‘No, but here I am, and I might as well stay for the rest of the day. Why don’t I make coffee while you take that baby upstairs to its mother? Then we can cook a Christmas breakfast together while we work out how we can make this a very special day for our unexpected visitors.’
He seemed different today. His mood was lighthearted, and that bitter tang which had darkened his voice, his face, ever since his wife left him seemed to have gone.
‘You seem very cheerful,’ she almost accused.
‘It’s called the Christmas spirit,’ Henry said. ‘And if you aren’t careful, when you get back from delivering that child to its mother I may have found some mistletoe! ’
Ruth was appalled to find herself blushing to the roots of her hair. ‘Don’t talk daft!’ she muttered, moving towards the door with the baby over her shoulder.
‘Daft, am I? Well, for that, if I can’t find any mistletoe I’ll do without. You don’t need mistletoe to snatch a kiss!’
His grin was wicked; his eyes gleamed with warm amusement.
Ruth hurriedly left the room, feeling oddly breathless. She had never dared admit to herself how strong her feelings were for Henry. You’re too old to dream, she had always told herself. Don’t be so stupid. He’s married, anyway. Are you out of your mind?
She had almost managed to fool herself into believing she thought of Henry as just a friend—but she had never fooled his wife. Gwen had been far too shrewd, not to mention a woman with a poisonous tongue and a mind like a steel trap.
Embarrassed, humiliated, Ruth would have died rather than admit Gwen was right. She’d been terrified Gwen had told him, appalled at the thought that he might guess how she felt. Ever since that day when Gwen had accused her of chasing Henry, Ruth had put on a polite, friendly but offhand mask with him.
Even when Gwen ran off with her toy boy Ruth had gone on trying to convince Henry that all she felt was friendship towards him, nothing more, and Henry’s own humiliation and bitterness had made it easy.
Suddenly their relationship had altered—she didn’t know why or when.
Ross was already awake and out of bed. For a second when his eyes had flicked open he hadn’t remembered where he was; the tiny box room was shadowy, although the sun rising outside flashed glittering reflections of snow on to the ceiling. As his memory had brought him up to speed he’d sat up, jumped out of bed, and put on the well-washed old dressing gown Ruth had found for him last night. It was rather short on him and he felt ridiculous.
When he carefully opened Dylan’s door the room was empty. The bedclothes were flung back but no sign of Dylan.
His heart stopped, then began to race in panic. Where was she? Where was the baby?
Then the bathroom door opened and Dylan appeared, wearing a long, lemon-coloured cotton nightie which blew back against her, outlining the round breasts, small waist and slim hips in a way that went straight to Ross’s head. Seeing him, she stopped to look at him, her blue eyes wide before she smiled, a tremulous, quivering smile that touched him so deeply he didn’t even smile back, just looked at her passionately.
‘Hello.’ His voice was deep, husky.
‘Hello,’ she said, in a shy little-girl murmur, as if they were total strangers, and limped towards the bed.
He hadn’t noticed any limp yesterday; he stiffened. ‘What have you done? Why are you limping?” He followed her across the room.
Climbing into bed, Dylan pulled the covers up over herself and sat up against the pillows. ‘I hurt my ankle when I crashed, but it’s getting better already; it was just a sprain.’
‘Let me see.’
She pushed her foot out from under the bedclothes and he gingerly inspected it, his fingers gentle.
‘It looks painful—does it hurt much?’
‘Only when I walk. The swelling is going down now.’
‘Has Henry seen it?’
‘Of course!’ She drew her foot back under the covers. ‘He said it wasn’t serious and would soon heal.’ Changing the subject, she asked him, ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘I must have done. I don’t remember a thing after I put out the light until I woke up a few minutes ago.’ He sat on the edge of her bed to kiss her lingeringly. ‘Mmm...you’ve had a shower. Your skin is damp and smells flowery.’
Dylan suddenly realised he had slept naked. His dressing gown had fallen open over his legs and she could see the rough hair on his bare thigh. Her breathing was suddenly faster, ragged with excitement. Ross glanced down to see what she was staring at and inhaled sharply. Taking one of her hands, he placed it on his thigh, watching her with a burning desire in his dark grey eyes.
Dylan’s fingers slid upward over the short dark curls of hair, touched him intimately, feeling his flesh harden and stir; he shut his eyes, groaning her name.
‘It’s been so long...’