Читать книгу Christmas Is Cancelled - Aurelia Rowl B. - Страница 10

Chapter One

‘You have got to be kidding me?’

Out of breath, Matilda Carter hunched over and panted, yet kept her gaze glued to the departures screen. There had to 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 had to be 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 and bit back the urge to scream like a wild banshee. Envious of all the happy travellers making their way home for Christmas, she scowled at anybody who happened to look her way. They gave her a wide berth, maybe sensing that 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.

The instant he noticed her heading towards him, his eyes widened. He flicked a glance left and right in the obvious hope that she was charging towards somebody else. Or at least she would have been charging, 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, dragging her battered wheeled suitcase behind her.

One suitcase: all she had to show of her life.

It wasn’t even a very big suitcase.

His gaze swept over her, no doubt noticing her dishevelled appearance, then he bravely took a step in her direction. ‘Can I help you, miss?’ he called across to her.

Miss?

Did she have a sign above 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, but so what? Not even a saint could cope with the day she’d had to endure. ‘Bad’ didn’t even come close. Neither did ‘hellish’. With her jaw tensed and her teeth gritted, she stalked right up to him.

Older than he’d looked from a distance, he had kind eyes with 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?’

‘Yes, miss. Unfortunately, you are quite correct.’

‘What time is the next one, please?’ Tilly knew from poring over the timetables all afternoon that there wasn’t another train leaving today but it didn’t stop her hoping for a miracle. Wasn’t that what Christmas was all about? ‘I need to get to my brother’s house. For Christmas…’

‘Ah.’ He said it in such a way, her stomach plunged to the floor. ‘Not in time for you to get to your brother’s, I’m afraid. A goods train came derailed and damaged the track along with a signal box. All of the main lines headed south have had to be closed. The engineers are working as fast as they can, but it’s going to take a few days to repair – what with it being the holidays.’

‘A few days?’ Trapped in a vicious nightmare, Tilly considered pinching herself in a bid to wake up. ‘Isn’t there a replacement bus? Anything –’

Her throat closed up, unable to say another word at the sight of him shaking his head before she’d even finished asking.

‘No, nothing. It’s local journeys only,’ he said, dashing her final glimmer of hope.

‘Great. Just great.’ Tears welled in her eyes and clouded her vision. ‘I can’t even hire a car since the place is all closed up for the night.’

The kindly old man reached across to pat her arm gently. ‘I’m sorry, dear. I hope something comes up for you.’

Not bloody likely.

Unable to force a sound past her throat, she nodded and turned away. She’d barely taken a step before the first disloyal tear forged a track down her cheek for the rest to follow. With her suitcase tucked in behind her, she wandered blindly towards the exit.

Crowds swarmed around her, threatening to swallow her whole as they rushed en masse in the opposite direction. Men and women of varying ages jostled past, using their briefcases and suitcases as battering rams. Clusters of students and family members presumably heading home for the holidays added to the usual rush-hour melee of commuters and forced her to take refuge behind an advertising board.

Tilly sucked in a lungful of air. Then another. Neither one helped. Suddenly claustrophobic, the noise and chaos left her dizzy. Painfully aware that she’d made a spectacle of herself once already, she really didn’t want to be the cause of yet another scene but she had no choice. She had to get out of the station before the bloodcurdling scream building in her lungs could claw its way free.

Broken heel or not, she launched into a run and forced her way past startled passengers. The exit blessedly in sight, she raced through the glass doors and out into the biting December chill. Glad to be out of there, her waterlogged eyes struggled to adjust to the dark, dreary sky after the bright station lights. She didn’t dare slow down, desperate to escape the throng of festivities and merriment.

Right on cue, the carol singers assembled outside burst into a jovial rendition of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” full of joy and happiness.

Fools.

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 in her attempts to dodge the growing audience. She ended up sprawled across the seat and dropped 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 Tilly to make a run for it. Running away was what she did best. Call it her M.O. In truth, she’d been a fugitive for almost ten years: on the run ever since her world had come tumbling down on the night of her eighteenth birthday. The night that Dean, her brother’s best friend, had told her he didn’t want her – that she didn’t even register on his radar – although he hadn’t put it as brutally, but she’d got the message.

Tilly sighed and shook her head to clear the memory. With no place to go, she sat and stared blankly at the world going about its business until 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. Super, she could add impersonating a panda to her day from hell as well then. Instead of helping, the mascara stung her eyes and rendered her unable to focus properly. She blinked furiously and studied the man striding towards her, trying to work out if she knew him.

Unaware that he was being watched, he talked into a mobile phone. He drew alongside her and then spoke again in a deep voice that resonated throughout her entire body. The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. A surge of adrenaline rushed to her legs, numbing the pain, and her subconscious screamed at her to run.

Now!

The cloaked figure stopped mid-stride as if he’d heard her gasp. ‘Mike, I’ve gotta go,’ he said gruffly. He hung up the call instantly then backtracked until he stood directly in front of her. ‘Basmati?’ His tone had changed from a growl to one of surprise. ‘Is it really you?’

Bugger.

Tilly hadn’t heard the stupid nickname for years: nine years, four months and… sixteen days, to be exact – her disastrous birthday party – and even then, only one person had ever actually used it. That very same person she’d been hiding from all these years. She screwed her eyes tightly shut and shook her head from side to side.

No. No way.

Absolutely no way could this be happening to her. Not now. Not today of all days. Talk about kicking a girl when she was down. Although she looked quite different now. Maybe she should pretend it wasn’t her? Mistaken identity and all that? She could probably pull it off and get away from him. No harm done. Even as she tried to convince herself to do it, a little voice inside her head told her it was futile to resist.

It pained her to agree.

To not to speak to him – to not look at him and see the man he had become – would kill her. Or at the very least, it would drive her mad trying to work out why he’d strayed so far from home. Nine years was a long time. Maybe he’d have forgotten all about how she’d thrown herself at him, 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.

‘It is you,’ he said, his tone friendly and sounding pleased to see her. If only she could deny feeling the same. ‘I knew it.’

‘Yeah, it’s me.’ She stared down at his feet like the timid and shy teenager she’d been when her brother had first introduced Dean to the family. Except she wasn’t that person any more. No, she may quite probably be even worse these days but he didn’t know that. Slowly, she lifted her gaze, delaying the moment when their eyes would meet. ‘Long time no –’

Her jaw actually dropped and her mouth gaped open to betray her reaction. Smart brogue business shoes – well-polished – gave way to an expensive-looking grey pinstripe suit – Armani, if she wasn’t mistaken. He’d teamed it with a crisp white shirt and a deep red silk tie – the colour of blood – tied in a fancy Windsor knot, and then he’d completed the ensemble with a dark woollen 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? Tilly committed every inch of this new Dean to memory but couldn’t bring herself to look beyond the shirt collar and tie. Sure to be her undoing, she stared at a button on his coat and swallowed, salivating over him already. 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.

Dean pocketed his phone then joined her on the bench, sitting so close he could probably hear her heart pounding ferociously against her rib cage. ‘Fancy seeing you here.’

‘Yeah. Fancy that.’

‘Are you all set for Christmas then?’

Since when did Dean give a damn about Christmas? Ripped from her daydream – the one where Dean tracked her down to declare his undying love to her before whisking her away to a country manor – the events of the day came crashing back down on her. The shock and excitement at seeing him drained out of her, seeping out of her shoes into the concrete slabs that were as cold and harsh as the reality she faced.

‘No, not yet. Speaking of which, I really must dash, I’m afraid.’ Afraid being the operative word. Tilly stood, fighting the urge to flinch at the pain lancing through her leg. ‘Bye, then.’ She did her best to saunter off casually, rather than obviously running away. From Dean. Again!

‘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 struggled to swim against the tide.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’

‘Fine?’ He gripped her shoulders then spun her around to inspect her. She didn’t want to contemplate how bad she looked. ‘Pull the other one.’

Stunned by her body’s reaction to his slight touch, she staggered back a step. ‘I said I’m fine.’ She sounded sullen and brattish even to her own ears. ‘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. She wanted him to leave her alone. Didn’t she? In reality, she was pitifully torn between pushing him away or throwing herself into his arms and clinging on like a frightened child. ‘It doesn’t matter, just forget it.’

Dean 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 Tilly really glared at him. ‘For Pete’s sake! I said I’m fine. Just let it go.’ Argh! She’d been right to avoid looking above the shirt collar. 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 built in her core and merged 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?’ Tilly jabbed her index finger into his chest and knocked him off balance. ‘It’s not like you care or anything, we’re practically strangers,’ she said, her breath coming in ragged bursts as she unleashed her temper on him. ‘You made your choice a long time ago, Dean, and I bet you had a good laugh at my expense. You must have celebrated for days after I left town.’

‘Bullshit!’ Dean grabbed her hand. The sudden zap sent a shudder through her bones powerful enough to paralyse her entire arm. He pinned it to her side anyway and then reached for the other one but she didn’t have the physical strength to attack him any more.

‘Swearing really doesn’t mesh with your new image.’ She made 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.’ The heat from his hands warmed her skin through her winter coat and muddled her brain. Tilly tugged her arms up to try to get free but Dean held on.

‘No.’

‘You can be such a bastard.’ She tried again, twisting and pulling at the same time but it didn’t get her anywhere. If anything his grip tightened. ‘Let go of me right now, or I swear I’ll scream my head off.’

‘No, you won’t.’

‘I will.’ She met 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 any more. Maybe not even back then.’ Except he did, and the arrogant son of a bitch knew she’d been calling his bluff.

Well, she’d show him.

Tilly didn’t give a damn about her dignity or about causing a scene any more. Her need to wipe the smug look off Dean’s face outweighed all of that – 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 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 and covered her mouth with his, absorbing the sound into himself to muffle it.

The scream stopped with a squeak and Tilly’s knees gave way so he was 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 he just had to 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 went deeper than ‘want’: he needed to kiss her like he needed air to breathe.

But he couldn’t… he’d made a promise.

Dean pulled back abruptly and dropped his hands to his sides. The cold air hit his face and palms, chilling him to the bone. His breath deserted him in a rush but if he ever made a move on Phil’s little sister, things would get very complicated indeed so he ignored his racing pulse and the blood pumping through his veins. ‘Have you finished?’

She nodded then swayed precariously.

‘Whoa.’ Instinctively, he grabbed hold of her again except his hands made a beeline for her waist. ‘You OK?’

Tilly darted a glance up at his face before checking herself. ‘Thanks,’ she mumbled, talking to his torso. ‘So, er… Right. Yes. Well. It was… um… good to see you again –’ she squared her shoulders and pulled herself up the tallest she could go. ‘– but I’d best be off now.’ She took a step backwards but he matched her movements. She jinked to the opposite side to try to break free but Dean didn’t let go. He 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. Tilly looked pale even without the stark contrast of the black against her fair skin. She gulped in a deep breath then exhaled slowly, deflating in his arms and drooping over until her forehead ended up propped against his chest.

Even in high heels, she barely reached his chin, or rather high heel. Singular. 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.’ She spoke so softly 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.

No.

He took a deep breath to calm himself, determined 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 was a friend, and somehow she’d ended up with him.

Dean unclenched his jaw, determined to keep his voice gentle. ‘Why don’t I take you home?’

Tilly sobbed, little whimpers at first but soon turning into 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 gulps of air. ‘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 into his chest. ‘I don’t give a damn about my shirt. Surely you know me better than that?’

Tilly stopped fighting and relaxed her arms. She buried her face into him and his shirt soon grew damp with the deluge of tears. Dean tightened his hold until he clutched 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, Dean ignored his better judgement and stooped down to retrieve her suitcase. ‘Come on.’ Keeping one arm looped around her waist, he led her to the taxi rank outside the station where a line of black cabs waited. ‘Let’s get you out of here…’