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‘I didn’t get you anything,’ he said, his voice hoarse, his stance stiff.
‘I know,’ she said, emotion gripping her chest at the thought that he would be worried about that. ‘I didn’t expect you to.’ Taking his arm, she lifted his hand out of his pocket, placed the gift in his open palm. ‘It’s just a token, Jace. To say thank you for everything you’ve given me over the last week.’
‘What have I given you?’ he said, the dry note of suspicion strangely defensive.
‘Lots of really amazing sex,’ she said lightly, but as she saw his stance relax a little she realised he’d given her so much more than that.
Being with him had been exciting and exhilarating; it had liberated her from the mistakes of her past relationships. Instead of worrying about the future, and where things were leading, with him she’d been able to stay in the moment, to enjoy their relationship for what it was with none of the weight of responsibility. And she’d had fun. More fun than she’d ever had before. Christmas had been something she’d been dreading this year, because she was going to be alone on Christmas morning, which would have reminded her a bit too forcefully of her first Christmas without her mother.
The rush of tenderness from the day before intensified. She knew she couldn’t tell him any of that. Because it would alter their fling in a way neither of them wanted. But giving him the present seemed like the perfect way to say it without words.
‘So thanks for that,’ she added saucily. ‘Plus you’ve been paying for all the room service, so I feel I owe you one,’ she said.
He gave a rough chuckle, turned the present over in his hands as if he didn’t quite know what to do with it. ‘I’m not sure if I should feel used or flattered that you’re giving me a gift for services rendered.’
‘I’d say probably a bit of both.’ She gave a light laugh, impossibly pleased that she’d got him to accept the gift. ‘Why don’t you open it?’ she prompted.
He looked up. ‘All right.’ He sat back down in his chair, then eased off the sticky tape with such care her heart began to hammer her ribcage. It was almost as if he’d never received a gift before. Which was ridiculous, but somehow she couldn’t shake the thought as he lifted the emerald-green designer sweater she’d bought the day before and held it up as if it were incredibly precious. The colour matched his eyes and the cashmere was soft enough that it wouldn’t irritate his skin if he chose to wear it without a T-shirt.
‘Cassie, this is expensive. Too expensive.’
‘Do you like it?’ she asked, although she didn’t need to, she could see the astonished wonder in his face, which she suspected had as much to do with getting the gift as it did with the gift itself.
‘You know I do. But I can’t—’
‘It wasn’t that expensive,’ she interrupted. ‘It certainly didn’t cost as much as four days’ worth of room-service meals at The Chesterton.’ She lifted the card off the table, handed it to him. ‘You forgot the card.’
Her pulse sped up as he took it, shaking his head. ‘You shouldn’t have gone to all
this trouble.’
She smiled, glad that she had. Suddenly struck by the realisation that despite his success, and his money and his industrial strength sex appeal, Jace Ryan had never made any meaningful human connections in his life. Not with his so-called friends, not during his short-lived marriage and certainly not with his family … Or he wouldn’t have been so completely poleaxed by a simple Christmas gift. As a teenager, she’d always believed in her typically rose-tinted way that what he needed was true love, but maybe all he had really needed was a friend. A proper friend. And she could be that. At least for the short time they were together.
Jace drew the white card out of the envelope and stared at the picture on it while willing the tightening in his chest to go the hell away.
But it didn’t go away, it got worse as he studied the expertly drawn caricature of himself standing next to a Christmas tree with piles of shopping bags under it, his bare chest looking like something out of a body-builders magazine while the seductive smile on his face was tinged with wickedness. The words written underneath in an elaborate serif font read:
To Jace, Ex-Bad Boy, Candy Man extraordinaire and Champion Shopper in training! Merry Christmas, Cassidy x
He huffed out a laugh past the constriction in his throat, so touched by the silly card he felt like an idiot. Who knew the Christmas spirit could be contagious?
He looked up to find her watching him, her face flushed with pleasure. Dropping the card on the table, he shifted round and grasped the tie on her robe. ‘Come here, clever clogs,’ he said, dragging her towards him until she straddled his lap. She rested her hands on his shoulders, the sweet, impossibly pleased smile on her face making his insides flip over—a strange feeling of lightness and excitement and anticipation swelling right alongside the lust.
‘I feel kind of bad,’ he said, stroking his thumb across her collarbone, and watching her pulse flutter against her neck, ‘that I don’t have anything for you in return.’
‘That’s okay, Jace.’ Her eyes went to half mast as his index finger traced the line of her throat then dipped down to explore the tempting display of cleavage revealed by the lapels of her robe. ‘Don’t you know, it’s much better to give than to receive?’ she purred, her voice husky with desire.
‘Is that so?’ He nudged aside her robe, heard the sharp intake of breath as he exposed the fullness of her breast and the swollen nipple to his gaze. ‘Then I guess it’s my turn to do the giving,’ he said before swirling his tongue across the puckered flesh and drawing it into his mouth.
She bucked in his lap, her fingers digging into his shoulders as he feasted on her. But as the blood pounded into his groin, the lump in his throat swelled and he had to push down the tidal wave of regret that he would never be able to give her more than this.
‘I shouldn’t be here,’ Jace grumbled as Cassie stabbed the doorbell on the wall panel for the red-brick block of flats situated next to the shutters of a closed shop. The metal frames of the market stalls stood behind them, making the empty Hoxton Street Market look eerily quiet in the cold afternoon air. ‘I wasn’t invited.’
‘Nessa won’t mind,’ Cassie replied, glancing over her shoulder, her cheeks pink from the cold. ‘Why would she?’
‘Because she doesn’t know me,’ he said, stating the blatantly obvious. And more to the point, he didn’t know her.
He still wasn’t quite sure how he’d got strong-armed into coming to Cassie’s friend’s Christmas meal in the first place. One minute he’d been riding on the crest of a wave of endorphins, the heady rush of afterglow tempered by the confusing emotions Cassie had caused by giving him the Christmas gift. And the next he’d been driving through the deserted streets of East London en route to a dinner date with a load of strangers.
