Page 73 of Only for Christmas

‘Okay, here goes,’ he said, wondering if he was about to make a colossal mistake in airing his feelings. ‘I like you. A lot. And the more I get to know you, the more I like you. It’s not logical; I get it. We’re very different. But despite your negativity, your issues and your resistance to anyone being kind to you, I find you interesting and attractive and fun to be with. And it irritates me when you put yourself down and play up to this wounded woman routine, when in reality you’re strong and capable and beautiful.’

‘I’m not—’

‘And if you dare contradict me, we really will fall out.’ He pinned her with a look, ignoring the way her hair blew gently in the breeze as the pod swung back and forth. ‘You’re beautiful. And smart, and adorable. And yes, it offends me when you dismiss my feelings and tell me I’m not going to miss you, because I am. So do me a favour, now you’ve got over your aversion to Christmas, start thinking about dating again. Get therapy, or something. Do whatever it takes, because you’re missing out. You have so much to offer and you could be so much happier than you are. And some lucky bloke is also missing out, because you, Sarah Haynes, as annoying as you are, are a catch. Now can we please enjoy the ride before I embarrass myself any further.’

She was completely silent next to him.

See? He knew he shouldn’t have opened up. Why hadn’t he kept his mouth shut? Five more days and he was out of here. All he had to do was keep his feelings to himself and they could have enjoyed their last few days together. Now she probably wasn’t going to talk to him again.

‘Lucas?’

Here it came. Her voice was soft and shaky, which didn’t bode well. The rejection speech. She only saw him as a friend, and all that. ‘Yes?’

‘Please can I hold your hand?’

He hadn’t expected that. ‘Of course.’

She grabbed his hand, hard.

When he looked at her, she was white as a sheet. ‘Ah, shit, you’re not enjoying the ride, are you?’

‘I absolutely hate… hate… it,’ she said, visibly shaking. Then she started laughing. ‘You are so right, though. I am such a catch. I mean, who wouldn’t want this? The epitome of a strong, independent woman, who’s so scared she’s worried she might throw up.’

He slid his arm around her. ‘You’re doing it again. Using self-deprecation as a way of avoiding accepting a compliment.’

She was simultaneously laughing and shaking. ‘Busted.’

‘I know you better than you think.’ He pulled her close and relented with a smile. He couldn’t stay mad with her. Especially when she was smiling at him, her head resting on his shoulder… and trying not to throw up. ‘Glad to know you haven’t lost your sense of humour.’

‘Sorry I’ve been such a pain.’ She squeezed his hand. ‘It’s just hard for me to believe someone as lovely as you likes me, that’s all.’

‘Jeez, Sarah, like that’s gonna help.’ He dropped his forehead against hers. ‘I want you even more now.’

Luckily, the big wheel ground to a halt and they could escape the growing tension building between them. It was an odd mixture of agitation and animal attraction. He wasn’t sure whether to shake her, or kiss her. Both, probably.

The rest of the evening sped by in a blur. They steered clear of talking about their feelings, and instead ate buttery crêpes, drank mulled wine and let the surrounding music and chatter entertain them.

The Tube journey home was quiet, filled with furtive glances and awkward touches. She did a lot of frowning, followed by looking at him with a questioning gaze. It didn’t take a genius to work out she was conflicted. As to what, he didn’t know. Did she like him? Had he come on too strong? It was giving him a headache.

By the time they’d walked home from the station and reached their building, he was feeling as though tonight would be the last time they’d be alone together. Tomorrow was the fundraising ball, and they were spending Christmas Day with their respective families. By Tuesday he’d be gone and she’d forget all about him. He doubted he’d recover as quickly.

‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ he said, as they reached the steps. It was time to put his feelings aside and ensure they parted on friendly terms. There was no need for things to end awkwardly.

She looked up at him, her gorgeous face creased into a concerned frown, and he couldn’t make out what she was thinking. How to let him down gently? Was she about to remind him they weren’t really dating and it was just pretend? That she only saw him as a friend? He steeled himself for what he knew was coming.

But she didn’t say anything. Instead, she reached up on tiptoes and kissed him. His first instinct was to assume it was a fleeting goodbye kiss… or a kiss intended for his cheek that had accidentally landed on his lips. It was soft, tentative, and her lips were cold. Strangely, when she broke the kiss, she didn’t move away. She continued looking at him, as if asking him a question.

Figuring he had nothing to lose, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her back. He wasn’t about to take things any further; he wasn’t stupid. She wasn’t ready, and he couldn’t risk falling for her any harder than he had. It would, and should, have stopped there.

But when he pulled away, she blinked up at him, and said, ‘I like you too,’ and kissed him again.

It was different this time. Urgent. More primal. Her hands slid around his waist, pulling him close. She moaned and deepened the kiss. His hands laced into her hair and he was lost. This was what he wanted. She was who he wanted. This prickly, slightly barmy woman, who seemed to have left her insecurities behind and was kissing him like someone who didn’t want to stop. Neither did he.

This wasn’t a good-night kiss. This was a prequel to stumbling up the stairs, clothes being ripped off, falling onto the bed hot and sweaty, and spending the night, kind of kiss.

And he was helpless to stop himself. Forget logic. Ignore the awkwardness of tomorrow morning… because she was bound to regret it. And maybe he should be checking to ensure this was what she really wanted? But he’d lost any ability to speak. Or stop. It was too hot. Too enticing. He wanted her. And she wanted him. There was nothing tentative about her now.

In hindsight, he might thank Mrs Kelsey for breaking the moment, but when she shouted, ‘Oi, what’s going on out there? Filthy bloody kids!’, he couldn’t profess to being happy about the interruption.

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