Page 30 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

‘I absolutely did not,’ he assured her, keeping his voice low. ‘Of the three matching sets, the red one is my favourite colour.’

‘Raspberry,’ Sutton said, her voice huskier than it was before. Was her throat also tight-with-lust? ‘Raspberry, blueberry and blackberry.’

‘Blue, purple and red,’ he said, sending her a hot look. ‘I couldn’t give a shit about their fancy names. What colour are you wearing now?’

‘Daddy said a bad word!’ Rosie crowed from the back seat, her little feet hitting the back of his chair. He swallowed his groan. ‘Daddy, say sorry.’

Gus swung the car into his driveway and mouthed a ‘fuck’ at Sutton. ‘Sorry, guys.’ He parked, switched the engine off and looked at Sutton. The temperature in the car shot up and all the moisture in his mouth evaporated. She looked like a woman who wanted him. Naked, and panting his name.

He’d shut this down in a second, when they left the car, the flirting would stop. It would have to. But he could have a few more seconds of feeling…well, normal.

‘Red, blue or purple, Sutt?’ he demanded, his voice carrying heat and lust and so much want.

Sutton’s words came out breathy and a little growly. ‘Red, Gus.’

Damn, her smile was one he wanted to feel on his skin. He wanted to stroke his fingertips down her spine, across the delicious curve of her butt. He craved the taste of her mouth and needed her nipple against the roof of his mouth.

She wanted him. He wanted her.

And Felix, as he loudly informed them, wanted to poop.

ChapterSeven

Sutton’s first item on the Christmas agenda was to get a Christmas tree up and the Saturday after she arrived in Conningworth, she took delivery of an eight-foot-high tree from a taciturn man named Ben who was, according to Rosie, Nan’sright-hand man.

And, Felix added, her left too.

Ben ignored the dancing, excitable twins and helped place the enormous, kickass tree on a stand. After silently downing a cup of strong, bark-coloured tea, he stepped over the many boxes on the hall floor (Gus had them pulled out of storage and delivered) and melted away.

With the scent of the freshly cut tree wafting through the hall, Sutton stood back to admire it, loving its fat, dark green branches. It was the perfect tree and totally different from the anaemic, thin and utterly fake trees everyone used back home.

Pig and Pepper wandered in from the kitchen and nosed the boxes, and Pig gave Felix a full-face lick, something the little boy didn’t even notice, as he was trying to separate a ball of tinsel into its different strands. Most of the boxes were taped shut and Sutton looked at the feminine writing on the sides,‘Baubles’, ‘Fragile’, ‘Handblown’. Kate had lovely handwriting, and Sutton imagined her wrapping up her decorations, and carefully labelling the boxes, never imagining she wouldn’t see another Christmas again.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, and put her hand on Rosie’s head, hoping that Kate, wherever she was, knew her kids were happy and healthy. And that Gus was doing an amazing job raising them.

Rosie tugged on her thigh-length jersey. ‘Sutton, I need the knife-thingy.’

Words to freeze the blood. Sutton slapped her hand against her back pocket, relieved to find the sheathed box cutter still nestled in her pocket. Four-year-olds and knives would result in blood and a trip to A&E.

‘You’re not allowed to open the boxes, Rosie,’ she reminded the little girl. ‘I’ll open them, remember?’

And she’d removed anything breakable before the twins could get their hands on them. Gus wasn’t against having a Christmas tree but he wasn’t enthusiastic about it either – why on earth not? – and she didn’t need any snarky comments about breakages from him. Not that he would, of the two of them, she was the one who tended to run her mouth.

‘Then what can I do?’ Rosie demanded, pushing out her lower lip.

‘Help your brother with the tinsel,’ she suggested. Her suggestion didn’t go down well, and Rosie glared at her. The little girl opened her mouth to object, but the doorbell chimed, and one big head (Pig) and three small heads (the twins and Pepper) shot up. Sutton threaded her way through the boxes to the front door and yanked it open.

Gus’s mother-in-law, Conningworth’s first citizen, stood on the porch, her green eyes, silver-blonde hair and white coat bright, a perfect contrast to the dreary, wet day. Sutton pushed back her shoulders. She wasn’t twelve and, crucially, she was innocent of all charges.

‘Good afternoon,’ she said, aiming for polite.

Lady Conningworth pulled her hand out from behind her back and thrust a mug at her. Sutton frowned and took the mug. What was happening here? Was mug giving some strange English way to apologise?

‘Damn, it’s the wrong way round.’ Lady Moira yanked the cup from her grasp, and handed it back to her, the writing on the mug now facing Sutton.

‘Nan!’ Rosie shouted, springing up and pushing past Sutton to fling her arms around the older lady’s knees. ‘We’re putting up a tree. Come see!’

Pig barked, and Felix lifted a ball of tinsel that looked more tangled than it had before. Sutton looked down at the mug in her hand. The red circle had a line through it and the words‘Just Say No’were emblazoned across the circle. So, Gus’s mother-in-law had a sense of humour. Good to know.

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