Kiss Me for Christmas Read online

  She smiled. “That sounds wonderful. I envy you, in a way. No pressure to produce the perfect dinner, no need to entertain. No mounds of washing up!”

  “Absolutely.” He studied her. “So, what are you going to do this Christmas now that Jackass has left the building?”

  She laughed at that. “I don’t know. My parents spend Christmas at a hotel with friends—they won’t want me around. I could go to my sister’s, but she has four kids and…” Holly pulled a face.

  “You don’t like kids?”

  “I love kids. I don’t like my sister’s kids. They’re completely feral and they hate me.”

  He started to laugh. “I’m sure they don’t hate you.”

  “They have a voodoo doll of me that they stick pins in. I swear.”

  Smiling, he said, “Friends, then? You must have lots of Bridget Jones–style girlfriends you can wail to.”

  “Cassie’s going to Spain with her boyfriend. Laura’s still in Australia. And anyway, I’d rather do my wailing to a class of teenagers or complete strangers.” She looked at his shirt. “Sorry about that, by the way.”

  He glanced at the patch she’d made damp with her tears. “It’s okay. It’s not every day I get to comfort a beautiful crying woman.”

  The words slipped through his internal vetting system, leaving his mouth before he’d had a chance to think about them, and he cursed himself as her eyebrows rose. Now she’d think he was trying to come on to her. Her boyfriend’s just walked out on her, idiot, he scolded himself. That’s not what she needs right now. “You should do something on Christmas Day. You don’t want to turn into an old grouch like me.”

  She looked out the window again, her cheeks still slightly pink. Her shoulders slumped as if she’d suddenly remembered the phone call. “I guess I’d better cancel the turkey,” she said absently. She sipped her coffee, still looking out of the window. “It’s supposed to be three feet by Christmas Day.”

  He blinked. “The turkey?”

  She glanced at him then, smiling wryly. “No, the snow. Sorry. I’d moved on in my head.” Her gaze returned to the wet scene outside. “I guess now I won’t need the Christmas stockings I’d bought.” Her voice was low, wistful.

  Noel shrugged. “You never know. Santa might still come, if you’ve been very good.”

  She stared at him, then to his complete surprise, turned scarlet. “I didn’t realize I was speaking out loud.”

  He studied her, amused. “Why’s that embarrassing? Lots of people buy Christmas stockings.”

  “I wasn’t talking about the woolly type you hang over the fireplace.”

  He processed that information surprisingly slowly, despite the fact his mother had always insisted his scientific mind was second only to Einstein’s. “Huh.”

  “I was trying to spice up our sex life,” she continued. “We hadn’t slept together in months and I thought some sexy underwear might help…” Her voice trailed off. “Oh, God. My lips won’t stop moving. I’m so sorry. I have some sort of deficiency, I swear.”

  He was highly amused now—and a little too turned on by the thought of Holly Jones in stockings—but he tried not to smile as he finished his muffin. “Don’t worry about it. Anyway, I haven’t had sex in three years, so you’re in good company.”

  “Yes, but you have a good excuse—you’re in mourning. I don’t know what mine is. We just drifted apart. I don’t know why. I used to like lots of sex.” She went scarlet again as he raised an eyebrow, and then she leaned forward and rested her head on the table. “Oh, God.”

  Noel watched her, unable to suppress a chuckle. Suddenly, he had an idea. It was a terrible idea, and he was sure he was going to regret it as soon as he’d said it, but the moment it popped into his head, he knew he had to ask. “You know what you should do for Christmas?”

  She sat up, resting her palms on her hot cheeks. “Spend the week sewing my lips together?”

  He grinned. “Come to Scotland with me.”

  Chapter Two

  Holly stared at him. Surely she’d heard wrong. “What?” she asked stupidly. Why did he always make her feel as if he was head of Mensa and she was the forerunner for the role of village idiot?

  Noel finished off his coffee and pushed his cup away. “It’s a big house. There are four bedrooms and two living rooms. It’s in the middle of beautiful countryside and it’s guaranteed to snow.”

  She blinked at him. It didn’t make sense. He wanted to get away for Christmas—why would he ask her to go with him? Unless… Jeez. She had just talked about stockings and liking lots of sex. What guy wouldn’t get ideas after that sort of conversation?

  “It’s not a come on,” he said, as if he’d read her mind. “You don’t have to speak to me at all if you don’t want. You can spend the whole weekend in your room, or come and watch DVDs with me and get drunk. I don’t mind. You look like you need a break, that’s all.” He frowned at her smile. “It’s not a proposal or anything.”

  “You’re very sweet.”

  “I’m really not. I’ll be inebriated most of the time. I’ll probably be obnoxious and insult you and fall into a coma on the sofa.” He picked up his glasses and put them on as she laughed. “Anyway, the offer’s there. We’d better get back now. Are you all right to take period six?”

  She stood, surprised, as he retrieved her coat and held it up for her to slip her arms into. “Yes, I’ll be fine, thanks. Wow, you really are an old-fashioned gentleman, aren’t you?”

  “It’s the way I was brought up.” He held out his arm. “Allow me to escort you back to school, Miss Jones.”

  Laughing, she said, “If we’re going to spend Christmas together, you’re going to have to stop calling me that.”

  He looked surprised as he opened the door and popped his umbrella. “You’re coming to Scotland with me?”

  She hesitated for a moment on the doorstep. Was she? Did she really want to spend Christmas weekend with a bereaving science nut who was intent on drinking himself into a stupor?

  Actually, she thought with surprise, yes, she did. At least, she found the idea of the retreat in Scotland, miles away from Jackson and his family and her lonely house, greatly appealing. And as for Noel, he wasn’t quite the stuffy professor he…well, professed to be. He was actually rather funny. She liked him, and the thought of getting to know him a little better would be nice. As a colleague, of course. Nothing more.

  She totally wasn’t going to think about how the hairs on the back of her neck rose up when he looked at her over the top of his glasses.

  She stepped onto the wet pavement and placed her hand in the crook of his arm as she ducked out of the incessant rain. “Might as well. We can have a ‘Who’s going to be most miserable on Christmas Day’ competition.”

  “I’ll win,” he said. “I win every year.”

  “I’m sure I can give you a run for your money.”

  “Well, I can drink more than you can.”

  “Ha! Don’t bet on it. I’ve been known to drink copious amounts of chardonnay at certain times of the month.”

  He snorted. “Malt whisky’s what you need, girl. That’ll put hairs on your chest.”

  “My breasts are perfectly nice hairless, thank you very much.”

  His lips curved. “Well, thank you for filling my head with that image just as I go into a lesson on voltage and electrical currents.”

  “It’s the last day of term,” she said. “Put on a DVD like everyone else, for God’s sake.”

  He glanced down at her. “Holly, I’ll say it one last time and then I won’t say it again. I didn’t ask you to Scotland for any other reason than that I thought you could do with somewhere quiet to go.”

  “Shucks,” she said. “And there’s me hoping it was for the sex.” His eyes widened, and she squeezed his arm. “Noel, I’m joking. I’ll keep out of your way, I promise. I won’t make a nuisance out of myself.”

  “That wasn’t what I said.”

  “I know. But it�
�s your retreat—your place to hide when you’re feeling low. I’m not going to intrude on that.”

  They walked in silence for a while, listening to the patter of rain on the umbrella. Holly mused on the answer she’d given him as she splashed through the puddles, conscious of the warmth of his arm even through the thick woolen coat. Had she made the right decision? Was she crazy, agreeing to travel all the way up to Scotland with a man she hardly knew to spend a long weekend with him—and Christmas weekend at that?

  “Do you like Christmas?” Noel asked.

  She thought about it. “Usually I’d say I loved it. I mean, that’s what we’re supposed to say, isn’t it? It’s a magical time of year, a special time to spend with our loved ones.” She sighed. “I have to admit, though, that over the last few years it’s become more of a drudge. A slog of buying presents, making food nobody eats because they’re full, and watching TV programs I hate to placate Jackson because he’s cross I don’t want to go out partying.”

  “You don’t like partying?”

  “I hate it,” she admitted. It was a relief to say it out loud. “I’m never happier than when I’m at home with a good book, the iPod playing, a glass of white wine in my hand, and a box of Milk Tray at my fingertips.”

  He laughed and she glared at him. “What’s funny about that?”

  “Nothing at all. Sounds like a perfectly wonderful scenario to me.”

  She thought about that for a moment. “Do you like music?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  “Would you mind if I brought some of my instruments with me? I’d play them quietly, I promise. And if you’d rather I didn’t, I understand—it’s just that Jackson hated me playing and he always—”

  “I don’t mind,” Noel interrupted. “Bring whatever you like.”

  “Oh. Okay.” She didn’t bother hiding her little smile of pleasure.

  He was quiet for another minute. Then he said, “Sounds like you’re well shot of Jackass, anyway.” She looked up at him, and his brow furrowed. “Sorry. I shouldn’t say that. It’s none of my business.”

  “It’s okay. You’re right. He is a jackass.”

  “Even so. You might end up getting back with him, and then you’ll never talk to me again.”

  She shook her head. “I’m done with Jackson,” she said thoughtfully. “If he really loved me, he wouldn’t have dumped me so near to Christmas.”

  “He wouldn’t dump you at all,” said Noel. “The guy’s an idiot.”

  He didn’t say anything else, and neither did she.

  …

  All the following week, Noel wondered what had possessed him to ask an almost complete stranger to travel nine hours in the car with him all the way to Scotland and share his treasured retreat. He was going there to be alone. Inviting someone to go with him kind of defeated the whole idea.

  But he hadn’t been able to resist asking Holly. From the moment she’d told him her boyfriend had broken up with her and burst into tears, he was lost. He’d always been a sucker for a crying woman, and a crying pretty woman left him defenseless. Noel the Brave, riding up on his charger to save the damsel in distress. He tried repeatedly to be indignant about her nickname for him, but every time he thought about it, a smile played on his lips.

  Still, he worried about the decision. Part of his problem was guilt about Ella. Most of the time, he maintained a matter-of-fact attitude about his wife’s death, trying to convince himself that life goes on, even though he knew he’d yet to come to terms with the reality that he was relatively young and after three years it would be acceptable for him to start dating again. But Christmas was the one time of the year he let himself get sentimental about her. Though her absence haunted him all the time, at Christmas he missed her with a hunger that hurt, and it felt right and just that he spend two or three days in an alcohol-induced haze, playing songs that reminded him of her, remembering special moments from their past.

  Somehow, bringing someone else with him for this period felt disloyal, and he kept apologizing to Ella in his head, hoping she wasn’t up there watching him and preparing lightning bolts to throw at him. “I felt sorry for her,” he told his wife on more than one occasion. “That’s all, honest.”

  And that was all. He hadn’t asked Holly to go with him for any other reason than he could see she needed to get away somewhere quiet. Did Ella believe him?

  He rang Holly to confirm she still wanted to go, not sure whether he wanted her to say yes or no. When she answered, however, from the huskiness of her voice and the pause as she blew her nose, he suspected he’d interrupted her crying again. “Everything all right?” he’d asked.

  “Yeah. Jackson’s just been around to pick up the last bits of his stuff.” Another blow of the nose.

  “Has he gone?”

  “For good,” she confirmed.

  He hesitated. “Are you terribly upset?”

  “No. That’s why I’m upset, see?”

  He frowned. “Um…”

  “I’m upset because I’m not upset he isn’t coming back. Before he came around, I kind of hoped he’d say he wanted to stay. And then when he turned up, all I could think was that I wanted him to go. And it made me sad, because we’ve been together for five years, so you’d think I’d be a bit more broken up about him leaving, but I’m actually glad he’s gone. Which is totally wrong, even though I’ve known it was over for a while, but now I really know, you know?”

  “Absolutely,” he said with confidence, clinging onto the conversation by his fingertips.

  “He took them all,” she said.

  Noel struggled to think to what she was referring. Had there been a clue in the conversation? “His clothes?” he offered.

  “Sorry, no… Well, yes, he took his clothes, but I was referring to the mince pies. The bastard took them all! He wouldn’t take the bloody brussels sprouts or the cranberry sauce, but he took the mince pies. All of them! He knows that’s my favorite Christmas food. Now I’m convinced he doesn’t love me.”

  In spite of himself, and the fact that he felt incredibly sorry for her, Noel smiled. “The bastard. So, you’re still coming?”

  “Absolutely.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to spend Christmas alone, Noel. I’m not saying I’ll be glued to your side or that you’ll see me at all if you don’t want to—just that I don’t want to stay here, in this house, with my life being less than it was, you know?”

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “So. I’ll get the alcohol. What do you want for Christmas dinner?”

  She thought about it. “I hate turkey.”

  “Hallelujah. Me, too. What do you really want for Christmas dinner?”

  She sighed. “Beans on toast sounds terrific.”

  He laughed. “Beans on toast it is, then.”

  “Can I bring chocolate?”

  “I’d be insulted if you didn’t.”

  …

  Holly waited nervously on the morning of the twenty-third for Noel to show up. Was he going to change his mind at the last minute? Realize what a ridiculous idea it was to invite someone else to his private retreat? She sat on the edge of her sofa, fingers interlaced, and prayed he’d still come.

  This little adventure was the only thing keeping her going this Christmas. Noel would be there, but he’d already told her he was planning to drink himself to oblivion, so she was prepared to entertain herself with books and music and puzzles, and hopefully nice long walks in snow-filled valleys. She was excited and nervous. If he backed out now, she’d be horrendously disappointed.

  But at seven o’clock, just as he said he would, Noel pulled up outside in a large, sleek car. That surprised her. For some reason, she’d thought he’d be driving some clapped-out old banger.

  Peeking through the curtains, she watched him get out and walk toward her front door. “Oh my God.” She stared at him. He looked completely different than how he normally looked at school. Gone were the corduroy trousers, the crumpled white shirt and drab tie, and the dull
tweed jacket with the patches. Instead, he wore tight, dark blue jeans and a sky-blue sweater over a casual shirt. He looked… phenomenally gorgeous.

  She answered the door with a hammering heart and gave him a bright smile. “You came!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “You thought I’d abandon a damsel in distress?”

  “Noel the Brave, saving the day,” she said happily. “Come in.”

  Giving her a wry smile, he walked past her, leaving behind a warm smell of sandalwood and freshly washed clothes. She closed the door behind him, trying to ignore the way her heart knocked rapidly on her ribs as if trying to attract her attention. Stop it, she scolded. The poor man’s still grieving, and you’re coming out of a breakup. For God’s sake, don’t start getting all mushy just because someone’s being nice to you.

  Noel walked into her living room and stopped abruptly. Holly slipped in behind him and followed his gaze to the pile of luggage on the floor. “What?”

  “You said a couple of instruments.” He looked at her, then pointedly at the luggage. “I didn’t realize you meant the whole of the Philharmonic Orchestra.”

  She put her hands on her hips. “You said you liked music.”

  “I thought you were talking about a recorder and a triangle, not the whole brass section.” He looked at her over the top of his glasses. “You can take two pieces. Make your choice.”

  He was talking to her like she was one of his students. She’d have argued with him, but his bright blue eyes somehow dismantled the speech center of her brain, so she sighed and studied the instruments. “I’ll take the tenor sax and the Gretsch.”

  “You really play all these?” he asked as he helped her carry her gear to the car.