The Northern Lights Lodge

by Julie Caplin

  Was it the whole that made him handsome or the sum of individual parts? Her vote went to those melted chocolate eyes that seemed to see everything with unnerving accuracy but then there was the mobile mouth with the fuller lower lip with that central indent that shouted sexy. There was also the tiny smattering of dark freckles on one side of his mouth that marred the overall perfection but made his face interesting. Her breath stuttered out as she watched the gentle rise and fall of his ribcage, moving in tandem with the light shallow breaths she could hear over the crackle of the fire on the other side of the room.

  Savouring the luxury of being able to study him, she took her time, continuing her slow inventory. Wide shoulders, slim build but toned. There was a pleasing firmness to the biceps filling out the sleeves of his faded blue t-shirt. He’d changed into faded, well-worn jeans, a rip at the thigh exposing a tantalising glimpse of tanned skin and dark hair which made her pause to wonder what the hair would feel like under her lips and how he would feel if he woke to find her kissing that tiny patch of skin.

  Jerking her gaze away from the ridiculously tempting oasis in the worn denim, a little pocket of warmth spread through her chest at the thought of him being here all night. He’d woken her two or maybe it was three times in the last few hours and she barely remembered what she’d said to him, just that he was here, smelling lightly of wood smoke and hot chocolate. She leaned forward, checking she hadn’t imagined the scent.

  ‘Feeling any better?’ His eyes flicked open.

  ‘You’re awake.’ She squeaked, her limbs stiffening like a spooked, spiky cartoon cat.

  ‘Dozing.’ Amusement danced in his dark eyes. ‘How’s your head?’

  ‘Better.’ Her voice rasped, her throat dry. ‘I don’t feel as if Erik the Red has attempted to halve it with a dull axe.’ Just the rest of her then, that felt as if she’d done a few rounds with an unforgiving ice surface. Wriggling her shoulders, she groaned, pulling a face. ‘Everything else hurts.’

  ‘You took quite a tumble,’ he winced. ‘You were lucky you didn’t break anything.’

  ‘Just my skull.’

  ‘The doc doesn’t think so but we need to keep an eye on you. How are you feeling? Nausea? Double vision?’

  ‘Both of those have worn off, I have a headache, although nothing like earlier.’

  ‘You can have another painkiller if you’d like or you could have a nice hot shower.’

  Eek, now she remembered, stripping off in front of him down to her pants and t-shirt, too exhausted to worry about things like modesty.

  With another groan, she swung her legs from under the duvet to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘A hot shower.’ Now he’d put the thought to her head, she couldn’t imagine anything better. She turned to him and he hastily averted his eyes from her legs. The quick flush on his cheekbones made her pull the duvet over the top of her thighs ignoring an internal ping of feminine vanity.

  ‘Would you like anything to drink? I could go and raid the kitchen while you shower?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, without even considering whether she was thirsty or not.

  Alex smiled at her alacrity. He never missed a thing. ‘Fancy anything particular or shall I surprise you?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Anything is fine,’ she said now desperate for him to go, so that she could shower and get back into bed before he returned.

  ‘Let me bank up the fire.’ He pulled a couple of logs from the metal basket and put them into the fireplace.

  As soon as he’d left the room, Lucy lumbered to her feet with another heavy groan. Standing beneath the warm welcome flow of water, she examined her bruises. Her inventory read; one bluish one on each knee; a dark purple one, right elbow; a violet and ochre monster bigger than her hand on her shoulder blade; a series of almost black-conker-sized ones dotting along the right edge of her spine and an angry red mark ink blotted across three of her ribs. Ouch, now she felt worse, the collection an unwelcome reminder of her vulnerability and frailty.

  Reluctantly she left the shower, the anxiety to be dried and in a clean t-shirt and pants before Alex came back, outweighing the longing to stand longer under the hot stream of water soothing her battered body.

  ‘Hot chocolate,’ announced Alex, pushing through the door with a tray and a large gift bag. ‘And more of Kristjan’s secret stash of brownies and a goodie bag, courtesy of Hekla.’

  Lucy pushed herself higher on the pile of pillows, wincing at the heavy dull ache of pain in her shoulder as Alex handed her a steaming mug. ‘Oh, marshmallows as well.’

  He sat down on the edge of the bed, putting the goodie bag beside her.

  With a smile she rubbed at the blue glaze, cupping her hands around the chunky pottery. She really did love these mugs.

  ‘Please tell me Hekla isn’t still up at this time?’

  ‘No, she brought it earlier, you were out for the count.’ Alex frowned. ‘You ok?’

  ‘Yeah,’ she pulled a face. ‘As long as I don’t move.’ Since she’d got back into bed it was if someone had sucked all the energy out of her but now snuggled back under the duvet with the delicious hot chocolate, she felt cosy and well looked after.

  ‘I bet…’ he pulled a pained expression, ‘you’ve got some bruises.’

  ‘Just a few,’ she pinched her lips. Now he’d said that, it was as if all the points of pain had woken up and were vying for her attention.

  ‘I can’t believe you didn’t…’ He shut his eyes and shuddered. ‘When you went over that edge … I’m sorry I took you … I…’

  ‘Hey Alex.’ She put down her drink, leaning over to pat his knee. ‘Don’t be silly. It was a freak accident and … without you I’d never have got down.’

  He shrugged. ‘Hekla’s worried about you. She says you have to put Viking Balm on your bruises, it will make you feel better.’ He nudged the goodie bag towards her.

  Despite his unsubtle change of subject, he seemed subdued and almost guilty.

  ‘Viking balm? Please tell me that’s a real thing,’ she said trying to lighten the atmosphere.

  She dug into the bag and brought out a small round jar.

  ‘Oh it is as well. And…’ She delved in again to pull out a crime novel and a pair of heavy-duty woollen socks. ‘I love Hekla,’ she said taking the socks and rubbing the soft – was it cashmere? – wool up against her face.

  ‘So, you’d better do as she says.’ Alex unscrewed the lid of the jar, releasing a delicate perfume of almonds and lavender and offered it to her.

  It did smell good and she dipped a hand into the balm. With a smear on the tips of her fingers, she turned her other arm attempting to reach her throbbing elbow but let out an involuntarily yelp as she twisted her shoulder.

  ‘Careful,’ said Alex, sitting down on the edge of the bed at her hip. ‘What hurts?’

  ‘What doesn’t?’ she moaned, flopping back into the pile of pillows, before adding under his stern gaze, ‘mainly my shoulder blade.’ She gestured to her right shoulder.

  ‘Turn over on your side.’

  Her eyes lifted to his but his face was impassive and steady as if he expected to be obeyed and there was no big deal about it. The quiet authority made it a simple decision and she turned away from him.

  Gentle fingers skirted the neckline of her night shirt, tugging it away trying to get a better look. Cool fingers probing at her still damp skin.

  ‘Lie on your front, I’m going to lift your top up.’

  Silence. Her jaw clenched. She was being ridiculous. He was trying to help.

  Stiffly she moved onto her front. Making sure the duvet stayed at waist height, he eased her t-shirt up exposing her back. Exposed. She clenched her jaw.

  Tension curled up in every muscle making her bones stand to attention, nerves twitching ready to buck his hands off at any second. She heard him suck in a tiny breath and waited, the silence between them stretching out as the fire popped and crackled. Then the sheets rustled as Alex’s weight shifted. Her stomach turned ov
er as the seconds ticked by.

  His first touch was tentative, a whisper of fingers testing the way as if he wasn’t sure where to start. Another indrawn breath and an almost inaudible murmur of ‘Oh Lucy’. With his anguished words, came a rush of warmth. This was the man she’d trusted to bring her down the glacier. The man who’d stayed with her every step of the way in blizzard conditions, talking her through with gentle support and encouragement, never once impatient or exasperated.

  She felt him hesitate as his fingers traced a loop around her shoulder blade. A slow glide, gently easing the balm into her skin. It warmed under the pads of his fingers as he rubbed in a smooth circular motion, gradually increasing the size of the circles and flattening his palm to massage the taut muscle under her shoulder blade. An involuntary sigh escaped from her lips as her body finally relaxed into the mattress. She was safe with him.

  Alex’s careful touch continued as he traced the bruises dotting her spine. Then his hands stilled. She closed her eyes, feeling him lean forward. Warm breath and then a whisper of a kiss on her back, then another and another as he kissed each one. She stiffened. Then with careful hands he eased her t-shirt down, gently securing the duvet back around her as if determined to make her feel safe. Tears pricked her eyes at the subtle gesture. This man saw so much. Slowly she rolled over to look up at him.

  His eyes were soft with concern but also dark with something else. Neither of them said a word.

  Picking up his hot chocolate he walked around to the other side of the bed and lay on the top of the duvet again, propped up against the pillows. They drank their drinks in silence.

  Lucy kept thinking about those gentle kisses on her back. His gentle handling of her as if he knew she was a skittish horse.

  ‘Alex?’ her voice broke the quiet dark stillness as she nursed the heavy mug in both her hands, clutching it to her like a talisman.

  ‘Yes.’ As if knowing she needed comfort to get through this, because she had resolved to tell him the whole sordid Lucy Smart story, his hand crept behind her neck and around her shoulders. Even though she probably didn’t deserve it, she allowed herself to relax within the crook of his arm, her head nestled into his neck.

  She swallowed, pausing, the weight of everything so heavy, she felt almost a physical need to lift it from her chest. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath, and without lifting her head, plunged in. ‘You know I told you I’d been sacked.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Alex, the hand on the top of her shoulder flattening and the warm palm encircling the top of the bone under the fabric of her t-shirt.

  ‘I messed up … big time.’ She dared herself to lift her head and look at him.

  Eyes full of nothing but kind encouragement looked back her. His clear steady gaze held hers before he asked, ‘Did anyone die?’

  ‘No!’ she said quickly half-shocked at his matter of fact question.

  ‘You didn’t kill anyone?’ He asked.

  ‘No!’

  ‘OK, did you cheat on someone?’ The corner of his mouth lifted.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Did you sleep with someone else’s partner?’

  Again, she shook her head. He put down his drink on the side and took hers from her hands.

  ‘Did you steal something?

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you betray someone’s confidence, steal their job, fire someone deliberately and unfairly?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘OK.’ He laced his fingers through hers. ‘I’m running out of the really bad stuff. I’m pretty sure that’s most of the commandments taken care of, at least the ones I think are important.’ He pulled her closer to him, his breath warm on the side of her cheek. ‘Thou shalt not kill, steal or commit adultery. I’m not particularly religious, although don’t mention that to my mother, she’s Scottish Presbyterian, but those are the key ones in my book. So, whatever you’ve done can’t be that bad.’

  Lucy gnawed at her lip.

  Alex’s fingers touched her mouth. ‘Don’t.’ They slipped from her lips sliding up to cup her cheek as patience and understanding warmed his chocolate eyes.

  She cleared her throat, desperate to sound unemotional. ‘Without sounding ridiculously egotistical, I don’t suppose you’ve ever googled Lucy Smart, hotel manager.’

  ‘Funnily enough, I haven’t.’

  ‘Just as well.’ Lucy’s mouth twisted bitterly. ‘You’d get quite an eyeful.’

  Alex’s brows drew together. ‘Now I’m intrigued.’

  ‘Yes, most people are, when they hear. Can’t resist taking a look.’

  ‘Lucy.’ His gentle tone almost felled her. ‘You’ve lost me. Why don’t you start at the beginning?’

  Lucy focused on the fire, watching the embers glow and wane in a dragon’s pulse of red, orange and black.

  ‘Once upon a time, there was a hotel manager. Her name was Lucy Smart, and she was quite smart. Got a first in Hospitality Management, worked her way up to Assistant Manager with the Forum Group. And then she was fired for gross professional misconduct, bringing the company into disrepute.’

  Alex’s expression was a picture of calm, equanimity. Did nothing faze him?

  ‘I had a boyfriend Chris. We went out for four years. Lived together in a flat in Manchester. He worked for the same hotel chain, in a hotel on the other side of the city. We were both Assistant Managers.’ She recited the key milestones in her life in a dull monotone reducing them to mere facts.

  ‘You don’t have to tell me,’ he said softly, stroking his thumb over hers

  Lucy grimaced. ‘I’ve started, so I’ll finish.’

  ‘Whatever you tell me, it can’t be that bad.’

  Lucy’s stomach knotted. This was harder than she’d thought, but she had to tell him.

  ‘I’m a bit uptight.’ She blurted the words out. Alex’s eyes widened in surprise. ‘Not really very … adventurous. Chris … he bought me this sexy Santa two piece. You know the type: cheap red satin and white fluff. Went on and on about me wearing it for him. Teased me about being a prude.’ She pinched her lips together. ‘I’m a “lights off” sort of a girl, if you know what I mean.’ Easy tears welled up. ‘And a late starter. Chris was my first serious boyfriend. I wasn’t very good at … at sex.’

  Alex didn’t say anything but his jaw tensed and his face had a curious expressionless set to it.

  ‘Oh God, this is … embarrassing.’ Lucy steeled herself. Go in, get the job done. Closing both eyes, she carried on. ‘It was our anniversary. Things had got stale … his words, although he was probably right. Working ridiculous hours does that to a relationship. I got drunk.’ She could hardly bear to say the words. ‘Put the Santa outfit on. Did an awful Marilyn Monroe pastiche complete with breathy singing. You know, Santa Baby.’

  Alex lifted a hand to her lower lip where her teeth were homing in on the scarred tissue on the inside of her lip.

  It made her pause, a lump sticking hard in her throat. ‘You keep doing that.’

  ‘Because I don’t want you to hurt yourself. You seem to have suffered enough.’ The soft words struck her, making her tighten her jaw.

  ‘Don’t be nice to me. I don’t deserve it. It was all self-inflicted,’ she scowled. ‘I should have known better. Chris filmed me. It seemed a laugh at the time, although things do when you’ve knocked back a third of a bottle of vodka. Dutch courage–’

  ‘Not Russian this time?’

  ‘Any kind of vodka induced courage is a dangerous thing.’ She winced and shuddered. ‘God, it was excruciating.’

  ‘Can’t sing?’

  ‘Pardon?’ Of all the things he could say that was the last thing she expected.

  ‘Don’t worry I sing like a strangled cat too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.’

  Lucy almost laughed.

  ‘We should do karaoke together, Islands in the Stream or something.’

  The reluctant half-laugh did escape this time. ‘It wasn’t so much the singing. It was the strippin
g.’ She risked a look at him. Please don’t be too disgusted or repulsed.

  ‘Stripping? Ah, I don’t have much experience of that. I’ve seen pole dancing once. Standard stag night, but not really my idea of fun. If I want to see a woman naked, I’d rather it was just for me and a level of intimacy is involved.’ His eyes met her dark with meaning. ‘So, I’m probably not one to judge. Amateur was it?’ His flippant, matter of fact tone almost made her giggle. He was supposed to be taking this seriously. Not see the funny side of it. There was a funny side? That hadn’t occurred to her before. The thought took up residence in a small back room in her head.

  ‘Very,’ said Lucy, nudging him with her elbow, before he started to smile. ‘I’m not very good at stripping. Trying to get your knickers off sexily and twirl them around your head when you’re as pissed as a newt is not as seductive as it was in my mind.’

  ‘That would be the vodka goggles,’ said Alex, putting his hand over the lower part of his face, as if try to physically school his features into a semblance of equanimity.

  Lucy let out a reluctant laugh. His light-hearted quips had diluted the humiliation. It was the first time she’d been able to find any humour in the whole miserable episode.

  ‘Yes, they have a lot to be responsible for. I’d never done it without forty percent proof alcohol running through my veins. Burlesque is so not my thing.’

  ‘So, you’re an excruciating singer and stripper. Anything else I need to know?’

  ‘Is that it?’ she asked.

  He frowned. ‘Isn’t that my question?’

  ‘What? You think it’s nothing?’

  ‘It’s what you let it be.’

  She lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘People saw me naked.’

  Alex didn’t say anything. No funny comeback this time.

  ‘Chis … h-he,’ she closed her in eyes in utter shame. ‘He shared the clip with a few friends at work, who shared it with a few more and so on and so on.’ She swallowed. ‘I became an overnight sensation on the company’s intranet.’

  ‘Oh Lucy,’ he sighed into her hair as he pulled her close.