Chapter 20
‘So.’ Jack looks at Saoirse’s retreating figure. ‘She’s your “friend”, is she?’
I punch him on the arm. ‘Give it a rest, mate. She’s temping for us, as Bea’s nanny, if you must know. Just for a few weeks.’
‘Right. So she’s on duty tonight, so you can go have some fun?’
‘No, she’s not on duty. I thought she’d enjoy it, that’s all. She’s a big fan of Siobhan’s, and she’s only been in the UK for a month or two—I thought she deserved a bit of a treat.’
‘Did you, now.’
‘I did. I’m not the easiest person to work for.’
Jack raises his eyebrows. ‘No comment. So you don’t like her.’
I roll my eyes at him. ‘No. Fuck off.’
‘Are you blind or something? Because she’s a knockout.’
My exact words to Astrid. She’s a knockout. And that was before I saw her in the red dress that looked as if it had been made for her.
‘She’s beautiful. But it doesn’t mean I should seduce the poor girl.’
‘Of course not. If you just want to get laid, I agree; leave her the fuck alone and go to one of your usual haunts in Mayfair and pick someone up. But if you like her, mate, then for God’s sake, take a chance. You said it yourself—she’s only temping for you for a few weeks.
‘I felt like such a perv, making a move on Emmy. But I was pretty confident the feeling was mutual. We’d had a lot of moments—there was so much heat between us. And mate, I can’t imagine life without her.’
The choir has started up by the time we get our drinks and take them over to Saoirse and Emmy. Saoirse’s standing still, her face lifted, her expression wondrous, as the haunting strains of Once in Royal David’s City fill the air.
‘Do you want to go and listen?’ I ask her.
‘I’d love to.’ She beams at me, and my heart constricts. That smile takes my breath away.
I don’t miss Jack and Emmy exchange a glance.
‘Let us borrow Bea for a few minutes,’ Emmy says. ‘Mia’s desperate to go roast some giant marshmallows over at the fire pit.’
Emmy takes Bea by the hand as I lead Saoirse over to where the choir is performing on a stage at one end of the Walled Garden.
All around the edges, the bare fruit trees and ancient walls are up-lit in white and blue.
I have to admit, the Sorrel Farm team has done a great job.
I’ve never been one for Christmas overload, but this feels special. Meaningful.
We find an opening in the small crowd and stand beside each other in the relative dark, watching the choir.
I sneak a look at Saoirse. Then another.
She’s rapt, her profile illuminated by the up-lights.
She looks like an angel. She really does.
Her lips are full and smiling, and she may have the most perfect cupid’s bow I’ve ever seen.
Her nose is slightly upturned, its curve delightful.
Seeing the world through her eyes is like therapy. She finds joy in everything, wonder in everything. It’s as if she’s a Christmas angel who’s been sent down to me and Bea to bring magic to our world after the horror of last year.
I shake myself.
Jesus Christ, Miles.
Get a grip.
The choir begins to sing O Holy Night. Its solemnity is beautiful. Healing, almost. Beside me, Saoirse hugs herself with joy, but she shivers too, and stamps her boots on the ground.
I lean my head towards her. ‘You cold?’
‘Yeah.’ She turns and gives me a radiant smile. ‘Even in this amazing coat. How ridiculous.’ Her gaze moves to my mouth and then back to my eyes. Her smile falters, but her eyes are enormous. Hungry.
‘Come here.’ I don’t even have time to think about it or be nervous.
I unbutton my coat and hold it open. I move so I’m behind her and wrap my arms tightly around her shoulders, pulling her into the heat of my body.
My hands are somewhere over her collarbones.
Despite the volume of her coat, this feels—right.
It feels like she’s exactly where she belongs.
She stiffens for a second, then relaxes into me, and I bury my nose in her silky curls. She’s not wearing a hat. No wonder she’s freezing.
We stay like that for a moment, and then her bare hand creeps up and closes over mine.
She pauses before entwining her fingers with mine and squeezing.
Her hand is so cold. I curl mine up to squeeze her fingers and stand there reverently.
To have this woman in my arms, her body flush against mine, is an almost spiritual experience.
Especially with this timeless carol pouring forth around us.
She’s brushing her thumb over my skin. I lift my nose out of her fragrant hair and tilt my head to the side so I can put my lips to her ear. I’m trembling with need.
‘Saoirse.’
What I’m asking her for, I don’t know, but the sound of her name makes her jolt, and she slowly, slowly turns, first her head and then her body, to face me.
As she lifts her face to mine, I stare into those huge green eyes for just a moment. The hunger is more palpable in them now, even in this dim light.
I bend my head and kiss her.
Her lips are even softer than in my many, many fantasies of how they’d feel, and when she opens her mouth for me, it’s blessedly warm.
She tastes of mulled wine, and of the spiced pfeffernüsse cookies she and Bea have been gorging on.
She winds her tongue around mine and her hands around my neck, pulling me further down towards her.
And when I ramp up the intensity of the kiss, the vibrations of the moan she makes in her throat echo through me.
Relief courses through me. Kissing her is the release I’ve needed after weeks of holding off, exerting self-control, not allowing myself to act.
I’ve barely allowed myself to think.
Now, I cup her face in my hand and run my thumb along the smooth curve of her jaw as we test, and taste, and explore.
As we drink each other up. My thoughts are muddied by the smell and taste of her, the deliciousness of her face pressed to mine and those pliable lips bending under the pressure of mine.
I relinquish the kiss to draw back and assess her reaction. Her eyes are glazed, she’s trying to catch her breath, and her lips are swollen and puffy. She is perfection.
‘You are so beautiful.’ I trace my fingers down the side of her face. ‘So beautiful, I can’t even tell you.’
Her face lights up in a smile so fucking fantastic that I let rip and grin back at her, shaking my head, loving this moment.
‘Your dimples!’ She puts a finger up and gently twists it against one of my dimples. ‘I have a mild obsession with these.’
‘Mild, eh?’ I bend and brush her mouth with mine. ‘We’ll have to work on that.’
When I pull back, she’s staring at me in a way that goes beyond gratifying to being a giant ego boost. Just then, the choir launches into a peppy arrangement of God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen. She cranes her head to see behind her.
‘Here.’ I put my hands on her shoulder and gently turn her around. ‘We can stand like this.’
I gather her hair and carefully drape it over one shoulder, bending my head to access her delectable white neck. I nuzzle it with my nose. Breathe her in. Edge my arm around the front of her enormous coat and unfasten a button so I can slip a hand in through the opening.
My fingers find silk. Bingo. I splay them over her stomach, stroking lightly back and forth over the slippery fabric.
She arches into my touch and pushes her arse back against me. Good grief. I’m getting hard. Thankfully, her coat is far too thick a buffer for her to feel it.
Hopefully.
‘Miles.’ She twists her head, and I drop an open-mouthed kiss on her lips.
Drag my mouth to her ear.
Tell her the truth.
‘Just wait till I fucking get you home.’
Her stomach convulses against my hand. I massage harder. The silk is unbelievably sensual under my fingers, but it’s a barrier I could do without.
She slips her hand inside my coat, on top of mine. Entwines her fingers with mine again. And guides my hand higher, so I can just graze the luscious swell that is the underside of her breast. Now it’s my turn to shudder.
‘I haven’t stopped thinking about your beautiful tits since puke-gate,’ I whisper in her ear, and she laughs, but I’m deadly serious.
I brush a thumb over her nipple and feel it harden into a tight bud under that silk.
A few blunt but well-meant comments from Astrid and Jack, and I’ve taken the leap.
I’m fucking unleashed.
It feels so good to be here with her. To say what I want to say in her ear, instead of hiding my desires behind a frown and adjusting my trousers under the breakfast table.
‘I want to see what they look like. I want to know how they feel in my mouth. I want you so badly.’
She shudders, hopefully with desire, as my hand meanders over her chest, her stomach. Her hand presses down on mine. Her back is still arched; she pushes the side of her face back against my shoulder.
‘Miles. I want you, too. So much. How soon can we leave?’
‘I know. I can’t wait to get out of here.’
‘No, I’m serious.’ She shimmies against me again. ‘How soon can we leave?’