Page 19 of A Festive Surprise

‘Just this. It’s like a thousand diamonds.’

She glanced up and cocked her head. ‘Wow. There’s no orange light to pollute it. It’s beautiful.’

Just like you. Farid kept the thought firmly inside.

‘Back home, we have the same stars. Maybe my family look at them right now too.’

‘Is Syria in the same time zone as the UK?’

‘Three hours ahead. But my family are in Turkey now. Two hours ahead. So, it’s about seven o’clock there.’

‘Maybe they’re looking too then.’

‘I hope so.’

Holly curled her arm behind his back and clamped her hand on his shoulder, giving him a stoic pat. ‘You’re a brave man. You’ve been through tough times.’

‘Yes.’

‘Your body’s done the hard work but now it’s a struggle for the heart and mind.’

‘You say wise words. How do you know?’ He shifted so his temple touched hers.

‘I don’t for sure. It just seems to me that’s what’s happening. I’ve had hard times in my life too. Nothing like what you’ve been through but enough for me to understand.’

‘It’s not a competition. Your hard times are as real as mine. Only different.’ He slipped his arm under hers, anchoring his palm on her waist and holding her tight. How gloriously athletic in build, slim and strong. And so good in his arms. Don’t let go. Don’t ever let go. She shivered and he drew her closer. Just a few months ago, he’d slept under harsh skies in unfriendly streets. Cold and alone with a cracked heart and tears never far from the surface. Now, he had a chance to make good again. And Holly. What an unexpected bonus to have her next door.

‘It’s freezing out here.’ She gave his shoulder a squeeze. ‘I should go in. I’m not dressed for this.’

‘What are you wearing?’ He quirked an eyebrow, shifting his hand slightly and touching the fabric of her coat, searching for clues.

‘Not a lot. I’ve been faffing around in my jammies all day. The cottage is really warm when the fire’s on.’

‘Sounds nice. I must warm up now; my hands are frozen.’ The luxury of having a home to return to: warmth, shelter and food. Not so good as his parents’ place he’d left in Daraa but better than a cold pavement or a shop doorway.

‘Come in with me if you like. I’ll even let you share my gourmet pasta tea.’

‘Would you?’

‘Of course. I owe you after the pies.’

‘No, no. All you owe me is to stay here.’

‘Yeah, yeah, and I’m doing that. Come on, let’s get you warmed up.’

How could he refuse? For months his heart had craved soft words like that, promising comfort. She took his hand and tugged on it but she didn’t have to. He was already following.

Inside her front door, she shrugged off her coat and hung it on a hook. Farid took hold of the top button of his lumberjack shirt, ready to do the same, but did a double take. Oh god. What was she wearing – or not wearing? She kicked off her outdoor boots, revealing perfectly pedicured bare feet. His gaze travelled upwards over black and grey checked lounge pants, low slung on strong hips. On top was a plain white vest top. What ridiculously flimsy material; it should be banned for such clothes. It hid nothing – two peaks raised beneath it, targeting Farid in the groin. He blinked back a succession of jumbled images. Ones of him rubbing scented oil on his palms and gliding them over her were most prominent. Shit.

A cardigan of the same fabric draped low on her shoulders and swung down behind her. Curse his eyes but he couldn’t drag them from her perfectly shaped chest quick enough. His body burst into flames; a wild animal clawed within desperate for a mate. He let out a slow breath that came out like a groan.

‘Problem?’ Holly barely concealed a smirk. She slid her cardigan up her shoulder, toying with the fabric between her fingertips. Farid closed his mouth and swallowed.

‘Eh? Ya’ni, nothing. No. All good.’ He hauled off his jacket, exposing his deeply tanned arms. Now, it was her turn to stare, and she didn’t disguise her blatant once over. She raised a shapely eyebrow and one side of her mouth quirked up. Farid tossed back his shoulders.

Holly ran a finger down his arm and he almost jumped out of his skin. ‘You’re a mighty fine-looking man.’

Heat bloomed in his cheeks. ‘Oh.’ Was that all he could say? Curse his slow tongue. Where were the words? His inexperience with women shone like a beacon.

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