will couldn’t be saying this, she told herself. He couldn’t be agreeing with her, encouraging her to go. Surely he couldn’t actually want her to go. She tried again, a last-ditch attempt to make him say what she wanted to hear.

  “No, I suppose you’re right.” She waited. “I suppose everyone will get by just fine without me. I can hardly expect them to bang on my door and beg me to stay, can I?”

  There. It was out, and she couldn’t have put it any clearer without actually getting down on her knees and asking him.

  He had one last chance to ask her to stay and to tell her what she meant to him. The silence hung thick
and heavy in the kitchen. And still Will said nothing. Distantly, she heard the throb of a ferryboat on the lake, while he seemed to be struggling. For a second, he seemed uncertain but—no. There was no uncertainty when he spoke.

  “Emma, it’s been fantastic having you here. What you’ve done for us, for the team, has been amazing. No one, least of all me, will be glad to see you go, but you have to live your own life. We all do. We can’t force people to do something when their heart isn’t in it. No matter how much we want to. You understand that, don’t you?”

  Emma felt as if someone had taken hold of her insides and was knotting them slowly and viciously. Suddenly, Will’s shirt seemed much too short, with far too many of the buttons undone. As she tried to pull it further down her thighs, she noticed her feet were muddy.

  “I understand perfectly,” she said.

  And though her legs had turned to jelly, though she felt sick and weak and knocked back, there was no way she would let him see her pain. Not ever. It didn’t sound like her voice, the next bit, speaking to him politely and calmly as if nothing had happened. As if she didn’t care at all that he had just sent her crashing to the ground with a few words.

  “I ought to leave. I need a shower, and then I’d be grateful if you’d drive me home.”

  Freeing herself from her place between his thighs, she walked away. She’d actually reached the door to the hall before it came. His voice cut through the silence, more bitter and tired than she had ever heard before.

  “So you understand perfectly, do you?”

  She stopped, her hand on the doorknob.

  “You bloody well don’t understand, Emma. You can’t possibly.”

  She turned to face him.

  He was standing in the middle of the room, and she could see, even from here, the tension in his big, big body. “You think you understand. You think you know everything.”

  “Will—”

  “You’ve heard the spin in the village, haven’t you?”

  Emma felt sick. She could hardly bear to see him like this.

  “Will. The bastard. Left poor old Kate at the altar without so much as a by-your-leave,” he went on.

  “I—”

  “On a mission to sleep with every woman for fifty miles, then chucks them out as soon as the sun rises.”

  He was almost shouting now.

  “Will—”

  “Well, isn’t that what you’ve heard? Isn’t that the word on me?”

  “Stop this, please.”

  “No. I won’t. Not until you’ve answered me. What do you think you know about me?”

  She tried to reply, but the words were so faint.

  “I can’t hear you, Emma.”

  Finally, she managed to meet his eyes and winced at the pain and bitterness they held. “Yes.”

  Expecting a cry of indignation, a shout, a denial, he simply nodded. “And is it a good tale, Emma? A feasible one? Do I live up to the image?”

  “Don’t do this to me, Will. Don’t make me answer.”

  “I’m waiting. I’m asking you, Emma, what do you believe?”

  “I don’t know,” she cried. “I really don’t and, Will…hate me if you want, ignore me if you want, but I don’t care anymore. I don’t care what you did to Kate or why you did it, because you didn’t ask me to stay.”

  He sat down at the farmhouse table and looked dumbfounded. Emma was afraid. She felt like she’d felled an ox or hurt something wild and savage, but she was resolute. He wouldn’t look at her, just sat there. Then, as she opened the door to the hall, he said, “Emma, it’s not easy for me to—to show my feelings. It’s—it’s not what you think. Please, this is all so sudden. Try and understand. I need more time and space.”

  The old cliché. It wasn’t even original, and the new Emma didn’t settle for clichés or second best. It was all or nothing with Will.

  It looked like being nothing.

  Well, so be it, even if it hurt for a thousand years. She was determined she wouldn’t be used by any man ever again. Wouldn’t be second best or duped or conned, and if that was harsh, if he didn’t understand, then so be it.

  “Will, if it’s time and space you need, you’ve got it. I’m leaving.”

  She made it out of the door this time and then heard him add, in a low voice, “I’ll take you home.”

  “I need a shower first,” she mumbled. And she did. She needed to wash all traces of Will away along with every shred of hope and faith and trust she’d had that he really cared about her. That he would ask her to stay with him—not for a day, a week, but forever. She reached the stairs before the absolute truth blinded her with hot tears.

  Her own words echoed in her mind. She loved Will as she’d never loved anyone before. In the end, what he’d done in the past to someone else didn’t matter anymore. Selfish, but true. It was what he’d done to her.

  And he hadn’t asked her to stay.

  Chapter 12

  Will had been in some bad situations. He’d had some close calls and been messed up pretty badly once or twice. He’d seen stuff people shouldn’t have to see out there on the hills. People he’d been sent to search for, to rescue—whose loved ones expected to see them back, a little red-faced, maybe a bit bruised, but ultimately safe.

  Except they hadn’t been safe. Would never be.

  It had cost him actual tears once or twice, privately of course, he didn’t mind admitting that. When he’d had to deal with the inconsolable grief of a wife, a son, or a daughter. This was nothing compared to that, he told himself. Of course it wasn’t. It was only love. It didn’t deserve the pain he was feeling, the confusion. No one had died.

  Yet still it was hurting. No matter how much he rationalized it or tried to tell himself that, in the grand scheme of things, being left behind by someone he cared for was nothing, it was hurting.

  Because it was happening to him—and it wasn’t the first time.

  * * *

  Emma’s dignity made it intact as far as the top of Will’s stairs before shattering as she reached the landing and stumbled into his room, locking the door behind her. Suddenly, she had no desire for a shower anymore; her only instinct was to run. This wasn’t a dream she would wake up from to a bright and sunny truth; it was a nightmare. He’d raised all her hopes only to let them plummet to the ground.

  She asked herself how she could have been so blind. Will was never going to ask her to stay because he was never going to commit to her—or to any woman. Oh, he liked her, loved her body, respected her, but that was as far as it went—not enough. Once again, someone hadn’t felt enough to fight for her.

  The fragile world she had begun to construct around her, the world in which she’d dared to hope he really cared about her—loved her—was shattering. No way was she going to be driven home by a man who’d just rejected her. She couldn’t have dropped a stronger hint. And what was it he’d said?

  You have to live your own life. We can’t force people to do something when their heart isn’t in it. No matter how much we want to.

  The tears fell again. He couldn’t have said it much plainer, could he? Then he’d added insult to injury with the oldest line in the book: I need more time and space.

  “Well, Will,” she murmured softly, “you’ve got it.”

  Inside his room, her chest heaving, she tore his shirt from her body, sending the buttons pinging in her haste to get it off. She could still smell the faint aroma of his aftershave as she pulled it over her head and threw it on the floor.

  She hunted for her little black dress, eventually dragging it out from under the duvet they’d thrown onto the carpet while making love in the warm night. Her evening bag was lying by the mirror where he’d stripped off her clothes. Her shawl was still on the chair in the hall where Will had discarded it, and there was no way she was going down to fetch it. As for her
shoes…goodness knew what she was going to do about them.

  Her only thought was to get out of there as fast as possible, so she headed into the bathroom and turned on the shower, letting the water run so Will wouldn’t suspect what she was about to do. Back in the bedroom, she sat down heavily on the bed, almost breaking the zip of her tiny evening bag in her haste to find her cell phone and call a taxi.

  As she scrambled for the phone, the tears of disappointment and frustration were blinding her. She had to get away, but first, breathing would be good. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she dragged in a few lungfuls of air. It was enough to allow her to pick up the phone again and remember that there had been another night when she’d been with Will and needed a taxi. The night in the Black Dog, when Jan and Pete had gone home together.

  The night she’d spent at the rescue base waiting for Will. She hoped it would still be there in the dialed numbers and scrolled frantically through the memory for the taxi firm.

  There it was, she thought, sighing in relief, the last one on the list. Now all she needed was for someone in this godforsaken corner of England to be willing to come out here on a Sunday morning. She hoped the bit of cash in her bag would be enough or that the driver would take a card. If not, she’d have to get the rest from her flat. She’d pay the driver in chocolate, wine, or anything if he’d come and get her out of this mess.

  The phone in the taxi office seemed to ring forever before it was picked up. She didn’t know and didn’t care what the controller thought of her rant about coming as soon as possible. All she cared was that the taxi firm knew Ghyllside Cottage and would be there in thirty minutes. Now she had thirty minutes to find some shoes and get out of this beautiful, awful house.

  Yes, shoes would be good. Even black deck-busting heels or sneakers or fluffy slippers. Somehow she knew that any footwear in this house would be the size of boats. Will had big feet; she hadn’t needed to sleep with him to know that. But one thing was certain: she couldn’t go home in her bare feet. She had to negotiate the gravel drive for a start, and she didn’t know how she was going to do that. Knot the sheet, perhaps, and shimmy down the ivy…