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Was it wrong that she liked him calling her Katiekins? ‘What about you? I’m guessing you’re a fan of the traditional turkey dinner?’
‘Guess again.’
‘Roast beef?’ Annoyingly, her scarf had become loose and she could feel cold air tickling her neck. ‘Goose? Duck?’
He shook his head. ‘Indian.’
‘Indian?’ She stopped walking. ‘Having just taken the piss out of me for liking Chinese food at Christmas, you’re now telling me you like Indian?’
He turned so he was facing her, his expression amused as he watched her slipping about. ‘Seems we have more in common than we thought.’
‘I’m not convinced. I need to test this theory further.’ She grabbed hold of a post to steady herself. ‘Biggest fear?’
He edged closer, careful with his footing. ‘You mean, aside from dropping down dead of heart failure?’
‘Oh, shit!’ Her face fell.
‘I’m joking.’ He took her scarf from her. ‘Besides, you know my biggest fear. Anything creepy-crawly.’ He wrapped her scarf around her neck, his fingers brushing against her skin and adding to the goosebumps already present. ‘What’s your biggest fear?’
‘Rings.’
He paused. ‘Rings?’
‘Weird, I know. But I have this irrational fear that it’s going to get stuck on my finger, and I’m not going to be able to get it off, and then my finger starts swelling up and turning blue, and I end up in A & E, where they can’t get it off either, and the only solution is to have my finger amputated because it’s turned gangrenous and if they don’t lop it off, I’ll die of sepsis.’
He was fighting a smile. ‘That escalated quickly.’
‘You asked.’
He tucked her scarf inside her coat, making it snug. ‘Didn’t you wear a wedding ring when you were married?’
‘I tried, but it was a constant cause of argument. He’d get offended if I didn’t wear it, and I’d get panicky if I did. Is it any wonder the marriage didn’t work?’
‘The marriage didn’t work because he was a dickhead.’ Calvin rested his hands on her shoulders. ‘Sorry, but he was.’
‘No argument from me.’
His expression softened. ‘I find it incredible that he treated someone as lovely and sweet as you are so cruelly. The man is anidiot.’ His expression was filled with such compassion that she had to fight the urge to rest her head against his chest. He had such a nice chest. She knew, she’d seen it naked.
‘Such is life,’ she said with a shrug. ‘But I’m done thinking about him. He doesn’t deserve my attention.’
‘Good decision.’
‘We need a less depressing topic. How about this? What’s your favourite thing to do? The thing that gives you most pleasure in life?’ And then her brain caught up with her mouth. ‘Clean answers only,’ she said, the cold air failing to disguise the growing heat in her cheeks.
‘What are you, a mind reader?’ His grin did nothing to ease her embarrassment. ‘My favourite thing,’ he said, seeming to think it over as his gaze drifted through the trees. ‘I’d have to say, that feeling when you get into a steaming hot shower after a freezing game of football. When you’re covered in mud and your legs are numb from the cold and you can’t feel your hands. I love that burning sensation when the hot water hits your skin and it’s so intense, it’s almost painful.’ He smiled. ‘You?’
‘Er… toss-up between a foot rub or a head massage.’ She wondered if she was revealing too much, but he knew much worse things about her. ‘I like having my hair played with.’
Much to her surprise, he gently removed her Christmas-tree hat and slowly ran his hand over her hair in such an intimate way that it felt like he was touching more than just her scalp. ‘Like that?’ When her eyes drifted shut, he slid his fingers into the hair at the base of her neck and massaged his way up the back of her skull, sending shock waves racing through her.
‘Just like that,’ she managed, although how, she had no idea.
It was like he’d ignited every nerve ending she possessed. Dormant senses sprang to life, confused and sleepy, as if woken from a long slumber. They raced around her body, disorientated and confused, bumping into each other and staggering aboutlike drunken little elves, wondering what the hell was going on. She could almost imagine her libido yelling through a megaphone, ‘This is not a drill! This is not a drill!’
Frankly, if she hadn’t been leaning against the wooden post, she’d have fallen in the water by now. Her legs had lost any strength and her bones had turned to liquid. It had been a long, long time since she’d experienced such tenderness and affection. And it said a lot about the state of her damaged self-esteem that the mere sensation of a man touching her hair could reduce her to a quivering mess. She wasn’t sure whether she was embarrassed, turned on or just so bloody grateful she could weep with relief. All three, probably.
His face lowered to hers and he whispered, ‘Want me to stop?’
