and run for his life.
Instead, she looked back at him, and smiled. Just like that. A big, gorgeous, open-hearted smile. No shouting. No screaming. No tears. Not even a quivering lower lip. He exhaled, letting out the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Wow. Maybe she really was from Santa…
“My name’s Leah Harvey,” she said, sticking her hand out to shake. She kept the rest of her body covered up, managing to awkwardly extend one warm, soft-skinned arm and still look cute. He took her hand in his. It was rude to refuse a handshake, and the Cavelli boys had been raised right.
With the first touch of those soft fingers, he knew he’d made a mistake. He shouldn’t be touching this woman at all, even in a hazmat suit. Not with her all warm and curvy, and nude, under those covers. And him with a rapidly developing Crotch Crisis of the first degree. He was going to come across as an utter pervert, damn it.
As her hand clung to his, a tiny spark shot right up his wrist, crawling under his skin like electricity. She felt it too. He could tell by the way she jumped at the sensation. It made the bits of her showing above the duvet jiggle around in a way that did nothing to deter Mr Happy down below. Rob pulled away as quickly as was polite, and crossed his legs.
“Ooh! Did you feel that?” Leah said, giggling and rubbing her wrist. “Must be some kind of weird static thing!”
Yeah. That’d be it, he thought, watching with way too much interest as she manoeuvred herself upright, clutching the sheets in front of her breasts. Her creamy cleavage was mainly hidden by the bedding, but not quite enough to stop a slight spillage of generous flesh over fabric.
Lord, think of something disgusting, he said to himself. Like your brother’s sweaty jock strap. Like your 98-year-old Great Aunt Mimi in a bikini. Anything but that killer body in front of you. Not that he hadn’t seen it all last night when he’d put her to bed – but that had felt different. That was for medicinal purposes only. He was merely applying correct first aid by stripping her bare of those sodden clothes, that was all. And anyway, he did most of it with the lights off, averting his eyes like a gentleman. None of which had been easy.
“So, what’s your name?” she asked, her pink tongue peeking out from between generous lips to lick the cream off the top of her drink. Aunt Mimi, Aunt Mimi, Aunt Mimi.
“Rob,” he snapped, sounding a little more terse than he planned. He’d never liked Aunt Mimi. Nasty old coot.
“Okay…Rob. Well, yesterday I was supposed to get married.”
“Yeah. My eagle-eyed powers of deduction told me that. Wedding dress and all,” he said, nodding towards the now distressed gown hanging limply over the chair back. Leah looked at it and sighed.
“Well, it was supposed to be the whole fairytale deal, you know? Remote Scottish castle. Handsome prince. The only problem was I discovered the handsome prince – Doug — playing hide the sausage with one of the bridesmaids an hour before the service.”
“Hide the sausage?” he said, eyebrows raised, slight smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. A mouth, Leah thought, that looked as sinful as his hot beverages. Her eyes lingered on the way his lips curved upwards on one side, like they were asking a question. Wide and full and firm and utterly kissable. Not like Doug’s. He had skinny lips. Like his face was so mean it couldn’t even spare the flesh. Funny how she’d never noticed that until yesterday. Somehow, seeing him upended in a pile of taffeta had revealed all kinds of little flaws.
“Yes. I’m sure you get the picture. And believe me, he wasn’t wearing anything under his kilt either.”
“That’s… bad. You must be devastated.”
Rob stared at her, thinking as he did that she looked the exact opposite of devastated: to him, she looked all silky blonde hair; wide amber eyes, smiling lips. Lips that were now covered in a cream moustache that he’d dearly like to lick off. There was no sign of impending nervous breakdown, which in itself was off-putting. She’d caught her fiancé cheating; abandoned her wedding, and ended up almost dead on his doorstep – yet seemed calm and content. Maybe he should call the paramedics.
“I know,” she said. “It is bad. As bad as it gets. And I should be devastated, shouldn’t I? I did what any sane woman would – ran away. Grabbed his car keys and legged it. It was only when the bloody thing broke down across that continent of a field last night I realised I might have been a bit hasty. All I have with me is a bag, a phone with no charger, and some make up. Hence my rather bizarre appearance last night. If I’m honest, Rob, which I always try to be, I ran because I realised I just didn’t care.
“It should have broken my heart to see his scrawny little backside pumping up and down on top of Becky, but it didn’t. I actually felt nothing but relief. It was like something inside me needed to see it, to make me come to my senses. I didn’t want to marry him at all. It was more of a wake-up call than a heartbreak. Plus, you know, the whole almost dying of hypothermia thing – it does put things into perspective. I’m alive. I’m warm. I’m drinking hot chocolate and whiskey – very nice, by the way – none of which I expected to be doing last night.”
“Perhaps you’re in shock,” he suggested. “And you’ll start your meltdown any minute now.”
She raised an eyebrow, seemed to ponder the idea.
“Yes,” she replied. “You could well be right. But don’t worry – I’ll give you some advance notice if I feel it coming on, and you can make sure you’re doing something more attractive, like pulling out your own toenails. Right now, though, I feel quite weirdly calm. I’m worrying about the practical things – what happens next. I work with him. For him, really. We share a home, a car. An iTunes account. Everything. And I left it all behind like it was nothing. The only problem was, my great escape—”
“Landed you here. With a man you don’t know. On Christmas Day.”
“Yep. Oops-a-daisy. I’m sorry if I’ve intruded; if I’ve put you out in any way. And I’m really embarrassed I did a swooner on you as well. Damsel in distress and all that – not usually my style. But I was so cold, and you were so warm.”
And gorgeous, Leah continued in her mind. And tall. And hunky. Shoulders so wide they filled the doorframe. Legs so long he could probably leap mountains in a single stride. She could have been hallucinating it all last night, but in the warm light of day, he was even better looking: those velvet brown eyes, completely unreadable. That stubble-coated jaw you could strike a match on. Large hands, wrapped around his own mug, fingers oh-so-long. Denim-clad thighs you could so easily see wrapped around you. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen, and even looking at him was a sensual feast. She could only imagine what touching would be like. His name might be Rob – but she was sticking with God.
And God, she suddenly noticed, was wearing a wedding ring. In fact, he’d put his mug down and was turning the gold band around and around on his finger, twisting it so hard it must have hurt. Ah. He must have been able to read her mind when she was having inappropriate thoughts about him. Or maybe she’d just dribbled. And now, he was sending her a message: back off, taken man.
Received, understood, and undoubtedly for the best, she decided. She was insane to even be thinking of him in that light – right now she should have been starting life as Mrs Anderson, on honeymoon in St Lucia. Instead she was eyeing up tall, dark and gorgeous here, and wondering if he fancied slipping under the duvet for a quick game of tonsil tennis. Maybe she’d taken a bang to the head when she collapsed. Maybe she was experiencing some weird kind of frost-related hormone rush.
