Christmas at Thornton Hall

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Your Ben story seems less a lie and more a sin of omission. Anyhow, your secrets are your own to keep.” For half a wild second, I thought he might lean in and kiss me, but he stepped back into the kitchen. Reaching into the cupboard above his head for a mug, he said, “I was making tea, but would you rather have wine?”

Turn your body toward the front door, and walk out of it, Juliet. Coming here was a bad idea. Mother always counsels her patients who’ve ended a relationship not to start another for one year.

“I’ve already had a lot to drink, on a relatively empty stomach,” I told him, my feet carrying me around the bar, intending to head for the door.

“Is that the excuse you’ll give for kissing me?” he asked, taking a wine glass off the shelf and crossing to the sofa. With his back to me, he settled into the cocoon of blankets and poured my burgundy. I stood there, wondering what to do next – although we both knew what was going to happen. I’d known the minute I had made up my mind to give him his handkerchief back tonight.

After taking his time, Edward flipped back the corner of the quilts, holding them aloft. “You have to admit, it’s cold out there, alone.” I hesitated for a split second. “Come on then,” he said very gently. “Who’re you kidding?”

Live your least secretive life. Most of all, don’t keep secrets from yourself. My aunt’s voice rang in my head. Since the first conversation I had with him, I have wanted to press my body up against Edward, to cover his mouth with mine, to attack him without any of the shyness or reserve I had with Stephen or Ben.

“No one,” I admitted, sliding into the warm envelope of blankets, and onto his lap. “Ah,” I breathed out involuntarily. Even though I was terrified of where this might lead, I couldn’t help myself. I’d been waiting so long to press against him that the first thing I felt was something like relief.

He wrapped me in his arms and I tilted my face up to his, aching for a kiss. He looked into my eyes as we sat melting into one another, breathing the same air. “Please,” I whispered.

He reached around, stroking the back of my neck with his big, strong hand. Tangling his fingers upward, into my hair, he teased me, holding my head still. Brushing his lips slowly across mine, he moved back each time I tried to drink him in.

“Edward, please,” I sighed.

Clamping his mouth down hard onto mine, soft firm lips parted, and he turned my sigh into a moan. The only thing that existed was the warm lushness of his kiss. I was drunk. Our mouths moved together for what might have been minutes or centuries before I surfaced, becoming aware of all the sensations pulsing below my neck.

Underneath all of our fuzzy, wooly clothes, I could feel how tight and hard his body was. I was frantic with desire. Before I could think, I was straddling him, with my mouth still on his, my hands caressing the short, velvety hair under his cap. “Oh my good God,” I sighed, pushing myself against his lap. “Edward. You feel amazing.”

“There’s my girl,” he said quietly into my ear, as I was sliding my hand up his sweater, stroking past the down on his chest, up to the muscles of his shoulders. “I knew you were in there somewhere.” He managed to untie and pull off my robe without casting off the quilts. I literally couldn’t wait for him to unbutton my pajamas. The need for his hands on my skin was loud in my head. I pushed his hand under my top, and to my surprise, boldly showed him how to touch me. I could feel how aroused he was, but he followed my lead, all attention on my body, teasing me exquisitely until teasing wasn’t good enough. I knelt over him, pushing his hand down into my pajama bottoms, panting “yes, like that,” and “no, do this,” until, with him looking right into my eyes, I rocked and shook the way I never had with any man.

We disentangled and I gingerly lowered myself to his side, putting my arms around his neck, laying my ear on his chest to avoid looking at him. I could hear my own heavy breathing and I was embarrassed by how forward I’d just been.

“I’m sorry if…” I began.

“Don’t be sorry. That was beautiful,” he said to me, his voice vibrating through his sweater. “I’ve missed you. I didn’t know if you’d take a job here again, after our row.” He pulled back and took a long look at me. “You’re amazing, you know that. Promise you’ll let me do that again.”

I started to say what a bad idea it was to fool around with your co-worker, and what a mistake it had been, but who was I kidding. I knew I’d crawl ten miles to let him.

“Let you?” I said. “How about beg you?” I already felt starved for him. Inside my head, it felt like my brain had been replaced with warm, swirly, golden caramel. I couldn’t form a logical thought.

“I have wanted that since the first minute I laid eyes on you,” I said, matter-of-factly. “When we met in the kitchen, I wanted to put my hands under your clothes and feel your bare skin.” My mouth was saying whatever it wanted, unedited. My body was in control; my rational mind had lost the battle.

“That’s what I wanted,” he said simply.

“Well what’re your thoughts on letting me do a few things to you?” I whispered into his ear, gliding my hand across his lap to check his mood. Signs pointed to a positive outcome. And with one fell swoop, he picked the pile of blankets and me up, knocking over one of the wine glasses in our wake, and ferried me easily to the bedroom, even though we were pretty evenly matched, height-wise.

“My thoughts on that are impure,” he said, pulling his top off, exposing his calisthenics-shaped torso. “Filthy, in fact. Are you down with that?” In a split second, he was poised over me in a push-up, waiting for an answer.

Well, Juliet, whatever plan you were supposed to be sticking to seems like it’s out the window. Who knew I was so fickle? But with his mouth, and his hands on me, and the feeling of his…

“I have never been more down with anything in my life,” I said, rising up to meet him.

Chapter Six (#uf1b5ef45-3943-5979-97cc-31da17dc6063)

I woke up, face down on an unfamiliar pillow, to the rattle of a dropped pot lid. Disoriented, and too tired to lift my head, I took in a deep breath. I smelled cinnamon and the faintest, musky scent of a man’s sweat.

“Morning, Princess,” Edward said, padding toward me.

Oh dear God, I’m in Edward’s bed. Is my brain broken? Am I missing a judgment gene? Instinctively I tried to mash myself further down into the mattress so as to go unnoticed. I tried to pretend I wasn’t there, but images from last night flashed across the IMAX screen in my head: running my tongue over the sleek muscle over Edward’s pelvic bone, the top of his head as he kissed a line down to my navel and below, his expression after he’d pulled me on top of him and I slowly lowered myself down, making him moan low and deep. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Um, Princess might be too strong a title. After my, uh, behavior last night, I may need a stint in finishing school.”

Laughing, he said, “Proper ladies are dull. I’d rather be with you.”

“Thanks. Maybe.”

He leaned down, slid his hands under my shoulders and flipped me right over. “There’s my sexy girl,” he said. Before I could open my mouth to speak any kind of words that might justify my unrecognizable behavior from the night before, his soft warm lips were on mine. Instinctively, I felt myself tilting my chin and propping myself on my elbows to reach closer to him, unwilling to lose the lush sweetness of his mouth. When he stood upright, breaking the contact, it was excruciating.

“Nooooo,” I heard myself whine. I snapped my eyes open to see Edward smiling and looking appreciatively at my naked breasts. I snatched the sheet upwards. Thank goodness it was still dark in his bedroom.

“Not much point in that,” he teased. “I’m afraid the horse is out of the barn. I’ve seen every inch of you now.” I started to turn my head away, but he held my chin in his strong hand, forcing me to meet his eye. “Every inch. And you’re breathtaking.” He ran his hand from my jaw, over my throat and stopped in the middle of my chest, pinning me to the bed with a gentle pressure. “Besides, why would you want to hide two of the seven wonders of the modern world?”

He released me, sliding his hand downward, pulling the sheet with it. My hands flew up to cover myself, but he caught them in both of his, holding them while he arched over, languidly kissing one of my breasts. My eyes closed, and I lay backward onto the pillow. He pulled his mouth away very slowly, the tip of his tongue the last part of him to lose contact with any part of me. Involuntarily, I cried out in protest. In a split second, his mouth was on my other breast sending an electric shock to the lower part of my belly. My hips rose up, and he pinned my body to the bed with his torso.

Easing his lips off of my tingling skin, he whispered, “Are you hungry?”

Oh, my god yes, famished, I thought, my eyes still closed. I could eat you alive.

“I’m starved to death,” I said huskily, putting my arms around his neck.

“Good, because I have pancakes with Nutella and cream started.”

“Oh!” I said, mortified. “Yes. Breakfast. Yum!” I sat up, and tried to look like the kind of girl who might sit properly at the table, discussing the weather and politics, instead of the sex-crazy succubus I felt like inside. “Pancakes. Very kind of you.”

Eyes dancing, he was already peeling his sweater over his head and kicking off his slippers. “Bad luck, breakfast has to wait now.” He slid his pajama bottoms to the ground, exposing his marble-hard thighs. “That little taste of you really whet my appetite,” he rolled onto the bed and threw back the sheet. “It’s all your fault for being so delicious.” Straddling me, he said, “Now I’m starving too.” He leaned over me brushing his stubble against my cheek, and whispered into my ear, “And pancakes aren’t what I’m looking for.”

****

With my cheek resting on Edward’s broad bicep, and my arm draped across his chest, I began falling into a post-coital nap. For just that moment, the rest of the world fell away. There was no Stephen, no Ben, no Mother, no advanced degree to earn, no new career to get started on, and no empty kitchen waiting for me.

This must be what Aunt Suze means when she talks about being fully present. If the roof caved in and killed me right now, I could die happy.

“Much as I hate to move, I’d better get up if I’m going to send you off with a proper breakfast,” Edward said, gently moving my head to the pillow. “It’s 5:30. You’ll want a minute to go back to yours and dress so we can get to the kitchen on time. I don’t think Roth will accept ‘caught up in the throes of passion’ as an excuse for tardiness.”

My stomach turned over when he mentioned Jasper Roth. “He can’t know about us!” I said. Edward tilted his head quizzically. “I mean, of course, no one here can know. I mean, really, it’s none of anyone’s business.”

“That’s true enough,” Edward said, walking into the galley kitchen. “What’s between us is between us.”

Why do you care what Jasper thinks? I asked myself. I didn’t like the question. Shut up, Juliet.

“What I’m trying to say,” I stammered out loud, “is that there must be rules against…you know, fraternization or whatever.” I waited for a response and got none. “It’s just that we have to think professionally, right?” No answer. “Can I use your bathroom?” I called.

“Go right through. You don’t have to ask any more,” he answered.