Santa Baby: 5 Sexy Reads For Cold Winter Nights. Charlotte Phillips
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CHAPTER FOUR
She had choice of the twin beds now that Liz wasn’t turning up and most of her unpacking still to do. Disappointment rose a little at that; she’d been looking forward to seeing her friend. But still, if anyone was used to making the best of a situation, it was Ella. She’d made a lifetime out of it. She took the bed by the window.
Tom Henley stayed on her mind. As if it hadn’t taken her long enough to stop him doing that first time around.
She’d hardly made a dent in the unpacking when the knock came at the door and her first excited thought was that by some miracle Liz had made it through the snow after all.
She rushed to open it.
‘Good wine,’ he said, leaning against the doorframe. ‘That second trip to Paris where you take in all the off-the-track sights you missed the first time around. Favourite restaurants. Songs you hear for the first time on the radio and just have to track down. Tiramisu always tastes better on the second day. Boxing day turkey with pickles easily rivals the full-on Christmas roast.’ His molten steel eyes took on a wicked glint. ‘And sex.’
She stared at him.
‘Are you going to invite me in?’
She stood aside, shaking her head lightly as if to clear it. He strode into the room and turned to face her. A hot flash of what had gone on between them last time they’d been in the same room as a bed made her cheeks burn and she folded her arms automatically as if to do so might ward the memory off. The last thing she needed was to think about how it had felt to be intimate with him, that road was paved with squashed resolve.
‘What the hell are you talking about?’ she said.
‘Your principle is flawed,’ he said, with a hint of triumph as if he’d invented the wheel. ‘Just because something is fabulous the first time around doesn’t mean it can’t improve or be fabulous again. All those things I listed improve with time. Even better or at least as good the second time around.’ He paused, holding her gaze mesmerizingly with his own. ‘We could be that.’
‘How do you know?’
‘How do you know we wouldn’t be?’ he countered. ‘All rules have exceptions. Or loopholes.’
He was utterly gorgeous. And her stomach was melting.
‘And the loophole in this case is…?’ She somehow managed to keep her voice neutral.
‘That what happened between us five years ago was cut short. By you, to be specific. It was unfinished. It didn’t end for some bad reason. Therefore, technically, it isn’t over. It’s just been in limbo these past five years. It actually counts as one encounter.’
There was a delicious hint of flattery about his determination to persuade her which was so seductive. Being pursued relentlessly wasn’t a sensation she’d experienced much. Her past was more about people running off out of her life rather than clamouring to stay in it, even for a short time. She kept her guard in place yet she couldn’t stop the smile creeping onto her lips. He really was impossible. And funny.
‘OK, you’re really pushing the argument to its limit now,’ she said. ‘The last time I saw you before today I was in your bed. Are you actually suggesting we just pick up where we left off?’
She tried not to think about the steam room, because it undermined her argument with herself and with him. She couldn’t believe she’d let it get that far.
It had been a long time since she’d come across a guy who needed more than a firm ‘no’ to discourage him, mainly because she didn’t let things progress far enough to need more than that to get out of it.
He spread his hands.
‘There’s no need to get so literal. I’m not suggesting you jump straight back into bed with me.’
The way he paused after that sentence made her stomach turn softly over, clearly because she hadn’t eaten since this morning and absolutely NOT with disappointment. Because she most certainly did NOT want to jump straight into bed with Tom Henley.
‘I’m here until the snow melts. Or the fog lifts. Or whatever bloody weather it is that’s got the airport on lockdown. You’re on your own because your mate hasn’t made it through the snow. We’re both at a loose end and how the hell does having dinner with an old friend contradict your bonkers life rule?’
The way he said that made her suddenly feel like she was overreacting here, that she was reading far more into this than there was. It occurred to her suddenly that her heel-digging refusal might smack of caring a bit too much. Which she absolutely didn’t.
Her mind spiralled back down the years to the icy walk to the station that she’d made herself take, knowing he was back in the comfortable but tiny hotel room sleeping alone. It might have only been one night, but she’d connected with him on a level she rarely did with anyone. It had taken strength to make herself get on that train, knowing she would never see him again. But she had done it. And she was convinced it had been the right thing to do. It had been about self-preservation. The past ten years or so, since she’d given up relying on her mother for any support, had been about building her own life and making sure there was no one in it that could knock her down. Did she really think she wasn’t strong and self-assured enough now to have a simple dinner with the hot guy from her past without turning into a simpering wreck?
And of course there was a part of her that was curious. What had he been doing since they last met? He’d had his big life plan all mapped out, she remembered that much, and back then he’d seemed so excited about it. She didn’t pick up that same spark of enthusiasm now and it intrigued her. What exactly had changed? He would be winging his way to Barbados again, maybe even as soon as tomorrow morning. The forecast was supposed to be improving. And she would finish her weekend in London and then go back to her life, exactly as she had done five years ago. A life that was a lot more successful now than it had been back then.
Where would be the harm?
Tom Henley meant nothing to her. What better way to prove it, to herself as well as to him, than to go out with him.
‘Just dinner,’ she clarified, narrowing her eyes.
He held his hands up, the picture of innocence.
‘Whatever you like.’
****
Ella pawed through the contents of her luggage and realised she had absolutely no idea what Tom Henley’s idea of a dinner date would entail. Mainly because the last dinner date they’d had involved eating fish and chips out of the paper while sitting on a harbour wall and looking at the Christmas lights draped around the marina. She let her mind drift back to the sting of the cold air on her cheeks, the sharp taste of the salt and vinegar, the scent of the sea.
Fish and chips had been a last resort because they’d been thrown out of the restaurant where she was working and he was eating. And that was the point right there. He’d been eating a late lunch with a group of friends at the most expensive restaurant in the town. He was flying out to Barbados within days. He came from a family of doctors who drank eggnog at parties. She looked at the selection of clothes she’d brought with her for the weekend with Liz and nothing jumped out that would make her fit easily into those situations without standing out.
Fish and chips out of the paper she could do. She gathered up jeans, vest and thick jumper. She’d just have to get in first and pitch dinner at her own level.
****
‘I’ve booked a table in the restaurant,’ he said, looking her up and down when she opened the door to his knock. He took in her jeans and UGG boots. ‘It’s got two Michelin stars, fantastic food. We can start with a drink in the bar if you like.’
‘Actually I was thinking we could go out and take in a bit of London in the snow,’ she said, grabbing