Chapter 11
Aurora
Somerset House takes my breath away.
I'd seen pictures online, but nothing could've prepared me for the sheer beauty of the real thing.
The courtyard has been transformed into a winter wonderland, the ice rink at its centre surrounded by twinkling lights and a towering Christmas tree.
The neoclassical architecture provides a stunning backdrop, all elegant columns and arches lit up for the holidays.
It's like nothing I could've imagined, and yet, somehow, everything I could've dreamed.
“This is incredible.” The words come out on a breath, my eyes blown wide as I take it all in.
“Come on.” Cole's words find my ears as his hand comes to rest gently on the small of my back. “Let's get our skates on.”
The casual intimacy of his touch sends warmth flooding through me despite the November cold.
I feel hyper aware of him following the moment we’d shared in the sweater shop, surrounded by blinking reindeer, tinsel, and the most delightfully ugly Christmas sweaters, with our gazes fixed on one another.
The air between us had been thick and charged when I caught a glimpse of his abs, those same perfectly defined muscles I'd traced with my hands last night, that I'd kissed my way down as he'd groaned my name.
When he’d stepped closer with his eyes dropping to my lips, I'd been certain he was going to kiss me. I’d desperately wanted him to.
My heart had hammered against my ribs, my breath had caught, and for one endless second, I'd thought about dragging him into a changing room to recreate last night's magic.
But then the owner had called us, breaking the spell, and we'd stepped apart. I'd assumed that was it—the natural end to our spontaneous adventure, the moment reality crept back in. I'd already been mourning it, mourning him, even as I'd tried to memorise every detail of his face.
But then he'd surprised me in the best way. The man who plans everything and thinks efficiency is a way of life had looked at me with those deep-green eyes still dark with desire and told me he wanted to take me skating.
Warmth floods my chest at the recollection as I let him lead me to the booth where we rent our skates, then head to the ice. Considering I’ve not skated since I was a teenager, my first few steps onto the ice are wobbly at best.
Very wobbly, actually.
“Easy,” Cole says, suddenly at my elbow. His hand finds the small of my back again, steadying me, and I'm acutely aware of his touch even through my thick woollen coat. The memory of those strong hands on my bare skin makes my breath hitch. “I've got you, Sweetheart.”
Just like he had me last night with his mouth hot on mine as he murmured promises about what he wanted to do to me.
Now is not the time for that, Rory!
“You can skate?” I ask, surprised by how confidently he moves on the ice, trying to focus on anything other than the way my body remembers his.
He grins, a hint of pride in his expression. “Just picked it up,” he says with an easy shrug. “I'm not really a halfway kind of guy. When I do something, I give it one hundred percent.”
My cheeks flush at the memory of exactly how thoroughly he does everything. How he'd taken his time learning every inch of my body, every sound I made, every touch that made me gasp his name. How he'd been completely focused on my pleasure before his own.
Focus!
“One hundred percent?” I raise an eyebrow, unable to stop the smile tugging at my lips despite the heat pooling low in my belly. “So you're saying you're an overachiever.”
“I prefer 'thorough,'“ he counters, his eyes glinting with something dark and knowing. “When I commit to learning something, I make sure I master it properly.”
Holy shit.
The way he says master, combined with the sinfully wicked memories at the forefront of my mind right now, makes me grateful for the cold air cooling my overheated cheeks. From the slight curve of his mouth, he knows exactly what he's doing. Knows exactly where my thoughts have drifted.
“How admirable,” I manage, my voice breathier than intended.
“I find it's always better to exceed expectations,” he says as he skates a little closer. His voice drops lower, intimate despite the crowd around us. “Don’t you think, Sweetheart?”
“I suppose that depends on what you're trying to master,” I say, surprised by my own boldness.
His jaw tics as his eyes darken. “Indeed.”
The word hangs between us, loaded with promise.
Then I notice something—we've been gliding smoothly across the ice this entire time, my feet moving with a confidence I didn't have before.
I've been so caught up in our banter, in the sheer sexual tension crackling between us, that I completely forgot to be nervous.
“You distracted me,” I accuse, though I can't keep the thrilled smile off my face.
“Guilty,” he admits with an unrepentant grin. “Though I'd say it worked, wouldn't you?”
He moves in front of me, skating backwards with an ease that should be illegal, and offers both his hands. “Hold on.”
I do as instructed, gripping his hands probably tighter than necessary, and he slowly pulls me forward.
We start making our way around the rink, and I'm trying very hard to focus on staying upright rather than on how strong his hands feel holding mine.
How his thumbs are rubbing gentle circles on my knuckles—the same absent, tender gesture he'd made last night while we lay tangled together in the aftermath. How his eyes haven't left my face.
“You're doing great,” he says encouragingly.
“I'm wobbling like a newborn giraffe.”
“A very graceful newborn giraffe.” The corner of his mouth quirks. “Seriously, you're doing better than half the people here.”
When I glance up at him, I realise he's been watching me intently—not my feet or my wobbling body, but my face. There's something in his eyes, something warm and focused that makes my breath falter. Like I'm the only person on this entire rink. In this entire city.
“Are you blushing, Rory?” he teases, his gaze unwavering.
“It's cold,” I lie, even as heat courses through me.
“Mmm.” The sound he makes tells me he sees straight through me. “That must be it.”
I belly laugh at his dry delivery, and the movement throws off my already precarious balance. I pitch forward, but Cole catches me easily, his arms coming around me to steady me against his chest.
We freeze, pressed together from shoulder to hip.
My hands are trapped between us against the solid wall of his chest, while his arms lock around my back.
Warmth radiates off of him even through our winter coats.
His face is so close to mine that I can see the exact shade of brown in his eyes, the way they're dilated in the fairy lights.
“Hi,” I whisper, my heart pounding.
“Hi,” he whispers back, and there's something in his voice that belies the heat in his eyes.
Around us, other skaters glide past, but they might as well not exist. The world has narrowed to just this—me in his arms, the way his breath mists in the cold air between us, the way I can't seem to stop staring at his lips.
He runs a hand through his hair, and something vulnerable flickers in his expression.
“Rory,” he murmurs softly, and my name sounds different in his voice.
Vital.
I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear nervously. “Yeah?”
His jaw clenches for a moment before he speaks. “I really want to kiss you.”
My breath catches, and every nerve in my body lights up with want. I bite my lip before whispering, “What's stopping you?”
Dark eyes search mine for a heartbeat, and then his hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing across my cheekbone. “Absolutely nothing.”
And then his lips are on mine.
Right there on the ice, surrounded by other skaters and twinkling lights and Christmas music. It starts gentle, almost tentative, like he's giving me a chance to pull away. Instead, I press closer, my hands fisting his coat lapels to deepen the kiss.
His lips are warm against mine despite the cold, soft, and sure as they move over my mouth.
When I part my lips on a sigh, his tongue sweeps inside, gliding against mine in a slow, sensual dance that makes me weak at the knees.
He tastes like mulled wine and Christmas spices, and something uniquely him that I’ve memorised from last night.
As his free hand slides to the small of my back, he pulls me flush against him, and we sway slightly on our skates.
The solid heat of his body presses against mine, and I can feel his heart hammering beneath my palms. When I make a small sound against his mouth, somewhere between a whimper and a moan, I feel him smile before he tilts his head, deepening the kiss further.
Our tongues tangle, unhurried but thorough. His hand tightens in my hair, angling my head exactly where he wants it, and the gentle dominance of the gesture sends sparks racing down my spine. I nip at his bottom lip, and the groan that rumbles through his chest is utterly intoxicating.
The world narrows to just this—the warmth of his mouth moving against mine, the slow glide of his tongue, the solid strength of him holding me steady, the way he kisses me like he's memorising the taste of me, too. Like I'm something precious.
When we finally break apart, I'm breathless and dizzy, clinging to his coat for balance. My lips feel swollen, tingling, and from the way his eyes have gone dark as he stares at my mouth, I know he's feeling it, too.
“Wow,” I manage.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his forehead resting against mine, his breath coming fast and ragged. His thumb traces my kiss-swollen bottom lip, and the touch makes me shiver. “Wow.”
Someone skates past us with a cheerful wolf whistle, and I feel my cheeks flame. Cole chuckles fondly, though he still doesn't let go of me.
“Maybe we should get off the ice before we cause a scene,” he suggests, though he doesn't seem particularly concerned about it.
“Probably a good idea,” I agree, even though part of me wants to stay right here in this perfect moment.
He carefully guides us toward the edge of the rink, his arm secure around my waist, keeping me steady against him until we're on solid ground. Even then, he doesn't let go completely, his hand finding mine and lacing our fingers together.
“So,” I say eventually, a nervous laugh escaping. “I'm definitely adding this to my spreadsheets.”
His lips curve into that devastating smile that makes me melt even further. “Your freshly minted compatibility rating spreadsheets?”
“The very same. You're racking up serious points, Hotshot. Book boyfriends throughout the smut reading community better watch their backs.” I bite my lip, my heart hammering.
Still, I try to keep my tone light as I quietly continue.
“Though I have to say...this doesn't exactly match up with that note you left this morning.”
His forehead puckers as something almost guilty flickers across his features.
Keeping my voice soft, I murmur, “I mean, you wrote that you weren't book boyfriend material. That I deserved someone who could give me more.” Then I gesture vaguely between us. “But you cancelled your entire afternoon to spend it with me. You told me you enjoy giving me things I like. You bought ridiculous Christmas jumpers despite clearly hating them, and you took me ice skating, and now...” I touch my still-tingling lips. “Now you're kissing me like you’re trying to rewrite every romance novel I’ve ever read. Like you’re ruining me for anyone else…
” I trail off, feeling my cheeks heat at my candour before I question softly, “What are we doing, Cole?”
Something shifts in his expression—understanding, maybe, or perhaps relief that I'm the one who said it first. He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, and what I see in his gaze makes my breath catch.
“You're right,” he says quietly.
His thumb traces my cheekbone, the gesture now familiar, before he takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “I've been so closed off for so long that I forgot how to be open to new things. New people.” His eyes search mine with intent. “And then…there was you.”
My heart stutters, and I bite my lip, barely daring to breathe.
“That note I left this morning…I wrote it believing we'd never see each other again. That it was safer for me. Cleaner.”
A rueful smile tugs at his lips before his brows furrow. “I have a daughter who depends on me and a slew of responsibilities I can't ignore. After my ex-wife walked out, I built walls so high that nothing could get through. It was easier that way. Predictable. Efficient.”
“Cole—”
“Let me finish,” he murmurs as he gently places his forefinger atop my lips.
When I nod, he continues. “When you invited me to the Christmas market earlier, I knew what you were doing, goading me into calling in sick, into being spontaneous.” His smile grows.
“And I did it anyway. Because I wanted to steal just a handful more hours with you. Just a couple more hours to feel...this.”
The pad of his thumb brushes my cheek as his deep-green eyes encompass my whole face, and I feel like I can barely breathe.
“Those hours today made me realise something.”
His voice drops lower, more intimate. “Somehow, in twenty-four short hours, you've snuck past every defence I've spent years building.
I don't know how you did it—with your terrible book boyfriend standards and your enthusiasm for ugly Christmas jumpers and ceramic hedgehogs and the way you look at London like she's magic.” He cups my face with both hands now.
“But all I know is that I’d walk over hot coals to see you smile, Rory.
So no, I don't know what this is. But I want to figure it out. With you. If you'll let me.”
The vulnerability in his words, in his eyes, completely undoes me.
Instead of answering, I pull him down and kiss him.
This kiss is different from the one on the ice—slower, more deliberate.
My hands slide up to cup his face as his arms wrap around my waist, pulling me closer.
Our mouths move together with an unhurried intensity, tongues tangling as we pour everything unspoken into this moment.
When we finally break apart, we're both breathless, and his smile could light up all of London.
“I'll take that as a yes,” he murmurs against my lips.
“It’s most definitely a yes,” I whisper back.