Page 38 of Christmas Spirit
Georgie lifted his head up high when all he wanted to do was curl up in a corner and cry, as he smarted from the blows Roland rained down on him. But he wouldn’t do that. He would look this man in the eye, this man he had made love with, no matter how much Roland denied what had happened. He would look Roland Fletcher Jones in the eye, and he’d not flinch. Georgie pulled his shoulders back, mustering every scrap of strength, dignity, and pride he had left.
“I’ll tell you what I see, Roland. I see a man who’s afraid. I see a man who can’t accept that something amazing happened, something that broke through your cold, hard shell. And that scares the living daylights out of you for some reason only you know. I won’t return to Pendleton Manor. Not because you say so, but because I choose not to. I expect to be paid what I’m owed, nothing more. I have never been, and never will be, paid for—”
“It’s not a payment for—”
“Sex,” Georgie said, raising his voice, cutting Roland off. “That’s exactly what it would be. I’ll leave, but it’s my decision, not yours. I won’t embarrass you, Roland, you won’t need to flinch every time you look at me and remember yourmistake.”
Roland pressed his lips into a thin, hard line, as a flush mottled his neck and began to creep up his face. A tiny bubble of victory burst in Georgie’s chest, but its fizz was short lived, sour and flat, like cheap sparkling wine.
Georgie turned and walked out of the bedroom, holding back the hot humiliation of his tears, only letting them fall as he closed the door with a soft click.
Chapter Twenty-One
Alone in the lounge, Roland stared into the flames, as raging and turbulent as his thoughts. What had he done? What hadtheydone? Hadn’t he been down this road before? Hadn’t he risked his heart, only to have it crumpled and crushed, and thrown away? And he had vowed, committed, never to open himself up like that again, to make himself weak and vulnerable.
But hadn’t that happened, and with a man who was so wrong for him in so many ways?
But also, so right…?
No. Georgie couldn’t be right. No man could ever be right.
“Oh, Christ.” Roland slumped forward and rammed his tension-stiff fingers through his hair, bunching his fists, feeling the sting and pull, needing the pain to remind him of the fool he’d been.
He’d panicked. There was no other word to describe the turmoil that had raged through him, as he’d gazed down at Georgie under the weak winter sunlight that had streamed through the windows.
Georgie, whose dark hair was messy and sleep tousled.
Georgie, his red, kiss-roughened lips curved up in a soft smile.
Georgie, long, lithe limbs still and at ease as he lay sprawled amidst the dishevelled bedding.
Georgie, who’d looked so damn adorable and vulnerable that Roland’s heart had near broken.
How could it have? His heart had been ripped apart years before, leaving it dead and lifeless.
But it hadn’t been like that last night, had it? His heart had beat with life. For the first time in so many years, he had known what it was like to feel, to be truly alive. And that had been down to Georgie, the man he’d held in his arms and had wanted never to let go. Until the panic had taken him over, and all the warmth that had flowed through his veins had turned to ice.
Georgie had known, before Roland had said anything, Georgie had known. His soft smile had faded, the clear light in his eyes had dulled, and his shoulders had sagged under the weight ofRoland’spanic.
A log in the grate shifted, sending up a flurry of sparks and a burst of flame. Twisting, turning, entwining, melting, and merging into one another. The way he and Georgie had, under the waxy candlelight.
The silence and warmth of the room began to feel oppressive. Maybe he should go and find Georgie, explain that there could never be anything between them. Explain why that was. Could he bring himself to reveal his sorry, shameful history, buried deep and dark for so many years? Roland shuddered. No. He couldn’t do it, he didn’t have the courage or the strength.
He was right about removing Georgie from the kitchen at Pendleton, he had to be right. It was the only course of action open to him. There was no way they could work together, not now. But perhaps he could help with securing him a position elsewhere, some place he could get the training he was desperate for. He had contacts, he could make it happen… and Georgie would look at him with contempt because they would both know he wasn’t helping, but was only removing the reminder of a lapse that should never have happened. It would strike at Roland’s heart, but it could never be as bad as the hurt and pain he’d seen in Georgie’s eyes that morning.
The younger man had walked out of the bedroom with a dignity that had made Roland ashamed.
Long after Georgie had left, he’d lain on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, breathing in the warm air, redolent of salt and musk and heat that had been so much more than just sex, leaving him more alone than he’d ever been.
That had been hours before, and there had been neither sight nor sound of Georgie since.
Roland got up, stretching out his stiff limbs. At the window, he peered out into the white wasteland. Nothing. No sign of life, no sign of anything. The world had locked itself down and thrown away the key.
A sudden hard gust of wind slammed into the window, and Roland jerked back. Snowflakes swirled in what seemed like mini tornados. These weren’t pillowy, feathery flakes floating in the freezing air, but tight small flakes, hard and icy, beating a relentless tattoo against the thick mullioned windows. Angry snow, if snow could be angry.
Disquiet slithered in the pit of Roland’s stomach, twisting and turning, shedding its skin and morphing into the first glimmering of fear. Georgie wouldn’t have left, would he? He wouldn’t have thought braving the freezing, snowbound world in an attempt to get to town, wherever town was, a better option than breathing the same air as Roland — would he?
Had his cold, hard heart, colder and harder than the icy world outside, sent Georgie into the savage winter?
