Christmas is Cancelled

Chapter One

“You have got to be kidding me?” muttered Tilly, out of breath, her eyes glued to the departures screen. There must be some mistake. She read the screen for the third time, willing the word to change, but it continued to flash at her...

Cancelled.

Just when she thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse. Betrayed, homeless, out of a job, and now stranded in a train station. All on the same day. And not just any day—oh no—it was Christmas Eve!

As if she could forget.

Christmas songs were belting out from every vendor, garish lights twinkled, and the smell of hot chestnuts squeezed her famished stomach. When had she last eaten? She’d been too distressed to contemplate food after—

Tilly groaned, suppressing the urge to scream like a wild banshee. She scowled at anybody who happened to look her way, envious of all the happy travelers making their way home for Christmas. They gave her a wide berth, as if sensing she was about to lose her very last shred of control and rip somebody’s head off.

Not literally, of course, that would just be gruesome, but the man in a rail uniform foolish enough to walk into her line of vision didn’t know that. His eyes widened when he noticed her, then flicked a glance left and right in the obvious hope she was charging toward somebody else. Or at least she would have been charging toward him, had she not snapped the heel off one of her shoes in her mad dash to the station.

Instead she lurched clumsily, her face burning from both exertion and embarrassment as his gaze swept over her, taking in her disheveled appearance and the battered wheeled suitcase she dragged behind her. One suitcase. It was all she had to show of her life. It wasn’t even a very big suitcase.

“Can I help you, miss?” he called over to her, taking a step in her direction.

Miss? Did she have a sign over her head flashing the words “I am single again” to the world? Okay, so she was being unreasonable. The man was only trying to be polite. So what? She was having a bad day. With her jaw tensed and her teeth gritted, she stalked right up to him. He was older than he’d looked from a distance, with kind eyes and those little lines creasing the corners suggesting he smiled a lot. He wasn’t smiling now though; his face was a picture of concern.

How could she possibly scream and rant at this man? Just like that, the fire inside her fizzled out. “The train to Southampton, is it really cancelled?” she asked.

“Yes, miss. Unfortunately, you are quite correct.”

“When is the next one, please?” She already knew there wasn’t another train leaving today, having pored over the timetables all afternoon. This train was the only one. It didn’t stop her hoping for a miracle though, wasn’t that what Christmas was all about? “I need to get to my brother’s house. For Christmas...”

“Ah...” She didn’t like the sound of that. “Not in time for you to get to your brother’s, I’m afraid. There’s a serious fault on the line. The engineers have been alerted, but it will take a few days to repair, what with it being the holidays.”

A few days?

Trapped in a vicious nightmare, she considered pinching herself in a bid to wake up. “Is there a replacement bus? Anything—” Her throat closed up, unable to say another word. He was shaking his head before she’d even finished anyway, dashing her final glimmer of hope.

He reached across to pat her arm gently, sensing her distress. “I’m sorry, dear.”

Tears welled in her eyes, clouding her vision. She turned and wandered blindly toward the exit as the first tear escaped, forging a track down her cheek for the rest to follow. Tilly took in a lungful of air and then another. Having made a spectacle of herself once already, she really didn’t want to be the cause of yet another scene.

The crowds swarmed around her, with students and family members heading home for the holidays only adding to the usual rush-hour melee of commuters. They jostled past, threatening to swallow her whole, as they rushed en mass in the opposite direction, using their briefcases and suitcases as a battering ram.

It was suffocating. She had to get out of there. Breaking into a run, broken heel or not, she raced through the doors and out into the biting December chill. Her waterlogged eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, dreary sky after the bright station lights, but she didn’t dare slow down, desperate to escape the throng of festivities and merriment.

Carol singers assembled outside burst into a jovial rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” full of joy and happiness. Didn’t they know Christmas had just been cancelled?

“Ooof!” Tilly smacked her shin against the edge of a low bench, too dark to see as she tried to dodge the growing audience. She ended up sprawled across the bench, dropping the handle of her suitcase with a loud clatter.

At least the pain shooting down her leg gave her an excuse to be crying. Unfortunately, it meant she had to stop running too. Not good. Whenever things got too tough, too intimate, or too confrontational, you could rely on her to make a run for it. Running away was what she did best...

A tall figure loomed in the edge of her vision, something vaguely familiar about the man’s loping gait. In an effort to see him more clearly, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hands, then cringed inwardly at the black streaks now etched all over them. Great. She could add impersonating a panda to her day from hell as well then.

The mascara stung her eyes, rendering her unable to focus properly. She blinked furiously as the man strode past her, talking into a mobile phone in a deep voice that resonated throughout her body and made the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. A surge of adrenaline rushed to her legs, numbing the pain as her subconscious told her to run. Now!

The cloaked figure stopped mid-stride as if he’d heard her gasp. “Mike, I’ve gotta go,” he barked into the phone, hanging up instantly. He backtracked until he was standing right in front of her, his tone changing from a growl to one of surprise. “Basmati?”

Great. She hadn’t heard the nickname for years—nine years, four months and...sixteen days, to be exact—and even then, only one person had ever actually used it. She screwed her eyes tightly shut, shaking her head from side to side. No. No way. There was absolutely no way this could be happening to her. Not now. Not today of all days... Talk about kicking a girl when she was down.

“Is it really you?” he asked.

Maybe she should pretend it wasn’t her? Mistaken identity and all that? She looked quite different now; she might be able to pull it off and get away from him. Even as she tried to convince herself to do it, a little voice inside told her it was futile to resist. It pained her to agree. It would kill her not to speak to him, to not look at him and see the man he had become. She’d only drive herself mad trying to work out why he was so far from home.

Nine years was a long time. Maybe he’d have forgotten all about how she’d thrown herself at him, her brother’s best friend, humiliating herself to the extent that she’d fled her hometown? Yeah, and maybe pigs had suddenly learned to fly too.

“Hi, Dean,” she mumbled, staring down at his feet like the timid and shy teenager she’d once been whenever he’d been around. But she wasn’t that person anymore. Oh no, she was quite possibly even worse now. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. “Long time no—”

Her jaw actually dropped. It gaped open, betraying her reaction. Smart brogue business shoes—well-polished—gave way to an expensive-looking gray pinstripe suit—Armani, if she wasn’t mistaken. He’d teamed it with a crisp white shirt and a deep red silk tie—the color of blood—tied in a fancy Windsor knot, and then he’d completed the ensemble with a dark woolen overcoat. Left undone, it only served to highlight his spectacular physique.

Butterflies took flight in her belly, fluttering wildly. Where were the scruffy jeans and baggy T-shirts? She committed every inch of this new Dean to memory, but she couldn’t bring herself to look beyond the shirt collar and tie. It was sure to be her undoing. She was practically salivating already. He must be able to hear her heart pounding ferociously against her rib cage.

She’d always had a thing for men in suits, and she’d always had a thing for Dean; putting the two together was sure to be a winning—or maybe that should be losing—combination.

“It is you. I knew it. Fancy seeing you here.” He sat down beside her, his tone friendly, and he sounded pleased to see her. If only she could deny feeling the same. “Are you all set for Christmas then?”

Ripped from her daydream, the one where Dean had tracked her down, declared his undying love to her, and then whisked her away to a country manor, the events of the day came crashing back down on her. The shock and her excitement at seeing him drained out of her, seeping out of her shoes into the concrete slabs, as cold and harsh as the reality she faced.

“No, not yet. Speaking of which, I must dash,” she said, ignoring the pain lancing through her leg as she stood. She did her best to saunter off without looking like she was running away but failed spectacularly.

“Hey, are you okay?” Damn it, he must have spotted her limp. He caught up with her in a matter of strides, the crowds parting for him, whereas she was trying to swim against the tide.

“I’m fine, thanks.” Tilly sounded sullen and brattish even to her own ears.

“You could have fooled me.” He spun her around to inspect her. She didn’t want to think about how bad she looked.

“I said I’m fine.” Stunned by her body’s reaction to his slight touch, she staggered back a step. “I also said I have to go.”

“What happened to your shoe?”

She could easily picture the way his brows would be knotted together, frowning down at her, but she didn’t want his concern. What she wanted was for him to leave her alone. Didn’t she? It was pitiful how much she was torn between pushing him away to make a run for it or wrapping her arms around him and clinging on like a frightened child.

“It doesn’t matter, just forget it.”

He either missed the hint and the dangerous edge to her voice or he chose to ignore it. “It does matter, and I can’t just forget it. Are you injured?”

Now she really glared at him. “For Pete’s sake! I said I’m fine. Just let it go.” Big mistake! She’d been right to avoid looking above the shirt collar, and the poor light did nothing to hide the transformation he’d gone through. She couldn’t hold the glare; she’d already seen too much. Heat was building in her core and merging with the fire that had erupted inside her at his touch.

“No.” A hint of menace crept into his voice. It couldn’t possibly be protective; he had no reason to be protective of her. Well, he’d been warned—

“Who the hell do you think you are, Dean?” Tilly jabbed a finger into his chest, her breath coming in ragged bursts as her temper exploded, unleashing her foul mood on him. “It’s not like you care or anything, we’re practically strangers. You made your choice, and I bet you had a good laugh at my expense. You must have celebrated for days when I left town.”

“Bullshit!” He grabbed her hand, sending a shiver through her bones and paralyzing her entire arm. He pinned it to her side and reached for the other one before she could attack him again, the heat from his hands managing to warm her through her winter coat.

“Swearing really doesn’t become your new image,” she spat, making a point of looking him up and down. “What the hell happened to you anyway? Did you get dragged kicking and screaming onto one of those makeover shows?”

“This isn’t about me. What’s going on?”

“None of your business. Now let go of me.” Tilly tugged her arms up, trying to get free.

Dean held on. “No.”

“You can be such a bastard.” She tried again, twisting as she pulled this time, but it didn’t get her anywhere. If anything his grip tightened. “Let go of me right now, or I’ll scream my head off.”

“No, you won’t.”

“I will,” she said, meeting his stare with defiance.

“You seem to forget I know you far too well.”

“Like hell you do, you don’t know me at all. Not anymore. Maybe not even back then.” Except he did. And the arrogant son of a bitch knew she was calling his bluff. Well, she’d show him.

She didn’t give a damn about her dignity or about causing a scene anymore. It was far more important to wipe the smug look off Dean’s face. Not that she’d actually seen it, she didn’t dare look at him again, but it had to be there. What was one more humiliating memory to add to the day’s collection?



***



Dean waited, trying not to smirk. Tilly would never do it. No way. But then she took in a deep breath, opened her mouth, and tried to deafen him.

Shocked into action, he swooped down instantly, covering her mouth with his, absorbing the sound into himself and muffling it. The scream stopped with a squeak. Her knees gave way, and he was now the only thing keeping her upright.

He tried not to notice how delicate she felt in his arms, small and petite; he could probably still wrap his hands around her waist. And he absolutely did not notice how soft and pliable her lips were under his, or how warm they were despite the cold air, or how perfectly they fitted against his.

It wasn’t like he was kissing her—hell, no—this was nothing but damage limitation. Now all he had to do was convince the rest of him. In startling 4D clarity, he could imagine exactly what it would be like to kiss her, and he wanted it badly. No. It was more than that. He needed to kiss her. But he couldn’t. If he ever did make a move on Phil’s little sister, things would get very complicated indeed. Not when he’d promised—

Dean pulled back abruptly, dropping his hands, and ignored his racing pulse and the blood pumping through his veins. The cold air hit his face and palms, chilling him to the bone. “Finished?”

She swayed precariously, and he grabbed hold of her again, his hands making a beeline for her waist. Tilly darted a glance up at his face before checking herself and dropping her gaze back to his torso. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Squaring her shoulders, she pulled herself up so she stood as tall as possible. “Right. Well. I’d best be off then.” She tried to turn and walk away but he didn’t let go, couldn’t let go, not wanting to let her get away.

“Nice try.”

Her shoulders sagged, and her eyes closed. Long eyelashes feathered her cheeks, some clumped together with the makeup that hadn’t yet smudged itself all over her beautiful face. Even without the stark contrast of the black against her skin, she looked pale. She gulped in a deep breath and deflated in his arms, her head drooping until her forehead was almost propped against his chest.

Tilly barely reached his chin, even in high heels, or rather high heel. An arrow of alarm pierced him. Had she been mugged? Or...or... He couldn’t even entertain the other option which sprang to mind.

“What’s wrong?” he whispered into her hair.

“Everything...” Her voice was so soft, he almost missed what she’d said, but the pain in that one word wounded him, cutting deep into his soul.

Whoever had done this to her would pay. He’d rip them to shreds with his own bare hands. Nobody treated his Tilly like this and got away with it. He took a deep breath to calm himself, to restrain the rage ripping through his veins. Violence was never the answer; he’d learned that lesson the hard way a long time ago, but that wasn’t what made him stop wanting to shake her, to demand names and details.

While he might not be an expert on women, especially emotionally overwrought ones, he was pretty sure she wasn’t looking for a bodyguard or some kind of enforcer. What she needed right now was a friend, and somehow she’d ended up with him.

“Why don’t I take you home?” he said, unclenching his jaw, determined to keep his voice soft.

She started to sob. Big heaving sobs. He tried to pull her close, but she resisted, raising her hands and pressing them against his chest.

“Your shirt, it’ll get ruined,” she said, in between sobs. “I’ll get mascara all over it.”

“So what?” He let out a sigh and shifted his hand to cradle the back of her head, drawing her gently her into his chest. “I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Surely you know me better than that?”

Tilly stopped fighting and let her arms drop, then buried her face into him. His shirt soon grew damp as her tears soaked into it, and he tightened his hold until he was clutching her to him, his heart breaking a little bit more with each sob and shudder. Overcome with a savage need to shield her from the whole world, he ignored his better judgment and stooped down to retrieve her suitcase. Keeping one arm looped around her as support, he led her to the taxi rank outside the station where a line of black cabs waited.

“Let’s get you out of here...”