Home for the Holidays Page 4

  She wasn’t … she was feeling warm and swimmy. And it was more to do with his presence behind her than whisky or beer.

  From his stillness she suspected he was processing similar ‘what now?’ thoughts. The silence grew until Ben broke it with a sigh. ‘I think in the old days I used to plan some kind of lead-in. That saying about buying dinner first can’t have come from nowhere.’

  Though reassured to realise that he seemed to be feeling all the uncertainty she was, he sounded so disgusted with himself that Alexia felt laughter brewing. She turned, meaning to make a joking remark, but he seemed to move at the same time and her forehead clonked his chin, making his teeth click audibly together. ‘Ouch, sorry!’ She clutched her forehead, which felt as if it bore the imprint of his jaw. His look of ludicrous dismay released her laughter into the air. ‘I’m no more prepared than you. I’m so dirty.’

  Laughter sprang into his eyes and she began a mortified backtracking. ‘I meant dusty, dusty from the wrecking party and I must smell of sausages and—’ She clutched her forehead harder than ever. ‘And I can’t believe how much I just over-shared.’

  Slowly, he reached out and opened the door that had been closed. He pulled a cord and light sprang out to greet them. ‘Help yourself.’

  Alexia gazed into the room in wonder. It was as if Ben had made up for the unfussiness of the rest of the house with a bathroom of floor-to-ceiling opulence. A blindingly white corner spa bath and one of those shower cubicles with jets from all angles gleamed invitingly between walls and floors of polished tiles.

  ‘Ooh.’ She stepped into the room, forgetting their mutual embarrassment. A small sigh of longing escaped her. ‘How gorgeous. It makes me want to wallow in the bath.’

  His expression focused now, rather than mortified, he stooped to push down the plug and pull up the lever on the shiny chrome tap. The room began to echo with the thunder of water. A dollop of bath foam from a tall green bottle soon added a froth of luxurious light-reflecting bubbles.

  Alexia gazed at the steaming water then back at Ben. ‘Are you sure? It looks blissful.’

  His hands were looped loosely into his pockets, his gaze steady. ‘Absolutely sure.’ His smile was pensive. ‘What I’m uncertain about is whether I’m staying. It’s been so long that you’re going to have to give me a sign. One that’s not too subtle.’

  She breathed in the sharp smell of the lime bath foam in the steam that was rising to prickle her skin. Or perhaps the tingling was actually the excitement of being wanted, of being fixed in the tractor beam of his gaze. She had to lick her lips before she could speak. ‘Your bath’s big enough for two. Is that clear enough?’

  His smile flashed. ‘Even for me.’ He hesitated no more, lifting his hands to rest lightly on her shoulders before dipping his head to kiss her, letting the kiss deepen as they learned the taste of each other. Then he touched her body slowly, as if exploring a new land.

  Heart pounding with every new caress, she let him undress her before she reached for him, unfastening the dusty denim of his jeans, releasing him. Enjoying his shudder as she caught him in her hand, savouring the brush of his body hair, the heat of his skin.

  Somewhere along the line he’d paused to turn off the tap. Now he tested the water then lifted her, stepping over the bath side, sinking down into the delicious bubbly warmth until the foam threatened to overflow.

  Their bodies slipped and slid familiarly, as if they’d known each other for years. He cupped his hands and rinsed the dust and cobwebs from her hair, sending it streaming back from her forehead. Then he turned his attention to her body and soaped her from top to toe, stoking her desires until it was all she could do to concentrate on soaping him in return, learning the shape of him and what made him close his eyes and groan.

  Finally, she straddled his body.

  His eyes flipped open as if in sudden pain. ‘I have no condoms.’

  She halted with a groan. ‘Neither do I.’

  Then he surged to his feet, taking her with him, reaching for the towels. ‘Let’s take this into the bedroom. A little imagination … a lot of possibilities.’

  Wrapped in towels and sketchily dried, they padded into the bedroom and he paused to put a match to the fire, crouching on the dusky red rug to feed the flames until they danced high, bathing him in flickering golden light. Alexia sank down beside him. ‘I’ve never seen an open fire in a bedroom. Are you a caveman?’

  He turned his head, reaching out to flick her towel open. ‘Sounds impressive but actually I get free firewood.’

  Then he secured the guard around the fire and reached for her again.

  Alexia didn’t know whether it was the heat from the flames or his hands and tongue that scorched her skin. Every touch just made her hotter, want harder, a wanting he took as his mission to fulfil until, finally, they made it onto his bed to sleep.

  In the darkness, Ben ricocheted out of his dreams, heart bouncing against the walls of his chest.

  He blinked, trying to force open his burning eyes. Nightmares. Again. Sucking in a breath he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about. It had involved fear and pain. Imogen. Again. Panic. Again.

  His clock’s illuminated figures told him it was 04.13. Night after night it was as if his body awarded him a single cycle of sleep and then slapped him mercilessly awake.

  With a shock of desire, he became conscious of the naked woman curled up against him. Still half-trapped in the web of sleep, he traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist until his hand found her arms nestled between their bodies. He snatched his hand away.

  Not Imogen.

  Reality crashed back.

  Alexia. Bright, vivacious Alexia with her rounded body and naughty smile.

  Right on cue, the insidious voice of negativity slunk into his mind. So your head was turned by a mischievous smile. You think this is OK?

  Sweat broke like a stripe of shame down his back and he eased his flesh from hers, heart still thumping. He tried to remind himself that it was just another middle-of-the-night anxiety attack; the bombardment of worry, guilt, regret and pain would ease.

  But the voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

  You’ve got it easy compared to Imogen and Lloyd. And now you’re in bed with a naked stranger. Can you imagine Imogen’s pain if she saw you now?

  We’re getting a divorce.

  So you pick up a local girl for a one-night stand?

  Alexia’s leaving the village soon—

  But not right away. She’s going to expect things from you. Calls, texts, dates. You seriously think you can do that? YOU? The fuck-up who lives like a hermit?

  The choking fingers of panic closed around his throat. The slaking of his desire had transported him briefly out of the bleak place he’d inhabited. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so bad if he hadn’t enjoyed it so much, but her smile had made him feel better, more worthwhile, and her enthusiasm had poured into the air like a rainbow on a grey day.

  Desperate not to wake her and have to rationalise these warring emotions, he eased backwards until he could scoot out from under the covers.

  Yes, go. That’s how you cope, isn’t it? By being alone.

  Alexia stirred, muttering in her sleep. He groped his escape across the little landing and down the stairs.

  In the kitchen, breathing came easier. He pulled clean clothes from the tumble dryer and fumbled into them, heart beating too loudly for him to hear whether Barney rustled in his tub. Grabbing the rechargeable torch from its holster on the kitchen wall he cast around for his boots.

  Then he crept out of the front door, refusing to look at that sheet of paper headed decree nisi on the table by the door, lying as it had landed when he’d flung it from him this morning.

  The period between nisi and absolute exists for a reason. It’s for last efforts, second thoughts. For now, Imogen’s still your wife.

  He stumbled through the door and out of the clearing, the torchlight lighting the path unevenly, the same path
he’d trodden along with Alexia a few hours ago; a woman he’d wanted. A woman who’d excited him.

  For two years his libido had been sulking, but last night Alexia had unleashed it and it had flown out, fizzing and spinning.

  Now, the memories of all the mornings he’d woken wrapped around Imogen’s body swept in.

  You’ve been unfaithful.

  It can’t count. We’re nearly divorced and—

  And your heart and your guts are telling you that you’ve been unfaithful.

  Like one of the animals that wandered the night Ben trudged around the path edging the lake, where the water lapped and the breeze stirred the leaves.

  The negativity always won in the dark hours.

  He should have remembered that before he invited Alexia to share his night.

  Chapter Three

  Alexia woke slowly, languorously stretching sleep-heavy limbs. Through the windows she could see patches of blue sky hung with hurrying clouds. But it wasn’t her window.

  The events of last night rushed back at her.

  The Angel. Ben. Coming back to his enchanting little house in the woods.

  The ashes in the grate were grey and cold now but last night the fire had roared up the chimney as she and Ben enjoyed each other’s bodies, the shadows dancing across his skin as he rose above her.

  It had been a damned shame that neither of them had had a condom to allow them the satisfaction of the final act. Still. Hands and mouth had provided a fine substitute.

  She glanced at the other side of the bed, but already she knew it would be empty from the absence of warmth stealing towards her along the sheets. She yawned, then stopped and listened. The house was quiet.

  ‘Ben?’

  No answer. She felt a little as Goldilocks might have done if there had been no bears, waking alone in a strange bed in a cottage in the woods. She rolled out of bed and wandered to the head of the stairs. ‘Ben?’

  Silence. Shrugging, she entered the bathroom, glancing at herself in the mirror and laughing at the way her hair was sticking up. Last night’s dusty clothes lay on the floor but she stepped over them to try Ben’s upmarket shower, experimenting with the buttons that controlled the jets. Enjoying the hot water, she thought of Ben’s hands on her last night. Maybe he was a wizard. He’d certainly worked a little magic on her body. Her limbs still felt heavy and relaxed. Sated. She smiled gently at the memories as she allowed the hot water to sluice the scent of Ben from her body. Then she borrowed his towel and had little choice but to climb into yesterday’s clothes, combing her hair with her fingers.

  ‘Ben?’ she called again as she ran down the stairs. It didn’t take long to check the ground floor. In the kitchen she pulled out Barney’s tub and crouched to peep at him. ‘Where’s he gone, Barney? Did he have to work today? It’s Sunday. I thought most of the estate workers had weekends off.’

  Barney’s beak flipped open. ‘Hehhhhh.’

  Rising, she gazed out of the window at the clearing and the tree trunks crowding beyond it. The silver truck she could see was presumably Ben’s. Briefly, she debated hanging on to see if he returned but then decided he wouldn’t be so rude as to leave her to wake up alone unless he’d gone out to work for the day. Maybe an elm had needed urgent surgery. She glanced at her phone to check for texts before remembering there had been no reason to give him her number.

  ‘He could have left a note, eh, Barney Owl? But maybe he told me last night – parts of it are a little blurry. Never mind. He’ll come back to feed you so tell him I said bye.’

  ‘Hehhhhh,’ remarked Barney, tilting his head.

  Alexia let herself out into the brisk September morning and headed up the path to the village, hurrying to keep warm until she left the tree canopy and made it out into the sunshine.

  In fifteen minutes she emerged from the bridleway and crossed Port Road, electing to traverse the playing fields to access Main Road rather than taking Cross Street, which would mean passing the village shop. ‘News and Booze’ for many years had been A & G Crowther but now Gwen Crowther’s niece, Melanie, had taken it over and made it an off-licence. Melanie was even more beady-eyed than Gwen had been and Alexia could just imagine her throwing open the door and yelling, ‘Where have you been to get your jeans dirty this early on a Sunday?’ Her huge friendly smile wouldn’t in the least prevent her from later sharing Alexia’s reply with every customer to enter the shop.

  So, crossing the village by way of the playing fields, Alexia waved at a couple of people she knew who were pushing their children on swings and spared a glance for the sad sight of the closed-down village hall.

  Her trainers were damp from the grass by the time she got home. Like Ben’s cottage, 44 Main Road was made of stone, but there the similarity ended. Long and low, its windows peered out from under its slated roof. Grandpop, Alexia’s grandfather, had left the cottage to Alexia and her brother, Reuben – bypassing his son, Clifford, their dad, because he knew its proceeds would be swallowed by the insatiable maw that was Clifford’s finances.

  Alexia, who hadn’t inherited the rubbish-with-money gene, had taken on a mortgage to buy Reuben out, who, living happily in Germany with his wife Hanna, had been delighted.

  It was Alexia who’d been close to Grandpop anyway, spending hours with him in his workshop at the side of the house ‘making sawdust’ as he’d called it. Her workshop now, Grandpop’s tools mingled happily with her sewing machine and paintbrushes, the perfect place for the projects that brought her touch to her clients’ homes.

  She let herself in, acknowledging wistfully that though she planned to take down all her lovely handmade Christmas ornaments early in the holiday this year, she’d be packing them along with everything else ready to move out in January. It would cause her a pang to leave number 44, even knowing Jodie and Shane would look after her little house and that Alexia could return. But Grandpop would have understood her leaving Middledip for a while to give working with Elton a try. ‘Upwards and onwards,’ he’d have said.

  The house was silent, though it was past ten o’clock. Shane’s truck wasn’t outside so presumably it was still where he’d left it at The Angel last night and he and Jodie were still upstairs, oblivious.

  Enjoying the peace, Alexia ran up to change her dusty clothes before embarking on weekend chores – doing laundry, humming gently to herself as she ironed, wondering, occasionally, whether Ben would get her number from Gabe.

  As the hours went by with no sound from elsewhere in the house, she revised her opinion about Shane and Jodie. They must have got up and gone out before she came home, which was pretty hard-headed of them considering how drunk Jodie had looked the night before.

  By the middle of the afternoon she was seated at her kitchen table, happily emailing Elton an update on The Angel.

  I’ve allowed twelve weeks for the project from tomorrow, but there’s a time contingency built into that. IF everyone turns up when they say they will AND we hit no snags I’d like to complete the refurb in ten. I’ll keep you posted …

  A sudden noise caused her to cock an ear towards the kitchen ceiling as what sounded like Jodie’s footsteps crossed between bedroom and bathroom. She must have been sleeping off her heavy night all along.

  Alexia returned to her email.

  … and also get my portfolio and website absolutely spot-on to include loads of pix of The Angel. Maybe that would be a good time to resume the conversation about involving me with your investor’s portfolio of properties?

  Evidently Elton was online too, because his answer pinged into her inbox in minutes.

  You know I’m waiting for you with open arms, woman. Just get your crap together and give me something I can show my investor!

  Alexia had typed back – You’ll have to give me till Christmas to get The Angel up and running, then, hopefully, in the New Year – as Jodie trailed into the kitchen wrapped in a past-its-best blue-striped bathrobe. Flopping down at the table she propped her head in her hands. ‘Bleurg
h,’ she groaned piteously. ‘Have you seen Shane?’

  Regarding her friend’s waxy pallor with sympathy, Alexia shook her head. ‘I assumed he’d be with you. He’s not working at The Angel today, is he?’

  Jodie gave a tiny shrug, palms dragging her cheeks down. ‘Dunno. I’m dying, I feel horrible. Can you make me feel better?’

  Sportingly, Alexia closed her laptop and picked up the kettle. ‘I’m surprised to see you quite so hungover. I know you had several beers but—’

  ‘I only had one beer!’ Jodie protested. ‘But it did go to my head. Shane had some lovely lemon stuff his auntie had brought him back from Sorrento and he said it would set me right. We took it up to bed.’

  Alexia’s hand tightened on the tap. ‘Limoncello?’ Seriously? Shane had poured liqueur down Jodie when she was already drunk? His brain must have begun to rust from spending too much time outdoors.

  ‘Yes, that was it. I loved the limoncello,’ Jodie added, fairly. ‘But it didn’t make me better. I started to be sick so Shane got me a bucket.’

  ‘And cleared off?’ Alexia felt anger bubble up that Shane wasn’t responsible enough to stay and ensure his girlfriend was OK when he’d quite obviously encouraged her to get drunk. What kind of shitty boyfriend did that? She set a mug of coffee before Jodie. ‘Don’t you mind that he didn’t stick around?’

  Groaning, Jodie slowly collapsed until her arms pillowed her head. ‘He stayed till I went to sleep. Will you make me some toast?’

  Deciding today wasn’t the day to demand the magic word, Alexia did so, scraping only the thinnest coat of butter across the warm surface so as not to upset Jodie’s stomach. She set the plate alongside the coffee beside Jodie’s head and settled back down to her work.

  She’d just reread Elton’s email and decided she’d been right to step up her preparations for an exciting move down south when her phone began to burble.