‘Baking is magic, not science. And I definitely don’t have the touch.’
‘Yours are very...charming.’
She laughed at the obvious exaggeration. ‘That’s generous.’
Still, Rufus slid both trays into the hot oven of the Aga and set a timer. Jess sipped at her forgotten cup of coffee and leaned back against the countertop.
‘Do you need to go back outside?’
‘That depends. Can I trust you with the pies?’
‘Well, you set the timer. So if they burn I’m placing the blame firmly at your door. But I’ll take them out when the buzzer goes off if that’s what you’re asking.’
‘Okay, well, I’ll just be out the back door. Shout if you need me.’
‘I promise not to burn the kitchen down in the next ten minutes.’
He smiled and paused in the doorway, holding her gaze for a beat, and then another. And the whole time she was aware that the longer they were trapped here, the stronger this connection between them seemed to be.
‘Go,’ she said, her voice not much more than a whisper. She needed him to walk away. From her. From whatever this was between them. Because she wasn’t sure that she was capable of doing it all on her own. And she needed to, because the alternative was risking pain, and she’d had enough of that.
The timer pinged on the Aga and she grabbed a tea towel to pull the trays from the oven. She marvelled anew at the precision and beauty of Rufus’s mince pies, and tried not to think about the fact that he’d just spent the last hour making them for her, just because she’d told him that she couldn’t bear the idea of Christmas without them.
And that was a level of thoughtfulness and generosity that she could do without. Especially coming from someone she was already finding inconveniently attractive. She was just trying to remember whether she was meant to turn them out onto the cooling racks when Rufus clattered through the door with a flurry of snowflakes and a huge basket of logs. She rushed to help him, and they lowered the basket between them.
‘I had it,’ Rufus said,
a slight frown creasing his forehead.
‘It was nothing.’ Jess replied, wondering what she’d done to annoy him now. Well, at least when he was scowling he was considerably less attractive. And she would take any help that she could get on that score.
‘I’m going to grab another basket,’ Rufus announced.
‘Do you need any—?’
‘I’ve got it under control.’
Okay, so he was clearly peeved about something. With any luck, he’d hold that thought for the next few days, until she could get away from him. Safely away from temptation.
* * *
Rufus leaned his forehead against the door of the woodshed. He shouldn’t have snapped at her. It wasn’t fair to take it out on Jess. It wasn’t her fault that he was feeling this way. This desperate desire that was becoming harder and harder to ignore was entirely on him. Of course, she might be feeling it too. He wasn’t completely oblivious. But he was the one who had to keep his feelings in check. He was the one who had sworn that he wasn’t going to have a relationship, because relationships led to family—and he knew he couldn’t be trusted with one of those.
But it wouldn’t have to be a relationship, said a rebellious part of his brain. It wouldn’t have to lead to anything. It was just the two of them. In the place he loved most in the world, with huge amounts of decadent food, opulent decorations and luxury booze. They could just walk away. They could have this time here and then forget about one another afterwards.
Except Jess didn’t want a fling. Oh, he was pretty sure that she wanted him. But their aborted kiss and the way that she had jumped away from him in the pantry told him all he needed to know. She was fighting this too, and he was sure that she had her reasons. Who was he to disagree with her? He’d overstepped once by kissing her—what had he been thinking?
He wouldn’t do it again. She was his guest, however strange the circumstances, and he couldn’t have her uncomfortable here. He wanted her safe and warm, and happy. And that meant denying these impulses. And all he had to do was take himself out into the sub-zero temperatures every hour or so to counteract the fire that she had been stoking in him for the past twenty-four hours.
He concentrated on filling the basket full of logs. If the power went then they’d lose the storage heating and they really needed to keep at least a couple of rooms warm. He needed to make sure there were candles and a torch in every room too, before night fell. There wasn’t much he could do about the weather, but he would make them as safe as he could if the worst happened.
He pushed the door to the kitchen with his shoulder and deposited the basket of logs next to the fire, and caught Jess draping a tea towel over something. When she looked across at him, his heart stopped for a moment. She was trying hard to hide it, but she was upset. As he stood back up, her lower lip slid between her teeth and she bit down, and then he knew something was badly wrong.
‘What is it?’ he asked, crossing over to her in three long strides and brushing her hair back from her face to see it better. ‘Jess, did something happen? Is it your parents? Or Lara?’
‘No, no.’ She tried to fake a laugh, but it came out as a strangled gulp. ‘It’s nothing like that. I was just trying to turn out the mince pies and...well...’
She removed the tea towel to reveal a pile of sorry-looking pastry and mincemeat. ‘I knocked the corner of the cooking rack, and... Gravity took care of the rest.’