sent me to wake you,’ he went on, his voice carrying a measure of exasperation.
‘What for?’ Confusion in her own voice.
‘For breakfast and present-giving.’
Sarah blinked. ‘This early?’
‘The men with the tables and blinds are due to arrive at nine and it’s already eight.’
‘Eight!’ Sarah sat bolt upright, pushing her hair back from her face as she glanced first at her sun-drenched balcony, then at her bedside clock, which confirmed that it was indeed, just after eight. Yet she had set her alarm for six, wanting to be looking her very best for present-opening with her hair done, make-up perfect and dressed to impress in her sexy new jeans and a very pretty green top.
‘I must have slept through the alarm,’ she said with a groan.
Or perhaps she’d fallen asleep without actually setting it. She’d stayed up quite late, doing everything she could the night before in preparation for Christmas Day.
‘Just get up and come downstairs,’ Nick said impatiently before whirling and striding from the room.
‘I … I’ll be down shortly,’ she called after him.
‘You’d better be,’ he called back.
It wasn’t till Nick left that Sarah realised she hadn’t wished him a happy Christmas. Still, he hadn’t thought to wish her the season’s greetings, either. He’d sounded tired and grumpy. Probably hadn’t had enough sleep. She hadn’t heard him come in last night, so it had to have been very late. Probably went to Chloe’s place after the party and …
‘Don’t think about last night,’ she lectured herself aloud. ‘Just get up and get on with things.’
Scooping in a deep breath, Sarah threw back the bedclothes and dashed into the bathroom, where she washed and cleaned her teeth in two minutes flat.
Then she stared at herself in the mirror.
D-Day, she thought with a wild fluttering in the stomach.
In a way it was a good thing that she didn’t have time to dress. It would make her transformation later on all the more eye-catching and dramatic.
At the same time, she didn’t want to look a total dag.
No time to do much with her hair except brush it, then twist it up into a loose knot on top of her head. Definitely no time for make-up.
Thankfully, her nightie was new and pretty, a lavender satin petticoat that had a matching robe. She slipped the robe on, looped the sash belt and hurried back into her bedroom, only then realising she had nothing suitable for her feet.
She never wore slippers. Sandals didn’t seem right and neither did her flip-flops.
Oh, well, it wouldn’t be the first time she went downstairs for Christmas breakfast barefooted and in her night things, though usually the latter were a bit longer. This nightie only reached mid-thigh, the robe to her knees. She would have to watch herself when she sat down. At least her legs were nice and smooth, all the way up. Sarah had taken herself off to a beautician late last week and had a full wax. Painful, but worth every penny not to have to worry about shaving for ages.
It felt a bit odd when she wasn’t wearing panties, however. Like now, for instance.
Sarah might have slipped some panties on, but there really wasn’t time for any more delay. It was already seven minutes past eight. And it wasn’t as though anyone would know.
Sarah sucked in one last, long, calming breath, exhaled slowly, then set forth for the staircase.
Breakfast on Christmas morning was always very light; croissants and coffee served in front of the tree during present-opening. The family room in Goldmine was huge, with three distinct sitting areas. The Christmas tree was always placed down the far end, where there were two brown leather sofas facing each other, and a sturdy wooden coffee-table between them.
Everything was set out in readiness by the time Sarah made it downstairs, delicious aromas hitting her nostrils as she padded down the steps into the family room.
Her entry was quiet, due to her bare feet, giving her a second or two to survey the situation and work out in advance where she would sit.
Flora and Jim occupied opposite ends of the sofa facing the terrace, with Nick sitting in the middle of the sofa opposite, sipping coffee. She didn’t want to sit next to him, not after what had happened yesterday. She certainly didn’t want to sit next to him without her panties on. Physical proximity to Nick made her body—and her mind—go absolutely haywire.
Whilst Sarah was still resolved to go through with her plan to doll herself up for Christmas lunch—and to pretend Derek was her new boyfriend—she no longer held any hope whatsoever that Nick’s eyes would be opened to her attractions as a female. She’d come to the dampening conclusion that after her father died Nick had mentally placed her in a box marked ‘legal responsibility’,
thereby killing off any possibility of a personal relationship between them.
Suddenly his head turned her way, his dark eyes travelling swiftly from her tousled hair down to her scarlet toenails before moving back up again.
Was she mistaken, or did his eyes stop to linger on her breasts?
Whatever, her body responded instantly, a tingling feeling spreading over her skin whilst her heartbeat quickened and her nipples peaked alarmingly against the satin.
Sarah swallowed. Surely she was imagining it, as she’d imagined yesterday that he’d been going to kiss her. Yes, of course she was. The man was just looking, the way any man would when a pretty young female presented herself in front of him in her night things. He’d always looked at her, just not the way she wanted him to.
‘Merry Christmas, everyone!’ she trilled, determined not to let the deluding nature of her feelings for Nick spoil present-opening.
Flora and Jim glanced round at once, their kind faces breaking into warm smiles.
‘And merry Christmas to you too, love,’ Flora returned happily. ‘Come on, come over here and sit next to me,’ she said, patting the spot next to her.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ Sarah angled herself past Flora’s plump knees to take her place in the middle of the sofa directly opposite Nick. ‘I must have slept through my alarm,’ she added, once she was safely leaning back with her knees modestly pressed together and her robe arranged to cover as much of her bare thighs as possible.
‘That’s perfectly all right, love,’ Flora said. ‘You’re here now. Coffee?’ she offered, already leaning forward to pick up the coffee-pot.
‘Yes, please.’ Ignoring Nick—whose eyes had remained on her as she sat down—Sarah picked up a bread plate and helped herself to a croissant. ‘Have you all eaten yet?’
‘Jim and I have,’ Flora said. ‘Nick hasn’t. He said he wasn’t hungry. But I think he’s got a hangover.’
‘I do not have a hangover,’ Nick protested.
