A Christmas Wedding(32)



The following week, I get up very early on Saturday morning and drive to the airport.

I’m a nervous wreck as I wait for Alex to come through the arrivals hall, but the look on his face when he spots me makes it worth it, a million times over.

‘You came!’ he gasps, engulfing me in a hug.

I didn’t tell him that I would.

‘Thought I’d better return the favour after you drove me around in England,’ I reply with a smile, my stomach continuing to somersault as he pulls back.

He gazes down at me, his hands still resting on my waist. His dark hair is squashed half flat on top, his eyes are tinged red from lack of sleep, and he has five o’clock shadow gracing his chiselled jaw.

But he’s still breathtaking.

He reaches up to brush his thumb across my cheek, leaving a tiny series of sparks fizzing electrically across my skin. I cover his hand with my own and realise his is shaking, ever so slightly.

‘My car’s this way,’ I say.

Neither of us can stop smiling on the journey to his hotel. He checks in, and then I wait on his comfy double bed while he has a shower and a shave. He doesn’t want to rest.

We’ve only got the weekend before I’m back at work – my office is around the corner from where he’s staying. It’s a flying visit – he’s leaving next Sunday night. He and Neal have a big client meeting on the Wednesday after he gets home. This was his one free week for the next month and he didn’t want to delay coming. He plans to work from his hotel room during the day and catch up with me at lunchtime and in the evenings. There is no way I’m staying late this week.

The bathroom door opens and Alex comes out, wearing nothing but a towel.

‘Forgot to take my clothes in,’ he apologises, going to his suitcase and dragging out jeans, a long-sleeve dark T-shirt and underwear.

My eyes track his return journey to the bathroom, watching the rivulets of water dripping from his wet hair and running down his leanly muscled back. He closes the door and I bite my lip, flustered.

It’s probably a good idea we get out of this hotel room sooner, rather than later.

It is the best day. We wander around Sydney’s botanical gardens and eat lunch at one of my favourite restaurants on the harbour, and, when it starts to rain, we head to a museum. At some point, he takes my hand and barely lets it go for the rest of the day.

But, by six o’clock, Alex is properly flagging, so we head back to his hotel to order room service. He sits on the bed to make the call, while I stay on a chair by the window, and, when he’s hung up, he flops back onto his pillows.

‘I’m knackered,’ he admits, looking over at me.

I return his smile.

‘Come here,’ he murmurs after several seconds have passed, edging backwards to make room for me.

I hesitate momentarily before kicking off my shoes, then I go over and settle onto the bed beside him. We lie with our heads resting on the pillows, facing each other.

Neither of us speaks, we just stare, his lips tilted up at the corners as he mirrors my expression.

I feel a pull from deep within me, and it’s almost as though strings are sprouting from inside me and are attaching themselves to him.

No, not strings.

Roots.

‘I love you,’ he whispers.

‘I love you, too,’ I reply.

He draws a sharp intake of breath and slowly reaches out to pull me closer. I’m happy to go to him, sighing contentedly as his fingers stroke over my hair.

As I rest my hand on his chest, I’m reminded of Lachie. He and I lay in this position almost every night for years.

Alex and I only had one night together.

Just one night.

He shouldn’t feel as familiar to me as he does.

Lachie drifts out of my mind again and there’s no anguish. I feel very much like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Alex’s stomach rises and falls slowly and his hand stills in my hair. I draw away to stare down at his sleeping face, his dark lashes creating miniature fan shapes across the tops of his cheeks.

I am so full of love for him.

He jerks awake suddenly, his poor, tired eyes hazy from sleep deprivation. ‘Did I nod off?’ he gasps, looking out of sorts.

I trace my fingertips along the side of his face as his eyes come back into sharp focus. The moment draws out, and then we very slowly inch towards each other.

Our lips connect and shivers ripple up and down my spine, extending outwards to every nerve ending. He twists his body towards mine, his hands tangling in my hair, and my head spins as our kiss deepens. I feel dizzy and weak and, if I were standing, I don’t think my knees would hold me up.

He is an incredible kisser; he always was. His skilled tongue sweeps through my mouth, colliding with mine, and I feel delirious as I kiss him back.

Lachie flashes through my mind again, but it’s without guilt or regret. I realise then and there that I’m truly over him.

Bridget is right. This is our time. Alex’s and mine.

It took us long enough to get here.

I slip my hands up inside his T-shirt. He’s broader than he was years ago, but his soft skin still encases hard muscles. I want his T-shirt off.

He draws away when my intentions become clear, pulling his shirt over his head. His pupils are dark and dilated as he stares down at me. I’m mesmerised by the sight of his ribs rising and falling with each heavy breath. ‘Are you sure?’

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