Christmas is Cancelled

chapter Two





Tilly huddled in the back seat of the black cab with her suitcase stowed beside her feet. Dean had tucked her under his arm so her head laid against his chest, and then used his free hand to hold hers. It was warm and surprisingly rough. The arm draped around her shoulder was holding on to her so tightly, she might as well have been sitting on his lap. There wasn’t so much as an inch between them from shoulder down to hip.

It was electrifying, and the more she tried to ignore it, the stronger it got. She didn’t believe for a second that he was as calm and unruffled as he looked—his nostrils were flaring for a start—but she admired his attempt at control and emulated it as best she could so that she could finally stop sniveling all over him.

“Where are we going?” she asked, so bunged up her voice came out sounding like the rail platform announcements she’d been subjected to.

“We’re on our way to my house,” he said, pausing while the pad of his thumb continued to brush across the back of her hand. “I didn’t think you’d want to go anywhere public, but we can go somewhere else if you prefer?”

His gaze bored into her head, pulling her gaze up to glance up at him and see his face thrown into shadow by the orange streetlights. A flicker of apprehension marred his features, and her fingers itched to smooth it away, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to stop there. Ever since she’d set eyes on him, she’d wondered how his new clean-shaven jaw would feel if she touched it. “Your place is fine. Thank you.”

Handsome to a fault anyway, Dean had really smartened up his appearance. Gone were the dark, shaggy tresses that used to hang scruffily around his face and past his chin. Instead, he had a smart yet stylish haircut, the hair swept back off his face but still long enough to run her fingers through. The only things that hadn’t changed much were his amazing eyes, shining in the darkness. She didn’t need the light to know they were almost charcoal in color with flecks of sapphire blue hidden in their depths.

“Great.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “It’s not far now.”

Sure enough, the taxi pulled up at the curbside long before she’d worked out why he was being so nice to her. She had no idea where she was. They’d left the industrial, urban sights of Manchester behind several miles back, and it had been too dark to see much else. Not that she’d particularly been looking. When she wasn’t sniveling into his coat, she’d spent the rest of the journey surreptitiously checking him out.

Ever the perfect gentleman, he helped her down from the cab, and she got her first view of a row of stone-terraced houses, staggered as they climbed up a steep hill. They looked old, like they’d been there at least a hundred years already. Dean paid the fare and grabbed her suitcase before leading her up to the first house with his arm around her waist.

“Please excuse the mess, I wasn’t expecting visitors,” he said as he turned the key and pushed open the front door. He reached inside and flicked a switch, blinding her with the bright light, then gestured with his free hand. “After you.”

She’d been expecting a porch or a hallway when she stepped across the threshold but found herself standing inside the front room. The whole room smelled like him, masculine and woody. Assaulted by the scent, she inhaled deeply and shivered. Dean thankfully mistook it for being cold and walked to the wood-burning stove, all set up and ready to go, to toss a match into it.

“It’s beautiful.” Tilly couldn’t help but be drawn farther into the room and ran her hand over the dark leather sofa, soft and cool to the touch. There was lots of natural wood on show, not a hint of chipboard in sight, yet he’d managed to combine it with glass and chrome so that it worked, complementing the original features and the age of the property rather than looking vulgar and out of place.

“Thanks.” Dean smiled; only it wasn’t your everyday smile, this one lit up his entire face and showed off his teeth, even the very back ones. “It’s been a labor of love, but I’m getting there. You should have seen it when I bought it, it was a right mess, I had to strip it right back to its shell and start from scr—”

“You did all this?” she blurted. He’d always been good working with his hands, doing odd jobs for cash even when he was still at school apparently, but this was something else. “It’s amazing.”

Somehow, his smile grew wider as he nodded. “Would you like the grand tour?” He was trying his best to appear modest but failing dismally. She swore he was blushing too. He looked like a child with a new toy, excited and desperate to show it off.

“You bet.” There was no way she could possibly refuse, so she shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, her stockinged toes sinking into the plush carpet. Dean did the same, except he removed his socks too. “Lead on...”

She was impressed at how calm she sounded, considering her stomach was turning cartwheels and a stampede of elephants was trampling across her chest. The sight of him in full business suit with tanned bare feet took her breath away. He was far too sexy for his own good without even trying; he didn’t even seem to realize what he was doing. At least she was managing not to stare...or drool...much.

The tour didn’t take long. The house was a simple two-up, two-down, but he’d put a lot of work into it. She shouldn’t have been nearly as thrilled as she was to see the lack of femininity in the house, especially in the master bedroom, yet it wasn’t your typical bachelor pad either. It was cozy, yet classy. Comfortable, yet sophisticated. A few girly touches here and there were all the place needed to become her own idea of heaven.

“You grab a seat, and I’ll make the drinks,” he said, disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ve got tea, coffee, wine, or beer?” he called through the open doorway.

“Wine, please.”

“Red or white?” Dean reappeared with a bottle of each in one hand and two wine glasses and a corkscrew in the other.

“Um...” If ever a day called for alcohol, this was it. “Both?”

“I like your thinking.” He walked all the way into the room and deftly uncorked a bottle—no screw-top in this house—then poured out two glasses before handing one to her. Job done, he sank back onto the sofa beside her and crossed one leg over the other, his ankle resting on his knee. “Cheers,” he said, accompanying it with a wink that made her heart flutter.

“Cheers,” she repeated, raising her glass and taking a sip.

“I figured white first, while it’s chilled, and give the red time to breathe.”

“Sounds good to me,” she said, taking a larger sip. The wine tasted like nectar, tap dancing on her tongue so she chased it down with another. She leaned her head back on the sofa and closed her eyes. This was seriously good stuff. The flames from the stove emitted an orange glow that flickered against her lids as the heat and woody fragrance washed over her. Despite everything that had happened, she felt peaceful. Content.

Tilly opened her eyes again to discover him watching her, and her stomach did a loop-the-loop. He quickly averted his eyes and looked down at his glass, taking another sip of wine, but she’d seen how his pupils were dilated. She recognized an emotion she didn’t dare label. They definitely weren’t the eyes of somebody only looking out for an old mate’s little sister.

“Shit!” Bolting upright, she sloshed wine down her front, ice cold, and put her glass down to root through her handbag for her mobile phone. Dean looked at her, his eyebrows raised in question, waiting for an explanation. “I need to call Phil.”

“Oh, I see.” His eyes grew colder, and his posture tensed. “The signal round here is patchy at best, you’re better off using the house phone.”

“Okay...” She still hadn’t worked out how much she was prepared to tell Dean; at least on her mobile, she could go outside or into the kitchen.

As if reading her thoughts, he grabbed the digital handset and passed it to her. “Don’t mind me,” he said. “I need to go upstairs and get changed anyway.”

Her gaze fell on his torso, and she couldn’t help but laugh. She must have made him jump. In addition to the patches of mascara and eyeliner she’d already smudged all over him, there was now a rapidly growing wet patch as well. Set free, the black streaks had grown tentacles and were maneuvering haphazardly across his chest, trying to camouflage themselves in the smattering of dark hair now visible all the way down to the shot of dark fuzz disappearing beneath his waistband.

Her mouth grew so dry she was having trouble swallowing, let alone talking, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away as the shirt became more and more see-through. “Thank you,” she squeaked, praying her skin wasn’t turning pink and giving away her hot flush. Trying to stop her fingers from shaking, she took the phone from his outstretched hand, being extra careful not to touch him. “I won’t be long.”



***



Dean fixed a smile on his face as he made his exit. “Take all the time you need.” He’d reached the last stair before Tilly spoke into the phone.

“Hi, Phil, you won’t believe this,” she said ruefully. Fear ripped through him at the thought of her mentioning him, and he froze on the spot. “Yeah, fault on the line apparently. They don’t know when it will be fixed.”

He let out a sigh of relief. Torn between eavesdropping or giving her the privacy he’d promised, he had to force his feet to climb the last step as the battle raged inside his brain. His conscience eventually won out, and he crossed the landing to his room and sat on the edge of his bed, fiddling with the knot in his tie.

If Tilly was meant to be on a train to Phil’s, that at least explained the suitcase. It didn’t explain her odd behavior though. She’d always had a crazy streak and a bit of a temper, but she wasn’t usually so erratic. It was like she was trying to be someone else and having to fight against her true nature. Meek one minute and full of fire the next.

She’d accused him of going through some sort of makeover, but it was a wonder he’d even recognized her. When he’d flicked on the house lights, he’d been too stunned to speak and had frantically looked for something to do while he tried to get his head around the dulled-down version of the girl he knew. Dyed brown hair, dark, drab suit, the difference was disturbing.

Where was the flame red hair? The colorful clothes? Had she had a personality transplant since she’d left home?

He could try and psychoanalyze her all he liked, but it wasn’t as if she was the only one behaving erratically tonight. Sitting beside her on the sofa, when she’d had her head back and her eyes closed; he’d been spellbound. He’d come so close to leaning across and kissing her. And the look in her eyes just now, standing there with her skin flushed and her breathing ragged, betraying her attraction to him... It was a wonder he hadn’t jumped her right there and then.

He dropped his head into his hands and sighed. Time had let him down; he was just as attracted to her now as he’d ever been. It must have been over ten years since he’d promised to leave her alone. Phil convinced him it was for her own sake, so she could get over her “silly teenage crush,” but it didn’t feel like a teenage crush at the time. Tilly had been a very mature teenager for a start, and he’d been twenty-one. He’d had feelings for her, too, yet he’d made the promise anyway.

Nobody else had come close to making him feel the same way in all the years since, which was pathetic, seeing as he’d never even kissed her—their close encounter outside the train station definitely didn’t count—and their relationship, for want of a better word, had always been purely platonic. Mostly because he hadn’t let anything happen between them, and heaven knows how he’d managed it, but there was also the fact that big brother was always watching. Phil wasn’t here now though...

He stood up and drew the curtains. What he needed now was a shower to clear his head, and it might not be a bad idea to make it a cold one. He quickly undressed, discarding his clothes on the window seat, and wandered to the bathroom.

Tilly’s voice floated up the stairs, not clear enough for him to make out the actual words. Whether it was for the best or not, he still couldn’t decide, so he tried to tune it out. Dean knew the exact moment the call had ended when the house became eerily quiet.

As if a starter’s gun had gone off, he shut off the water and jumped out of the shower, leaving a trail of footprints as he dashed back to the bedroom, cursing under his breath when his jeans snagged on his wet legs. Pulling a top over his head, he padded quietly down the stairs.

His pulse spiked when he saw her standing in front of the window, deep in thought with a frown creasing her forehead. He forgot all about the creaky step, and Tilly whipped her head round to look at him, spearing him with eyes so vivid he could see how green they were from the other side of the room. They were wet too; she’d either been crying again or was just about to start.

“All done?” he asked.

“Yes, thanks.”

“Phil okay?”

“Yeah, the usual. You know Phil...”

He didn’t bother to tell her they weren’t in touch anymore. When Tilly left, they’d drifted apart, making him wonder if she was the only thing keeping them together. “Were you meant to be staying with him for Christmas?”

“It’s fine, he wants me to go down for New Year instead,” she said, shrugging and not really answering his question. She broke eye contact first and pointed out of the window. “Are those hills over there?”

Smooth subject change...not. “Yep.”

“But we’re only just outside Manchester?”

“I know. Great, isn’t it?” he said, joining her at the window. “Welcome to the Peak District. You should see the views in daylight.”

Tilly turned away, keeping her back to him. “So how come you’re working up here anyway? I thought you hated the north.”

“It’s a long story.”

“Well, there’s one and a half bottles of wine left over here.” As if to plead her case, she topped up her glass and spun around to face him, waving the open bottle in her hand.

He gulped; he’d never been a religious man, but he prayed to every saint he could think of for help. Whether she’d undone it on purpose or whether the buttons had come apart when she’d tried to dry herself off was neither here nor there. Either way, his eyes feasted on the sight of Tilly, standing before him with her blouse gaping open. She offered him a perfect view of her ample breasts, concealed only by a sheer pink bra with delicate green buds threaded throughout. At odds with the rest of her outfit, there was every chance the real Tilly was still in there somewhere, lurking beneath the somber facade.

“And it’s not like I have anywhere else to go,” she continued in such a nonchalant, matter-of-fact voice that he might have been fooled had he not been determinedly keeping his gaze on her face. Call it divine intervention or maybe it was pure luck, but he’d seen the way her face had twisted, the pain and uncertainty in her eyes before she’d looked away. Even her knuckles had turned white as she gripped her wine glass.

A different Tilly looked back at him less than a heartbeat later. There was a hardness, a glint of steel in her eyes, combined with tension in her cheeks and jaw. This Tilly was back on the offensive, ready and waiting for another confrontation. If he pushed her now, they’d only have a repeat of earlier, and he didn’t much fancy another fight. Especially with her looking like that. Any form of passionate outburst was highly dangerous.

Dean didn’t consider himself a patient man by any means. Ask anyone and they’d tell you he was more of an impulsive, no-nonsense kind of guy. They’d be right too, but he bit his tongue, kept his eyes glued to her face, and his feet firmly planted where they were. Of course he could do this. He just needed to clear his throat first.

“I... I’m a property developer now,” he said, his voice strained. “I came into some money a few years back, and it made sense financially, what with the north being cheaper than the south.” Not to mention the fact he’d always harbored hopes of bumping into her or at least hearing how she was somehow. Tilly had instantly lost some of the aggression, but her stance was still guarded. “I’ve built up a pretty decent business here now though, made a lot of contacts along the way...” His voice trailed off. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t do this, not at all. Even breathing was becoming more difficult.

“I thought you said this was a long story?” she said, the tough edge audible in her voice.

“Please don’t be offended...” He swallowed and raised his hands to cover his wandering eyes, the strain of keeping them above the level getting the better of him.

“What the...?”

“I’m enjoying the view enormously, but it’s kind of killing my train of thought.” Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for the rest of him, and his admiration was on the verge of becoming embarrassingly obvious.

“Oh!” She almost smashed her glass as she slammed it onto the table.

“Maybe you’d like to pop upstairs and get changed? You’re welcome to use the shower.”

“Good idea,” she said, shuffling past him to get to the stairs.

“Don’t forget your—”

She took off so fast, he didn’t get chance to finish. He waited for the sound of the bolt sliding across the bathroom door before dropping his hands to grab her forgotten suitcase. He hesitated outside the bathroom door before knocking.

“Yes?” she squealed, the sound coming from immediately behind the door.

“The towels are in the cupboard next to the bath. I’ll put your suitcase in the spare room for you.”

“Oh, right. Thank you.”

The sound of the shower cut off any more conversation, so he went back to his room and lay on his bed while trying not to imagine the water cascading over her naked body. Once he finally got his mind out of the gutter, it dawned on him how nice it was to have somebody else in the house for a change, especially as that somebody else was Tilly. He hadn’t realized quite how much he’d missed her.

Christmas would certainly be more bearable with her around, assuming he could keep his hands to himself, of course. Her plans had already been ruined, so maybe with a bit of effort, he could make it a better Christmas for both of them?