Cold Feet at Christmas. Debbie JohnsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
he was now. Who he was destined to be. There was nothing anyone could do about that – not his mother, not his brother. Not himself. Not even Leah.
His dark thoughts were scattered as Leah bustled back in from the kitchen, holding a hot plate with the edge of a cloth. The red tinsel had glued itself to the side of her cheek, skin flushed with the heat of the kitchen.
“It’s only a steak,” she said, sounding nervous and happy and excited all at the same time. “I found it in the freezer. Just a little sauce to go with it, peppercorns; some nutmeg, cream and—”
“Brandy,” he added as he took his first bite. “Because we’ve not had enough booze so far today, right? Leah, it’s delicious.”
And it was. Simple, luscious and full of flavour. He knew this wasn’t a well-stocked gourmet kitchen, despite her claims. Leah had taken the absolute basics and conjured up something wonderful. The woman had talent. And passion – he could tell that from the way she hovered, waiting for his reaction. This was something she loved doing. He wondered, even though it was none of his business, what she’d do with all that passion now, if she couldn’t go back to the bistro she’d mentioned.
He looked up and smiled. Leah felt her heart do a little flip for no good reason. She was always cheered when people enjoyed her cooking, and when the satisfied customer came with the face of a Renaissance god, the body of an athlete and the tongue of a sinner. Well, she thought, that was what you called a good tip. She’d quite like to heat him up with some brandy and cream and serve him as pudding.
She sat down to eat, realising how much she’d miss that first-bite reaction. How much she’d miss the bistro. Scouring the farmers’ markets for the freshest produce. Creating new dishes; giving them silly names and chalking them up on the specials board. She’s miss the hustle and bustle of restaurant life. The staff she worked with; their regulars, the blokes who ran the bar over the road, the homeless guys she saved leftovers for. She’d miss all of it, so much. It had been her reality for years – nice, fun, safe – and now it was all gone.
Now, though, she reminded herself, was not a time for moping. Reality sucked, and therefore it could wait. If she crashed now, he’d go with her – and they’d spend the rest of Christmas Day sobbing into their wine glasses.
Rob’s plate was soon clear. He didn’t lick it, but she could tell he wanted to. The ultimate compliment. It lifted her spirits straight away – if she achieved nothing else this Christmas, she’d fed a delicious meal to a delicious man. Even if he wasn’t hers for keeps.
“Just wait ’til you taste dessert,” she said, raising her eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. Before he could respond, she disappeared off into the kitchen again, carrying off their used plates. She gave her bottom an extra wiggle as she went. Or the red wine did, at least.
Rob smiled as she wiggled her ass at him. He sat still, leaning his elbows on the table. His belly was full of fine food, glass full of fine wine, his mind full of a fine woman…and he needed to ease up on all three. He was enjoying himself way too much. Way more than he deserved.
He could hear Leah singing in the kitchen, murdering one of the carols being broadcast on the radio. Oh Come All Ye Faithful. He shook his head in amazement at her resilience. After seeing their fiancé doing the dirty with someone else, most girls would be snivelling in a corner, desperate to win him back or stab him in the eye with a stiletto heel. Instead, here she was. No sign of a nervous breakdown, or at the very least a firm grip on when she was going to allow it to happen. Distracting herself with cooking and singing and making him laugh. Not to mention kissing and wriggling and touching. God. He was getting hard again, even thinking about that action-packed little body of hers.
As he once again plundered his brain cells for anti-aphrodisiac thoughts, all the lights went out, and the cottage was plunged into total darkness.
Shit, he thought, blinking against the night until his eyes adjusted. The generator must have failed. Again. Happened at least once every year. One of the many joys of rural isolation.
He heard a shriek from the kitchen and the sound of a plate falling to the floor, smashing on the cold stone flags. Rob scraped back his chair, felt his familiar way to the drawers and pulled them open. Once he’d managed to find the candles in their usual place, he dashed through to the kitchen.
“Sorry!” Leah said, voice high and nervy. “I just got a shock when it all went dark! Hope it wasn’t priceless porcelain or anything.”
She was squatting down in the darkness, trying to pick up the broken shards of pottery; hands shaking, feet bare.
“Shush, it’s fine,” said Rob, offering a hand to pull her back up. “Leave that until we have light, I don’t want you to cut yourself.”
She ignored his outstretched hand, and carried on scrabbling for the broken pieces, skimming her hands across the stone to find them.
“ Leah. Listen to me, for Christ’s sake. Stand up in case you get hurt, there’s pieces of plate all over the damn floor and you have nothing on your feet.”
“No, no, it’s okay. I can’t leave a mess like this,” she said, her pale skin luminous in the dark, toes missing the sharpened slivers of porcelain by inches as she scooted around the floor. With an exasperated sigh, Rob leaned down, scooped her up into his arms, and deposited her with a small thud on top of the work surface.
“Oh!” she said, perched on the edge of the counter on her bottom, feet waving from side to side because her legs weren’t long enough to reach the floor. “You picked me up! And I’m huge!”
“Yep. Just like a baby elephant, but not as cute. Now sit still there while I look for the matches. They’re behind you.”
Rob leaned past her, his body crushing against hers, as he stretched his arms up to reach a shelf above Leah’s head. He could feel the warmth of her breath against his chest, smell the sweet fragrance of her shampoo, and knew that if he looked down into those amber eyes – even for a split second – he’d be lost. All resolve would be gone. And as Leah seemed decidedly tipsy, hers had probably already run for the hills.
“Erm, Rob,” she said, the ever-present sound of laughter in her voice, “is that a candle you’re holding or are you just pleased to see me?”
He could feel her body shaking against his as she giggled; could see the downright playful expression on her face even without electric lighting. She was asking for trouble and, frankly, he was desperate to give it to her.
He slammed the candle down on the counter. Vision could wait, he decided. There were more pressing senses to be dealt with.
She squeaked slightly as he shoved his way between her dangling legs, took her face in both his hands and held it firmly inches from his. Now he had her – what was he going to do with her?
Leah was wondering exactly the same, and it felt delicious. Even in the darkness she could see the blazing intensity of those gold-brown eyes; the twist of his mouth, the flare of his nostrils. Oops. Maybe that had been one flirt too far, she thought, already swamped by the warmth of his breath on her face; the knowledge that all she had to do was lean in to those luscious lips for a kiss. She knew she shouldn’t. She knew she might have had a bit too much to drink. She knew she was in no emotional state to be jumping into bed with someone new. She knew it was Christmas. She leaned.
The heat was immediate as their lips met. Rob’s fingers caressed her cheekbones and jaw as he kissed her, then plunged into her hair, pulling it back from her face, holding her steady as the kiss intensified. The feel of his hard-planed body thrusting up against hers was exquisite; he wanted her as much as she wanted him, she could feel it in the urgency of his kiss, the push of his body. She instinctively hooked her legs around his waist and tugged him in tighter, rubbing herself up against him. He made a low growling sound and responded in kind. We’re so, so close, she