A Christmas Night to Remember(32)
If only they were, Melody thought suddenly, swallowing at the constriction in her throat. If only this was a year ago, when everything had been all right. But had it been? Really?
She was stiff when she rose from her seat, and concentrating on walking as best she could helped to quell the lump in her throat. They had barely left the box when Zeke drew her into his arms and kissed her again. It was a very confident kiss, strong and sweet, and his fingers massaged the base of her spine as his mouth worked its magic. He didn’t hurry. He took his time.
Melody felt breathless and shaken when his mouth left hers, and his eyes were smiling as they stared down into her wide green ones. ‘My brand of physiotherapy,’ he said smokily, his features shadowed in the dim light in the corridor in which they were standing. ‘And it’s very exclusive.’
A thrill of unexpected laughter went through her. ‘Have you been qualified for long?’ she murmured.
‘I’m a novice,’ he admitted softly. ‘I need a lot of practice.’ His finger outlined her lips. ‘Practice makes perfect. Isn’t that what they say?’
Her mouth went dry. With an effort she held the smile. ‘Whoever “they” are, I’m sure they’ve got a point.’ She extracted herself from his arms. ‘We’ll be the last ones out of the theatre if we’re not careful.’
Zeke grinned. ‘Suits me.’
It suited her too. The last thing she wanted to do tonight was make polite conversation with any more Angelas. The trouble with Zeke being so high-profile was that wherever they went he was recognised by someone or other. Not that he could help that. And it didn’t matter—or it hadn’t mattered much in the past, anyway. It was different now.
‘I don’t like being the last at anything,’ she said, determined not to get embroiled in another weakening embrace, and when Zeke took her arm without another word and led her to the stairs she knew he had taken her none too subtle hint.
The taxi Zeke had booked to take them to their dinner venue was waiting when they walked out of the theatre, the icy cold taking Melody’s breath away. Enclosed in the cosy cocoon of their box, she had forgotten the sub-zero temperature outside for an hour or two. He drew her firmly into him as they walked across the pavement, helping her into the taxi and giving the driver their new destination before settling beside her. He slid his arm along the seat at the back of her, a familiar action—and why it should result in her heart hammering in wild, panicked beats she didn’t know. She was too weary and emotionally spent to protest when he drew her head onto his shoulder, besides which it was achingly familiar.
‘Christmas Eve,’ he murmured above her head, his voice soft. ‘Your favourite night. The night of miracles.’
So he’d remembered. She had told him the first Christmas they had been together that Christmas Eve had always been special to her in some way she couldn’t explain. All through her lonely childhood and even lonelier teenage years the day had held an elusive wonder her circumstances couldn’t dispel or negate. It seemed a time for miracles, the restoration of lost dreams and hopes and aspirations, and she had never ceased to be affected by it.
Except for tonight. The thought pierced her through, but it was true. Tonight she was bowed down by reality and she had nothing to look forward to—no expectancy or belief that there was a ray of light at the end of her particular dark tunnel. She simply didn’t have it in her to trust she wouldn’t spoil what they had if she stayed with Zeke. She couldn’t live with the doubt and uncertainty, the wondering, the fear it would turn sour and he’d be driven into someone else’s arms. Someone with beauty and grace who was whole and happy and unscathed by life. A girl who could return his love with all her heart and trust him implicitly.
This was going to be their last night together. She nodded mentally to the thought. Somehow she would slip away tomorrow, find somewhere—anywhere—to stay. She had one or two friends who lived in this area. One of them would take her in. It wasn’t the best time to turn up on someone’s doorstep—Christmas Day—but she couldn’t help that. She had to escape Zeke. She had to make him see. Zeke wasn’t for her. And she didn’t believe in miracles any more.
CHAPTER EIGHT
AMAZINGLY, in view of her misery, Melody must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she knew was the taxi stopping and Zeke’s voice saying they were back at the hotel.
‘Come on, sleepyhead.’ His voice was tender, indulgent, as he helped her out of the car. ‘How about you change into something comfortable when we get to the suite? Maybe have a warm bath first? It’ll take Room Service a while to deliver once we’ve ordered so you’ll have plenty of time.’