Christmas is Cancelled

chapter Three





Tilly stood beneath the shower and let the water wash over her, bouncing off her head and shoulders like a million needles. Twelve hours ago or so, she’d been doing the same thing, or trying to anyway, under the poor excuse of a shower back at home. Except it wasn’t her home anymore. How could she forget?

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she fought them back, determined not to waste any more over Brian. The cheating bastard wasn’t worth it. Turning so the spray hit her full in the face, she imagined it running off her in black rivers before swirling down the plughole. This powerhouse of a shower was perfect for washing away her old life. Dull and ordinary at its best, it had been boring and humdrum at its worst.

Scrubbing at her skin with zealous abandon, she couldn’t resist Dean’s expensive-looking toiletries. She didn’t even smell like herself by the time she’d finished. Finally shutting off the shower, she heard banging overhead and the sound of boxes being dragged across the ceiling. There were a few muffled curses, and then the banging stopped, replaced by a scraping sound before his footsteps clattered down the stairs.

What the heck was he up to? There was only one way to find out. Streaking across the landing in her towel, she ran to the spare room to raid her suitcase. After dressing in record time in her favorite comfort clothes of yoga pants and a tie-front shirt, she scraped her wet hair back into a twist, securing it with the tortoiseshell clip Brian had always loathed.

She followed him downstairs less than five minutes after jumping out of the shower and was greeted by the sight of him mid-fight with an artificial Christmas tree. He was losing by the look of it. The monstrosity was almost as tall as he was and filled up the entire corner of the room, but it hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm in the slightest as he merrily hummed “Jingle Bells” to himself.

“Need a hand?” she asked, trying to keep a straight face as laughter bubbled up inside her.

Dean turned and threw her an outlandish grin. For some bizarre reason, the rakes in the historical romances her mom had always loved sprang to mind—those same ones Tilly had then “borrowed” and read by torchlight at night—but only now did she understand why the heroines swooned at the rakes feet.

“I don’t suppose you have any body armor in that suitcase of yours? This is war.” He dived back into the heart of the tree with a wild yell, his enthusiasm too contagious to resist.

Three hours later and down to the dregs of the second bottle, they collapsed back onto the sofa, triumphant. The tree was up and decorated, its lights twinkling away in full multicolor glory and looking ridiculously out of place in the stylish surroundings.

“It’s bloody awful, but I love it,” she said, sitting back and admiring their handiwork.

He kept his eyes fixed on the tree. “You will stay, won’t you?” Dean spoke quietly, as though nervous, and brushed his fingers over her hand. His touch sent shivers down her spine and turned the lightness in her soul into something much more thrilling, much deeper, much more dangerous. “Not just tonight, but for the rest of Christmas?”

Would she? It was certainly appealing. Given the choice of whom she’d rather spend Christmas with—between Brian, Phil, or Dean—there was no contest; she’d pick the same option every single time. He was offering a roof over her head for a couple of days, if nothing else, and her problems wouldn’t go away if she took some time out for Christmas to regroup. Perhaps the more pressing question was, should she?

Even after Dean had rejected her all those years before, she’d never fallen out of love with him. The damage had already been done. Compared to him, no other man stood a chance of capturing both her heart and her soul. Not even Brian. Especially not Brian. She’d gone out of her way to find Dean’s opposite, someone steady and reliable, responsible and financially viable. Basically all the things her brother would approve of, but look where that had got her.

She glanced up at him and discovered his gaze still fixed on the tree as he waited patiently for her answer. Doing the safe thing hadn’t worked out for her, so maybe, just maybe, she should start taking some risks again. He already had her heart, so it wasn’t as if she had anything to lose. If there was even the slightest chance of something happening between them, wasn’t it worth exploring?

She squeezed his hand and waited for him to look at her, meeting his anxious gaze head on. “I’d love to.”

“Great!”

Her breath caught in her throat at the beatific smile erupting on his face. It warmed her from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. He tugged on her hand and pulled her across his lap, wrapping his arms around her for a hug.

Tilly embraced him back tightly, her heart galloping as his eyes grew darker. Drawn together like magnets, she tilted her head up and moved toward him. He dipped his head to meet her halfway, and her pulse raced, his lips drawing tantalizingly near. She closed her eyes in anticipation, but he never made it.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

Flinging her eyes open, she was left reeling by the turmoil she saw in his eyes as he pulled back from her. “Why not?” she whispered, raising her hand to cup his cheek.

Screwing his eyes tight shut, he contradicted himself by leaning into her touch, his stubble scratching her palm like fine sandpaper. He was vulnerable, his control wavering. Quite frankly, it was the best opportunity she could ever hope to get, and she’d be stupid to waste it.

Years of longing came to fruition as she tentatively brushed her lips against Dean’s. The shudder that ripped through him was so immense she had to do it again, lingering this time. His lips were soft and warm but unyielding beneath hers. He hadn’t pushed her away though.

Emboldened, she ran her tongue over his lips, desperate to taste him. The groan wrought from his throat was spine tingling, hot-wired directly to her core, and suddenly he was kissing her back. A shrill ringing erupted from her handbag, and they both jumped.

“Ignore it,” he mumbled against her lips, parting them, his tongue seeking permission to enter. She could only moan, communicating her agreement by granting access. Dean used his lips and tongue to expertly tease hers, over and over again, until her bones melted. She’d waited all her life to be kissed like this but, by God, it had been worth the wait. Except now she wanted more.

Careful not to break the kiss, she adjusted her position until she was sitting astride his lap, her legs straddling his hips. Rocking back and forth against him, she could tell just how much of an effect she was having on him through her lightweight trousers. A growl exploded from his chest, and he raised his hand, fisting it in her hair. With his other hand, Dean spanned her lower back and slipped beneath her shirt, scorching her bare skin as he took control of the tempo. He moved her rhythmically against him until she was panting, unbelievably close to coming, but then her mobile rang again.

Breaking off the kiss, she dropped her head against his shoulder. “God damn it!”

“Do you have to take it?” he asked, his breathing as ragged as her own, their chests rising and falling sharply.

“I better had,” she said, lifting her head up to meet his gaze. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his eyes, black and full of desire. His cheeks were flushed and his hair ruffled from where she’d been running her fingers through the silky strands, tempting her to do it all over again if it weren’t for the ringing phone. “It’s Phil. He’ll only keep on trying until I answer. We’d never get any peace.”

Dean frowned, and dropped his hands limply to his sides, releasing her. “I should have known,” he muttered.

“Just give me two minutes to get rid of him, okay?” she said, climbing off his lap. “He’s probably checking up on me, making sure I haven’t done anything stupid.”

“Are you sure you haven’t?”

The phone fell silent, and Dean’s words hung in the air. Something in his tone sent a chill right through her. She’d hoped it was a joke, but there was no smile playing on his lips; he was deadly serious. “Wh—”

Right on cue her mobile rang again. “Hadn’t you better get that?” His voice was cold, dismissive, but his fists were clenched as if he was fighting some internal battle of his own.

“Yes, I had.” She hit the green button and lifted the phone to her ear. “What’s the big emergency, Phil?” she snapped, her voice coming out harsher than she intended.

Two minutes dragged into five, and still she couldn’t get rid of him to find out what the hell was going on with Dean. Sitting perfectly still on the sofa, he appeared to be lost in thought, not even glancing at her. He looked more conflicted than she’d ever seen him and had closed himself off to her, shutting her out. And she was pretty sure it had something to do with Phil.

Dean’s head lifted up to look at her as if she’d called his name, a question in the arch of his eyebrows. She met his cloaked gaze and searched his eyes, but it was like looking at a mannequin. He shook his head slowly and climbed off the sofa far more elegantly than she could ever dream of and started to walk around her. She was losing him. Catching hold of his hand, she rose onto her tiptoes and planted a silent kiss on his lips. She’d managed to catch him by surprise, and the smile reached his eyes.

“Sorry, Phil, can you say that again?” she said, regaining her grip on the phone. Dean chuckled and disappeared into the kitchen. The smell of cooking soon reached her nose, and her tummy let out an almighty roar. Phil heard it, too, so she seized the excuse to finally get him off the phone. “I’ve turned it off now,” she said, entering the kitchen.

“Oh, okay.” Standing at the stove with his back to her, he was stirring something in a pan. His large hand reached out and picked up some chopped peppers and onions in one large handful and tossed them into a frying pan where they sizzled, the aroma tantalizing her taste buds.

“Something smells good.”

He turned around to face her, his face slightly flushed from the heat of the stove. “Penne cassa Deano. I hope you’re hungry?” Before she could open her mouth to answer, her belly let out another loud roar, and he smiled, turning back to the stove. “Grab a seat, it won’t be long.”

He’d been busy while she was stuck on the phone; the table was already laid, and there was a bowl of freshly cut crusty bread in the center. She picked up a chunk to give her hands something to do as too many questions, too many emotions flooded her brain.



***



Phil had done it again; a further demonstration of his uncanny ability of knowing when something was about to happen with Tilly. Dean had no doubt whatsoever about what would have happened without big brother’s interruption; the only question was whether they’d have made it to the bedroom or not. Dumping the pasta into two bowls, he turned toward the table, and his stomach plummeted to his toes.

She was staring into space again, her brows knitted together and her mouth tight. Even with her face stripped of makeup, she was more beautiful than any of the women he’d dated. If that’s what you could call the women who liked to collect him as a trophy on their arm but didn’t really give a damn about him. They were only interested in the man he’d become and how much money he had in the bank. Her fingers picked at a lump of baguette, turning it into a hollow tube.

His feet felt like lead as he made his way toward the table. “Penny for them?”

She jumped and tilted her head back to look at him. The despondent look in her eyes vanished, and she dazzled him with a smile. Whatever was troubling her, it seemed unlikely he was the source when she could look at him like that. “Oh, it’s nothing much, I was just thinking about Phil.”

“Right. Was he okay about you spending Christmas with me?”

Tilly paused as she raised her fork to her mouth, and a guilty flush crept into her cheeks. “Hey, this looks great!” She made a great show of looking down at the food in front of her and thrusting the fork into her mouth so she couldn’t say any more.

A prickle of terror laced with excitement raced along his spine. “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Her cheeks reddened even more as she avoided his gaze. “Mmm, so good,” she moaned, shoveling down the forkful and chasing it down with another with great gusto. If she was doing it to distract him, it was working. Watching her eat was crazily seductive. Dean couldn’t help imagining the sounds she might make if he ever got to make love to her. With his resolve crumbling and big brother’s radar down, there was every chance Dean might be about to find out.

Not trusting his voice, he followed her lead and began wolfing down dinner. The meal passed in relative silence, the odd bit of small talk, but she didn’t offer any more clues as to what had happened to her, and he was too distracted to ask. Her eyelids grew heavy, and he cast a quick look at the clock. “Bloody hell! It’s after midnight.”

She looked up at him and smiled sleepily. “I’m really tired, do you mind if I go on up to bed?”

“Not at all. Besides, Father Christmas won’t come if you’re not in bed.”

She laughed at his awful joke and climbed out of her seat, kissing him on the cheek before heading for the stairs. “Good night, Dean.”

“Good night.”

He listened to her footsteps all the way to the top of the stairs, and then he leaped into action, clearing the plates and setting the dishwasher off. Christmas Eve was his worst night of the year, closely followed by Christmas Day. How long would he get this year before the ghosts came for him?

As he climbed the stairs, the light shone around the edges of the closed spare room door. When he opened the door of his own room, it looked dark and ominously cold by comparison. It took every ounce of restraint he could muster to walk into his own room and stay there. What he wouldn’t give to be able to climb into bed with Tilly and curl up beside her.



***



Tilly heard Dean’s bedroom door close and flopped backward onto the bed. Part of her was glad he respected her privacy, but a much larger part had been thrilled by the idea of him seeking her out, telling her she was in the wrong room, and carrying her into his bed. That kind of thing didn’t happen in real life though.

She was exhausted, but her mind wouldn’t rest, trying to process the day’s events, so she stared at the ceiling, willing sleep to come. To think she was supposed to be out with Kerry tonight for their traditional Christmas Eve pub crawl. Tilly didn’t want to lay eyes on the home-wrecking, back-stabbing, conniving cow ever again; her betrayal was ten times worse than Brian’s.

The minutes ticked by, but sleep just wasn’t happening. If only she had a book or a magazine with her. There was a bookcase downstairs, but they’d blocked it off with the tree. Dean’s rubbish attempt at a joke floated into her mind. She sat up and looked around the room for inspiration until her eyes fell on her battered suitcase.

“A-ha,” she said to the room at large. There had to be something suitable in there. After all, what was Christmas Day without presents? The moment her hand touched upon the wooden frame, she knew it was perfect. Pulling the frame all the way out, she unwrapped it from the scarf it had been hidden in and flipped it over. Staring back at her was a much younger version of her and Dean.

It must be over ten years since the four of them had all gone to Bournemouth for the day: her, Dean, Phil, and his then girlfriend Claire, but Claire had dragged Phil off somewhere leaving her and Dean alone. She’d been clowning around on the beach with him, having a laugh, when he’d grabbed a passerby to take their picture.

Standing behind her, he looked as scruffy as usual in long shorts and T-shirt with the sleeves cut off. His arms were wrapped around her, holding her close with his hands against her bare midriff, and she was leaning back into him, her hands holding the top of his. His cheek nestled against the side of her head, her bright red hair snagging in his stubbly beard that was surprisingly soft. The rest of her fiery mane tumbled halfway down her back in direct contrast with his dark, glossy, almost shoulder-length hair, sleek and smooth and framing his face perfectly.

She traced her finger over the blazingly happy-looking couple, and they really did look like a couple, which in itself was strange because except for this one snapshot moment, he’d always made a point of not touching her. It didn’t matter what tactics she’d tried—and, boy, had she tried, the man deserved a sainthood—he always acted like a perfect gentleman.

The picture instantly became her most prized possession, the one thing she would run into a burning building to save. It had lived on her bedside table right up until she’d moved in with Brian, and even then she’d looked at it regularly. Whenever she was feeling down, it never failed to cheer her up, giving her a warm glow inside. Could she really bear to be parted from it? She didn’t care that it was only an illusion, a figment of her imagination—

Or was it?

She scrambled up off the floor, back to the lamplight to examine it better. The photo had been taken on one of the rare times when Phil had let them out of his sight. There in Dean’s eyes was the same raw look she’d seen in his eyes tonight; yearning, protection, restraint, and something else...something suspiciously like affection and maybe even love.

It blew all of her theories about why he’d constantly rejected her. How could she have been so blind? And just how big a part had Phil played? Either way, that was then, and this was now. There was nothing she could do about the past, but she could do something about her present.

Before she could change her mind, she grabbed an old white envelope from her suitcase and slipped downstairs. She didn’t dare turn the main lights on, so she used the light from the Christmas tree to draw shapes all over the envelope to make it look like wrapping paper. Sadly art had never been her calling. She allowed herself one last look at the photo and hugged the picture to her chest. A tear ran down her cheek as she popped it inside the enveloped and placed it beneath the tree.