Page 95 of The Secret Christmas Library
He looked at her with those warm hazel eyes and suddenly she knew the answer.
‘I thought we could just talk it through,’ said Jamie. ‘I find . . . I like talking to you.’
‘Well, no,’ said Mirren. ‘We can’t do that.’
‘Oh, okay,’ said Jamie, looking confused. ‘I’m sorry I bothered you.’
‘Because . . . I want to do something else,’ she said. And then he understood.
The flames crackled high in the grate as he moved towards her. He was so tall she had to reach up to meet him; and, just as she had thought about – dreamed about – his lips were soft, even as his long, wiry body was hard.
For the first time in forever her head went blank. Every thought of everything – her phone, her flat, her family, her job, her Christmas, the book, the messages, everything . . . everything left her. She was conscious of nothing but sensation,her mind a pure blank with nothing – no anxiety about kissing him, about whether they were doing it right; no worry about how she looked – she was in two jumpers and bed socks, after all. If she could have seen herself, she would have seen her very shoulders unfurl; her whole body sink into his embrace, until she was utterly languid in his arms, her hair glinting in the firelight, her eyes closed, even as he clasped a strong arm around her waist, the other stroking her face with the gentleness she had noticed in him from the very start.
‘Oh,’ he said, breaking off temporarily, his eyes distant and unfocused. ‘Oh, Mirren, you are the sweetest, the very, very sweetest . . . I have wanted to do that for . . . ’
‘Well, you only met me ten days ago,’ she joked, but her voice was trembling; her legs, she was surprised to discover, were entirely unstable; even her breathing was faster than normal.
‘I thought you were with . . . ’
‘Christ, no,’ said Mirren. ‘And . . . ’ she flushed ‘ . . . he doesn’t compare to you.’
‘Oh, goodness,’ he said. ‘You are the only good thing to happen to me in . . . ’ He shook his head.
‘Shall we talk less?’ said Mirren, so he kissed her again, slowly and gently, as if they had all the time in the world; as if they were cooped up in a Scottish castle, hemmed in by snow, in the depths of the year, on Christmas Eve.
Ordinarily Mirren would be worrying if there had been the right number of dates or what his intentions were or even whether she liked the person that much for quite a long time before she ever slept with them, and even then it could be extremely awkward and sometimes just plain drunken.
Tonight was not going to be like that.
‘Come to bed,’ she said. ‘It’s warmer.’
She expected him to be anxious, apologise possibly, worry that he was taking advantage of her. He did none of those things. He simply took her hand, took off her ridiculous hat and threw it across the room, then kissed the forehead he had removed it from. Then, holding her hand, he drew her steadily towards the bed, and she followed, hypnotised, happily surprised, entirely willing, overwhelmingly excited.
Jamie opened the bottom curtains, the ones that faced the fire, so she could see him in the flickering light. They knelt, face to face, and he kissed her lips, then her neck, and started down her chest, so softly, so sweetly that she let out an involuntary sigh, then opened her eyes.
‘It’s alright,’ he said. ‘I don’t think anyone can hear you.’
‘I heard you making atiny creak!’
He smiled. ‘Yes, well, you aren’t one of the wine cellar twins.’
She smiled, and he returned, unhurried, to the matter in hand.
She hadn’t known what she had expected; barely knew what drew her to him so strongly. But his gentleness, the obvious abhorrence he had for hurting things, showed itself clearly here. His soft lips were light and teasing, unfurling her like a butterfly, making her push herself towards him, desperate for his teasing lips to return to every part of her body. Carefully he pulled off her final vest – she wasn’t wearing a bra and he smiled happily.
‘Look at you in the firelight,’ he said. ‘Look at you.’
‘I am mostly goosebumps,’ said Mirren.
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘Let’s see if we can do something about that.’
‘I think,’ said Mirren, her voice muffled, ‘you might be causing them.’
But then he drew her full breast into his mouth, still with that maddening slowness and care. Mirren found herself thinkingabout his gardener’s hands, gentle and strong; what an exceptional amount of patience that might require. Then she found it impossible to think of anything at all; her mind went white, entirely, as his head went lower, gradually kissing down her torso, and down between her legs, and she drew in a breath as she felt his lips slowly move between her thighs. She let out a small moan, and caressed his head, pulling him closer towards her, hearing the fire crackle, as heat flooded her entire body. His tongue was searching for something; found it, and she felt her head fall back behind her, the sensation incredibly intense, after so long.
‘Oh, my God,’ she said, then reached down. ‘No . . . later. For now, I want you here. Right here. Now. Please.’
Again with teasing slowness he kissed all the way back up her body, until little spasms of delight were coursing through her.
