Published by AVON
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Catherine Ferguson 2018
Cover design © Head Design 2018
Cover illustration © Shutterstock
Catherine Ferguson asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
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Ebook Edition © October 2018 ISBN: 9780008302481
Version: 2018-09-19
To Dave, for all your brilliant support
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
About the Author
By the Same Author
About the Publisher
It’s the most perfect Christmas tree I’ve ever seen.
I gaze at it from my perch on the sofa. We went a bit mad with the tinsel and it’s definitely leaning a bit towards the left – but wrapped in my happy festive glow, I swear I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.
The soft glow of the fairy lights blended with the evocative aroma of pine forest is having a thoroughly intoxicating effect on my mood. As is the warmly spiced mulled wine we drank while we decorated the tree.
Jackson surprised me with the mulled wine. When I opened the door, he was standing there, a big smile on his handsome face, holding up one of those special gift packs that include the red wine and the cinnamon sticks and cloves.
‘Ooh, lovely,’ I lied.
‘Only the best for my best girl!’ he said, pushing the gift pack towards me. He cupped my face in his hands and gently kissed me on the tip of my nose – a tender gesture that makes my heart skip a beat every time he does it. Then he led the way into the living room. Glancing in the mirror above the fireplace, he ran a hand over his on-trend haircut with the tapered sides and volume on top, which I always think makes him look like a sexy honey-blond version of Elvis. Jackson is very proud of his hair. (Mine, by comparison, is blonde and fine, and completely resists any attempts I make to tame it.)
Jackson sank onto the sofa, legs splayed out, and ran his eyes over me admiringly. ‘You look gorgeous tonight, Roxy Gallagher.’ There was a sexy gleam in his blue eyes. ‘Come here.’
Heart beating fast, I walked over to him, feeling ridiculously nervous. The house was empty. My flatmate and best friend, Flo, was out with her fiancé, Fergus. I hoped Jackson didn’t think …
But no, I’d had The Conversation with him only the week before.
He was quite surprised when I told him I believed in taking things really slowly but it didn’t seem to put him off. If anything, he seemed tantalised by the idea of deferred gratification in the bedroom. I wondered if the novelty value had something to do with it. Because, let’s face it, there wouldn’t be many women who’d hold back for long if a tall, blond Greek-god-like man looked deep into their eyes and said, ‘Let’s go to bed. I’m going to make your wildest dreams come true.’
Jackson says these cute, rather old-fashioned things all the time, with a perfectly serious face. If anyone else came out with them, I’d probably cackle in appreciation because I’d know they were joking. But Jackson will look at me with his mesmerising blue eyes and I’ll just melt and think: it’s the feeling behind the words.
We’ve only been together a couple of months, but after all the trauma of the past – including having my heart well and truly stamped on by Billy, my first love – I’m finally starting to