Her mother gave her a surprised look. “There are four of us, dear. Did you forget?”
“Forget what?”
The doorbell rang.
“That’ll be him now. Well, go and answer it, Theresa. Don’t just stand there!”
Putting her coffee cup down, she went out into the hall. She ran a hand casually through her hair and checked that her belt was securely knotted before she undid the bolts and pulled the door open.
She hid it almost immediately, but Emile had noticed the smile on her face and in her eyes when she’d seen him. Mrs. Chartley had kept the surprise, as he’d asked her.
He’d been furious when Theresa had left him in the bar, but it hadn’t taken long for the rage to subside, to be supplanted with a loneliness that was all too familiar. He missed her, damn it. And yes, there were thousands of other women in London, many of whom were doubtlessly funny or clever or beautiful.
But there was only one Thérèse.
So when her mother had invited him to join the family for Christmas, he’d seized the chance. He’d even brought a present, though when he’d looked at it again this morning, he’d realized it was entirely the wrong thing. He’d liked the vivid colors of the graded pink sapphires. He hadn’t noticed it was an eternity ring.
She was watching him with caution, holding onto the doorframe as if it were a riot shield. He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “May I come in?”
“What are you doing here?” She wasn’t going to make it easy, then.
“Your mother invited me. And your father told me to come.”
“But...”
Emile nodded. “I know. It is not real and it is not even much of a pretense at the moment.”
“You haven’t got your crutches.”
He grimaced at the reminder. He was making progress but not as fast as he’d hoped. “I don’t need them anymore.”
“That’s good.”
“May I come in?”
Slowly, she nodded.
“Thank you.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Happy Christmas, chérie.”
She led him through to the kitchen, where he greeted Melanie with kisses on both cheeks and shook her father’s hand. They both seemed pleased to see him again, despite his appalling behavior at their first meeting.
“I thought I told you Emile had to work today,” Theresa said.
“No one should have to work on Christmas Day,” Melanie said. “Of course we wanted him here, even if he has to leave early.”
“Quite right.” Ian nodded. “Christmas is for family.”
Emile tilted his head in Theresa’s direction and winked. She visibly bit back her instinctive reply. “But you could have told me you were coming.”
He gave an expansive shrug. “The surprise is better, no?”
She pulled at the croissant on her plate, making crumbs rather than eating it. “I don’t know.”
“I did not know until last week,” Emile explained. “I have not been keeping secrets for long.”
“Hmm.”
“Theresa, you are being most ungrateful,” Melanie said. “Emile’s come all this way to spend a few hours with you on Christmas Day. Your first Christmas Day together. You ought to be pleased.”
Emile grinned at his unexpected ally.
Theresa managed a brief smile. “Yes. Of course. I’m going to shower now, okay?”
He caught her hand as she walked past him. She glanced down at him, and he raised an eyebrow in silent plea. She sighed and gave a slight nod. He raised her hand and brushed his lips against it. She was giving him a second chance.
This time, he’d play it on the defensive. Because this time, he was going to win.
“I’m excused from church because of my foot.”
Emile was in her room, lounging on her bed when she returned from the shower.
“You are excused, too, if you want to keep me company.” He winked. “I think your mother is giving me time to talk you into a good mood.”
“I’m in a perfectly good mood. Why wouldn’t I be in a good mood? When my husband turned up to surprise me at my parents’ house on Christmas Day?” She could hear herself practically screaming by the end of that sentence. Apparently, she wasn’t in that good a mood after all.
She’d been shocked to see him on the doorstep. Shocked, but also delighted. Six weeks hadn’t changed anything. He still made her feel things beyond all reason. He still made her want things she daren’t have. And that made her furious with him. With herself. With the world.
She’d put her suitcase on the blanket box that had always stood at the end of her bed and still held some of her favorite toys and dolls. She opened the case and extracted bra and knickers. She’d hung up the dress she planned to wear the night before, to let the worst of the creases fall out of the rich purple silk velvet.
Emile’s gaze was hot and unwavering when she dropped her towel. She should have escaped back to the bathroom or made him leave. Too late now. Serve him right to have to look at what he couldn’t have.
She dragged on the underwear and took the dress off its hanger. It dropped over her head, and she slithered into the sleeves. But when she twisted her arms back to reach for the zipper, her hands were brushed aside.
Her heart thumped as Emile’s warm hands held her steady, and she caught her breath when his fingers brushed against the bare skin of her back as he pulled the zipper upwards. He went slowly, as if he was reluctant to cover her, and when he was done, his hands rested on her shoulders.
“I miss you, chérie.”
Her breath rushed back in one, shuddering gulp. “You can’t,” she managed to say when she should have told him she didn’t care.
His mouth was so near to her ears that she could feel the warmth of his breath before she heard the words he spoke. “But I do.”
“We didn’t have anything worth missing.” How the hell did he do this to her? Moments ago she’d been furious, and now all she could think was how good it would feel if he touched his lips against the nape of her neck.
“We had this.” He ran a finger down the back of her dress, pressing through the soft fabric so that she could feel him. When he reached the base of her spine, his hand curved around her hip. “We had this between us.”
“Sex.” She tried to make it sound like it didn’t matter. “It was just sex.”
He chuckled. “That, too.”
Her heart flipped. Oh, hell. But she couldn’t help asking, “What else?”
“I miss talking to you.”
“Flirting with me, you mean.”
His other hand was round her waist, resting lightly on her stomach. Theresa couldn’t resist covering it with her own.
“That’s what it was, Emile, admit it.”
“I suppose so. But I miss the conversations we might have had.”
He’d always known how to make her laugh.
“I miss that.” He nibbled at her earlobe. “Do it again.”
“Don’t be silly.”
“I miss you telling me off.”
She laughed again.
“There you go. You have a beautiful laugh, chérie.”
It would be so easy—too easy—just to let him. His clever hands could have her naked in seconds. She could be lying underneath him or on top of him moments later. He’d do it, and he’d make her love every second of it. Her body was screaming out for him, and it would be so easy to give in.
“Emile.”