Читать книгу Christmas Is Cancelled - Aurelia Rowl B. - Страница 12

Chapter Three

Tilly stood beneath the shower and closed her eyes. Fierce jets of water bounced off her head and shoulders with the sharpness of a million needles. Twelve hours or so ago, she’d been doing the same thing, or trying to anyway under the poor excuse of a shower back home. Except she didn’t have a home any more.

Tears collected inside her eyelids, seeking a way out but Tilly scrunched her eyes tightly shut. Determined not to waste any more tears over Brian, she blinked the moisture back. The cheating bastard wasn’t worth it. Eyes stinging, she turned so the spray hit her full in the face. The powerhouse of a shower was exactly what she needed to wash away all trace of her old life. Dull and ordinary at its best, her entire adult life had been boring and humdrum at its worst. She imagined it running off her in black rivers, merging with her leftover makeup, before swirling down the plughole.

Unable to resist Dean’s expensive-looking toiletries, Tilly scrubbed at her skin with zealous abandon so that 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. A few muffled curses echoed through the floorboards but then the banging stopped, replaced by shuffling out on the landing before footsteps clattered down the stairs only to come straight back up again.

Her curiosity piqued, Tilly tugged the towel tightly around her then inched open the door. She poked her head through the gap and found the landing empty. With no sign of Dean nor any clue of his activity, she left the safety of the locked bathroom and streaked across the landing. Heart racing, she ran straight into the spare room, slamming the door behind her. She let the towel drop to the floor and raided her suitcase, pulling out her favourite comfort clothes of yoga pants and a tie-front shirt.

After dressing in record time, she scraped her wet hair back into a twist then defiantly secured it with the tortoiseshell clip Brian had always loathed. Less than five minutes after jumping out of the shower, she followed Dean downstairs only to be confronted by the sight of him mid-fight with an artificial Christmas tree.

Almost as tall as him, the green monstrosity filled up the entire corner of the room with Dean on the losing side by the look of it. Not that it had dampened his enthusiasm in the slightest judging from his merrily hummed rendition of ‘Jingle Bells’.

‘Need a hand?’ she asked, struggling not to laugh.

Dean turned and threw her an outlandish grin, undermining her efforts. ‘I don’t suppose you have any body armour in that suitcase of yours?’

‘No, sorry.’ Her giggle leaped out of her throat.

‘Never mind. Now don’t just stand there; this is war.’ He dived back into the heart of the tree with a wild battle cry.

For some bizarre reason, the rakes in the historical romances her mum had always loved sprang to mind – those same ones Tilly had then ‘borrowed’ and read by torchlight at night. Only now did she understand why the heroines swooned at the rakes’ feet, having come face to face with such raw enthusiasm too contagious to resist.

Three hours later and down to the dregs of the second bottle, they high-fived triumphantly then collapsed back onto the sofa. The tree erected and decorated, its lights twinkled away in full multicolour glory despite looking ridiculously out of place in the stylish surroundings.

Her muscles aching from the impromptu workout and too much laughter, Tilly leaned back against the soft leather and admired their handiwork. ‘It’s bloody awful, but I love it.’ She darted a glance at her partner-in-crime but he kept his gaze fixed on the tree.

‘You will stay, won’t you?’ Dean spoke quietly, a hint of nervousness in his tone. He brushed his fingers over the back of her hand and sent shivers down her spine, turning the unfamiliar lightness in her soul into something much more thrilling, much deeper, and much more dangerous. ‘Not just tonight, but for the rest of Christmas?’

Would she?

The idea certainly appealed and given the choice of whom she’d rather spend Christmas with – between Brian, Phil, or Dean – she’d pick the same option every single time. No contest. If nothing else, Dean offered a roof over her head for a couple of days and the chance to forget her problems. It wasn’t like they wouldn’t still be there waiting for her, like a black hole in her peripheral vision, but time out to regroup could only be beneficial.

Perhaps the more pertinent question then was, should she?

Dean waited patiently for her answer, his gaze fixed on the tree. Even after he’d humiliated her all those years before by publicly rejecting her – turning her into a laughing stock in front of all of her friends at her own birthday party – she’d never fallen out of love with him. The damage had already been done. With Dean setting the benchmark, no other man stood a chance of capturing both her heart and her soul. Not even Brian.

Especially not Brian.

Truth be told, she’d gone out of her way to find Dean’s opposite; someone steady and reliable, responsible and financially viable. Basically all the things Phil would approve of but look where that had got her. Doing the safe thing hadn’t worked out for her, so maybe – just maybe – she should start taking some risks again. Dean already had her heart so by that reasoning she had nothing left to lose but if there was even a remote chance of something happening between them, then it had to be worth exploring, surely?

Decision made, she squeezed Dean’s hand and waited for him to turn to her, meeting his anxious gaze head on. ‘I’d love to.’

A beatific smile erupted on his face that warmed her from her head to her toes and everywhere in between. ‘Great!’ With equal enthusiasm, he tugged on her hand, pulling her across his lap then wrapping his arms around her for a hug.

Tilly’s breath caught in her throat but she embraced him back tightly. Drawn together like magnets, she tilted her head up and moved towards him. Dean dipped his head to meet her halfway. His eyes darkened and her heart galloped, his lips drawing tantalisingly near. Impossible to keep open, her eyelids fluttered closed in anticipation and she waited. Expectant. Except nothing happened.

‘I’m sorry, I can’t,’ Dean murmured.

‘What?’ Tilly opened her eyes. So much turmoil swirled in Dean’s gaze, her own pulse spiked. ‘Why not?’ she whispered, raising her hand to cup his cheek.

Dean screwed his eyes tight shut and pulled back from her but then contradicted himself by leaning into her touch. His stubble scratched her palm like fine sandpaper. The most vulnerable she’d ever seen him, Tilly sensed his control wavering. Quite frankly, she’d be a damn fool to turn down the best opportunity she could ever hope to get. Her pulse kicked again and she made her move, tentatively brushing her lips against Dean’s.

Years of longing came to fruition and left her light-headed but it paled in comparison to the intense shudder that ripped through Dean. She did it again, lingering this time. His lips were soft and warm, unyielding beneath hers yet he hadn’t pushed her away. Emboldened, Tilly traced her tongue over his lips, desperate to taste him.

Dean’s spine tingling groan could have been hot-wired directly to her core. Suddenly, he kissed her back, using his lips and tongue to expertly tease hers, over and over again, until her bones melted. A shrill ringing erupted from her handbag and they both jumped. ‘Ignore it,’ he mumbled against her lips, parting them. His tongue traced the fullness of her bottom lip and sought permission to enter.

Tilly could only moan, communicating her agreement by granting access.

Appeased, Dean dipped the tip of his tongue inside her mouth. 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 sat astride his lap with her legs straddling his hips. She rocked back and forth against him, able to tell just how much of an effect she had on him through her lightweight trousers.

A growl exploded from Dean’s chest and he raised his hand, fisting it in her hair. He slipped his other hand beneath her shirt, spanning her lower back and scorching her bare skin. Dean seized control of the tempo and moved her rhythmically against him.

Tilly panted, unbelievably close to coming, but then her mobile rang again. She broke off the kiss and dropped her head against his shoulder. ‘God damn it!’

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

‘I better had.’ She lifted her head up to meet Dean’s gaze. Her heart skipped a beat at the sight of his flushed cheeks and his eyes, black and full of desire. His ruffled hair tempted her to mess it up even more by running her fingers through the silky strands all over again, but the ringing phone refused to go away. ‘It’s Phil. He’ll only keep on trying until I answer. We’d never get any peace.’

Dean frowned and muttered, ‘I should have known.’ He dropped his hands limply to his sides, releasing her.

‘Just give me two minutes to get rid of him, okay?’ She climbed 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, amplified by the sudden absence of any other sound. Something in his tone sent a chill right through her.

Tilly spun around, hoping to see a smile playing on his lips to let her know it was a joke but his expression was deadly serious. ‘Wh–’

Right on cue her mobile rang again.

Dean’s fists clenched. ‘Hadn’t you better get that?’ His voice came out cold and dismissive.

‘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 her brother to find out what the hell had got into Dean. Sat perfectly still on the sofa, he didn’t so much as glance at her. Conflicted and closed off, he’d shut her out. He appeared to be fighting some internal battle of his own that she wasn’t privy to, but she had a pretty good idea it had something to do with Phil.

As if she’d called Dean’s name, he lifted his head to study her, a question in the arch of his eyebrows. She met his cloaked gaze and searched his eyes but she might as well have been looking at a mannequin. Dean shook his head slowly and climbed off the sofa far more elegantly than she could ever dream of achieving, then started to walk around her.

Aware that if she didn’t do something now, she’d lose him, Tilly lunged and grabbed hold of Dean’s hand. She pulled him to a stop then rose onto her tiptoes to plant a silent kiss on his lips. Caught by surprise, Dean’s smile reached all the way to his eyes. Disaster averted, she put the phone back to her ear. ‘Sorry, Phil, can you say that again?’

Dean chuckled and wandered into the kitchen. The smell of cooking soon reached her nose, prompting her tummy to let out an almighty roar. Phil heard it too, at the other end of the line, giving her the perfect excuse to finally get him off the phone.

Tilly hit the off button and stowed the phone in her bag. She entered the kitchen to find Dean stood at the cooker with his back to her. Oblivious to her arrival, he reached out to pick up chopped peppers and onions in one large handful then tossed them into a frying pan. ‘I’ve turned it off now,’ she said, raising her voice to be heard over the loud sizzle.

‘Oh, okay.’ Dean picked up a wooden spoon and stirred his creation, releasing an incredible aroma to tease her taste buds.

‘Something smells good.’

‘Penne della casa Deano. I hope you’re hungry?’ He finally turned around to face her, his face slightly flushed from the heat of the stove.

She opened her mouth to answer but her belly let out another loud roar beating her to it.

Dean smiled and nodded towards the table, now fully laid. ‘Grab a seat, it won’t be long.’ He’d certainly kept himself busy while she’d been stuck on the phone to Phil; there was even a bowl of freshly cut crusty baguette in the centre.

Phil.

Could he really be a factor in Dean’s switching moods?

Tilly crossed the room then sank onto a chair. A barrage of questions ambushed her head, matched by a flood of mixed emotions in her heart. She snatched up a chunk of bread, picking out crumbs one at a time to give her hands something to do.

***

Dean dumped the pasta into two bowls, not caring about the splatters on the counters for once.

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 – probably the latter – but now he’d never know.

Annoyed at himself as much as Phil, Dean grabbed a bowl in each hand then turned towards the table. Tilly was sat bolt upright, staring into space again, with her brows knitted together and her mouth tight. Her fingers pecked at a lump of baguette like a bird, turning it into a hollow tube. His feet turned to lead and his step faltered.

‘Penny for them?’ he asked.

Tilly yelped, startled from her reverie. She tilted her head up to look at him and the despondent look in her eyes vanished, replaced by a bright spark. Her lips parted and she dazzled him with a smile. Whatever troubled her, it seemed unlikely that he could be the source.

‘Oh, it’s nothing much,’ she said. ‘I was just thinking about Phil.’

‘Right.’ Dean resisted the need to squirm for fear of slopping pasta in her lap and plonked the bowls roughly onto the table.

‘Thanks, this looks great!’

‘So is he okay about you spending Christmas with me?’

Tilly hesitated, her loaded fork raised halfway to her mouth. A guilty flush crept into her cheeks and she made a great show of looking down at the food. After an agonising pause, she shrugged then thrust the fork into her mouth so she physically couldn’t say any more.

A prickle of terror laced with excitement raced along Dean’s spine. ‘He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?’

Her cheeks reddened even more and she avoided his gaze. ‘Mmmh, so good,’ she moaned, swallowing down the forkful then chasing it down with another with great gusto. If she did it with the intention of distracting him then it worked.

Watching Tilly eat was crazily seductive and 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 about what had happened to her and he was too flustered to ask. Their bowls lay empty, mopped clean with the bread, and Dean cast a glance at the clock.

‘Bloody hell!’ He jerked back into his seat. ‘It’s after midnight already.’

‘Really?’ Tilly followed his gaze. ‘That would explain why I can’t keep my eyelids open.’ She turned back to him and smiled sleepily. ‘Do you mind if I go on up to bed?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Are you coming too?’

‘No, not yet.’ The later he could put off going to bed, the better. Christmas Eve was his worst night of the year, closely followed by Christmas Day. ‘I’ll clear up here first.’

‘Oh. Let me give you a hand,’ she said, stifling a yawn.

‘No, you’re okay, I’ve got it covered. Besides, you’re my guest.’

‘You’re sure?’

‘I’m sure. Just don’t go getting all excited thinking Father Christmas has arrived if you happen to hear me out on the landing when I come up to bed.’

Tilly laughed and the sound wrapped itself around him like comfort blanket. ‘Right, I’ll try to remember.’ She climbed out of her seat to leave but then she paused beside him and leaned down to kiss his cheek. ‘Good night, Dean.’

‘Good night.’ Dean listened to her footsteps all the way to the top of the stairs. A door closed and he let out the deep breath he’d been holding.

Even stripped of makeup, Tilly’s natural beauty outshone all 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. They never really gave a damn about him, only interested in the man he’d become and how much money he had in the bank. Not Tilly though. He’d been scruffy and penniless yet she’d still cared for him.