Holly’s First Noel

Faye Robertson

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Faye Robertson. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

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Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Lovestruck is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

Edited by Heather Howland

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition December 2011

To Tony & Chris, my Kiwi boys

Chapter One

“I’m moving out.”

Holly gripped the mobile phone tightly and stared at the classroom before her with blind eyes, struggling to make sense of his words. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” Jackson sounded impatient. Jackson was always impatient. It was his default setting, which was the main reason she’d answered the phone even though she was in class, knowing he’d continue to call until she did so. But then he always assumed he took precedence over whatever else she happened to be doing at the time. “I’ve packed up my stuff,” he continued matter-of-factly, as if he were telling her he’d picked up the bread and milk she’d asked him to get after work. “I’ll be gone before you get home.”

In front of her, the class of teenagers created a cacophony of sound with their glockenspiels, the noise sounding exactly like the collision of thoughts and emotions inside her. She turned away, walked into the storeroom, and stared out the window. The weatherman had forecast snow for a magical Christmas, but in her hometown of Devon, the English day remained stubbornly wet and dreary. Presumably, her expression was beginning to look equally as bleak.

“You can’t!” Her brain was cloudy with bewilderment. “I’ve already made it.”

“What?” His voice grew even more fractious. “Made what?”

“The Christmas pudding. It’s all ready.”

Holly could barely make out the sound of teeth being ground. “I don’t care about the Christmas pudding, Holly. Fuck the pudding. I can’t do this anymore. It’s over, and I don’t want to pretend it’s not because it’s the bloody festive season.”

She went completely cold, then hot, then cold again, all in the space of about ten seconds. “You’re leaving me?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Come on, love. You’re not really surprised, surely? It’s been ages since things have been right between us. We argue all the time. We’ve got nothing in common—you hate the whole lifestyle surrounding the station, and you know teachers bore me rigid.” Jackson was a firefighter. Holly had rather liked the heroic alpha-male thing, and the uniform was kind of a turn on. The drinking, prank-pulling, partying, immature boys-all-together way of life, not so much.

“I thought we got on well,” she said softly, needing to protest against this casual destruction of her life.

“Come on, Hol.” His voice turned pleading. “We were fine all the time we were in bed. But can you even remember the last time we slept together?”

“Of course! It was a Thursday.” She bit her lip as he fell silent. She hadn’t meant to sound so flippant. It was true—they hadn’t had sex for a while. Of course he’d be fed up about it.

That had to be what all this was about—he was desperate for a shag. He was a bloke, after all.

She turned from the window and cursed under her breath as she banged an ankle on a rack of tambourines, the clatter discordant, mirroring her nerves. The storeroom was cold, damp, and claustrophobic, giving her the feeling of being in a coffin. She refused to consider how appropriate that felt. Her relationship was not twisting in its death throes.

She ran a hand through her hair as he heaved another sigh. “Look, I know it’s been difficult lately, but what with the school inspection and getting ready for Christmas…I’ve been tired…”

“That’s just an excuse. Deep down, you know it’s over. I don’t want to fight anymore. Can’t we end this without any acrimony?”

“But what about the stollen?”

“The stolen what?” Now he was annoyed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about half the time. You never finish sentences, and you expect me to read your mind. You drive me nuts!”

“Not stolen,” she said miserably, “stollen. The Christmas cake. I’ve already bought everything for Christmas Day. Your family is coming around, remember?”

“No,” he said gently. “They won’t be.”

Disbelief settled over her like the snow everyone was wishing for, and she felt slightly sick. Was this some sort of joke? But then the quiet pity in his voice finally sank in and she immediately knew it wasn’t. He was actually finishing with her. He really wanted out.

“Is this just about the sex?” Her voice was sharp, because his criticism of her sex drive stung. She liked sex—she just wasn’t sure why the frequency had dropped off. “That’s a pretty crappy excuse to end a relationship, Jackson. You could’ve discussed it with me.”

“I’ve tried discussing it with you.”

She ignored the unease that made her stomach clench, deciding attack was the best form of defense. “Is there someone else?”

“No,” he said, surprisingly patient. “And it’s not just about sex. It’s everything. Like the fact that you said you don’t want to come to the station party on Christmas Eve. You even refused to take part in the Secret Santa.”

“The Secret Santa sucks. The guys always buy the women huge dildos.”

“It’s supposed to be a laugh,” he snapped, “but that’s the problem—we don’t laugh at the same things anymore.” He sighed. “I’m not sure we ever did. We’ve had some good times, Hol. But it’s come to an end. Let’s not flog a dead horse, eh?”

“I…” Her voice drifted away like a snowflake. She couldn’t argue with him—it would be like trying to prove red was blue. But even so, she couldn’t let their relationship come to an end like this. Not right before Christmas. “We can work on this, can’t we?”

“Holly…” His voice was full of pity, and that was worse than anything he could have said.

The anger crested and broke over. Tears welled in her eyes. “I thought you loved me.”

“I do… I did.” He sounded helpless. “But we were crap together, Hol. You’re miserable all the time. You want to be happy, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The tears tipped over her lashes and down her face. He was right—she wasn’t happy. Hadn’t been for a while now. But why did it have to surface now, a week before Christmas? The season of fucking festive cheer?

Behind her, the door opened and closed and she turned, suddenly realizing her class had probably heard everything she’d said. She’d completely forgotten they were there. Crap. She hardly ever took a phone call at school, and she’d assumed this one would only take seconds. “I’ve got to go.”

She hung up without saying anything else, but just as she wiped her face and prepared to walk back into the room, someone pushed the door to the storeroom closed.

“Miss Jones is taking a private phone call,” she heard a man say to the classroom. “I’ll be taking you for the last five minutes. Now, I want you all to put away your instruments and finish off your worksheets. And Liam? Don’t stick that in there. Nobody wants to see that. Take it out, please.”

It was the unfortunately named Noel Coward, a rather intimidating science nerd who wore tweed jackets like the professor from Goodbye, Mr. Chips. He taught fifth period in the classroom next to the music room.

Oh, God. One of her students must have overheard her, gone into his room, and told him she needed help. Holly sat and put her head in her hands. She and Noel had never quite seen eye-to-eye, mainly because his very presence pushed her beyond good sense. Once, on hearing he was into astronomy, she’d blurted out the really bad joke her brother-in-law had told her about the black hole near Uranus, and he’d just stared at her as if she’d grown horns. Now he was going to think she was awkward and totally flaky.

She sat there until the bell went, watching the motes of dust hang like lost dreams in the fading light, listening to Noel’s deep voice instruct the class, calmly keeping control. His gentle baritone usually strummed her like a guitar, making her shiver. Now, she swallowed at the commanding tone of it, imagining the disapproving look he was going to give her. She hoped he’d wait until the kids vacated the classroom and then follow them out, but with her luck, of course that would never happen. After the students clattered outside, she heard the door close and then footsteps echo across the music room to the storeroom door, which squeaked open. She stared at his shoes for a moment before gradually raising her eyes to his.

With the patches on his elbows and the dark-rimmed glasses, Noel Coward looked every inch the science professor. True, his hair was dark brown and thick, whereas most of the other teachers in his department had graying, straggly mops. His eyes were a startling, almost unreal turquoise blue. And it was also true that if you looked really closely, underneath the tweed jacket and corduroy trousers, he was tall and broad shouldered. She’d often thought that with his physique, he would have been a good contender for Jackson’s annual firefighter calendar. Except for the fact that, instead of a sultry come-hither leer, he tended to sport a look that said, I’m sorry, what do you mean you don’t understand that energy is equal to mass times the speed of light squared?

She found him vastly intimidating, which was odd considering many of her students said he was their favorite teacher, bar herself of course.

She stood and folded her arms, hoping her mascara hadn’t given her panda eyes. “Thank you,” she said stiffly.

“You’re welcome.” He studied her, frowning slightly. “Are you okay?”

She rubbed her nose. “Are you going to report me?”

He gave her the puzzled look she was sure he reserved just for her. “Report you? For what?”

“Freaking out in class.”

“I don’t think taking a personal phone call and receiving upsetting news is officially regarded as freaking out, Miss Jones, although I haven’t read my contract lately.”

Holly blinked. That was another thing—he never called her by her first name. She found that amusing, daunting, and a tiny bit sexy. Very white collar, as if she were his personal assistant. Can you take some dictation, Miss Jones? Come and sit on my knee.

“Oh. Thank you.” This was all so formal, despite the naughty turn her thoughts had taken. Jackson had just taken her life and snapped it in two, and here she was exchanging pleasantries with the perfect English gentleman. It was oddly surreal.

Noel looked at her over the top of his glasses. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Holly’s bottom lip trembled. He was the last teacher in the school she would ever have imagined talking to about personal matters, but the look in his blue eyes was concerned, and before she could stop it, a tear rolled down her cheek. “Jackson’s leaving me,” she said and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Oh, dear.” He stared at her for a moment, and she knew her emotion must be embarrassing him, but she couldn’t stop the tears or the muffled snort that insisted on escaping her lips. She half expected him to say, Stiff upper lip, old girl, and clap her heartily on the back, but he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped closer, and the next thing she knew, his arms were around her.

She froze for a moment, shocked by the physical contact and his compassion. But then he murmured, “There, there,” and she melted and leaned against his chest, soaking his shirt with her tears.

By the time her sobs turned into sniffles, she’d gradually become aware that he was stroking her back. His hands were warm and gentle, and his shirt smelled of clean washing powder and some subtle sandalwood-based scent that gave her goose bumps. She knew she should pull away and apologize, but she lingered for a moment longer, finding his embrace more comforting than she would have thought possible.

“How awful,” he said as she quieted. “The week before Christmas. What an arsehole.”

“Yes.” She nodded, still unable to peel herself away from his chest. “He is. The biggest hole outside Uranus. Oh, God.” She cringed and slapped a hand over her mouth, but he only chuckled. “You didn’t think that was funny last time,” she said in a small voice.

“You took me by surprise. I laughed afterward.” He was stroking her hair now. It was strangely intimate, and it made her heart thud loudly in her ears. Why hadn’t he run the other direction the second she fell apart? It’s what Jackson would have done. Hell, what any man she’d been with would have done.

Flustered, she said, “He knew I’ve already done all the cooking, but do you know what he said? ‘Fuck the pudding.’”

“Did he know you don’t do sex with festive desserts?”

She lifted her head. “Did you just make a joke?”

“Barely.” He let his arms drop and stepped back. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make light of the situation.”

“No, it’s okay. It was quite funny, actually. I didn’t think you had it in you.” She wiped her face, realizing as she saw his raised eyebrow that she’d just insulted him. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure the last thing you needed on the final day of term was to be dissed by a wailing woman.”

“Hmm.” The look on his face was undecipherable. Was he agreeing or disagreeing with her?

She sighed and sat down heavily on one of the spare chairs. “I’ve soaked your shirt, and now I’m taking up your lunch break. Thanks for your help. And for the hug. I really appreciate it.” And she did. His arms had been very warm and…reassuring.

She waited for him to give a curt nod and bid her good-bye, taking the opportunity to escape the mad woman with the panda eyes and wet nose. He didn’t move, though. He looked out the window for a moment, a slight frown conveying some kind of inner dilemma.

Then his gaze moved back to her, studying her as if she were one of the experiments in his lab. She could almost see the thought bubbles rising from his head like effervescence in a test tube.

Finally, he gestured to the storeroom door. “Get your coat. I’m taking you out for coffee.”

“Huh?” She stared at him blankly.

“You need to talk to someone, and I need coffee. It would make sense to do the two things at the same time, in my opinion.” He held out his hand. “Come on. I’ll even buy you an end-of-term muffin. Consider it an early Christmas present.”

…

Noel fetched his big black umbrella from his classroom and sheltered her beneath it as they walked to the local café. He tried not to notice how her arm brushed his as she squeezed closer to avoid the rain, but the smell of roses that came from her damp skin and hair ensnared him, bringing intelligent conversation to a halt.

He groaned inwardly. What are you doing taking her to lunch, Noel? Have you completely lost your marbles? The poor girl had just been dumped by her boyfriend. The last thing she needed was another guy trying to shoulder his way into her life.

Not that he was doing that, of course. Holly had looked miserable standing in the storeroom, clearly in need of someone to talk to, and his gentlemanly instincts had taken over, prompting him to ask her to lunch. It was nothing more than that, he told himself, trying not to stare as she tucked her golden curls behind her ear, exposing the pale, smooth skin of her neck. Yeah, he thought. Your motives are completely honorable, Noel. He thought of Ella, and, guilt flooding him, he looked away.

They arrived at the café, and he opened the door and motioned for her to precede him. The bell jangled as the door swung shut behind them, adding to the Christmas-y feel already suggested by the tree in the corner and the gold and silver decorations on the tables. The windows had steamed up, and the smell of coffee and mince pies wound around him like festive ribbon, conjuring up comforting memories of the Christmas magic he’d felt as a child.

Holly’s nose was reindeer red, but her damp, golden hair sparkled like glitter. He motioned for her to sit at a round table in the corner, buying them each a large apricot-and-cream-cheese muffin and a latte before joining her.

He hung his gray wool coat over the back of the chair opposite her, sat, and leaned back, studying her thoughtfully. She was staring out the window at the rain, lost in thought. No change there, then. Whenever he saw her, Holly Jones appeared in a world of her own. And when she did notice him, she always gave him a cool, slightly alarmed look, as if she’d heard he strangled kittens in his spare time.

Her blond curls were damp and tangled, her mascara smudged, and her face pale, but she was still incredibly beautiful. With a sigh, he took off his glasses and set them on the table. No, taking a distressed woman to lunch was definitely not one of his brightest ideas.

She glanced over, looking surprised to see him sitting there, as if she’d forgotten he was the one who’d invited her out. “Sorry.” She tucked her hair behind her ears and wiped beneath her eyes. “I was just thinking.”

“Are you planning revenge? You don’t own a flamethrower or anything, do you?”

Her lips curved. “No. I’m not angry at him, not really. I mean, I’m upset that he chose to tell me now, a week before Christmas, but I’m even more upset that I’m mostly upset about the timing, you know?”

He tried to process her words. He considered himself a fairly intellectual kind of guy and happily read the Journal of Applied Physics for pleasure, but Holly Jones tested his brain more than the most complex scientific theories. “Sort of.”

She smiled sadly. “Sorry. I forget the person I’m talking to isn’t in my head with me. I always assume everyone knows what I’m talking about. Jackson told me it drives him nuts.” She bit her lip.

Noel tipped his head. “It’s true that a conversation with you is rather like solving a Rubik’s Cube. But I like puzzles.”

She smiled then, and even though it was halfhearted, it lit up her face like the fairy lights on the Christmas tree behind her. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So, why did he end your relationship now?”

She sat back as the waitress brought over their coffees, waiting until the girl had delivered the muffins before leaning forward to open a packet of sugar and stir it slowly into the latte’s milky foam. “I didn’t like the Secret Santa presents they give women at the station.”

“Why? What are they?” he asked, already having an idea. The firefighters he’d met weren’t known for their subtlety.

She shrugged gloomily, looking out the window. “Let’s just say, now that I’m going to be alone at Christmas, I’m starting to have second thoughts about turning it down.”

Noel couldn’t help it—the laugh bubbled up inside him and spilled out, making her look up in surprise. “Sorry,” he said, pulling an eek face. “I wasn’t laughing at you. It’s just so incredibly tacky and offensive.”

She sighed heavily and joined him, giving a defeated chuckle. “No, you’re right, it is funny. In a very sad, inevitable kind of way. That wasn’t the reason why we broke up, of course—at least, not the only reason. I think we both knew it was coming, but he was the only one brave enough to voice it.”

Noel sipped his coffee. “What are you going to do?”

She looked out the window again, her eyes taking on that faraway look he knew so well. “I don’t know. His family was supposed to be spending Christmas Day with us. I’ve got most of the food, I’d ordered a huge turkey, bought the mince pies, and made the pudding.”

“Actually, in this case I think Jackson was right,” he said. “Fuck the pudding. I’m sure you can find something more exciting to do than spend Christmas Day entertaining his second cousins once removed.”

She laughed. “You know, you’re not at all what I thought you’d be.”

He took a bite out of the muffin. “What did you think I’d be?”

“Stuffy. Superior.”

He surveyed her with amusement. “I’m a science teacher. Of course I’m stuffy and superior.”

“No, you’re not. Maybe you pretend to be because you think science teachers should be like that. But in reality, you’re a knight in shining armor, rescuing damsels in distress. I’m going to call you Noel the Brave from now on.”

He laughed. “I can cope with that.”

She nibbled on her muffin, still curious. “When’s your birthday?”

“You trying to work out my star sign?”

She gave him a wry look. “I was thinking about your name. I’m guessing you were born around Christmas?”

“Yep. Christmas Day, actually.”

“Do you mind having a Christmas name?”

“Hey, I’m just glad they didn’t call me Rudolph.”

She chuckled. “Mine’s on Boxing Day. Having a Christmas birthday sucks, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged. “I’m not a big fan of the festive season. It doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Why don’t you like Christmas? I thought everyone liked Christmas.”

He looked down at his cup, turning it around in the saucer. “My wife died on Christmas Eve.”

“Oh.” She was silent for a moment. Then she reached out and rested her hand on his. “Noel, I’m so sorry. How long ago?”

He sighed. “Three years. We’d only been married a year when she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

“Oh, God, that’s so awful. How absolutely shit for you both.”

He gave a short laugh then, meeting her sympathetic gaze. “Yes it was. Beautifully put.”

Her hand was warm on his. She kept it there for a moment as their gazes met, and he saw the compassion and concern in her eyes. His heart rate increased a little, and he forced himself to look away.

She withdrew her hand and cleared her throat. “So, what are you doing for Christmas? Do you spend it with family?”

“No. My father died when I was young. My mother remarried and lives in the States. I’ve got two brothers but they have their own families and, to be honest, I don’t want to spoil their Christmas by moping about.” He sipped his coffee. “I have a friend who owns a house in Scotland. He’s going away this year and asked if I’d like to house-sit, so I’m going to spend a few days there, eat beans on toast for Christmas dinner, drink copious amounts of Laphroaig whisky, and watch a variety of mindless action movies on DVD until I feel ready to return to the land of the living.”

She smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I envy you, in a way. No pressure to produce the perfect dinner, no need to entertain. No mounds of washing up!”

“Absolutely.” He studied her. “So, what are you going to do this Christmas now that Jackass has left the building?”

She laughed at that. “I don’t know. My parents spend Christmas at a hotel with friends—they won’t want me around. I could go to my sister’s, but she has four kids and…” Holly pulled a face.

“You don’t like kids?”

“I love kids. I don’t like my sister’s kids. They’re completely feral and they hate me.”

He started to laugh. “I’m sure they don’t hate you.”

“They have a voodoo doll of me that they stick pins in. I swear.”

Smiling, he said, “Friends, then? You must have lots of Bridget Jones–style girlfriends you can wail to.”

“Cassie’s going to Spain with her boyfriend. Laura’s still in Australia. And anyway, I’d rather do my wailing to a class of teenagers or complete strangers.” She looked at his shirt. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

He glanced at the patch she’d made damp with her tears. “It’s okay. It’s not every day I get to comfort a beautiful crying woman.”

The words slipped through his internal vetting system, leaving his mouth before he’d had a chance to think about them, and he cursed himself as her eyebrows rose. Now she’d think he was trying to come on to her. Her boyfriend’s just walked out on her, idiot, he scolded himself. That’s not what she needs right now. “You should do something on Christmas Day. You don’t want to turn into an old grouch like me.”

She looked out the window again, her cheeks still slightly pink. Her shoulders slumped as if she’d suddenly remembered the phone call. “I guess I’d better cancel the turkey,” she said absently. She sipped her coffee, still looking out of the window. “It’s supposed to be three feet by Christmas Day.”

He blinked. “The turkey?”

She glanced at him then, smiling wryly. “No, the snow. Sorry. I’d moved on in my head.” Her gaze returned to the wet scene outside. “I guess now I won’t need the Christmas stockings I’d bought.” Her voice was low, wistful.

Noel shrugged. “You never know. Santa might still come, if you’ve been very good.”

She stared at him, then to his complete surprise, turned scarlet. “I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”

He studied her, amused. “Why’s that embarrassing? Lots of people buy Christmas stockings.”

“I wasn’t talking about the woolly type you hang over the fireplace.”

He processed that information surprisingly slowly, despite the fact his mother had always insisted his scientific mind was second only to Einstein’s. “Huh.”

“I was trying to spice up our sex life,” she continued. “We hadn’t slept together in months and I thought some sexy underwear might help…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, God. My lips won’t stop moving. I’m so sorry. I have some sort of deficiency, I swear.”

He was highly amused now—and a little too turned on by the thought of Holly Jones in stockings—but he tried not to smile as he finished his muffin. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I haven’t had sex in three years, so you’re in good company.”

“Yes, but you have a good excuse—you’re in mourning. I don’t know what mine is. We just drifted apart. I don’t know why. I used to like lots of sex.” She went scarlet again as he raised an eyebrow, and then she leaned forward and rested her head on the table. “Oh, God.”

Noel watched her, unable to suppress a chuckle. Suddenly, he had an idea. It was a terrible idea, and he was sure he was going to regret it as soon as he’d said it, but the moment it popped into his head, he knew he had to ask. “You know what you should do for Christmas?”

She sat up, resting her palms on her hot cheeks. “Spend the week sewing my lips together?”

He grinned. “Come to Scotland with me.”

Chapter Two

Holly stared at him. Surely she’d heard wrong. “What?” she asked stupidly. Why did he always make her feel as if he was head of Mensa and she was the forerunner for the role of village idiot?

Noel finished off his coffee and pushed his cup away. “It’s a big house. There are four bedrooms and two living rooms. It’s in the middle of beautiful countryside and it’s guaranteed to snow.”

She blinked at him. It didn’t make sense. He wanted to get away for Christmas—why would he ask her to go with him? Unless… Jeez. She had just talked about stockings and liking lots of sex. What guy wouldn’t get ideas after that sort of conversation?

“It’s not a come on,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “You don’t have to speak to me at all if you don’t want. You can spend the whole weekend in your room, or come and watch DVDs with me and get drunk. I don’t mind. You look like you need a break, that’s all.” He frowned at her smile. “It’s not a proposal or anything.”

“You’re very sweet.”

“I’m really not. I’ll be inebriated most of the time. I’ll probably be obnoxious and insult you and fall into a coma on the sofa.” He picked up his glasses and put them on as she laughed. “Anyway, the offer’s there. We’d better get back now. Are you all right to take period six?”

She stood, surprised, as he retrieved her coat and held it up for her to slip her arms into. “Yes, I’ll be fine, thanks. Wow, you really are an old-fashioned gentleman, aren’t you?”

“It’s the way I was brought up.” He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to school, Miss Jones.”

Laughing, she said, “If we’re going to spend Christmas together, you’re going to have to stop calling me that.”

He looked surprised as he opened the door and popped his umbrella. “You’re coming to Scotland with me?”

She hesitated for a moment on the doorstep. Was she? Did she really want to spend Christmas weekend with a bereaving science nut who was intent on drinking himself into a stupor?

Actually, she thought with surprise, yes, she did. At least, she found the idea of the retreat in Scotland, miles away from Jackson and his family and her lonely house, greatly appealing. And as for Noel, he wasn’t quite the stuffy professor he…well, professed to be. He was actually rather funny. She liked him, and the thought of getting to know him a little better would be nice. As a colleague, of course. Nothing more.

She totally wasn’t going to think about how the hairs on the back of her neck rose up when he looked at her over the top of his glasses.

She stepped onto the wet pavement and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as she ducked out of the incessant rain. “Might as well. We can have a ‘Who’s going to be most miserable on Christmas Day’ competition.”

“I’ll win,” he said. “I win every year.”

“I’m sure I can give you a run for your money.”

“Well, I can drink more than you can.”

“Ha! Don’t bet on it. I’ve been known to drink copious amounts of chardonnay at certain times of the month.”

He snorted. “Malt whisky’s what you need, girl. That’ll put hairs on your chest.”

“My breasts are perfectly nice hairless, thank you very much.”

His lips curved. “Well, thank you for filling my head with that image just as I go into a lesson on voltage and electrical currents.”

“It’s the last day of term,” she said. “Put on a DVD like everyone else, for God’s sake.”

He glanced down at her. “Holly, I’ll say it one last time and then I won’t say it again. I didn’t ask you to Scotland for any other reason than that I thought you could do with somewhere quiet to go.”

“Shucks,” she said. “And there’s me hoping it was for the sex.” His eyes widened, and she squeezed his arm. “Noel, I’m joking. I’ll keep out of your way, I promise. I won’t make a nuisance out of myself.”

“That wasn’t what I said.”

“I know. But it’s your retreat—your place to hide when you’re feeling low. I’m not going to intrude on that.”

They walked in silence for a while, listening to the patter of rain on the umbrella. Holly mused on the answer she’d given him as she splashed through the puddles, conscious of the warmth of his arm even through the thick woolen coat. Had she made the right decision? Was she crazy, agreeing to travel all the way up to Scotland with a man she hardly knew to spend a long weekend with him—and Christmas weekend at that?

“Do you like Christmas?” Noel asked.

She thought about it. “Usually I’d say I loved it. I mean, that’s what we’re supposed to say, isn’t it? It’s a magical time of year, a special time to spend with our loved ones.” She sighed. “I have to admit, though, that over the last few years it’s become more of a drudge. A slog of buying presents, making food nobody eats because they’re full, and watching TV programs I hate to placate Jackson because he’s cross I don’t want to go out partying.”

“You don’t like partying?”

“I hate it,” she admitted. It was a relief to say it out loud. “I’m never happier than when I’m at home with a good book, the iPod playing, a glass of white wine in my hand, and a box of Milk Tray at my fingertips.”

He laughed and she glared at him. “What’s funny about that?”

“Nothing at all. Sounds like a perfectly wonderful scenario to me.”

She thought about that for a moment. “Do you like music?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Would you mind if I brought some of my instruments with me? I’d play them quietly, I promise. And if you’d rather I didn’t, I understand—it’s just that Jackson hated me playing and he always—”

“I don’t mind,” Noel interrupted. “Bring whatever you like.”

“Oh. Okay.” She didn’t bother hiding her little smile of pleasure.

He was quiet for another minute. Then he said, “Sounds like you’re well shot of Jackass, anyway.” She looked up at him, and his brow furrowed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. It’s none of my business.”

“It’s okay. You’re right. He is a jackass.”

“Even so. You might end up getting back with him, and then you’ll never talk to me again.”

She shook her head. “I’m done with Jackson,” she said thoughtfully. “If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have dumped me so near to Christmas.”

“He wouldn’t dump you at all,” said Noel. “The guy’s an idiot.”

He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she.

…

All the following week, Noel wondered what had possessed him to ask an almost complete stranger to travel nine hours in the car with him all the way to Scotland and share his treasured retreat. He was going there to be alone. Inviting someone to go with him kind of defeated the whole idea.

But he hadn’t been able to resist asking Holly. From the moment she’d told him her boyfriend had broken up with her and burst into tears, he was lost. He’d always been a sucker for a crying woman, and a crying pretty woman left him defenseless. Noel the Brave, riding up on his charger to save the damsel in distress. He tried repeatedly to be indignant about her nickname for him, but every time he thought about it, a smile played on his lips.

Still, he worried about the decision. Part of his problem was guilt about Ella. Most of the time, he maintained a matter-of-fact attitude about his wife’s death, trying to convince himself that life goes on, even though he knew he’d yet to come to terms with the reality that he was relatively young and after three years it would be acceptable for him to start dating again. But Christmas was the one time of the year he let himself get sentimental about her. Though her absence haunted him all the time, at Christmas he missed her with a hunger that hurt, and it felt right and just that he spend two or three days in an alcohol-induced haze, playing songs that reminded him of her, remembering special moments from their past.

Somehow, bringing someone else with him for this period felt disloyal, and he kept apologizing to Ella in his head, hoping she wasn’t up there watching him and preparing lightning bolts to throw at him. “I felt sorry for her,” he told his wife on more than one occasion. “That’s all, honest.”

And that was all. He hadn’t asked Holly to go with him for any other reason than he could see she needed to get away somewhere quiet. Did Ella believe him?

He rang Holly to confirm she still wanted to go, not sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no. When she answered, however, from the huskiness of her voice and the pause as she blew her nose, he suspected he’d interrupted her crying again. “Everything all right?” he’d asked.

“Yeah. Jackson’s just been around to pick up the last bits of his stuff.” Another blow of the nose.

“Has he gone?”

“For good,” she confirmed.

He hesitated. “Are you terribly upset?”

“No. That’s why I’m upset, see?”

He frowned. “Um…”

“I’m upset because I’m not upset he isn’t coming back. Before he came around, I kind of hoped he’d say he wanted to stay. And then when he turned up, all I could think was that I wanted him to go. And it made me sad, because we’ve been together for five years, so you’d think I’d be a bit more broken up about him leaving, but I’m actually glad he’s gone. Which is totally wrong, even though I’ve known it was over for a while, but now I really know, you know?”

“Absolutely,” he said with confidence, clinging onto the conversation by his fingertips.

“He took them all,” she said.

Noel struggled to think to what she was referring. Had there been a clue in the conversation? “His clothes?” he offered.

“Sorry, no… Well, yes, he took his clothes, but I was referring to the mince pies. The bastard took them all! He wouldn’t take the bloody brussels sprouts or the cranberry sauce, but he took the mince pies. All of them! He knows that’s my favorite Christmas food. Now I’m convinced he doesn’t love me.”

In spite of himself, and the fact that he felt incredibly sorry for her, Noel smiled. “The bastard. So, you’re still coming?”

“Absolutely.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone, Noel. I’m not saying I’ll be glued to your side or that you’ll see me at all if you don’t want to—just that I don’t want to stay here, in this house, with my life being less than it was, you know?”

“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So. I’ll get the alcohol. What do you want for Christmas dinner?”

She thought about it. “I hate turkey.”

“Hallelujah. Me, too. What do you really want for Christmas dinner?”

She sighed. “Beans on toast sounds terrific.”

He laughed. “Beans on toast it is, then.”

“Can I bring chocolate?”

“I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

…

Holly waited nervously on the morning of the twenty-third for Noel to show up. Was he going to change his mind at the last minute? Realize what a ridiculous idea it was to invite someone else to his private retreat? She sat on the edge of her sofa, fingers interlaced, and prayed he’d still come.

This little adventure was the only thing keeping her going this Christmas. Noel would be there, but he’d already told her he was planning to drink himself to oblivion, so she was prepared to entertain herself with books and music and puzzles, and hopefully nice long walks in snow-filled valleys. She was excited and nervous. If he backed out now, she’d be horrendously disappointed.

But at seven o’clock, just as he said he would, Noel pulled up outside in a large, sleek car. That surprised her. For some reason, she’d thought he’d be driving some clapped-out old banger.

Peeking through the curtains, she watched him get out and walk toward her front door. “Oh my God.” She stared at him. He looked completely different than how he normally looked at school. Gone were the corduroy trousers, the crumpled white shirt and drab tie, and the dull tweed jacket with the patches. Instead, he wore tight, dark blue jeans and a sky-blue sweater over a casual shirt. He looked… phenomenally gorgeous.

She answered the door with a hammering heart and gave him a bright smile. “You came!”

He raised an eyebrow. “You thought I’d abandon a damsel in distress?”

“Noel the Brave, saving the day,” she said happily. “Come in.”

Giving her a wry smile, he walked past her, leaving behind a warm smell of sandalwood and freshly washed clothes. She closed the door behind him, trying to ignore the way her heart knocked rapidly on her ribs as if trying to attract her attention. Stop it, she scolded. The poor man’s still grieving, and you’re coming out of a breakup. For God’s sake, don’t start getting all mushy just because someone’s being nice to you.

Noel walked into her living room and stopped abruptly. Holly slipped in behind him and followed his gaze to the pile of luggage on the floor. “What?”

“You said a couple of instruments.” He looked at her, then pointedly at the luggage. “I didn’t realize you meant the whole of the Philharmonic Orchestra.”

She put her hands on her hips. “You said you liked music.”

“I thought you were talking about a recorder and a triangle, not the whole brass section.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You can take two pieces. Make your choice.”

He was talking to her like she was one of his students. She’d have argued with him, but his bright blue eyes somehow dismantled the speech center of her brain, so she sighed and studied the instruments. “I’ll take the tenor sax and the Gretsch.”

“You really play all these?” he asked as he helped her carry her gear to the car.

“I wouldn’t be much of a music teacher if I couldn’t.”

“Well, I’m a science teacher, but I can’t split the atom.”

“Good point. Yes, Mr. Brave, I can play them all. And I’d have shown you, if you’d have let me bring them all.”

“I drive a Ford, not a Tardis. I could leave you behind if you want—then I’d be able to fit everything in.”

Bickering companionably, they stacked up his car and she locked the house. He held the car door open for her.

She smiled at him. “You really are right out of the Dark Ages, aren’t you?”

“Is that a complaint?”

She thought of the way Jackson would let her struggle with the shopping while he talked on his mobile or walk through a door and let it swing shut on her. “No.” She met Noel’s gaze for a moment. There was something so calm about him, so relaxed and easy. Perhaps it was because he was a teacher, but even though she didn’t know him very well, she trusted him. That was a good thing, she thought, considering they were about to drive into the middle of Nowheresville, probably with no phone reception and hemmed in by ten feet of snow.

He tipped his head. “Having second thoughts?”

She realized he was waiting for her to get in so he could shut the door for her. “No, no. I just…” Before she could talk herself out of it, she raised on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Noel, for inviting me. I’m sure you’ve regretted it all week, but I do really appreciate it.”

Her cheeks warm, she slid into the passenger seat, and he closed the door. She watched him walk around to the driver’s side, get in, and slot the key in the ignition. Then he turned to look at her.

They surveyed each other for a moment. His glasses had spots of rain on them, and he took them off and cleaned them, glancing across at her as he did so. His bright turquoise eyes made her catch her breath. The guy was melt-in-your-mouth good-looking. His blue sweater emphasized his impressive chest and upper arms, and his jeans stretched tight over well-muscled thighs. Who would have known such a hunk was hiding under all that tweed?

He slid his glasses back on and gave her a smile that was both mischievous and playful. “You ready?”

“Yes,” she said, breathless.

He started the engine. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

Chapter Three

Noel had been worried that the long journey to Scotland was going to be excruciating with someone else in the car—especially someone he didn’t know very well. He’d been concerned that she’d expect him to make small talk all the way, which he didn’t enjoy, or maybe want to play music he didn’t like or talk inanely about stuff he wasn’t interested in, like clothes and celebrity TV shows. But she didn’t.

For a while, they talked about school, comparing their various experiences at previous institutions as well as their current one, and discussing problem classes and students they had trouble with. To his surprise, she spoke knowledgeably about learning issues, sharing ideas with him of techniques she’d used in class that had worked. For some reason he’d expected her to be ditzy in her teaching as well as in general, but he realized he’d underestimated her on both accounts. He should have guessed—his students often talked about her being their favorite teacher, but he’d assumed that was only because they got to play around with instruments most of the time.

After that, she asked if he’d like to listen to some music, and he agreed reluctantly, not wanting to seem impolite. She asked what he was interested in, and he gave her the names of some bands he liked, wondering whether she’d mock him for his middle-of-the-road tastes. But she just nodded and selected songs on her iPod, and soon they were listening to some of his favorite stuff, as well as bands he hadn’t heard of but were similar in style to those he liked.

After a few hours, they passed Manchester and stopped for a cup of coffee and a midmorning snack, during which she told him a bit more about Jackson, and he told her a little about Ella, the first time he’d really talked about his wife in a long time. He talked hesitantly, afraid of getting emotional, but it was surprisingly easy to talk about her to Holly, who sat listening with her head propped on her hand, her kind eyes compassionate as he told her how difficult the last few years had been.

They got back in the car and drove for another couple of hours. She read her book for a while, saying she wanted to give him some peace, but when he saw her chuckling to herself, he asked her to read it aloud. Soon she was making him laugh with the travel anecdotes that she told using various voices, and before he knew it, it was lunchtime, and they stopped again just past Carlisle to stretch their legs and grab something to eat.

They spent the rest of the day in much the same way. Although he hadn’t expected Holly to drive, she offered, so he let her take the wheel for a while, laying his chair back and dozing as she sang to some bluesy guitar player on the iPod in her attractive, husky voice. She drove through Glasgow onto the quieter A-roads, and then he took over for the last leg as it started to get dark.

The scenery had become more mountainous and forested the more they traveled north, the towns farther apart. He could almost imagine the Celts and Picts with their painted faces and spears hassling the Romans along the Antonine Wall.

“Where are we going, exactly?” She hadn’t spoken for a while, lost in thought he assumed, and he looked across at her now, realizing he hadn’t told her anything about their destination.

“Fort Augustus.”

She turned to look at him. “You’re kidding me? Loch Ness?”

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a problem?”

“It depends. Am I going to be eaten alive in my sleep?”

He glanced at her, and they both started laughing.

“That didn’t come out quite as I meant.”

He carefully steered his mind away from the thought of Holly Jones lying naked in bed. Honest to God, he said to Ella in his head, I’m not interested. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I think we can safely say it’s unlikely a dinosaur’s going to exit the lake and attack you in the house.”

“If it does, I’m expecting Noel the Brave to rescue me.”

“Noel the Brave will be running at top speed in the opposite direction if anything comes out of the loch, I assure you,” he said, making her laugh.

Within an hour, they were shadowing the edge of the loch, which looked black and mysterious in the moonlight. It was growing colder outside, although they were cozy in the car with the heater on and the Thermos of hot tea Holly had made that morning.

She looked up at the cloudless sky where the moon hung like a silver Christmas bauble, then back to the loch. “I wonder if it will snow over Christmas?”

“They’ve forecast it.”

“Six hundred feet deep,” she murmured.

“I doubt it’ll be quite that heavy a fall,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her. She’d spoken cryptically at regular intervals along the journey, and he was beginning to understand how her brain worked. It was more fun to pretend he didn’t, though.

She gave him a wry look. “I meant the loch. It’s over six hundred feet deep.”

“Oh? Are you an expert on the loch?”

“That’s about the limit of my knowledge, I’m afraid.”

He laughed and turned onto the winding road to Fort Augustus. Paul’s house was in a secluded spot a few miles south of town, and they finally pulled up around seven o’clock. By then it was difficult to separate the loch from the sky, the moon and stars scattering across the surface of the water, making an endless panorama of black night.

…

Holly stared out the car window as Noel drew the car up and turned off the engine. Steps led up a grass bank to a sheltered portico in front of a huge whitewashed house that overlooked the loch. “Jeez. Noel!”

“What?”

“I thought you said it was a cottage?”

“It is a cottage.” He got out of the car and stretched, groaning.

Holly followed, shivering in the icy evening air, her limbs aching from being in the same position for so long. “This is not a cottage. Cottages are tiny with beams you hit your head on. This is like something Macbeth would have stayed in!”

He laughed, getting out their bags and handing her the guitar and saxophone cases. “Paul calls it a cottage. I suppose it is a bit of an understatement.”

She followed him up the steps to the front door, turning to look over the loch as he dropped their bags and fumbled with the key. The moon was high in the sky now, and the loch looked like a plate of black glass. She swallowed nervously. Of course, the stories of a monster in its depths were all nonsense, but even so… If a prehistoric monster was going to live anywhere, she could see why it might choose Loch Ness.

Noel opened the door and went inside, and she followed him. He turned right into a living room, and she lowered her cases onto the sofa, walking around and exploring the place with wide eyes. It was a beautiful house, large and richly decorated, but homely at the same time. He hadn’t lied to her, she realized—there were two living rooms, one slightly larger and cozier with plush cream leather sofas, but the other was just as nice, the drapes and suite a deep red color, with a real stuffed deer’s head on the wall. There was a bathroom downstairs, and a kitchen and dining room with polished wooden floors and every amenity a person could want.

Upstairs, there were four bedrooms and a large bathroom with a huge bath that she looked at longingly, her flat only possessing a shower.

“Nice, eh?” Noel said, making her jump as he walked up behind her.

“It’s lovely. I haven’t had a bath in months.”

“I thought there was a funny smell around here.”

“Ha ha. I shower every day, smart arse. I don’t own a bath.” This one was wide and deep and sat on iron feet, making her feel yet again like she’d gone through a time warp to medieval Scotland. “You could fit two people in that,” she said absently.

“Don’t get any ideas.”

She blushed. “I didn’t mean…” Shit. She had to stop thinking out loud. “Honestly, I wasn’t implying…”

His lips curved. “I know. Anyway, I don’t plan to wash at all for three days. It’s part of my Christmas funk. Alcohol, junk food, the same clothes, and loud action movies.”

“Oh, I’m so glad I came.”

He laughed. “So am I.”

She watched him walk along to the bedrooms. For the first time, he’d sounded like he meant it. That made her smile.

“Which one do you want?” he asked, picking up her bag from the landing.

She followed him down. “Can I have the blue one?”

“Of course.” He went in and put her bag on the bed. “I’ll have the green one at the end. There’ll be two whole rooms between us. So I can’t hear you snore.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “More like the other way around. You dozed off in the car, remember?”

“I didn’t snore.”

“Like hell you didn’t. I tell you, we’ll have no worries about Nessie coming calling—one snore from you and she’ll get right back in the water.”

He laughed. “I’m going to get changed and then make myself a sandwich. Feel free to join me if you want.”

“Okay.”

He went into his room, then stuck his head back out. “I meant for the sandwich, by the way.”

She smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

He nodded and disappeared.

She went into her room and lay on the bed for a moment. It was large and soft, and the room smelled faintly of lavender. She supposed she should be feeling homesick and upset at being alone this Christmas, but she didn’t. She felt strangely excited about the next few days. It was going to snow—she could almost smell it in the air, and even though it wasn’t going to be like any Christmas she’d had before, she felt exhilarated about the fact that she didn’t have to please anyone except herself.

She wasn’t expecting to see much of Noel. Although he’d been relatively cheerful up until now, she didn’t want to intrude on his grief. Almost certainly, he’d want to be alone in his sorrow, and she didn’t want him to regret asking her to accompany him to Scotland. She’d keep to herself and use this time to rejuvenate, to think about the future, and to rediscover the real Holly, the one who had sunk deep inside herself over the last few years as she compromised to fit Jackson’s view of what his partner should be like.

She changed into a comfy pair of sweatpants and an oversize stripy sweater and went downstairs. Noel was in the process of unpacking some of the food they’d brought with them, dressed like her in a pair of soft navy sweatpants, although he still wore the light blue sweater. He looked up as she walked in and raised an eyebrow, holding up a jar. “Chocolate spread? What are you, twelve?”

“I brought food that I like. Not food that Jackson likes, or that my parents like, or that my sister’s kids like. Food that I want to eat.”

“Fair enough.” He put the milk and cold meat in the fridge, stacked some tins in the cupboard, and began buttering bread.

“I’ll make some tea.”

He nodded, giving her a small smile.

They pottered around in the kitchen, Holly shivering slightly as she poured the hot water into the cups. Noel’s friend had left the central heating on, but it was a bitter night, and the cold was sending long fingers beneath the doors.

“I’ll make a fire in a minute,” Noel said, putting the sandwiches onto plates. “You done?”

“Yep.”

He picked up the plates and she got the mugs, and he led the way through to the smaller living room.

There he hesitated. “I thought I’d use this one and you could have the bigger one.”

She nodded. “Okay.” She put his mug on the table and turned to go.

“But just for tonight, do you want to stay here, to save lighting two fires?”

She frowned. She’d planned to play her guitar for a while—she felt tense and achy from the journey and playing always helped her relax, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Um…”

“Do you know the Beatles song ‘Something’?”

She stared at him. “Er, yes. Why?”

He put their plates on the table and bent to start work on the fire. “Can you play it on your guitar?”

“Sure.”

“Would you play it for me?”

She studied him for a moment. He didn’t look up, placing firelighters under the kindling before setting light to them and beginning to load the grate with larger logs. Starting to smile, she turned and walked through to the other living room, retrieved the Gretsch, and brought it back.

They ate their sandwiches while they read their books and watched the fire gradually spring to life, and then Holly put down her book and unzipped her guitar case. She spent thirty seconds tuning it, watching Noel out of the corner of her eye as he stretched out on the sofa, feet on the arm, looking drowsy but relatively content as he read his book. Then she started playing.

She sang softly as she strummed, wondering as she did so why he’d requested the song, whether it was one that had special meaning to him and his wife. Perhaps they’d danced to it as their wedding. She glanced over, expecting to find his gaze fixed far in the distance, but to her surprise, he was watching her. He’d removed his glasses, and his eyes were calm and steady.

When she finished the song, she looked up at him. “Want me to stop?”

He didn’t answer her at first, studying her thoughtfully. “No. You’re quite good.”

“Thank you. Throw a few pennies in the case, would you?”

He gave her a wry smile. Winking at him, she turned in the armchair, resting her legs on the arm, and began to strum.

After a while, she forgot he was there, forgot about everything but the hum of the wood against her chest and the squeak of her fingers on the strings. She played whatever songs filled her head, The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, and Jackie Wilson, old blues numbers by Robert Johnson and T-Bone Walker, modern folk and blues-rock like Jack Johnson and John Mayer. One song blended into the other, mirroring her butterfly mind, her fingers picking the notes and strumming automatically. She sang the words when she knew them and hummed when she didn’t.

After half an hour or so, Noel got up, went into the kitchen, and reappeared a few minutes later with a tumbler of amber whisky for himself and a glass of white wine for her. “Want me to stop?” she asked.

“Nope,” he said, lying down again and opening his book.

She sipped her wine and carried on.

Eventually her fingers were too tired to keep playing, and she lay the guitar down and sat back with a sigh. Rolling her head on the chair, she looked over at him to see him watching her, smiling. “What?” she asked self-consciously.

“You really can play that thing.”

“You thought I brought it along for show?”

He gave a short laugh. “Maybe.”

She finished her wine. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

“Okay.”

She nodded, hesitating. “Noel?”

He looked up at her, his eyes half-lidded with whisky and tiredness, but relaxed and content. “Hmm?”

“Thanks.”

He met her gaze. His eyes held admiration, warmth, and something else, something she couldn’t quite catch. “You’re welcome.”

She tore her eyes away and went upstairs. She brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, then stole away quickly under the covers, conscious of the coolness of the night.

But in spite of the tiredness of her body, it was a while before sleep claimed her. And even when it did, Noel’s warm eyes followed her there.

Chapter Four

The next day, when Holly pulled open the curtains and looked outside, she saw that overnight the sky had grown thick with clouds and was now gray and heavy. It was going to snow, she thought, feeling a wave of excitement. It had been a few years since she’d seen a white Christmas, and even then, it had only been a dusting.

The excitement dulled slightly as she went into the corridor and saw that Noel’s room was empty, his bed already made. Today was the anniversary of his wife’s death, she remembered. Noel hadn’t come there to celebrate but to deal with his pain, and she had to remind herself not to get in the way of his grief.

She showered and dressed in jeans and a thick sweater over a shirt, then went downstairs and made herself some toast with chocolate spread. Crumbs in the sink told her that he’d already prepared his own breakfast, and when she peered around the corner, she saw the door to the smaller living room half closed. But that was okay. She’d leave him to his own devices today. There was plenty she could do on her own.

She made herself a mug of coffee and went through into the larger living room, where she curled up on the sofa and flipped through a magazine she’d brought with her while she ate her breakfast.

After about ten minutes, he appeared in the doorway.

She looked up in surprise. He was leaning against the doorframe, hands in the pockets of his jeans. He wore a thick, cream-colored Aran sweater over a blue shirt and walking boots.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey.” She smiled. “How are you doing?”

He shrugged. “Okay. Did you sleep all right?”

“Yes, thanks. You?”

“Not bad.” He glanced over at the window. “Did you see the sky?”

“Yeah. Reckon it’s going to snow today.”

“Looks like it.” His gaze came back to her. “What are you doing?”

“Riding a bike.”

“I meant, what are you doing next?”

“Don’t know. Haven’t thought about it yet.”

“I was going to go for a walk.”

Holly sipped her tea. He looked back out the window, his eyes far away, and she knew he was thinking of his wife.

Suddenly, he glanced back at her. “Want to come?”

A smile spread across her face. “Sure.” She finished her tea. “I’ll get my coat and shoes.”

…

They traced the loch northward, eventually reaching Fort Augustus after about an hour, and they wandered through the village, stopping for a cup of tea and a cake before continuing to follow the path for another hour or so. Then they turned back.

It was bitterly cold, and their breath misted before their faces in clouds of icy white. But they walked swiftly, and even though her nose and ears were cold, Holly could feel a trickle of sweat between her breasts every time they picked up the pace.

For a long time, they walked in silence, enjoying the peace and quiet, seeing squirrels and deer in the woodland and once a fox, his coat a flash of dusky red in the undergrowth. Woodpeckers and siskin finches flitted in the bushes, and overhead, sparrowhawks hunted for mice in the fields.

Holly kept her thoughts to herself and enjoyed the burn of cold in her lungs and the presence of the tall, brooding man next to her. Even though he wasn’t talking, she found being with him strangely comforting, and wondered whether he felt the same way about her. Was that why he’d asked her to go with him instead of spending the day on his own? She’d thought he wouldn’t want anything to do with her, especially today, but she hadn’t suggested the walk—he’d asked her to accompany him.

Eventually, however, she forgot that she wasn’t supposed to talk and said, “I wonder if she gets lonely?”

Noel raised an eyebrow. “The moon? Lady Macbeth? The Queen?”

“Sorry, I meant Nessie. Or do you think there’s two of them?”

He looked at the loch, which was now an icy blue-gray color underneath the lowering clouds. “I would imagine if there were creatures, there would have to be more than one. There’s probably a whole family down there. Aunts, uncles, cousins, you name it.”

“All coming over for Christmas dinner, and Nessie’s down there wishing she could swim off on her own for a bit of peace and quiet.”

He gave a soft laugh. “You have a strange way of looking at things, Miss Jones.”

“Why do you insist on calling me that?”

He shrugged and smiled. “I’ve called you that in my head since you started at the school.”

“Oh.” She digested that information. “I didn’t think you’d noticed me.”

“Oh, I noticed you.” He looked over the lake and didn’t elaborate.

They walked in silence for another five minutes.

Then he said, “Tell me about Jackass.”

She pulled a face. “You don’t really want to know about him.”

“I want to understand why he let you go. I met him once when he came to pick you up after a parents’ evening. He didn’t look like a lunatic.”

She laughed. “I’m no angel.”

“The best women aren’t.”

She met his amused gaze and then glanced away, biting her lip.

“Go on,” he said. “Tell me.”

So she told him. About how she’d met Jackson when he’d brought his younger brother to the fete her previous school had run. About how it had been good for a while, because he was so like every girl’s dream guy—fit and energetic, good-looking, strong and heroic. The sex had been terrific, she told him, lowering her eyes as she said it.

And then, after the first few years, she tired of the incessant parties and the immature behavior of his friends at the station. They started spending more time apart, him going out, her staying home, doing the quieter activities she enjoyed. Gradually, they drifted apart. The sex grew less regular and less enjoyable, eventually becoming mundane, with a feeling for both of them of going through the motions.

“So, it wasn’t really a surprise when he rang me,” she finished. “But it’s strange how sometimes you refuse to see the truth, you know? How you hide it, even from yourself.”

Noel nodded but didn’t say anything. It was nearly lunchtime, and she saw with surprise they were only ten minutes or so from the house.

She sighed. “I’ve been talking for ages. I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. You have a very soothing voice.”

“Is that a nice way of saying I’m sending you off to sleep?”

“Not at all.” He smiled.

“Ah, but you’re such a gentleman, you wouldn’t tell me I was boring even if I was.”

“Holly, you’re not boring me.”

It was the first time she could remember him saying her first name. Her cheeks grew surprisingly hot considering it was so cold.

When they got back to the house, they stripped off their coats, boots, scarves, and gloves, and Noel made up the fire again while she prepared lunch—a simple affair of French bread, cold meat and cheese, and a beer for them both. As she worked, she wondered how he was feeling. He hadn’t talked about his wife at all, and although Holly knew that Christmas Eve was the day she’d passed away, she wasn’t sure what time. She sensed it was late, though, could almost feel his apprehension as he waited for the moment to approach.

He came into the kitchen and washed his hands. “The fire’s going.”

“Great.” She gave him a smile and pushed his plate and beer over to him. “Now, be honest with me. What do you want me to do? I’ve got books to read, puzzles to do. I’ll be quite happy curling up in the other room. You only have to say.”

He met her gaze. His glasses had flecks of ash on them, and she resisted the urge to reach out and brush them off. “I was going to watch a film,” he said eventually, running a hand through his hair. “Paul’s got quite a selection. You can join me if you want.”

He didn’t want to be alone. She could sense it, and also his unease, because he felt that he should want to be alone.

She picked up her plate and beer. “Okay. But no horror movies. I scare easily.”

His lips curved and he picked up his plate. “So no Alien, then?”

“Absolutely not. You want me to have bad dreams?”

“Maybe. With my snoring and your screams, Nessie won’t stand a chance.”

Laughing, they went into the living room. They stood in front of the shelves of DVDs and Holly told him to choose one. He settled for Die Hard, and she placed it in the DVD player before curling up in the armchair, while he stretched out on the sofa, feet crossed on the arm.

The fire crackled and danced in the grate, and they ate their lunch and watched John McClane fight terrorists in his vest, and then when the film finished, Noel told her it was her turn to choose. So she picked The Bourne Identity, and they watched Jason Bourne outfox the CIA while they ate mince pies and had another beer.

Next, he picked Casino Royale, and she ogled Daniel Craig, and Noel ogled Eva Green while pretending to ogle Judi Dench, giving Holly the giggles.

Halfway through, he went into the kitchen and reappeared with a tumbler full of whisky and a glass of wine for her, throwing himself back onto the sofa without another word. Holly said nothing, curling up in the chair to watch the rest of the film as she sipped the chardonnay.

When Casino Royale finished, she could sense a change in his mood and wondered whether she should migrate into the other living room, but he gestured to the shelves and told her it was her turn, so she shrugged and picked Ocean’s Eleven and slotted it into the DVD player, happy to stay for as long as he wanted her.

Ten minutes into the film, he went into the kitchen and came back with the bottle of Laphroaig and the rest of the chardonnay and poured them each a second glass, leaving the bottles on the table. Holly drank her wine and watched him slowly unravel. First, the Aran sweater came off as the room grew warm from the fire, and he undid a few buttons and rolled up his sleeves. As Danny Ocean organized his team to outwit Terry Benedict, Noel’s hair grew more ruffled and he slumped lower in the seat, topping up her glass along with his so that she wondered if it was refilling itself, as it never seemed to grow empty.

By the time Danny’s eleven started the heist, Holly had migrated to the sofa next to Noel, tired of contorting herself in the chair, and they both stretched out with their feet on the coffee table, poured themselves another drink, and bickered amicably about which film had been the best.

By the end of the film, her legs were across his lap, and he was stroking her feet as if they’d known each other for twenty years.

And then the film ended. Holly was feeling decidedly tipsy and hazily relaxed, but she could see the tenseness reappear in his shoulders as he gently moved her legs off his lap and stood to look out the window.

“Is it snowing?” she asked drowsily.

“Not yet. But it will soon.”

She looked at her watch—it was just after nine. She watched him come back and sit in the armchair. His glass was half full, and he swirled the liquid around the base, looking at the fire.

She cleared her throat. “You want to watch another film?”

He shook his head.

“You want me to go, Noel?” she asked gently. “It’s okay—I understand.”

He met her gaze then. She could see the pain deep in his eyes like stones at the bottom of a river. But, to her surprise, he gave a small, almost unnoticeable shake of his head.

So, she poured herself another glass of wine and stretched out along the sofa. “Tell me about her.”

He stared at her, blinking. “I don’t know if I can.” His voice was almost a whisper.

Holly shrugged. “Nothing deep. What did she look like? What was her favorite music? What job did she do?”

He took a deep breath. And then he started talking.

…

Once he started, Noel thought he’d never be able to stop. He talked for hours. He talked about when he’d first met Ella that day outside the cinema, and he’d told her she looked just like Julia Roberts in the film he’d been to see. He described how beautiful she was, and how much she enjoyed her job illustrating children’s books. He explained how they’d talked about having a large family—she’d wanted at least four kids. He related the moment they’d found out she had breast cancer, about how they’d gone home and she’d fallen apart, but he hadn’t been able to believe it.

And he told Holly how hard it had been at the end, and how he’d held his wife as she died. By the time he finished, his throat was tight, his cheeks were wet, and his glass was empty again.

The terrible thing, though, was that he wasn’t really upset because of Ella. He’d told Holly the anecdotes about his life with Ella as if he were looking at photos in an album, but that was all they were becoming. Memories he could flick through in his head like a slideshow. Emotionally, he felt strangely numb. He could remember the pain, the loneliness, the grief he’d felt when she died. But now…

“I’m starting to forget her,” he said.

He took off his glasses, wiped his face, and leaned his head on the back of the armchair, looking up at the ceiling.

Holly had listened to him ramble, interjecting occasionally with a question but mostly just listening, her beautiful face filled with compassion. Now he heard her get up and refill his glass, and then she walked out of the room. He was surprised at how disappointed he felt, and he raised his head slowly, wishing he wasn’t so drunk so he could go after her and thank her for listening.

Then, to his surprise, she came back. She was carrying her other case, and he watched as she unclipped it and took out her sax.

She put the strap over her head and ran her fingers along the keys, perched herself on the edge of the table by the window, and began to play.

The deep, mellow tones of the saxophone filled the room, running right through him from his heel bones to his breastbone, reverberating in the cavity of his chest. He caught his breath, stunned by the beauty of both the sound and the woman playing the instrument, her blond curls glowing like beaten gold in the firelight, her eyes closed as she gave herself to the music.

Like when she’d played the guitar, she played whatever took her fancy, from recognizable love songs to classical pieces to spiraling jazz, switching from piece to piece, giving it her all. Noel felt himself caught up in the music, his emotions whirling with the notes in a kind of magical maelstrom, and he wasn’t surprised when about an hour later he looked past her through the window and saw it was snowing.

He got to his feet unsteadily, and Holly let the music trail off, putting down the sax, her mouth red and swollen from playing. She followed him to the front door, and he opened it and went outside, looking up in wonder as the white flakes fluttered out of the sky, coating everything in a layer of silvery white.

“It’s midnight,” said Holly beside him. “It’s Christmas Day.” She looked up at him over her shoulder and smiled. “Happy birthday.” Turning toward him, she raised herself on tiptoes and kissed his cheek, her hand coming up to touch his face lightly.

She went to pull back, but Noel caught her arm. His eyes met hers, and then he slid his hand behind her head and bent to kiss her properly.

Her mouth was incredibly soft, her lips cool, but when he brushed them with his tongue, she opened them willingly. Her arms came around his neck and he held her to him tightly, closing his eyes and giving himself up to the kiss, tasting the sweetness of the wine and enjoying the press of her lips, the sweep of her tongue against his. It was a dreamlike moment, the snow swirling around them, and even though it was cold enough to freeze certain appendages, he felt warm all the way through.

Eventually they pulled back, and Holly smiled, her green eyes glowing. “Happy birthday,” she said again.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Jones.”

“Merry Christmas, Noel the Brave.”

She went into the house, and he watched her walk up the stairs to her room before turning back to the cold, dark night, drinking in its icy beauty one last time. He went back into the living room, banked the fire up, and sat heavily in the armchair. There was a half inch of whisky left in the glass, and he swirled it around as he thought about what he’d just done.

“I’m sorry, Ella,” he whispered.

It had been three years since she died. He hadn’t even thought of another woman in that time, let alone kissed anyone else. After all, he’d sworn to love her forever. Till death us do part. The words rang in his head. Death had come between them, and it wasn’t either of their faults, but she’d left him alone and his heart longed to love someone else. He needed a woman in his life—he needed love, sex, marriage, kids. He wanted it all.

The guilt of his admission hung over him like snow clouds over the loch. Ella had once told him—before she’d fallen ill—that if she died and he went with anyone else, she’d haunt him relentlessly. She’d said it jokingly, and of course he would have felt the same way—the thought of her with another man would have torn him apart. But what if their roles had been reversed and he’d been the one who died? Would he have wanted her to meet someone else? Get married, have children?

Romantically, he’d have hoped that she wouldn’t have remarried, declaring that nobody would match up to him. Realistically, he would have expected her to mourn him for a year, spend another year feeling guilty for getting over him, then the third year start dating—warily at first, but growing more confident as time passed and she realized moving on wasn’t the same as being disloyal.

So, why did it feel so disloyal to set himself the same goals?

He’d been dreading Christmas Eve, but the truth was that he’d actually enjoyed the day with Holly. Walking with her in the cold December air, watching films and bickering with her on the sofa, listening to her play, kissing her out in the snow.

What did she think of the kiss? Obviously, she’d just come out of a breakup, they were both drunk as skunks, and she’d needed comfort as much as he had. It was pointless, though, to try to second-guess what she was feeling before he’d even sorted out his own emotions. This wasn’t about her per se—it was about the realization that it was time to move on.

He wanted to fall in love again.

Holly had just been a trigger, he told himself, a catalyst in the chemical reaction as his grief evolved into something else. It could have been any woman who prompted this insight—Holly had just been in the right place at the right time.

And yet…he thought of how he’d watched her around the school over the past year, amused and puzzled by her at the same time. Of how he’d felt when he walked into the storeroom, and she’d burst into tears in front of him. He thought about the softness of her lips under his, the way she’d opened her mouth willingly, the look in her eyes before she’d gone up to bed. And he kept thinking about it as he finished off the whisky, and outside the snow fell across the countryside like the soft jangle of silver bells.

Chapter Five

Holly awoke the next morning to bright sunlight and the weight of someone sitting on her bed. She forced open her eyelids to see Noel smiling at her.

“Wake up, Rip Van Jones,” he said. “I thought you were going to sleep all day.”

“What time is it?” She sat up, conscious even in her sleepiness of how awful she must look with bed hair and duvet creases on her face.

“Eight o’clock.”

She groaned and threw herself back on the bed. “Go away. It’s too early.”

“It’s my birthday. And you’ve got to see this.” He pulled her arm until she sat up again, and she squinted as he walked over to the window. “Come on.”

She swung her legs over the side of the bed and struggled to her feet. “This had better be worth it.”

“It is.” He smiled as she walked toward him, and she frowned as he gave her pajamas a pointed stare.

“What?” She studied them. The long-sleeve top and pants were bright pink and covered in tiny red hearts.

“Nothing.” He nodded toward the window. “Look.”

She stood next to him and surveyed the scene outside.

And caught her breath.

“Oh my God.”

The entire landscape was white. Brilliant, shiny, virginal, crisp, clean white. Even the loch was silver, reflecting the sheet-metal sky.

“It’s beautiful,” she breathed.

“Hmm.”

She met his gaze, her heart beginning to pound. The memory of their kiss came flooding back, and she remembered the firmness of his mouth on hers, the warmth of his body, even though she’d been shivering from the cold. But they’d both been terribly drunk, and he’d just talked about his dead wife for well over an hour. He’d needed consolation, and she’d been happy to provide it, but that was as far as it went, she told herself firmly. She mustn’t start getting all dreamy-eyed.

Still, he seemed cheerful, the worry lines on his brow gone, and she smiled instinctively at his impish grin. “You look surprisingly well considering you downed almost a whole bottle of whisky yesterday.”

“I have a hangover the size of Ben Nevis, but I’m not going to let it dampen my spirits.”

She laughed. “Happy birthday, Noel. And Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” He glanced out at the snow for a moment. “Holly…”

“Mm?”

He turned to look at her, his blue eyes sincere. “Thank you for yesterday.”

She wasn’t sure if he was thanking her for the kiss, for listening, or for just being there all day. “You’re welcome.”

“You play sax like a diva.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

“I have a present for you.” He brought his hand from behind his back and gave her something that was about two inches square and flat, wrapped in Christmas paper.

“Oh, Noel, I didn’t get you anything. Now I feel awful.”

“It’s only small. I saw it in Carlisle on the drive up. Go on, open it.”

She tore off the wrapping to find it was a fridge magnet. It said, Music teachers do it in G-strings.

She laughed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He grinned. “Now, coffee and breakfast, then I think we need a snowman in the garden.”

“Absolutely.” His happiness was infectious. “Give me fifteen minutes for a shower, and I’ll be down.”

He left her to get ready, and she showered and dressed quickly, not wanting to waste a second of the day. She still felt slightly drunk and a very tiny bit queasy, and she peed for, like, three hours, but once she’d dried her hair and applied a bit of makeup, she felt much better and ready to face the day.

Holly was stunned. Noel had made pancakes. Jackson hadn’t known which end of a frying pan to use, let alone what ingredients actually went into a pancake. But Noel made a pile of nice thick ones and served them to her with a bottle of maple syrup he found in Paul’s pantry. They ate in front of the fire in the living room, curled up on the sofa as they talked about the day ahead.

“What do you want to do?” Holly asked as she cut up her pancakes with a fork. “It is your birthday, after all.”

He thought about it. “I’d like to go out in the snow for a while. Maybe go for a walk again—I enjoyed that yesterday. Then come back and watch more movies while I eat too many mince pies.”

She laughed. “Sounds like a great Christmas Day.”

He hesitated, looking into his coffee mug before turning his serious gaze on her. “Incidentally, I haven’t forgotten you’re getting over a broken relationship yourself. I invited you here for the peace and quiet—not so I could bend your ear every minute of the day. Be honest with me—if you want to go off on your own, or sit quietly in the other room, just say so. I won’t be offended.”

Holly’s gaze drifted to the window. “He never asked,” she said absently, watching the snow starting to fall again.

“I’m not even going to try to work that one out.”

She realized what she’d said and rolled her eyes. “Sorry. He never asked me to marry him, or mentioned having kids. And do you know the weird thing? I never thought about it. But I do want a family. I’ll be thirty tomorrow, and I know my body clock’s going tick, tick, tick, but I never brought it up with him. Do you think I always knew, deep down, that it wasn’t going to work out?”

Noel shrugged. “I’m not going to sit here and give you a big lecture on the meaning of life, and I’m not sure I believe in fate. I’m certainly not religious. And I’d never be so callous as to say you were meant to break up with Jackass or that Ella was meant to die. How can that be right? And yet…sometimes I wonder if there isn’t a bigger plan for us all. I wonder, if we could look ahead and see what life had in store for us, maybe everything we’ve been through would make sense.”

She nodded. Their gazes met and locked. Her heart sped up, and she opened her mouth to say something, but at that moment the phone rang, and Noel excused himself and went to answer it.

It was his mother, by the sound of it. He said thank you, as she obviously gave him birthday greetings, and he wished her Merry Christmas. Holly sipped her coffee, tensing as she heard him say, “I’m not alone, Mum. I’ve got a friend here. No, he’s in Edinburgh for Christmas. No, he’s down in Kent until the New Year. I’m not being evasive. Yes…it is a woman.” Holly heard him sigh. “No, she’s just a friend. Um…I don’t know. No! Jeez. Look…” And then he pushed the door shut with his foot, and she couldn’t hear anymore.

She sat and sipped her tea, waiting for him to finish. When he eventually came in, he looked exasperated and slightly sheepish.

“Third degree?” said Holly, winking at him.

“Just a bit. I’m thirty-five for crying out loud! Why does she always make me feel like I’m fifteen?”

Holly laughed. “Mothers do that to you. Come on then, shall we go outside?”

“Yeah. I suppose you’ll want to go and put fifteen layers on again?”

“Absolutely. I don’t want bits of me dropping off from frostbite.”

“You’re such a wuss.”

“It’s, like, twenty below freezing out there. Your blood’s eighty percent proof, that’s why you’re not feeling the cold.”

“Hey, you kept up with me last night, young lady. You must have drank two bottles of wine all to yourself.”

Bickering amicably, they went up and pulled on thermals, sweaters, coats, and scarves and then went outside and played in the snow like a couple of six-year-olds. They built a huge snowman that Noel swore was the spitting image of Danny DeVito, giving her the giggles, then they had a snowball fight that left them both breathless and laughing in the cold December air.

They came inside and had a mug of tea and a couple of mince pies each, and followed that with another walk along the loch. This time they talked all the way, about school and music and movies and sport, about what they’d done with their lives and what they wanted in the future.

At one point, Noel offered to help her over a fallen log, and when he tucked her hand into the crook of his arm afterward, she didn’t complain. It was very slippery, after all, and she felt safer hanging onto him.

It started snowing again, so they made their way back, changed into dry clothes, and prepared themselves a huge plate of beans and toast, settling down to eat it while they watched The Fellowship of the Ring.

Holly sat in the armchair to eat, thinking it was the best Christmas dinner she’d ever had. No hours of peeling potatoes and carrots, basting turkey that she didn’t like, or steaming Christmas pudding nobody would eat because they were all full. And for once, the whole house didn’t smell of brussels sprouts for hours afterward. There were no unpleasant yelling children, no relatives to make polite conversation with. Just Noel the Brave, eating his beans on toast with his feet propped on the coffee table, quoting lines from Lord of the Rings and looking like he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

After they’d finished lunch, they paused the movie, washed up the plates, and poured themselves glasses of wine, then returned to the living room to finish the film. Holly went to sit in the armchair, but Noel patted the sofa beside him, so she sat next to him, not touching him, but conscious of the warmth of his body all the same.

Later, she got the Gretsch and sang Christmas carols to him, and sometimes he joined in and sometimes he didn’t, seemingly content to watch her and listen to her voice. He took off his glasses, and for a while she felt unnerved by his intense blue eyes, but eventually she relaxed and just enjoyed the music, playing whatever Christmas songs came to mind, old and new, John Lennon and Slade, George Michael and Mariah Carey.

For tea, she fancied chocolate, so she made herself a chocolate-spread sandwich while he had bacon and eggs, and then they demolished a good three-quarters of a box of Milk Tray between them while they watched It’s a Wonderful Life.

Holly cried at the end. “It’s sickly sweet,” she said as she wiped her eyes, “but I love it anyway.”

“I told you not to have another caramel.”

She stuck her tongue out at him. “I was talking about the movie. ‘Every time a bell rings, an angel gets his wings.’ It just makes me melt.”

He looked at her fondly and laughed as more tears trickled down her cheeks. “Come here, you daft thing.” He put his arm around her and pulled her against him, and she leaned her head on his chest and curled up, comforted by the thud of his heart beneath her ear.

He flicked through the TV channels for a while, and they watched half an episode of a sitcom and a chat show before deciding to watch another movie. “You choose,” he said.

“It’s your birthday,” she said, pushing herself upright.

“True. But I’ll defer this one to you.”

He looked at her over the top of his glasses, and a shiver went through her from the nape of her neck to the base of her spine. There was something about the way he did it that completely floored her every time.

Standing, she looked along the shelves of DVDs and picked one out. He laughed when he saw her choice: Bridget Jones’s Diary. It was a test. Jackson hated it.

“Very apt, Miss Jones,” he said as she put it in the player. “Fuck Chechnya.”

She laughed. “Absolutely, Mr. Tits Pervert.”

He chuckled as she sat back on the sofa, and he held up his arm. She met his gaze for a moment. His eyes were open, honest, and calm, with no agenda evident, nothing except a desire for companionship and a warm body to cuddle up to. They both smiled, and she curled up against him, resting her head on his shoulder.

…

They had another glass or two of wine during the movie, but nowhere near as much as the evening before. By the time the film finished and Bridget had chased Mark Darcy down the high street in her leopard-print pants, Noel felt pleasantly relaxed without being drunk, satisfied and content with the long, lazy day.

He stared at Holly, lifting off his glasses and leaving them on the arm of the chair. He couldn’t see her face, and for a moment he thought she’d fallen asleep, but then she lifted her head and looked up at him. She smiled, and her green eyes were gentle and unassuming, her cheeks rosy from the fire. She wore a long wool dress that made her all soft in his arms, and her mouth looked temptingly plump and kissable.

So, he kissed her.

Chapter Six

Holly inhaled when his lips touched hers as if he’d shocked her, but she didn’t pull away, so he didn’t stop. He moved his lips across hers slowly, sweeping his tongue into her mouth as she opened it, tasting the chocolate and wine she’d had, as well as the sweet flavor that was all her. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheek, giving soft sighs that sounded so erotic to his out-of-practice ears he was instantly aroused.

He was about to pull her onto his lap when she moved back, breaking the kiss and pressing her lips together. He studied her, wondering what he’d done wrong—if he’d moved too quickly or if she’d suddenly thought about Jackass.

She glanced out the window. “There’ll be six inches by morning,” she said absently.

He started to laugh. “I’m hoping it won’t take quite that long.”

She stared at him, her cheeks going scarlet as she realized what she’d said. “Oh, God.” She pushed herself off the sofa and walked out of the room, holding her hands to her face.

Noel sighed and put down his drink, following her into the hall. She’d opened the front door, and he stepped outside with her, shivering as the icy air sliced through his shirt. The snow was falling thickly, and the loch was silent, the wildlife buried deep in the woods—Nessie probably hiding deep under the water.

Holly’s face was still red with embarrassment. “Don’t say anything.”

He just chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets and trying not to shiver.

“Did you bring her here?” Holly asked, still watching the snow.

“Nessie?”

She rolled her eyes. “No. Ella. Did she come here?”

He studied her profile, her neat nose and full, sensual lips, her beautiful, angelic golden curls. “No.”

She nodded. “Noel…”

“Look,” he said. “I’m sorry I kissed you in there. I got caught up in the moment. It was Colin Firth, after all.”

She laughed, folding her arms and scuffing her toe at the snow on the ground.

“I didn’t mean to,” he said honestly. “That’s not why I invited you here, I swear. It’s just…it’s been a magical couple of days, and I’ve really enjoyed your company. But I didn’t mean to take advantage of you.”

She gave him an exasperated look. “Stop being so bloody gentlemanly. You weren’t taking advantage of me. I wanted you to kiss me.”

He raised his eyebrows, genuinely surprised. “You did?”

She lowered her eyes again. “Noel, I didn’t come here for this, either. I’m very aware that this is your private grieving time, and I didn’t want to intrude on it. I know you miss your wife, and I wouldn’t do anything in the world to make you feel guilty for betraying her or her memory.”

Taking a deep breath, she raised her gaze to his. “But…I just wanted to say…I’m here.” She stared at his mouth as she continued huskily, “We’re two grown adults, and it’s Christmas Day, and we’re both single. If you want to…you know…I…” Her gaze came back to his. “I’d like to.”

Their eyes met, locked. There was a moment of silence, the world around them so quiet he could hear the rustle of the snowflakes as they landed on the bushes and the grass.

And then he took her in his arms.

She slid hers around him, raising her lips to his, and he kissed her firmly, passionately, trying to tell her with his body that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. His mouth slanted across hers, and he cupped her head so he could kiss her deeply, plunging his tongue into her warm mouth and shivering as she moaned and pressed herself against him.

He lifted his head and stroked his thumbs across her cheeks, looking into her eyes. “I’m just crazy about you,” he said, hoping she could read in his gaze it was true.

She bit her lip. “I haven’t given you a Christmas present yet, have I?”

He studied her thoughtfully. “No.”

“Or a birthday present.”

His lips started to curve. “True.”

A mischievous light lit her eyes. “You remember those Christmas stockings I told you about?”

“Yes…”

“Well, I’m wearing them.”

His eyebrows rose. “Oh?”

She looked embarrassed. “Not because I was expecting anything to happen. I…I thought it was a shame that nobody would get to see them, so I thought, screw it, I’ll wear them for me.”

“That sounds reasonable,” he said, heart thumping.

Taking his hand, she drew him into the house, closing the door behind them. She rested her hands on her thighs and inched her dress up her legs.

He looked down, expecting her to stop as the hem of the dress reached the top of her stockings. To his surprise, however, she grasped the bottom, and in one smooth movement, lifted it up over her head and dropped it to the ground.

…

Holly watched as Noel’s eyes nearly fell out of his head. She could have been wearing worse underwear, she thought. The white lacy bra and knickers went nicely with the white garter belt clipped to a pair of sheer ivory stockings. The band at the top of the stockings was decorated with tiny holly leaves and red berries.

“Merry Christmas,” she said.

He just stared.

“And happy birthday,” she added, shivering and thinking, Oh my God, I’ve done the wrong thing. He thinks I’m a slut, and he’s going to march me back inside and tell me to pack my bags.

He didn’t, though. He ran his gaze all the way down her and then slowly back up. By the time his eyes met hers, he was smiling. Possibly even smirking. “Are you freezing, or are you just pleased to see me?”

She looked down at her breasts and back up at him, exasperated. “Can we continue this conversation in front of the fire?”

He laughed and put his arms around her, picking her up, and she sighed in relief and wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked through the house into the living room. “I’d take you upstairs, but it’ll be warmer here, in front of the fire.”

“Take me anywhere you want,” she said, breathless. “I don’t care.”

“I meant…oh, never mind.” He closed the living room door behind him. The fire leapt merrily in the grate, and the room glowed with cozy warmth. He carried her over to the sofa, lowered himself carefully onto the middle cushion, and then turned and lay back with her on top of him.

Holly stretched out along him, enjoying the feel of his firm body beneath hers, his hands on her skin. He slid his hand into her hair and pulled her head down so he could kiss her, and her blood fired with desire at the heat of his mouth.

He moved both hands to her shoulders and stroked down her back, and she sighed as he brought them back up to cup her breasts, his palms warm through the lace. “Oh,” she said softly as he brushed her nipples, and he murmured his approval, sliding one hand around to the center of her back to press the clasp of her bra. It came undone in his hand.

He pushed her up so she was sitting astride him and drew the garment down and tossed it on the floor. She smiled, a little shy under his admiring gaze, sighing as he cupped her breasts again. He squeezed her nipples gently, and she moaned and arched her back, filling his hands with her breasts.

That was pretty much the end of any rational thought in either of their heads.

Noel kissed her, the full heat of his desire evident in the way he plunged his tongue into her mouth and held her tightly to him so that she was very aware of the extent of his arousal. He pressed his erection into the soft, swollen part of her, and Holly gasped, pushing her hips down, giving erotic sighs as he covered a nipple with his mouth and teased it with his tongue.

Suddenly he turned her onto her back and pushed himself up, kneeling beside the sofa. She watched, heart pounding, as he carefully unclipped her stockings and peeled them down her legs, unfastened her garter belt, and threw all of it on the rapidly growing pile of discarded clothes. Finally, he eased her lacy knickers down her thighs and calves, and then she was naked beneath him, her pale skin golden in the light of the fire.

He undid the buttons of his shirt and let that slip to the ground too before leaning over her. “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered, his gaze caressing her face and body.

“So are you.” It was true—his body was muscular and toned, and she ran her fingers up his arms and down his chest in delight, threading her fingers through the scatter of dark hair on his chest, tracing his nipples lightly. “You don’t look like a science teacher.”

He chuckled and kissed her again, then trailed his mouth down her body, planting kisses along her neck, tasting her pulse points, licking and sucking as he went until her breathing grew fast and uneven and the room spun. He reached her stomach and pressed his lips beneath her navel. She closed her eyes as he gently pushed her legs apart and continued exploring her with his mouth.

“Oh, Merry Christmas,” she murmured in a kind of delirium, and he gave a short laugh before sliding his tongue into her.

Holly lay in a state of blissful ecstasy as he aroused her slowly, the fire warming her outside as his tongue sent her internal thermometer soaring. Her long, heartfelt sighs turned gradually into moans as heat built inside her, and when she came, she clenched her fingers in his hair and cried out as the climax swept over her, wave after wave of glorious pleasure.

Afterward, she lay in a daze as he kissed his way up her body, taking time to touch his lips and tongue to her wrists and the insides of her elbows, to suck her fingers and kiss her palms, until even before his lips found hers, she could feel herself growing interested again.

“Wow,” she said as he wrapped her in his arms and nuzzled her ear. “It’s an absolute crime that womankind has been denied that for three years.”

He laughed and kissed her, and then, before she could protest, he lifted her up and sat on the sofa, pulling her astride him again. Somewhere along the way—presumably while she’d been lying there in a sexual haze—he’d divested himself of his trousers, and his eager erection pressed against her warm, wet folds as he kissed her again.

Suddenly, however, he pulled back and looked at her with something like alarm.

She raised her head, worried he’d decided he couldn’t go ahead out of respect for his dead wife or something. Please don’t let it be that. “What?”

“Shit. Sorry, Holly, I didn’t think. I don’t have any protection.”

“Ah.” She studied him, knowing she should be upset, but unable to feel anything but a glow at the knowledge he hadn’t planned this, hadn’t come here intending to seduce her. Everything had happened naturally, organically, and it felt right.

“Do you?” he asked hopefully.

She shook her head, adding, “I had no idea I was going to be this lucky.” He gave a short laugh, but she could see his brain working furiously. “You want me to walk to Fort Augustus? I’m happy to.”

His eyes were bright with amusement. “Hopefully that won’t be necessary.” He lifted her and moved her next to him. “Give me a minute.”

He disappeared out the door and she heard him run up the stairs, taking two at a time. She brought up her knees and hugged them, still trembling at the intensity of her orgasm, crossing her fingers as she willed there to be a pack of condoms somewhere in the bathroom.

Within twenty seconds, he reappeared, holding up a line of foil packets triumphantly. “Ta-da!”

“Thank the gods!”

“Thank Paul,” he said fervently. “Remind me to replace them before we leave.” He tossed the packets onto the table and pulled her to her feet. Lifting her, he wrapped her legs around him before sinking back onto the sofa with her astride him again. “Now, where were we?”

…

Noel was in seventh heaven. Or maybe even eighth or ninth. How many heavens were there? Whatever the number, he was definitely somewhere near the top. Holly kissed him and filled his senses with her fragrance and taste. She smelled of roses and mince pies, and she tasted of chocolate and sweet white wine. Her skin was like satin beneath his fingertips, and her breasts were full and heavy in his hands. Her nipples had softened during his dash to find condoms, so he rolled them between his forefingers and thumbs, enjoying the way she moaned against his mouth as the velvet peaks tightened to firm buds in his hands.

He played with her until her breathing grew irregular and her soft sighs filled the room, and then they made each other laugh by reaching for the foil packets at the same time. He tore one off and extracted the condom, holding his breath as she took it from him and gave him a knowing wink. She rolled it onto him slowly, making him groan, his hands curling into fists as he struggled to control the desire threading through him, strong and neat as the whisky he’d been drinking.

Eventually, she lifted herself up and he felt the tip of his erection press into her. He caught his breath as she lowered herself, and very slowly, he slid into her welcoming body.

His head fell back on the sofa, and he breathed out in a controlled exhalation. He’d forgotten the intensity of this feeling—this wonderful sensation of oneness, of being inside a woman, feeling her close around him, warm and wet and magnificent.

“Noel?” She kissed his eyelids, his cheekbones, his lips. “Are you okay?”

He waited for a sweep of guilt, a twang of remorse that Ella was fading from his mind, but he couldn’t dredge up anything except pleasure and joy at the fact the woman he was loving at that moment was so real in his arms. “I’m sublime,” he said, opening his eyes and staring up at her. She looked wanton and alluring, all ruffled hair and swollen lips, her eyes half-lidded with passion. “God, Holly, you’re so beautiful.”

She smiled and bent her head to let her lips hover over his as, slowly and gently, she rolled her hips to let him slide out, then back in again. “Oh, that feels fantastic,” she sighed.

“Oh, yeah.” He ran his hands over her, enjoying the dampness of her skin in the heat of the room, the softness of her heavenly feminine form.

She continued to move on top of him, tipping back her head and arching her spine, then bending forward to kiss him as she welcomed him deeper and deeper inside her. He began to lose himself in her, all thoughts and emotions melting together as his body took over and desire rose in a great wave to sweep over him. There was no past, no future, nobody else in that room except him and Holly, and he felt a deep, dark craving rise within him for this kind, passionate, sexy woman.

Her breathing quickened and she was moving more purposefully, but it wasn’t hard or fast enough, so he held her tightly by the hips and moved forward onto his knees on the rug in front of the fire, making her gasp. He lowered her onto her back, groaning as she tightened her legs around him. He pushed himself up almost to a kneeling position, leaning over her and sighing as she stretched out beneath him, arms over her head, reveling in the heat of the fire on her skin.

He withdrew, then pushed forward, deep inside her, and she moaned, arching against him and welcoming him in. He thrust more urgently, lifting her hips with one hand to angle himself so he was arousing her as he moved, watching her and enjoying her sighs of pleasure as he thrust hard.

He felt her orgasm begin from miles away, listening to her breathing change, seeing her cheeks flush, feeling her start to grow tighter around him. “Yes, Holly, come for me,” he urged, and she gasped, climaxing hard and fast, squealing with the intensity of it. He glowed inside at the thought that he was the cause of her pleasure.

And then he felt the heat rush over him, and he shuddered and came inside her, groaning as she raked her nails down his back and pushing up hard to encourage him to thrust deeper. His orgasm seemed to go on forever, and by the end, he was sweating and exhausted, shaking, and wrung out.

He rested his forehead on her shoulder as his breathing slowed. He felt her kiss his ear, and her hands stroked his back gently.

When he finally lifted his head, it was to see her green eyes shining with affection, her lips curving as she ran her hand through his hair. “Happy birthday,” she said and giggled.

“Merry Christmas,” he said, and they both started laughing.

She kissed his nose. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” He kissed her lips. “You’re amazing.”

She chuckled. “You’re not so bad yourself. You did damn fine considering you haven’t had any for three years. I was half expecting you to only last thirty seconds.”

“It wasn’t easy. I deserve a medal.” He groaned as she laughed again, and he withdrew from her as gently as he could, rolling over onto his back. He disposed of the condom, then pulled her to him, and she curled up, her head on his shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmured, feeling the heat of the fire wash over him, sated and content.

“You are very, very welcome.” Her fingers played with the hairs on his chest. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sweetheart.” She raised herself up on an elbow and looked down at him. He reached up a hand and brushed a lock of hair from her forehead, returning her hesitant smile. “What?” he asked, sensing that she wanted to ask him something.

“Do you…do you feel okay? I mean, you don’t regret what we just did?”

He laughed. “That would be a resounding no.”

“I’m serious, Noel. Because of Ella, I mean. I know you’ve waited, and I don’t want you to—”

He kissed her to stop her talking. Then he kissed her again, slower, more thoroughly, because it was nice.

“Mm,” she said, pressing her lips together.

“Does that answer your question?”

“Kinda.” She wrinkled her nose at him.

“What’s the time?”

She checked her watch. “Nearly midnight.”

He smiled. “It’s nearly your birthday then.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot.” She studied him thoughtfully. “Have you got me a present?”

In reply, he ran his fingers lightly down her back and raised an eyebrow.

“Already?” she said, pretending to be shocked.

“Well, come on, it’s been three years. I’m going to make the most of you while I’ve got you.” He held her tightly and tipped her onto her back, making her squeal. “Unless you’d rather watch another movie instead?”

“Oh, no,” she said, threading her fingers through his hair. “I know what I want for my birthday.”

“It won’t be a surprise. You’ve already opened it.”

“You could tie a bow around it for me.”

“Only if you promise to undo it with your teeth.”

They both laughed, and then they were kissing again, and as the logs rustled in the grate and the snow continued to fall outside, they lost themselves once more in each other, content on that Christmas night to make love until the fire died and the room grew cool.

…

The vibrating of Holly’s mobile phone woke her. She’d set it to silent the night before, but it rattled on the bedside table, jerking her awake.

Light seeped through the chink in the curtains, and she blinked blearily at the display that read just after seven thirty. She looked at the caller ID.

Jackson.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Noel still asleep in her bed, lying on his back and tangled in the duvet, his chest rising and falling evenly. They’d finally made it up to her room shortly after one in the morning, but their lovemaking had continued there, long and lazy, as they filled the night with their moans and soft sighs.

She thought about canceling the call, but knowing Jackson, he’d only call again until she answered, and she didn’t want to wake Noel. She slid out of bed and pulled on her dressing gown and slippers, pressing the answer button on the phone as she slipped out of the room.

“Hello?” she said.

“Holly?”

“Hi, Jackson.” She only just stopped herself from saying “Jackass,” and tried not to giggle.

“Hey.” He hesitated. “Where are you? You sound different.”

“I’m in Scotland.” And I sound different because I’ve been making love all night with an insatiable science-teacher-turned-stud.

“Scotland? What are you doing there?”

“A friend asked me if I wanted to go with him, and I didn’t want to spend Christmas alone,” she said defensively.

There was a moment’s silence. “Him?”

She bit her lip. That had been a slip of the tongue. “Just a friend from work.”

“I see.”

She massaged her forehead. “What do you want, Jackson? What business is it of yours anyway whom I choose to go on holiday with?”

“It’s none of mine, I know.” He sounded apologetic. “It’s just…I wanted to wish you happy birthday.”

Of course, it was her birthday. She closed herself in the bathroom, sat on the toilet seat, and ran her hand through her hair. “Oh, yeah. Well, thanks.”

“I got you a present.”

She frowned. “Oh?”

“It’s that guitar case you wanted—the one with flowers all over it?”

She stared at the floor, puzzled now. She’d wanted the case desperately for ages, but the thought of him buying it for her made her feel uncomfortable. “Why are you buying me presents?”

“I…I miss you.”

She blinked, shocked. “What?”

“I realized how stupid I was. I love you, Hol. I always have. I don’t know what I was thinking. It was a crap Christmas Day—usually you’re there making things all wonderful, with fantastic food and great music, making me laugh, but it was just crap, and I really missed you.” He sounded genuine. “I want you back, Hol. Come home.”

Holly’s head spun. “You’re crazy! After everything you said to me? You told me we hadn’t been good for years. That we were both miserable. How can I come back after that?”

“We all say stupid things when we’re angry. I know you don’t like some of the stuff that goes on at work, and sometimes it made me frustrated that you didn’t join in. But I went out with the lads on Christmas Eve and, to be honest, I’m getting tired of them. They’re immature, making jokes all the time, thinking of nothing except beer and football and getting laid.”

“I thought you liked getting laid.”

“I do,” he said earnestly, either missing or ignoring the irony in her words, “but only with you, Hol.”

Confused, she walked across the room to the small window and pushed it open. Snow fell from the window ledge onto the floor, and the crisp, cold air seeped in to chill her. She had a history with Jackson. Years of familiarity. She knew his family, his friends, and he knew hers. She knew his ways, what made him tick, what food he liked, how to please him in bed.

“I want kids,” he said.

Her heart seemed to shudder to a halt. “Kids?”

“Yes. Children. With you, Holly. I don’t know why we never talked about it before, but I want a family with you. I want it all. Come back to me, Hol. Come and marry me, spend the rest of your life with me.”

“Jackson, stop!” This was too much. She pressed her palm to her forehead. “You’ve never talked about any of this before. You’ve never mentioned marriage or children.”

“I know, and I don’t know why. It’s all I keep thinking about, and I want it all.”

I want, I want. She realized he hadn’t asked her what she wanted.

What did she want?

She thought about Noel. Okay, so she’d seen him at school for a year or so, but she didn’t know him. She’d only really talked properly to him over the last day or so. He was a widower who had clearly adored his late wife, and it was obvious he was having difficulty getting over her. Sure, they’d had sex last night, but Holly had told him before she stripped off they were two adults seeking comfort from each other, no more, no less. They’d had a great night. But that didn’t mean they’d have a future. Noel might be racked with guilt when he awoke. He might never be able to get over Ella. He might decide he never wanted to get married again, or that he couldn’t bear to have children with another woman. She’d known him intimately for one night. She couldn’t base any hopes on what they’d experienced.

And yet…was it just the fact it had been Christmas that had made it feel magical? It had been snowing, and maybe their emotions had been heightened by the specialness of the day. Was that it? Or had there been something exceptional about what had happened between them last night? The sex had been fantastic, but it had been more than that, for Holly, anyway. Noel had touched her heart in a way that Jackson never had in all the five years she’d been with him.

“Hol?” There was a hint of impatience in Jackson’s voice.

“Bridget Jones,” she said.

He heaved a sigh. “What about her?”

“Noel likes the film.”

“Noel? Who’s…oh.” His voice turned steely. “Is he gay?”

She laughed. “No, he’s certainly not gay.”

“Have you…?”

“Slept with him? Yes.” She felt a wave of release as she admitted it. “He’s a lovely man, Jackson. I like him very much. It’s very new, what we’ve got, and it might not lead to anything more. I don’t know yet—it’s too early to tell. But I do know I like him. And he likes the same things I do. The same music, the same movies. He understands my crazy, mixed-up mind—he pretends he doesn’t, but he often knows what I’m saying when I’m being vague, and even when he can’t puzzle me out, it doesn’t irritate him. I don’t know what he wants out of life. His wife died a few years ago, and I don’t know if he even wants another relationship, let alone to get married or have kids. But the thing is, I want to find out. I want to spend more time with him. He makes me laugh. He makes me happy, and I wasn’t happy with you, Jackson—you said it yourself. I was miserable. And that’s why I can’t come back to you.”

She finished, breathless with her long speech, her heart thudding as it all became clear to her. Suddenly, she was impatient to finish the phone call. She wanted to get back in bed with Noel, to wake him with kisses and spend the morning making love. “I’ve got to go,” she told Jackson. “You don’t really love me. You’ve realized leaving was the wrong move and you’re scared that you’re going to be alone now, but you won’t be for long. There’ll be another girl—one who’ll like the same things you do, and you’ll be fine, Jacks. I hope you will, anyway. I’ll see you around.”

She hung up.

Her spirits lifted, she went to the loo and brushed her teeth, left her phone in the bathroom, and crept back along the hallway to her bedroom.

Noel wasn’t there.

She stared at the bed for a moment, confused. He must have gone downstairs while she was on the phone. Perhaps he woke while she was talking, realized she wasn’t there, and came to find her… She went cold. What if he’d overheard her on the phone…and whatever he’d heard had made him walk away?

She ran down the stairs, tying the robe tightly around her waist, and went into the living room. He wasn’t there. She went into the kitchen, then through to the other living room, checked in the bathroom, but no sign. Finally, she went to the front door. It wasn’t quite shut.

She opened it, feeling a rush of relief as she saw him standing on the porch, looking out at the view. He turned as she came out. He didn’t smile.

“Hey.” She walked up beside him, shivering as the cold air cut through her robe.

“Hey.” His gaze moved back to the loch, which was silent and gray.

“What are you doing out here?”

He cleared his throat. “I heard you on the phone. I didn’t want to eavesdrop.”

She read between the lines—he’d overheard her talking and hadn’t liked what he’d heard. She went cold, and it had nothing to do with the December air.

“Noel…” He must have heard her saying she hoped there’d be something between them. She’d freaked him out—he wasn’t ready for it. Panic welled inside her. “Don’t take any notice of what I said. I know last night didn’t mean anything. You needed comfort, and so did I—there’s nothing wrong with that. I wasn’t trying to force you into something you’re not ready for.” She put a hand on his arm, and to her relief he didn’t pull away. “All I was saying was that I enjoyed what we had, and I like you. Very much. I’d like to get to know you better. But I know you might not be ready for that. I wasn’t pushing, really.” She bit her lip. She wasn’t going to cry, she really wasn’t.

Noel looked confused. “What are you talking about? I heard you talking to Jackson about getting married and having children. I thought you were saying you wanted to get back with him.”

She stared at him. “No. God, no! He was telling me he wanted to get back with me, but I don’t want that. I told him it was over, Noel. I realized last night, the way you made me feel…” She hesitated, but his blue eyes were wide, almost begging her to go on, and she knew she had to be honest with him. “I’ve never felt that way with Jackson.”

Snowflakes fell on her hair and shoulders, but she ignored them, so desperate to make sure he understood what she was trying to convey to him.

He lifted his glasses onto the top of his head, and his eyes searched her face. “What are you saying, Holly?”

She took a deep breath. “I don’t know you very well. I mean, I’ve seen you at school for ages, but I haven’t gotten to know you until a few days ago. And it’s been a strangely surreal atmosphere, because we’ve been in forced proximity, like being taken hostage.” His lips twitched at that, but she forged on. “And you’ve been grieving, and I’m on the rebound. But…” She hesitated. I’m just crazy about you, he’d told her the night before. That must count for something, right?

“But…” he prompted.

“I think I’m falling for you.” There, she’d said it. “That doesn’t mean I expect anything in return, or that I know what the future holds. But the thing is…I’m willing to find out. I want to spend more time with you, Noel. I want to get to know you properly. But even if you don’t want to see me again, the point is that I’m interested enough to tell Jackass that it’s over. It’s made me realize, me and him—it’s never going to happen. We’re done, and it’s time for me to move on.”

She stopped and looked out across the loch. “I know it’s a ridiculous thing to say, but I envy her.”

“Nessie?”

She gave him a wry, apologetic smile. “Ella.” He frowned, and she added, “Because you must have had something very special, for you to mourn her for so long. I envy her for having a man feel about her so strongly that he stays single for three years when she dies. That’s truly exceptional, Noel. I hope—wherever she is—she knows how lucky she is.”

He met her gaze and held it. He smiled, bringing his hands up to cup her face. “You’re something else,” he said, kissing her nose. Then he wrapped his arms around her.

Puzzled, Holly didn’t argue, putting her arms around his waist and enjoying his warmth, his scent, the feel of him against her. She’d explored his body in the night, covering every inch with her fingers and mouth, welcoming him inside her, loving him without saying it. And he’d been so passionate, worshipping her in return, unable to leave her alone, unable to stop touching her, even as they fell asleep. But was that just because he hadn’t had any for three years? Or was it because there was something special between them?

She felt him kiss the top of her head. Then he said, “I didn’t think I’d make it through the first Christmas without her. I had to haul myself around like I had chains on me, like Marley’s ghost.” He kissed her head again. “But after that it started to get easier. Minutes went by when I didn’t think about her, and I’d feel guilty and get upset all over again. But the minutes turned into hours, and gradually the huge weight on my chest lifted, and it became easier to breathe.”

Holly’s breath formed in white puffs around her face. The snow was still falling, and her blood had turned to ice, but she didn’t want to break the magic of the moment, entranced by his soft voice and his confession as he tried to explain himself.

“By the second Christmas, I was living more normally, going to work, coming home, marking papers, watching TV, just getting on with life, I suppose. I hadn’t dated again—to be honest, I hadn’t met anyone who I wanted to date—but there was also still this feeling that Ella was judging how much I loved her by how long I stayed alone. I felt so trapped by my grief, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to love again.”

He kissed her hair for a third time. “And then you came to the school. I can remember the first time you came into the staff room, with your golden curls and your short skirts. I watched you walk across the room, and I bumped into a table.” She gave a little laugh—she hadn’t known that. “You were like a cold drink on a hot day—refreshing and uplifting—but every time I looked at you, I felt like I was betraying Ella. I knew it was time for me to move on, but I couldn’t shake that feeling. Whenever I spoke to you, I clammed up. As if when I eventually admitted I was ready to love another woman, I’d be admitting to Ella that I was over her.”

Tears pricked Holly’s eyes. She couldn’t imagine how hard it had been for him, losing the woman he’d loved, especially when he was so young.

He sighed. “I was preparing myself for another long and lonely Christmas. And then I found you in that office, crying. Sitting in that café, heartbroken, you were still the most beautiful thing in my life. I kidded myself that I was asking you to come to Scotland to get over Jackass, but deep down, I know I wanted you for myself.”

She shivered, but it had nothing to do with the cold.

“I fought myself. I kept thinking about Ella—I thought that if I talked about her on Christmas Eve, it would remind me what we had and convince me I should leave you alone. But the memories felt like Polaroids I was taking out to show you. I could remember the events, and what she looked like, but I couldn’t feel anything anymore. And then I felt guilty, and then I was just so exhausted by the guilt I decided I was done.”

He moved back a little, bringing his hands up to cup her face again. “I’m ready to move on, too. I think I’m finally able to accept that loving another woman doesn’t mean I’ve abandoned Ella, that I’m replacing her with you. You’re so different from her, I couldn’t tell you. I loved her, but she’s gone, and now I have you. And it’s not the same at all.” He stroked her cheeks. “I’m crazy about you. And I can’t fight it anymore. It feels right—we feel right together, and I want you, Holly. I want you in my life, with your crazy talk and your curls and your beautiful music. You shine so brightly—you fill all the shadows inside of me.”

“Oh, God, stop,” she said, tears pouring down her face. “Just kiss me already.”

So, he kissed her, cupping her head, pulling her tightly against him, delving his tongue into her mouth, and Holly returned the embrace, threading her fingers through his hair and not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

And then he wrapped her in his arms, so tightly she could barely breathe. “When I heard you on the phone, I thought you were going back to him. I felt like someone had stabbed me in the heart.”

“And when I came out and you’d left the bedroom, I thought I was going to come down and find you driving off in the car.”

He chuckled. “That would be quite difficult, don’t you think?” He pointed down the slope to a large lump in the snow that she realized was the car.

“Oh!” It was only then that she realized how much snow had fallen in the night. “What are we going to do?”

“We’ll have to stay here until it clears.” He looked down at her, his blue eyes mischievous. “We’ll have to think of something to do until we’re rescued.”

She wiped her face before the cold air could freeze the tears on her cheeks. She couldn’t believe he wanted her to stay. Yet another Christmas miracle, she thought, brushing her thumb over his lips. “There are plenty more DVDs to watch.”

He brushed his hands up her back. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve got planned for your birthday?”

“Please tell me you don’t have stockings on.”

He laughed. “No. You’re spared that terrible fate.” He stroked down her arms. “You’re freezing. We should get you inside.”

“I think I’m turning into Danny DeVito.”

“Are you trying to turn me on?” Ignoring her giggles, he backed her inside and shut the door behind him as he nuzzled her ear. “I’ve got an idea of how to warm you up.”

“Oh?”

“How about a nice hot bath?”

Her heart started to speed up. “Mm. The tub’s big enough for two.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

“Noel?”

He was busy planting kisses down her neck, his hands undoing the tie of her dressing gown. “Hmm?”

“I hope she has someone, too, and that she’s as happy as I am.”

He frowned, and she realized he was probably wondering whether she meant Nessie or Ella. Then he obviously came to the conclusion that it didn’t matter. “Me, too.” He studied her face for a moment. “Happy birthday, Holly. Thank you for coming into my life.”

“Merry Christmas, Noel the Brave. And you’re welcome.”

She let him lead her upstairs, dropping her dressing gown along the way and laughing as he stared at her and tripped up the step. “I’m looking forward to unwrapping my birthday present again.”

He led her into the bathroom, turned on the taps, and then let her start unbuttoning his shirt. “Hopefully you won’t decide to take it back and exchange it for something else.”

“Oh, I don’t think there’s much chance of that,” she said huskily, sliding down his zipper. “I think this one’s for keeps.”

About the Author

Faye Robertson lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband and gorgeous teenage son. She writes fun, flirty, and sexy contemporary romances for the modern woman who likes intelligent, spirited heroines, and hunky but approachable heroes. She’s won several romance writing competitions and is a member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. She would much rather immerse herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies. Do feel free to pop round her virtual home, however.

www.fayerobertsonromance.com

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Chance of a Lifetime

an Anderson Brothers novel by Marissa Clarke

Chance Anderson thrives on adrenaline, but his best friend’s blind sister Genny is the one risk he’s not willing to take. His recklessness a decade ago landed her in the hospital and ejected him from her life. He’s bad for her and everyone knows it. But now she’s back and wants his help to tick off the items her bucket list. Can he be that close without endangering his heart…and her life…again?

Love Me at Midnight

a boxed set including three flirty New Year’s Eve romances from Linda Morris, Robin Bielman, and C.M. Stone