Falling for Mr. December (9 page)

Her kitchen was open plan. ‘I guess it's fairly self-explanatory—I use the dining table as a desk as well as to eat,' she said.

‘It's a nice room,' he said. ‘Comfortable.' The other half of the room was the living room and contained a sofa, a stereo system, a bookcase, a cupboard where he guessed she kept most of her photographic equipment, and a small television.

Her bathroom was only just big enough to contain a bath with a shower over it, the toilet and a sink; there wasn't a window, but the room was small enough for the overhead light to keep things bright. Her bedroom was equally bijou, with just enough room for a double bed with an iron frame, a small pine bedside cabinet, and a matching chest of drawers and wardrobe.

And he suddenly had the clearest picture of being in that double bed with her, curled up together and talking after they'd made love. Her face would be flushed with passion and her eyes sparkling. And he couldn't resist spinning her into his arms and kissing her until he felt dizzy.

‘Well, now,' she said when he broke the kiss, sounding flustered.

‘Sorry.'

She lifted an eyebrow. ‘Are you?'

‘For kissing you, no,' he admitted. ‘For being pushy, yes.'

She smiled and stroked his face. ‘I don't think either of us knows how to handle this. I don't usually invite men home after a second date. But here you are.'

‘I don't usually invite complete strangers home, either,' he said. ‘But I invited you back to my place after the shoot.'

She laughed. ‘You don't strip off in front of strangers, either. But you did for me.'

It would be oh, so easy to pick her up and carry her to her bed. Suggest that he stripped for her again. Better still, suggest that she undressed him. Very slowly. With a lot of kissing in between.

But rushing things would just make life way too complicated.

He needed to cool things down. As in right now, before he did something reckless and they both got burned. ‘Talk to me,' he said. ‘Tell me about your job. Does it mean a lot of travelling?'

‘I go wherever the photograph needs to be taken,' she said, ushering him back to her living room and then switching on the kettle to make coffee. ‘Sometimes it's in London, but often it's further afield.' She lifted a shoulder. ‘I've done some work in LA, some in New York, and some on various film locations. The best bit is when I get a chance to explore while I'm away and take some shots for myself, too.'

‘Like your architectural stuff?'

She nodded. ‘And seascapes.'

‘So do you have a dark room and an office somewhere?' he asked.

She shook her head. ‘Most of my work is digital, so I don't really need a dark room. But occasionally I borrow my uncle's, if I've been experimenting with arty shots and want to do it the old-fashioned way. There's something special about watching the shot develop on the paper.'

‘And is it like they show you in the movies, with trays of liquids and a red light?'

‘It's called a safe light, and it can be brown or red,' she said. ‘Basically, ordinary light will ruin any unexposed film or photographic paper, whereas safe light means that you can see what you're doing but it won't wreck your work.'

‘Sounds like a sensible solution,' he said.

‘Though you don't have to have a special room to be a dark room,' she said. ‘My bathroom doesn't have an outside window, so in theory it wouldn't take much to turn it into a dark room, provided I block out all the light round the door. And I could use my bath as a bench for the chemicals.'

He looked at her, surprised. ‘But wouldn't they ruin your bath?'

‘No, because you wash the chemicals away too quickly for them to do any damage—besides, the bath is the same kind of plastic as the trays.'

‘So how does it work?'

‘Basically you have four trays set up,' she explained. ‘You expose the photographic negative onto the paper—the length of time you expose it controls what you see on the final image—and then you put the paper into developer trays so you can actually see the image. Once it looks exactly how you want it, you move the paper from the developer tray to the stop bath, so the picture doesn't develop any more. From there you move the paper to the fixer so you can look at the image in normal light later without it being ruined; and finally you rinse the paper in water to get rid of the last bits of chemicals.'

‘And then you peg it up on a line to dry?' he asked.

‘Just like in the movies. Yup.' She smiled. ‘Actually, I love making black and white prints. I could take you to Uncle Julian's and show you how it's done sometime, if you like. It's magical when you see the image emerging, like a ghost at first and then getting stronger. And it's fun playing about with different contrasts, and different sorts of paper.'

‘No. You have a passion for your job,' he said softly, ‘and it shows.'

And he really wanted to see that passion in her eyes again.

Except he wanted to be the one to put it there. Like he had when he'd kissed her a few minutes ago.

When she finished making coffee, she came to join him on the sofa and set her mug on the floor. And that was the perfect cue for him to slide his arm round her shoulders. From there it was easy to twist round to face her, and to brush his lips against hers. Her mouth was soft and sweet and giving, and she slid her hands round his neck to draw him closer.

The next thing he knew, he was lying full length on her sofa, she was lying on top of him, and his hands were splayed against her back, underneath her T-shirt.

Her skin was so soft, so warm. Touching wasn't enough. He wanted to see, too.

Which was crazy. He never behaved like this, so out of control. He didn't do love. And he didn't want to hurt Sammy. He should back off. Now.

Except he couldn't.

He blew out a breath. ‘Sorry. I'm taking this a bit too fast again.'

Her face was flushed and her eyes were sparkling. ‘You and me both.'

‘I'm sorry. I don't normally behave like this,' he said.

‘Neither do I.' Her face was rueful. ‘I might say outrageous things, but I don't tend to walk the talk,' she admitted.

‘There's just something about you that makes me want more than I should ask for,' he said softly, holding her closer because he wasn't quite ready yet to relinquish the feel of her skin against his fingertips.

‘Me, too. But, Nick, this probably isn't a good idea. Our lifestyles are too different.'

‘Actually, they're probably too similar,' he corrected. ‘We're both workaholics.'

‘I guess so.'

He stole a kiss. ‘So maybe it could work between us. But I agree. We need to cool this very slightly. Much as I'd really like to scoop you up and take you to your bed right this very minute—and believe me I've wanted to do that all evening—I can't do that, because I don't actually carry condoms around with me.'

‘I don't have any either.'

His heart skipped a beat. Was she saying that, if she'd had condoms, she would've been fine with him taking her to her bed? For a second, he couldn't breathe.

‘Rain check,' she whispered, and climbed off him.

The sensible thing, Nick thought, would be for them to sit at opposite ends of her sofa. Except her sofa was so compact that even when they tried it in tacit agreement, they were still close enough to touch.

Take it down a notch, he told himself, and took her hand instead.

‘I'm trying to take it slower,' he said by way of explanation.

She smiled. ‘OK. Let's pick a safe subject. We did something on my bucket list this evening. What's on yours, apart from polar bears, whale-watching, the Northern Lights and some places that are too dangerous for tourists?'

Making love with you.

Not that he was going to say that out loud.

And he was still a bit stunned that she'd actually remembered what he'd told her.

He thought about it for a while. ‘A proper afternoon tea in a very posh hotel,' he said. ‘With a cake stand and a silver teapot and someone playing the piano in the lobby.'

‘Oh, come off it,' she scoffed. ‘You're a barrister and you work in the middle of London. You must've done that before.'

‘Actually, no. My clients don't generally tend to take me to tea at a posh hotel,' he said mildly, ‘and in the afternoons if I'm not in court then I'm in my chambers, up to my eyes in paperwork. If I'm
very
lucky I might be able to sweet-talk my clerk Gary into making me a mug of tea—but usually we take turns, so whoever puts the kettle on in the kitchen usually checks to see who else wants a cuppa.'

‘Seriously? You don't have a secretary?'

‘Barristers have clerks,' he said. ‘The clerks are responsible for the admin and business activities of the chambers. So Gary would do some secretarial things, like arranging meetings, invoicing solicitors for fees and planning case timetables in detail, but he also looks after three more barristers as well as me. He doesn't have time to wait on my every whim—and he wouldn't do that anyway,' he admitted with a grin. ‘If I asked him to go and put the kettle on, he'd tell me I was old enough and ugly enough to make my own cuppa, he was already busy making phone calls on my behalf, and his is white with three sugars while I'm at it, thank you very much.'

‘Right.' She smiled as if she was imagining the scene, then looked at him. ‘I can't believe you've never had a proper posh afternoon tea.'

‘I take it you have, then?' he asked.

‘Oh, yes.' Her eyes lit up. ‘Birthdays, red letter days, and any other time I can find an excuse to do it.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Provided the cake isn't chocolate. Then I have to talk people into swapping with me. But posh tea, dainty finger sandwiches, scones with jam and clotted cream, yummy little savouries... Yeah, I love all that. It's so decadent and such a treat. Like going out for breakfast. I think I'd rather do that than go out for dinner, even. It feels more special.'

He'd enjoyed sharing brunch with her. And he had a feeling that this particular item on his bucket list would be even more enjoyable if he shared it with her, especially as she sounded so enthusiastic about it. ‘Right then, Ms Thompson, would you like to come to afternoon tea with me?'

‘Thank you, m'learned friend, I would,' she said.

‘Good. When?' He took his phone out of his pocket and checked his diary. ‘This weekend?'

Sammy grabbed her phone to check her diary, too. ‘Sorry, I can't. I'm in Somerset doing a shoot with an organic cider producer.'

‘OK.' He checked the next week. ‘How's Wednesday afternoon looking for you?'

Sammy nodded. ‘I've got a planning meeting at one of the magazines in London that morning, so Wednesday afternoon is pretty much perfect for me.'

‘Great. I'll book something tomorrow and let you know where and what time,' he said. ‘Call me if there's a problem and we'll reschedule if we need to.'

‘OK. That sounds good.'

‘And I'd better let you get on.' He stood up, and she saw him to the door.

He kissed her goodbye, being careful to keep his libido in check. ‘See you on Wednesday,' he said.

And he could hardly wait.

CHAPTER SIX

W
EDNESDAY
.

A seriously posh hotel.

For afternoon tea.

Panic flooded through Sammy the more she thought about it. Given that kind of venue, she could hardly turn up in her usual black trousers. But a business suit with opaque tights wouldn't be appropriate, either; they were having an Indian summer, even though it was late September. Wearing a floaty cotton dress meant having bare legs or wearing the sheerest tights; and either of those options would mean that the scar on her left leg would be clearly visible.

Even though Nick would probably be too nice to ask her what had caused the scar, she'd know that he was wondering about it. Or maybe he'd recognise it as something that he'd seen before, on his nephew's leg. And in the end she'd cave in and tell him that she'd had a strange bony lump on her shin as a teen, and when it had been investigated the doctors had told her that she had osteosarcoma.

Bone cancer.

Chemotherapy had shrunk the tumour before the operation, and the surgeon had been able to take out the tumour from the bone and put in a metal prosthesis. Sammy knew she'd been one of the lucky ones, able to have bone-sparing surgery rather than an amputation. She'd done every single breathing exercise and every single physiotherapy exercise to the letter after the operation. She'd been through more chemotherapy to mop up any last bad cells after the operation and she'd attended every single one of her regular check-ups. And she was hugely grateful that she'd come through it.

She was strong. She had the full support of her family.

And when she'd met Bryn, she'd thought she'd finally found someone different.

But instead he'd gone on to break her heart. He'd asked her to marry him just before she'd had her scare, two years before. And then he'd ended it the day she'd got the results. He'd admitted that he couldn't cope with the prospect of her having cancer again, but he hadn't wanted to be the bad guy who'd dumped the cancer patient. Instead, he'd waited until they knew she was clear—and then he'd dumped her.

Just as well they hadn't actually chosen the engagement ring.

Sammy had walked away with her head held high and her heart feeling as if it had been ground into sand. And she'd promised herself she'd never make the mistake of getting that close to anyone again. Yet, right now, she was taking a huge risk. This would be her third date with Nick—and she didn't have an exit strategy in place.

She dragged in a breath. Nick's nephew had been diagnosed with osteosarcoma, so maybe Nick would understand more than the average person.

But what if he didn't?

What if it made him back away? What if she repulsed him?

Even Bryn—who'd been engaged to her—hadn't coped with her scars. Not really. They'd always made love with the lights off, and he'd been careful never to look at her leg or touch it. She'd pretended that it didn't matter...but it had.

And it mattered now.

She really wasn't ready to tell Nick about her past yet.

She didn't want to call off their date, either; given that she'd already told him how much she liked going out for afternoon tea, she knew he wouldn't believe a feeble excuse. And, being a lawyer, of course he'd ask questions.

Probing ones.

Ones where even a silent reaction would help him to see the truth.

* * *

Sammy still hadn't worked out how to deal with the situation by the time she met up with her best friends for a long-planned evening with pizza at her flat.

Except Ashleigh and Claire had known her for long enough to guess that something was wrong.

‘Spit it out,' Claire said.

‘What?' Sammy asked, feigning innocence.

‘You're very quiet. Which isn't you, unless you're concentrating on a shoot. So talk to us,' Ashleigh said. ‘That's what best friends are for. To listen, to tell you when you're being an idiot, and to give you a hug when you need one.'

Sammy actually felt tears pricking her eyes at Ashleigh's words, and was cross with herself for it. For pity's sake. She wasn't one of those people who bawled their eyes out at the drop of a hat.

‘Did you find another lump?' Claire asked softly.

‘No. Why does everyone
always
assume it's the cancer come back, if something's bothering me?' Sammy asked, losing her cool.

Ashleigh and Claire immediately put down their cutlery, stood up and enveloped her in a hug.

‘We're not assuming anything,' Ashleigh said, stroking her hair. ‘But we've known you for years, we can see you're upset, and we want to be here for you.'

‘It's just something stupid.' Sammy swallowed hard to keep the tears back. She wasn't weak. She was independent and strong. She could do this.

‘Then it's something we can help you with—and make you laugh about,' Claire pointed out. ‘Don't push us away. There's a fine line between being independent and being too stubborn, you know.'

She and Ashleigh returned to their chairs, but each of them kept hold of one of Sammy's hands.

‘I don't know what to wear on a date,' Sammy muttered.

‘OK,' Ashleigh said carefully. ‘Where are you going, and is it a first date?'

‘Afternoon tea at a posh hotel.' Sammy knew this was something she should have told them about before. Because they were her best friends and they had her best interests at heart. They wouldn't judge her. They never had. ‘Third date.'

Claire and Ashleigh exchanged a glance. ‘Is there going to be a fourth?' Claire asked.

Was she going to break her three-date rule for Nick? ‘I don't know.' She wanted to. And she didn't. All at the same time. ‘It's driving me crazy,' she admitted.

‘Tell us about him,' Ashleigh said.

So Sammy found herself spilling the beans. How she'd taken Nick's photograph for the charity calendar, then ended up having dinner with him—which didn't count as a date, because then that would mean that afternoon tea was the scary fourth—and they'd seen each other a couple of times since.

‘Does he know about your leg?' Claire asked.

Sammy shook her head. ‘It hasn't been the right time to talk about it, yet.'

‘If he's involved with the calendar, he must have a connection to the ward,' Ashleigh suggested.

‘Yes. His nephew had osteosarcoma,' Sammy said.

‘So he'll understand,' Ashleigh reassured her. ‘If you're even thinking about a fourth date with him, Sammy, it's serious. So you're going to have to tell him.'

‘And you have to do it before you end up naked with him and he sees the scar,' Claire added.

Ice slid down Sammy's spine. ‘Because you think he'll reject me when he sees it?' That had happened before. A mistake she'd made three times until she'd learned to keep it to herself. Until Bryn, who'd made her trust him...and then let her down even more than the run-for-the-hills boyfriends.

‘No, of course not. I mean because when you have sex with him for the first time you want to enjoy it, not worry about having to explain your medical history to him beforehand,' Claire said, rolling her eyes.

‘And if you think he's not going to see you for who you are, then you shouldn't be thinking about having sex with him anyway—because in that case he's not good enough for you,' Ashleigh added firmly.

‘I know.' Sammy rubbed a hand over her short crop. But even if her hair had been at its longest, she wouldn't have been able to hide behind it because her best friends knew her so well. ‘He's a good man—he's ethical and honest.'

‘Unlike a certain person I'd like to stake out in a field of fire ants while he was covered in honey,' Claire said darkly. Sammy knew she was referring to Bryn.

‘Why can't you wear your usual black trousers, maybe with a top that's a bit more dressy than usual?' Ashleigh asked.

‘Because it's the kind of place where I need to wear a dress.'

‘Where are you going?' Claire asked.

When Sammy told them the name of the hotel, they both whistled.

‘The afternoon tea there is meant to be amazing,' Ashleigh said. ‘You have to go and tell us so we can live vicariously through you. Don't chicken out.'

The problem was, Sammy wanted to chicken out. This was the third date. Crunch time. And she knew she was making a fuss about what to wear so she could avoid facing the real reason why she didn't want to go—that she was afraid it would all go wrong and she'd end up hurt again.

‘Actually, you can wear a dress, Cinderella. Because your fairy godmother just happened to get some new material delivered last week that would be perfect for you,' Claire said. ‘It's purple and I think it's got your name written all over it.'

Her best friend was going to make her a dress, especially for her date? ‘Claire-bear, I can't ask you to—' Sammy began.

‘You're not asking, I'm offering,' Claire cut in. ‘In fact, I'm telling you.'

‘If you make me a dress,' Sammy said, ‘I'm paying for it, and I don't mean mates' rates.'

‘What, like you let me pay you for my wedding photographs and all the shots you took for my website—
not
?' Claire scoffed. ‘No. I'm doing it because I want to make you a dress. Just occasionally, Sammy, it's nice to be able to do something as a treat for one of my best friends, OK? So shut up and say yes instead of being over-independent.'

‘OK. And sorry. And I really, really appreciate you,' Sammy said.

Claire cuffed her arm playfully. ‘So you should, Sammikins. I was thinking an empire line maxi dress, with a V-neck, in two layers—plain underneath and chiffon on top.'

It always amazed Sammy how Claire could see the perfect dress for someone whenever she looked at them. And Claire's creations were stunning. Ashleigh's wedding dress had been amazing.

‘You've got heels to go with it?' Claire asked.

‘Just because I tend to live in trousers, it doesn't mean I don't own any pretty shoes,' Sammy said.

‘Good. Bring them tomorrow night for your fitting so I can make sure the hem's right,' Claire said.

‘And what about jewellery?' Ashleigh asked. ‘Because Mum had a string of black pearls that'd look fabulous with what Claire's just described. I'll bring them with me tomorrow.'

Sammy had to swallow the lump in her throat. Ashleigh's parents had been killed in a car accident eight years ago, so for Ashleigh to offer to lend her friend something so very precious... ‘Thanks.'

‘Hey.' Ashleigh hugged her. ‘You're worth it.'

‘You do know that when you two start having babies, I'll take portraits of the babies every single month for you. As a best friend gift,' Sammy said. The same way she'd done their wedding photographs and had refused to take any payment for even the photographic paper.

‘Godmother gift, not just best friend,' Claire corrected. ‘And I'm really glad you brought the subject up, because...' She paused for dramatic effect. ‘Well, there's something I need to ask you both. Sean agrees with me. Will you both be godmothers?'

Sammy's jaw dropped. ‘Oh, my God. You're actually having a baby?'

‘In six months' time,' Claire confirmed.

‘Oh, that's fantastic.' Sammy hugged her. ‘I'm so pleased for you and Sean.'

Ashleigh coughed. ‘Seeing as we're doing news, I guess I have a little announcement, too.'

‘What?' Sammy stared at her in amazement. ‘You and Luke, too?'

‘In six months' time, too.' Ashleigh nodded. ‘And I'll be looking for you both to be godmothers as well.'

‘I'm the only one of us who can drink alcohol now, or I'd rush out and buy a bottle of champagne,' Sammy said. ‘Both of you, expecting at the same time. That's
amazing
. Such brilliant news.'

‘So, if this thing works out with your barrister, you're absolutely not allowed to get married to him until after we've had the babies,' Claire said, ‘because I'm not planning to walk down the aisle behind you in a maternity matron of honour dress.'

‘Seconded,' Ashleigh said. ‘And we are so drinking champagne at your wedding. Which we can't do when we're pregnant.'

‘Two babies,' Sammy said, beaming at both of them. ‘That is, I'm assuming neither of you are having twins?'

‘Not me,' Claire said.

‘Just one baby here, too. But we're waiting until the baby's born to find out if we're having a girl or a boy. Luke and I agreed we wouldn't ask,' Ashleigh said.

‘That's fabulous. Really fabulous.' Sammy was thrilled for her friends, she really was.

But at the same time there was a tiny chunk of ice in the middle of her heart.

One of the downsides of having chemotherapy at sixteen was that she'd had to have some eggs frozen in case she wanted to have children when she was older. But there were no guarantees that IVF would work—and she knew that could be a deal-breaker for any potential partner.

Including Nick. She thought about Nick. She had no idea whether he wanted children or not, and she couldn't think of an easy way to ask him. In any case, it was way too early to ask him right now. They'd only been out together twice. So she'd have to add it to the list of difficult conversations they'd need to have if things worked out between them. Cancer, fertility...no wonder her exes had panicked and run. And she was pretty sure that Nick had some issues, too. No way could someone with such a good heart and a keen intellect—perfect partner material—be single at his age without some emotional baggage.

Or maybe she was over-thinking it and she should just treat this whole thing as a chance to have some fun.

Whatever, she knew that she had to tell him the truth about herself.

But not just yet...