Page 71 of Confessions of a Christmasholic

Dear God, he wasn’t helping! Her bottom lip wobbled, and she stared at his booted feet, silently ordering herself not to cry. She might be dehydrated from all the tears she’d shed today, so she couldn’t possibly shed any more. But, damn, there went one, then another.

She heard Gus curse and his arms encircled her. ‘Sutt, don’t cry. I can’t handle your tears.’

‘Deal with it,’ Sutton muttered. ‘And if you can think of a way to make me stop, then I’m happy to hear it.’

He pulled back and his sexy, lovely mouth curled up into a smile. ‘Is that a challenge? You know I can’t resist a challenge, Sutt.’ Not giving her a chance to speak, he placed his mouth on hers, his tongue sliding over her dry lips. She squeaked, surprised, and Gus used the opportunity to slide his tongue past her teeth and into her mouth. His tongue touched hers and she was lost, found, restored.

Sutton looped her arms around his neck. Being kissed by Gus was all she needed, the only sustenance she required. He cradled her cold face in his warm hands as he kissed her, thoroughly, deeply. With intensity, and a little desperation. It had only been a few hours since she’d seen him last, but she’d missed him. No matter where she was, whether she was away from him for a day or a week, she’d miss him, miss the spark of lust, the warmth of their connection, the feeling of safety.

Gus pulled back and rested his forehead against hers. ‘Merry Christmas, Sutt. I’m glad you’re spending it with us.’

She kissed the side of his mouth and left her lips there. She didn’t know where they’d go from here, whether there was anywhere to go, but she was glad to be with him, here. She lifted her head and noticed the first fluffy snowflakes drifting down. One or two landed on Gus’s dark head. ‘It’s starting to snow,’ she told him.

Gus pulled back, put his hands on his hips and scowled at the sky. ‘Shit, snow means tobogganing down Conningworth Hill in the morning.’ He closed her door and walked around the front of the car to climb in behind the steering wheel.

‘Felix’s idea?’ she asked him as they pulled on their seatbelts.

‘His and Eli’s,’ Gus told her, grinning. ‘I’m not sure who begged the loudest.’

* * *

Sutton stood at the bottom of Conningworth Hill and brushed snow off her butt and her legs. It was Christmas morning, and so far it had been perfect, apart from the twins waking up at five-thirty and refusing to go back to sleep. At five-forty-five they barrelled into her attic bedroom and demanded she join them in Gus’s bed to open their Christmas stockings. When she gently refused, because she wasn’t part of their little family, the twins went away and returned with Gus, carrying their stockings. Gus, dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt and pyjama bottoms and looking wide awake, handed her a cup of coffee, slid into bed with her and gently kissed her lips, wishing her a soft ‘Merry Christmas’. His long thigh pressed against hers under the covers, and between admiring Rosie’s sparkly hairbands and Felix’s Matchbox cars, he sent her soft smiles. Like she was part of their little family, a piece of their puzzle.

She wasn’t. She couldn’t be.

Sutton stomped her feet and watched Gus run up the hill, holding Rosie under one arm and dragging the sledge. He called out a challenge to Eli, who was waiting at the top of the hill with Felix, who was bouncing with impatience. Will, sensibly, was back at the hall, helping Moira prepare their Christmas lunch. After letting the kids open their presents – the only adult present was Gus’s photo frame from her – Gus had managed to convince them to eat a little breakfast, promising that if they did, he’d take them tobogganing before they went to the hall for lunch.

Sutton rubbed her growling stomach. Gus had offered her something to eat when they got home last night but she wasn’t interested in food. Safe and warm, and helped by a coffee liberally laced with whiskey, she fell asleep on the couch in front of the fire and woke up in her bed in her guest room. Were they still hiding their relationship from the kids? Did theyhavea relationship? Would they go back to sneaking around, her slipping into his room when the kids were asleep, stealing panty-elastic-melting kisses when the twins weren’t around? But then why did he and the twins invade her small double bed to open their stockings this morning?

God, it was all soconfusing.

Eli and Felix won the race down the hill, and Sutton grinned when Gus accused them of cheating by starting early. Eli, his bright blue eyes sparkling, called him a sore loser and told him Mr Christmas wasn’t setting a good example for the twins. Gus, making sure the twins weren’t looking, lifted his middle finger at his old friend.

Gus told the kids to go back to the house with Eli and they ran ahead of him, excited by the promise of opening another batch of presents when they got to the hall. Rosie was convinced her elf was waiting for her at Moira’s house, and Felix still hoped he’d get at least one of the many animals he’d asked for.

They’d ploughed through a heap of presents this morning, and she’d filled two rubbish bags of wrapping paper when they were done. There were big presents and small, silly presents, books and chocolates. Mr Christmas wasn’t stingy when it came to spoiling his kids and Sutton felt her eyes burn. She and her siblings had never experienced the joy of being faced with a heap of presents under a massive tree. She was glad for the twins, but she couldn’t help feeling a little bad and sad –for her siblings, and for herself.

Gus came up to her and touched her cheek. ‘You’re looking a little wistful,’ he remarked. ‘What are you thinking about?’

‘Just how lucky your kids are to have Mr Christmas as their dad,’ she told him, tucking her gloved hands under her armpits. ‘They’ve had the best morning, Gus.’

‘I think so,’ he said, looking at the well-wrapped figures walking on either side of Eli. He gestured to the bench under the beech tree, its slats covered with snow. ‘Let’s sit.’

She winced and looked back at the house. She was desperate for a huge cup of coffee, and maybe a mince pie. Or six. ‘It’s freezing, Gus, I need coffee.’

He walked over to the bench, brushed off the snow and pulled her down next to him. He took her hand and placed it on his thigh, his hand on hers. ‘Thanks for the photo of the kids, Sutt, I love it.’

She smiled at the obvious pleasure in his voice. ‘Sure. It’s a great photo.’

‘It would be better if you were in it,’ he told her. Oh, what a lovely thing to say! Before she could respond, he half turned to face her. ‘About me being Mr Christmas, I’m chucking it in.’

‘Chucking what in?’ she asked, confused.

‘Organising the Christmas market, and anything else to do with Christmas. I’m also putting the Christmas shop on the market.’

She frowned, completely surprised. ‘That’s…wow.When did you decide this? And why?’

‘Recently – and because I don’t want to run it, or own it, anymore. It was Kate’s dream, not mine. Christmas was her obsession, not mine. It’s time to let her, and the past, go.’

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