‘That was brilliant.’ Her eyes shone, her cheeks were pink with exertion and her breath came in pants. She had never looked more magnificent, like some winter naiad glorying in the ice.
‘Yes.’ He wanted to say more but all the words had gone. All he could see were her long lashes, tipped with snow, her wide laughing mouth, a mouth made for kissing. All he could feel was her softness, nestled in next to him.
He had held her before, stood this close to her before. If he was honest he had wanted her before. But he’d hidden it, even from himself, every single time before. It was as if yesterday’s kiss had opened the gates, shown him the forbidden fruit concealed behind them and now that he had tasted he wasn’t sure he could ever stop craving.
It was a bad idea. But God help him he’d forgotten why. And when she looked at him like that, tentative, hopeful, naked desire blazing from those dark, dark eyes, he was utterly undone.
It was a bad idea. But Alex pushed that thought away as the air stilled, as the beat of the music faded away replaced with the thrum of need beating its own time through his veins, through his blood. He stood, drinking her in like a dying man at an oasis. All he had to do was bend his head...
He paused, allowing the intoxicating possibility to fill him—and then he stood back. ‘Come on.’ His voice was rough, rasping like yesterday’s beard. ‘We need to get back.’
It was a bad idea. If only it didn’t feel so wickedly, seductively good. If only doing the right thing didn’t rip his heart right out of his chest.
He turned and skated away. And didn’t look back once.
* * *
He’d nearly kissed her. She knew it completely. She’d seen it as his eyes had darkened to a stormy grey, as his breath had hitched and a muscle had pulsed on his cheek. She’d felt it as his arm had tightened around her shoulders, as her body had swayed into his. She hadn’t thrown herself at him; she couldn’t blame the schnapps, not this time.
No, Alex Fitzgerald had looked at her as if she were his last hope.
Of course, then he had turned and skated away as if all the Furies were chasing him down, but still. They had had a definite moment.
Which was pretty inconvenient because hadn’t she vowed that this was it and she was going to Get Over Him no matter what? And then he had to go and look at her like that and all her good intentions were trampled into the ground like yesterday’s snowfall.
Because that look went beyond mere lust. It did. It wasn’t just wishful thinking. No, she had felt it penetrate right through to the core of her.
Flora sighed and nudged the hot tap with her foot and let another fall of steaming water into the tub. It felt decadently wrong to lie naked in the middle of such a big room, wearing just hot water and scented oils. The view from the bathtub might be incredible but it seemed, a little disconcertingly, as if she were bathing right outside in the middle of a mountain glade.
Still, it was pretty relaxing—as long as Alex stuck to his timetable and didn’t walk back in.
What if he did? Would he look like that again or would he back away terrified again?
Something was going on. I need answers, she decided, allowing herself to slip deep into the hot, almost to the point of discomfort, luxuriantly smelling water. She couldn’t go on like this.
It was one thing thinking he was indifferent; horrid to think he was repulsed. But now? She had no idea. It was as if she were sixteen again. His face had that same remote, shuttered look it had worn all that long, hot summer.
She couldn’t let him slip back to that place, wherever it was. She had been too shy, too unsure to ask questions then, to demand answers.
But maybe he needed her to ask them? Maybe by letting whatever had happened lie festering all these years she had done him a disservice. It didn’t mean he would end up declaring his undying love for her, she knew that. It might change things for ever. But if she loved him then she needed to be strong, for once in her life. No matter what the personal cost.
And she wouldn’t get anywhere lying in this bath, tempting as it was to stay in here all night long.
Although she wanted to try out one of the dresses she had bought that day, the prospect of a potential sledge ride made her think again and in the end Flora opted for her smartest black skinny jeans and a long, soft grey jumper with a snowflake motif. She started to automatically twist her hair into a ponytail but instead she let it flow freely across her shoulders, thankful that the wave had held and it hadn’t been too flattened by the hat.
She stood before the mirror and looked down at the last purchase of the day, an impulse buy urged upon her by the shop assistants in the vintage shop. There was no way, they told her, that she could team her formal dress with her usual, insipid shade of lipstick.
She untwisted the top and stared down at the deep, dark red. A colour like that would only draw attention to her mouth and Flora had done her best to disguise its width since the day she had bought her first make-up. It had been the first thing she had been teased about—the kids at school had called her the wide-mouthed frog until she’d started to develop. The names after that had been cruder and even less original.
A sigh escaped her. It was just a colour. And nobody here knew her, would think twice about what colour she chose to paint her mouth. That was it, no more thought. She raised the small stick and quickly dabbed it across her lips, blending in the deep, rich colour. Then before she could backtrack and wipe it off again she turned on her heel and walked away from the mirror. No more hiding.
* * *
‘This one seems to be ours.’ Alex reached out and helped Flora into the old-fashioned, wooden sleigh. She climbed up carefully and settled herself onto the padded bench, drawing the fleecy blankets closely round herself, her feet thankful for the hot bricks placed on the floor. ‘Four horses? They must have heard about the six cakes you put away during Kaffee and Kuchen.’
‘At least I stuck to single figures,’ she countered as he swung himself in beside her. Very close bedside her. Flora narrowed her eyes as she tried to make out the other sledges, already sliding away into the dark in a trample of hooves and a ringing of bells. Were they all so intimately small?
The driver shook the reins, causing a cascade of bells to ring out jauntily, and the sledge moved forward. She was all too aware of Alex’s knee jammed tight against hers, his shoulders, his arm. The smell of him; like trees in spring and freshly cut grass, the scent incongruous in the dark of winter.
‘Have you had a good time at the reception?’ He was as formal as a blind date. It was the first time they had spoken this evening, the first interaction since she had taken a long deep breath and walked into the buzzing lounge. To her surprised relief the reception had been a lot less terrifying than she had anticipated. It was informal, although waitresses circled with glasses of mulled wine, spiced hot-chocolate rum and small, spicy canapés, and most people were more than happy to introduce themselves. The vibe was very much anticipatory and relaxed—the whole hotel felt very different, felt alive now that it was filled. It was no longer their private domain.
‘You know, I actually have.’ She turned and smiled at him. ‘I had a lovely chat to Holly, she writes travel blogs and articles. Did you know her parents are journalists too? Her mum writes one of those family confessional weekly columns and Holly spent her whole childhood being mercilessly exposed in print as well!’
‘That’s great. I can see why you’re so thrilled for her.’
‘Obviously not great for her,’ Flora conceded. ‘But it was so nice to meet someone who understands just how mortifying it is. Her mum still writes about her—only now it’s all about how she wishes she would stop travelling, settle down and pop out grandkids. At least mine hasn’t gone there—yet.’
‘No, but leave it more than five years