One More for Christmas(110)

What had he needed so desperately on Christmas Eve that he’d had to drive to the village?

When she could no longer justify staring, she joined her family in the living room and played with Tab, until finally the little girl went to bed and a contented hush fell over the house.

“Drink.” Ella collapsed on the sofa and waved a hand. “Michael, I need a drink.”

He grinned, poured her one and handed it to her. “Tired?”

“After all that fresh air and running around?” Ella curled her legs under her, the picture of contentment. One-handed, she typed a message into her phone. “It’s already the best Christmas ever and we haven’t had Christmas Day yet. To Nanna. And Santa.” She lifted her glass to Gayle, who had collapsed in a chair opposite her.

She envied her sister’s contentment. She’d never had that. She’d spent her life striving and driving herself, trying to be more, working to reach a goal that she hadn’t even defined. She’d been there for everyone but herself.

At least, thanks to Brodie, she now knew what she wanted.

Her phone pinged, and when she checked it, she saw a message from her sister.

So? Was it as good as the books you read??
Samantha gave her a look and Ella grinned and raised her glass in a silent toast that was just between the two of them.

“Tab insisted we put milk out for Santa,” Mary said, “but I think he would probably prefer a good single malt.” She replaced the milk with a glass of something stronger and winked at Michael.

Gayle stood up. “We need a boot. And ash from the fire.”

“Excuse me?”

“We need to make a big boot print on the hearth so that Tab can see where Santa stepped after he came down the chimney.”

Ella gave her a curious look. “That’s a great idea—what made you—”

“My father used to do it. One year I caught him at it. He wasn’t even wearing the boot. Just pressed it hard onto the hearth with his hand and made a few footprints.”

Ella smiled. “And just like that the magic was ruined. Did you say something?”

“No.” Gayle shook her head. “I could see from his face that he was loving every minute of what he was doing for me. That, to me, was the magic.”

Love.

Samantha’s throat stung and right at that moment, when she was straining every muscle to hold back the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her, Brodie walked into the room. He wore jeans and a sweater that made his eyes seem bluer than ever, and Samantha didn’t think she’d ever seen a more delectable, incredible man in her life.

She wanted that night back. She wanted to do the whole thing again so that she could savor every moment, and linger over every touch and taste.

Because she wanted to fling herself at him, she shrank back in the chair and curled her fingers round the arm.

Mary was fussing over him, handing him a drink, encouraging him to warm up by the fire, and all Samantha could think was that if her body heated up even a fraction of a degree more, then she’d probably combust. She heard the conversation going on in the distance and pretended to be paying attention, all the while trying to seem normal when she didn’t feel normal.

She saw him deep in conversation with Michael, the two of them talking and laughing together as if they’d known each other forever. When Brodie glanced at her, she made her smile a little wider, telling herself she was fine, totally fine.

She took another mouthful of her drink and saw Ella cross the room and say something to Brodie, something that made his face turn red to the tips of his ears.

She had no idea what her sister had said, and she decided she didn’t want to know because it was obviously something horribly awkward and embarrassing.

By the time she eventually headed to her room, the effort to seem normal had given her a pounding headache.

She swallowed a couple of pills with a glass of water, took a long hot shower, and curled up in bed. She’d barely opened her book since that first night, but hopefully it would be the distraction she needed.

Downstairs she could hear the creak of stairs and doors closing as her family settled down for the night. Somewhere at the other end of the lodge, Brodie would be settling down, too.

Samantha rolled onto her side and opened the book, willing herself to concentrate on the words on the page.

She would close the door and walk away and forget all about him. She would pretend this had never happened...
Samantha put the book down. Good luck with that. Hopefully the heroine would have more success than she was having.

She gave up on reading and was about to pull on a robe and go downstairs to the kitchen when there was a light tap on the door.

Presuming it was her sister, Samantha almost didn’t answer, but then decided that talking to her sister might actually be what she needed. Being closed off had got her nowhere, so it was time to try the opposite.

She pulled open the door.

Brodie nudged his way past her and closed the door behind him.

A thrill shot through her. “Brodie—”

“Shh—” It was only as he turned the key in the lock with his right hand, that she realized his left hand was holding a bottle of champagne.

“What are you—” The words died as he pressed his fingers to her lips and then lowered his head and replaced his fingers with his mouth, kissing her until she couldn’t remember her question and wouldn’t have cared about his answer even if he’d given one.