Kiss Me for Christmas Read online

  “I wouldn’t be much of a music teacher if I couldn’t.”

  “Well, I’m a science teacher, but I can’t split the atom.”

  “Good point. Yes, Mr. Brave, I can play them all. And I’d have shown you, if you’d have let me bring them all.”

  “I drive a Ford, not a Tardis. I could leave you behind if you want—then I’d be able to fit everything in.”

  Bickering companionably, they stacked up his car and she locked the house. He held the car door open for her.

  She smiled at him. “You really are right out of the Dark Ages, aren’t you?”

  “Is that a complaint?”

  She thought of the way Jackson would let her struggle with the shopping while he talked on his mobile or walk through a door and let it swing shut on her. “No.” She met Noel’s gaze for a moment. There was something so calm about him, so relaxed and easy. Perhaps it was because he was a teacher, but even though she didn’t know him very well, she trusted him. That was a good thing, she thought, considering they were about to drive into the middle of Nowheresville, probably with no phone reception and hemmed in by ten feet of snow.

  He tipped his head. “Having second thoughts?”

  She realized he was waiting for her to get in so he could shut the door for her. “No, no. I just…” Before she could talk herself out of it, she raised on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Noel, for inviting me. I’m sure you’ve regretted it all week, but I do really appreciate it.”

  Her cheeks warm, she slid into the passenger seat, and he closed the door. She watched him walk around to the driver’s side, get in, and slot the key in the ignition. Then he turned to look at her.

  They surveyed each other for a moment. His glasses had spots of rain on them, and he took them off and cleaned them, glancing across at her as he did so. His bright turquoise eyes made her catch her breath. The guy was melt-in-your-mouth good-looking. His blue sweater emphasized his impressive chest and upper arms, and his jeans stretched tight over well-muscled thighs. Who would have known such a hunk was hiding under all that tweed?

  He slid his glasses back on and gave her a smile that was both mischievous and playful. “You ready?”

  “Yes,” she said, breathless.

  He started the engine. “Then let’s get this show on the road.”

  Chapter Three

  Noel had been worried that the long journey to Scotland was going to be excruciating with someone else in the car—especially someone he didn’t know very well. He’d been concerned that she’d expect him to make small talk all the way, which he didn’t enjoy, or maybe want to play music he didn’t like or talk inanely about stuff he wasn’t interested in, like clothes and celebrity TV shows. But she didn’t.

  For a while, they talked about school, comparing their various experiences at previous institutions as well as their current one, and discussing problem classes and students they had trouble with. To his surprise, she spoke knowledgeably about learning issues, sharing ideas with him of techniques she’d used in class that had worked. For some reason he’d expected her to be ditzy in her teaching as well as in general, but he realized he’d underestimated her on both accounts. He should have guessed—his students often talked about her being their favorite teacher, but he’d assumed that was only because they got to play around with instruments most of the time.

  After that, she asked if he’d like to listen to some music, and he agreed reluctantly, not wanting to seem impolite. She asked what he was interested in, and he gave her the names of some bands he liked, wondering whether she’d mock him for his middle-of-the-road tastes. But she just nodded and selected songs on her iPod, and soon they were listening to some of his favorite stuff, as well as bands he hadn’t heard of but were similar in style to those he liked.

  After a few hours, they passed Manchester and stopped for a cup of coffee and a midmorning snack, during which she told him a bit more about Jackson, and he told her a little about Ella, the first time he’d really talked about his wife in a long time. He talked hesitantly, afraid of getting emotional, but it was surprisingly easy to talk about her to Holly, who sat listening with her head propped on her hand, her kind eyes compassionate as he told her how difficult the last few years had been.

  They got back in the car and drove for another couple of hours. She read her book for a while, saying she wanted to give him some peace, but when he saw her chuckling to herself, he asked her to read it aloud. Soon she was making him laugh with the travel anecdotes that she told using various voices, and before he knew it, it was lunchtime, and they stopped again just past Carlisle to stretch their legs and grab something to eat.

  They spent the rest of the day in much the same way. Although he hadn’t expected Holly to drive, she offered, so he let her take the wheel for a while, laying his chair back and dozing as she sang to some bluesy guitar player on the iPod in her attractive, husky voice. She drove through Glasgow onto the quieter A-roads, and then he took over for the last leg as it started to get dark.

  The scenery had become more mountainous and forested the more they traveled north, the towns farther apart. He could almost imagine the Celts and Picts with their painted faces and spears hassling the Romans along the Antonine Wall.

  “Where are we going, exactly?” She hadn’t spoken for a while, lost in thought he assumed, and he looked across at her now, realizing he hadn’t told her anything about their destination.

  “Fort Augustus.”

  She turned to look at him. “You’re kidding me? Loch Ness?”

  He raised an eyebrow at her. “Is that a problem?”

  “It depends. Am I going to be eaten alive in my sleep?”

  He glanced at her, and they both started laughing.

  “That didn’t come out quite as I meant.”

  He carefully steered his mind away from the thought of Holly Jones lying naked in bed. Honest to God, he said to Ella in his head, I’m not interested. He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I think we can safely say it’s unlikely a dinosaur’s going to exit the lake and attack you in the house.”

  “If it does, I’m expecting Noel the Brave to rescue me.”

  “Noel the Brave will be running at top speed in the opposite direction if anything comes out of the loch, I assure you,” he said, making her laugh.

  Within an hour, they were shadowing the edge of the loch, which looked black and mysterious in the moonlight. It was growing colder outside, although they were cozy in the car with the heater on and the Thermos of hot tea Holly had made that morning.

  She looked up at the cloudless sky where the moon hung like a silver Christmas bauble, then back to the loch. “I wonder if it will snow over Christmas?”

  “They’ve forecast it.”

  “Six hundred feet deep,” she murmured.

  “I doubt it’ll be quite that heavy a fall,” he said, deliberately misinterpreting her. She’d spoken cryptically at regular intervals along the journey, and he was beginning to understand how her brain worked. It was more fun to pretend he didn’t, though.

  She gave him a wry look. “I meant the loch. It’s over six hundred feet deep.”

  “Oh? Are you an expert on the loch?”

  “That’s about the limit of my knowledge, I’m afraid.”

  He laughed and turned onto the winding road to Fort Augustus. Paul’s house was in a secluded spot a few miles south of town, and they finally pulled up around seven o’clock. By then it was difficult to separate the loch from the sky, the moon and stars scattering across the surface of the water, making an endless panorama of black night.

  …

  Holly stared out the car window as Noel drew the car up and turned off the engine. Steps led up a grass bank to a sheltered portico in front of a huge whitewashed house that overlooked the loch. “Jeez. Noel!”

  “What?”

  “I thought you said it was a cottage?”

  “It is a cottage.” He got out of the car and stretched, gr
oaning.

  Holly followed, shivering in the icy evening air, her limbs aching from being in the same position for so long. “This is not a cottage. Cottages are tiny with beams you hit your head on. This is like something Macbeth would have stayed in!”

  He laughed, getting out their bags and handing her the guitar and saxophone cases. “Paul calls it a cottage. I suppose it is a bit of an understatement.”

  She followed him up the steps to the front door, turning to look over the loch as he dropped their bags and fumbled with the key. The moon was high in the sky now, and the loch looked like a plate of black glass. She swallowed nervously. Of course, the stories of a monster in its depths were all nonsense, but even so… If a prehistoric monster was going to live anywhere, she could see why it might choose Loch Ness.

  Noel opened the door and went inside, and she followed him. He turned right into a living room, and she lowered her cases onto the sofa, walking around and exploring the place with wide eyes. It was a beautiful house, large and richly decorated, but homely at the same time. He hadn’t lied to her, she realized—there were two living rooms, one slightly larger and cozier with plush cream leather sofas, but the other was just as nice, the drapes and suite a deep red color, with a real stuffed deer’s head on the wall. There was a bathroom downstairs, and a kitchen and dining room with polished wooden floors and every amenity a person could want.

  Upstairs, there were four bedrooms and a large bathroom with a huge bath that she looked at longingly, her flat only possessing a shower.

  “Nice, eh?” Noel said, making her jump as he walked up behind her.

  “It’s lovely. I haven’t had a bath in months.”

  “I thought there was a funny smell around here.”

  “Ha ha. I shower every day, smart arse. I don’t own a bath.” This one was wide and deep and sat on iron feet, making her feel yet again like she’d gone through a time warp to medieval Scotland. “You could fit two people in that,” she said absently.

  “Don’t get any ideas.”

  She blushed. “I didn’t mean…” Shit. She had to stop thinking out loud. “Honestly, I wasn’t implying…”

  His lips curved. “I know. Anyway, I don’t plan to wash at all for three days. It’s part of my Christmas funk. Alcohol, junk food, the same clothes, and loud action movies.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad I came.”

  He laughed. “So am I.”

  She watched him walk along to the bedrooms. For the first time, he’d sounded like he meant it. That made her smile.

  “Which one do you want?” he asked, picking up her bag from the landing.

  She followed him down. “Can I have the blue one?”

  “Of course.” He went in and put her bag on the bed. “I’ll have the green one at the end. There’ll be two whole rooms between us. So I can’t hear you snore.”

  She stuck her tongue out at him. “More like the other way around. You dozed off in the car, remember?”

  “I didn’t snore.”

  “Like hell you didn’t. I tell you, we’ll have no worries about Nessie coming calling—one snore from you and she’ll get right back in the water.”

  He laughed. “I’m going to get changed and then make myself a sandwich. Feel free to join me if you want.”

  “Okay.”

  He went into his room, then stuck his head back out. “I meant for the sandwich, by the way.”

  She smiled. “Yeah. I know.”

  He nodded and disappeared.

  She went into her room and lay on the bed for a moment. It was large and soft, and the room smelled faintly of lavender. She supposed she should be feeling homesick and upset at being alone this Christmas, but she didn’t. She felt strangely excited about the next few days. It was going to snow—she could almost smell it in the air, and even though it wasn’t going to be like any Christmas she’d had before, she felt exhilarated about the fact that she didn’t have to please anyone except herself.

  She wasn’t expecting to see much of Noel. Although he’d been relatively cheerful up until now, she didn’t want to intrude on his grief. Almost certainly, he’d want to be alone in his sorrow, and she didn’t want him to regret asking her to accompany him to Scotland. She’d keep to herself and use this time to rejuvenate, to think about the future, and to rediscover the real Holly, the one who had sunk deep inside herself over the last few years as she compromised to fit Jackson’s view of what his partner should be like.

  She changed into a comfy pair of sweatpants and an oversize stripy sweater and went downstairs. Noel was in the process of unpacking some of the food they’d brought with them, dressed like her in a pair of soft navy sweatpants, although he still wore the light blue sweater. He looked up as she walked in and raised an eyebrow, holding up a jar. “Chocolate spread? What are you, twelve?”

  “I brought food that I like. Not food that Jackson likes, or that my parents like, or that my sister’s kids like. Food that I want to eat.”

  “Fair enough.” He put the milk and cold meat in the fridge, stacked some tins in the cupboard, and began buttering bread.

  “I’ll make some tea.”

  He nodded, giving her a small smile.

  They pottered around in the kitchen, Holly shivering slightly as she poured the hot water into the cups. Noel’s friend had left the central heating on, but it was a bitter night, and the cold was sending long fingers beneath the doors.

  “I’ll make a fire in a minute,” Noel said, putting the sandwiches onto plates. “You done?”

  “Yep.”

  He picked up the plates and she got the mugs, and he led the way through to the smaller living room.

  There he hesitated. “I thought I’d use this one and you could have the bigger one.”

  She nodded. “Okay.” She put his mug on the table and turned to go.

  “But just for tonight, do you want to stay here, to save lighting two fires?”

  She frowned. She’d planned to play her guitar for a while—she felt tense and achy from the journey and playing always helped her relax, but she didn’t want to be rude. “Um…”

  “Do you know the Beatles song ‘Something’?”

  She stared at him. “Er, yes. Why?”

  He put their plates on the table and bent to start work on the fire. “Can you play it on your guitar?”

  “Sure.”

  “Would you play it for me?”

  She studied him for a moment. He didn’t look up, placing firelighters under the kindling before setting light to them and beginning to load the grate with larger logs. Starting to smile, she turned and walked through to the other living room, retrieved the Gretsch, and brought it back.

  They ate their sandwiches while they read their books and watched the fire gradually spring to life, and then Holly put down her book and unzipped her guitar case. She spent thirty seconds tuning it, watching Noel out of the corner of her eye as he stretched out on the sofa, feet on the arm, looking drowsy but relatively content as he read his book. Then she started playing.

  She sang softly as she strummed, wondering as she did so why he’d requested the song, whether it was one that had special meaning to him and his wife. Perhaps they’d danced to it as their wedding. She glanced over, expecting to find his gaze fixed far in the distance, but to her surprise, he was watching her. He’d removed his glasses, and his eyes were calm and steady.

  When she finished the song, she looked up at him. “Want me to stop?”

  He didn’t answer her at first, studying her thoughtfully. “No. You’re quite good.”

  “Thank you. Throw a few pennies in the case, would you?”

  He gave her a wry smile. Winking at him, she turned in the armchair, resting her legs on the arm, and began to strum.

  After a while, she forgot he was there, forgot about everything but the hum of the wood against her chest and the squeak of her fingers on the strings. She played whatever songs filled her head, The Beatles, Stevie Wonder, and Jackie Wilson, old blu
es numbers by Robert Johnson and T-Bone Walker, modern folk and blues-rock like Jack Johnson and John Mayer. One song blended into the other, mirroring her butterfly mind, her fingers picking the notes and strumming automatically. She sang the words when she knew them and hummed when she didn’t.

  After half an hour or so, Noel got up, went into the kitchen, and reappeared a few minutes later with a tumbler of amber whisky for himself and a glass of white wine for her. “Want me to stop?” she asked.

  “Nope,” he said, lying down again and opening his book.

  She sipped her wine and carried on.

  Eventually her fingers were too tired to keep playing, and she lay the guitar down and sat back with a sigh. Rolling her head on the chair, she looked over at him to see him watching her, smiling. “What?” she asked self-consciously.

  “You really can play that thing.”

  “You thought I brought it along for show?”

  He gave a short laugh. “Maybe.”

  She finished her wine. “I think I’ll go to bed now.”

  “Okay.”

  She nodded, hesitating. “Noel?”

  He looked up at her, his eyes half-lidded with whisky and tiredness, but relaxed and content. “Hmm?”

  “Thanks.”

  He met her gaze. His eyes held admiration, warmth, and something else, something she couldn’t quite catch. “You’re welcome.”

  She tore her eyes away and went upstairs. She brushed her teeth and changed into her pajamas, then stole away quickly under the covers, conscious of the coolness of the night.

  But in spite of the tiredness of her body, it was a while before sleep claimed her. And even when it did, Noel’s warm eyes followed her there.

  Chapter Four

  The next day, when Holly pulled open the curtains and looked outside, she saw that overnight the sky had grown thick with clouds and was now gray and heavy. It was going to snow, she thought, feeling a wave of excitement. It had been a few years since she’d seen a white Christmas, and even then, it had only been a dusting.

  The excitement dulled slightly as she went into the corridor and saw that Noel’s room was empty, his bed already made. Today was the anniversary of his wife’s death, she remembered. Noel hadn’t come there to celebrate but to deal with his pain, and she had to remind herself not to get in the way of his grief.