A Yorkshire Christmas (14 page)

“Something old and tatty, then.”

“It really won’t matter to her, Noah. Trust me.”

“I suppose I need another trip to the storage loft.” He rose from the sofa and reluctantly Claire uncurled her legs and started to stand up.

“I suppose I should go—”

“No, not yet,” Noah said quickly. “Not until I have this present figured out.”

She sat back down, curling up again, so easily convinced. “Okay.”

Noah went upstairs and Claire leaned back against the sofa, enjoying the flickering flames of the fire, the sense of comfort and peace that pervaded the house. After a few minutes she went to make coffee, and she’d just come back into the living room with two steaming mugs when Noah came down the stairs.

“I found my old art set,” he said with a rueful grin. He held out the tin case, tarnished and dented. “Like I said, old and tatty.”

“And perfect.” Claire handed him a mug of coffee. “And I had an idea too. What about giving her a new notebook? I saw some in one of the drawers of the dresser in the kitchen—”

“You think that’s enough?” Noah asked a little dubiously.

“What if you decorated it? With things that mattered to you?”

Noah looked even more dubious. “Decorated it…”

“It’s called decoupage,” Claire told him with a laugh. “I could help you. We could use photos, colored paper, some of the silver glitter that you were so fond of with the pinecones.”

“As long as you’ll help,” Noah answered.

They set up at the kitchen table, collecting as many craft items as Noah could find around the house, glue and tape, and some old photos he didn’t mind cutting up. Claire had just spread it all out when Noah came to the table, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“I think we’ll need this too,” he told her solemnly. “Fancy a splash in your coffee?”

“Yes, please,” Claire said and Noah poured a generous amount in both mugs.

They spent a companionable hour arranging photos and pictures on the cover of the notebook while drinking whisky-laced coffee and chatting about nothing too important. By ten o’clock the notebook was finished; there were photos of Noah as a boy and of Ayesgill Farm; pictures cut out from magazines of lambs and sheep; a few random sequins he’d found in the back of a drawer, and of course the silver glitter. Covered with clear contact paper, it looked surprisingly polished.

“This actually looks kind of amazing,” Noah said as they gazed at the finished notebook. “Thanks to you.”

“You had something to do with it,” Claire answered.

She turned to him just as Noah turned to her, so their noses nearly bumped. Claire felt as if the whole room had just shivered, as if the very air around them had suddenly tautened. She could hear the sudden pop and crack of the fire in the other room as it burned down to embers, just as something flared vitally to life between them, right here.

Claire’s lips parted and her heart started thumping hard. Everything in her quivered with awareness and expectation. Noah’s gaze dropped to her mouth, and her heart thumped harder, and then…

Then he kissed her.

The feel of his lips on hers was a shock, and yet also so wonderfully right. Her hands bunched in his shirt as she yielded to his kiss, her whole body thrumming with sensation and desire. Noah slid his hands up to cradle her face as he deepened the kiss.

Distantly Claire heard the scrape of a chair’s legs on the floor, the clatter of some of the craft supplies falling from the table. None of it mattered.

All she could feel, all she could want, was Noah’s kiss. His mouth on hers. His hands on her body.

She nearly groaned aloud when he slid his hand to cup her breast, his fingers warm and seeking through her cashmere top.

Then suddenly he stopped, withdrawing his hand, easing back to look at her seriously. “Claire…” he said, and though he’d only said her name, she knew what he was asking. Knew too what she wanted.

“Yes,” she said and with a smile of relief Noah laced his fingers through hers and led her upstairs.

‡

C
laire followed Noah
down the hallway and into his bedroom; the moonlight spilled from the window, illuminating a large, masculine bed with a rumpled navy duvet and a headboard that looked as if it had been crafted from a barn beam.

He turned, tugging her to him by the hand, and kissed her again. Claire kissed him back, everything in her wanting and needing this connection. The scrape of his stubbled chin against her cheek. The feel of his hands sliding down her body, underneath her top. The life-giving touch of his mouth on hers.

She slipped her hands under his shirt, savoring the feel of his taut, muscled chest, the crisp hair tickling her fingers.

“I changed the sheets,” Noah murmured with a hoarse little laugh, “in case you’re wondering.”

Claire raised her eyebrows as she slid her hands down to the waistband of his jeans and popped the button. “So you were hoping to get lucky?”

“Maybe on a subconscious level,” Noah admitted with a grin. “Actually, maybe not so subconscious.”

She laughed, and he did too, and then urgency took over and their clothes started flying as they scrambled to get naked.

Noah led her to the bed, pulled her down with him onto the rumpled duvet, and Claire went eagerly, joyfully. She curved her body around his, arched up to meet his caress, and felt like she’d never need or want anything ever again.

*

She woke to
pitch darkness, but Noah was already up, tiptoeing across the room as he searched for his clothes. Claire glanced at the clock and saw it was just a little past five in the morning. She half-rose from the bed, clutching the duvet to her, and Noah glanced over.

“Sheep,” he said succinctly, and she sank back against the pillows.

“Right.”

Neither of them said anything more, just gazed at each other through the darkness. Claire couldn’t tell if it was awkward or not. Was she the only one feeling unsure, a little embarrassed?

“Molly…” Noah finally began, and unwelcome realization flooded through her. Of course. Noah wouldn’t want Molly to wake up and see Claire in his bed.

“Right,” she said again, and sat up, still clutching the duvet. Somehow being naked now felt more revealing than it had last night. Noah must have sensed that for he yanked on his clothes quickly.

“I’ll be back around six,” he said and Claire just nodded. “There’s a spare bedroom down the hall, if you want to catch some more sleep,” he added, and she could definitely tell now that it was awkward. Very awkward. She nodded again, and Noah left.

Claire pulled back the duvet and scrambled for her clothes. As early as it was, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep anymore now, and so she got dressed, brushed her teeth with her finger and a little toothpaste, and headed downstairs.

The kitchen was dark and quiet; Noah had thankfully already gone out. Claire filled the kettle and plonked it on the Aga, trying to sort through the tangle of feelings that had lodged in her chest in a burning lump. None of them, at this moment, felt good.

Last night had, she acknowledged, been wonderful. Tender and passionate and just…

She closed her eyes, reliving those moments when Noah had joined his body with hers, when she’d felt so complete and whole and loved.

This morning seemed to make a mockery of it all.

She told herself not to be stupid, that Noah had been being sensible when he warned her about Molly.
Of course
she couldn’t wake up in his bed. She knew that. She understood it, agreed with it. Yet it still made everything feel sordid and… wrong.

The kettle started whistling and Claire yanked it off the stove. She was telling herself not to panic, that it hadn’t been sordid, but she could barely hear that calm voice of reason over the million alarm bells clanging through her head. The alarm bells that were insisting what had happened between them hadn’t been meaningful or real, that everything was flimsy and fake. Nothing more than a holiday fling.

And maybe she’d have been okay with that, if she hadn’t started to care so much. If she weren’t halfway to falling in love with Noah, or even farther along that dangerous road.

She drew a ragged breath, swallowed past the lump of emotion that had risen in her throat. She made herself a cup of tea and drank it while staring sightlessly out the window; it was still pitch-black.

Memories were starting to creep into her mind like malevolent ghosts. Memories of Mark, of creeping from his apartment, shamed and heartsick, not wanting to wake Emma. Of turning around and seeing sixteen-year-old Emma standing in the doorway of her bedroom in her pajamas, her face pale and shocked.

Emma had never said anything to Claire about finding her teacher in her apartment at one o’clock in the morning, and Claire had never spoken of it either. But she’d lived in the shadow of that moment since it had happened five weeks ago. Lived and grieved.

This is different
, her heart insisted. Noah wasn’t married, for a start. And what they’d shared, short as the time had been, had been special for both.

You thought what you had with Mark was special.

Claire closed her eyes, the cup of tea forgotten in her hand. Could she trust her instincts, her heart, at all? Falling for Mark, convincing herself, even for a short time, that it didn’t matter that he was married, that his wife didn’t care about him or Emma, had shown her how easily she was willing to deceive herself.

She heard the creak of the back door and Claire opened her eyes. Noah had come into the kitchen, his cheeks ruddy from cold, his hair ruffled. He smiled when he saw her.

“I thought you’d still be in bed.”

The spare room bed. “I couldn’t sleep.”

He took a step towards her, his face softening. “Happy Christmas.”

Christmas
. It was Christmas morning. Somehow she’d forgotten. And somehow it made her feel worse. “I should go.” Surprised flashed across Noah’s features. “I need to take a shower, change my clothes.” She gestured to her jeans and sweater. “I’m wearing the same thing as yesterday. Molly might notice.”

Claire saw the moment realization and acceptance dawned on Noah’s face, and even though she’d expected it, it still crushed her. Suddenly it hurt to breathe.

“Okay,” he said. “But we’ll see you later?”

“Yes,” she said, but it felt like a lie. “Yes, of course you will.”

*

Noah watched Claire
yank on her coat and boots before hurrying outside. Belatedly he realized he hadn’t kissed her goodbye, hadn’t offered to run her back in his Land Rover. He hadn’t time to process… anything. And now she was gone.

What the hell had just happened?

Something had, of that Noah was sure. In between the magic of last night and the mess of this morning, something had changed, and he wasn’t sure what.

He didn’t like it. He wanted to get out of the awful awkwardness, and get back the tenderness and passion he’d shared with Claire last night. Maybe the morning after was bound to be awkward. Maybe Claire regretted…

But, no. He wouldn’t let himself think like that. He’d stay positive. Hopeful. It had been a long time since he’d had anything to hope for.