His Christmas Present (7 page)

“Well, um…”

“Megan, I’d like
to spend some more time with you. If that’s okay with you.”

She pressed her
lips together. It would probably be easier if they said goodbye now. But
suddenly she didn’t want him to go. Finding him on the bridge had been the best
thing that had happened to her since parting with Cody, and she wanted to hang
onto that pleasurable feeling a while longer.

“Please?” he
prompted, and to her surprise, he held out his hand.

She smiled slowly.
“Okay.” And she slipped her hand into his.

He squeezed it.
“Come on then. Let’s spend all our holiday money.”

So for the next few
hours they wandered around the stalls that sold all kinds of handcrafted Czech
products, from wooden toys to Bohemian Crystal, jewellery to embroidery, scented
candles to hats, gloves and scarves.

Dion bought her a
pair of gloves and made her put them on. So she bought him a red scarf, wound
it around his neck and tucked it into his coat. They bought bags of gifts for
their families, treats for themselves, tried a hot, sugary pastry called
Trdelník
,
and cups of
svařák
hot wine to beat the cold.

It started snowing
again, and when the Christmas tree lights came on at five o’clock, Megan
gasped. All the buildings around the square glowed golden with light, and the
Gothic-style St. Vitus Cathedral looked like something out of a Disney movie.

They walked along
to Wenceslas Square, which was more like a boulevard really, the trees lining
the street hung with twinkling lights, and Dion asked a passer-by to take a
photo of them with his phone by the statue of good King Wenceslas. Then he
walked her to her hotel.

Megan stopped
outside and tucked her hands in her pockets. “This is it.”

“Looks nice,” he
said, observing the ornate frontage.

“It’s lovely. A
great place to celebrate.” She pulled a face. “I now have to sit through a romantic
three course meal on my own.”

“What sort of
gentleman would I be if I didn’t offer to accompany you?” he teased.

She blinked. She
really hadn’t been hinting—crap, now he felt he had to offer to join her.

He scratched the
back of his neck. “Shit, that was a bit presumptuous.”

She laughed. “No,
it’s not that. I know you have the big meeting tomorrow. You’ve got a lot on
your mind.”

“Meh,” he shrugged
and smiled. “I still need to eat.”

“True.” She met
his gaze. The magic of the afternoon didn’t appear to be showing any sign of
wearing off. She’d had such a lovely time. The fact that they were old friends
gave them an easy familiarity with each other, but she couldn’t erase from her
mind the fact that he was a man, and a gorgeous one at that.

“Have dinner with
me,” he murmured, his eyes warm.

“Okay.” She took
his hand and let him lead her into the hotel.

Megan thought
she’d possibly never spent a more pleasant couple of hours. They took their
time with the dinner, sampling all the courses and talking continually.
Sometimes they talked about the old days, remembering places they’d been and
times they’d spent together, laughing about the time Sean had fallen off the
fishing boat and they hadn’t noticed for five minutes, and discussing old
friends they’d both known.

At other times
they spoke about their present lives. She told him about her art and how much she
enjoyed finding success with her painting. He told her more about his hopes and
dreams for the company, glowing with enthusiasm as he described the projects he
had planned.

His work was his
life, she thought as they ate their dessert. Poor Lauren, she hadn’t stood a
chance.
Maybe in five or six years’ time, when he’d achieved what he
wanted at work and felt the need for something more in his life, he might be
ready for a serious relationship. But clearly, at the moment he didn’t want the
complication.

His voice tailed
off, and she realised she’d been staring at him for the past few minutes as he
talked about the upcoming takeover.

“I’m going on a
bit, aren’t I?” He finished his dessert and reached for his glass. “Sorry.”

“No, no, I’m
sorry, I was just thinking…” She let her gaze trail down him. There were
several log fires in the restaurant, and he’d taken off his jacket and sat now
in his white shirt and dark grey waistcoat and pants. He looked tastier than
the chocolate gateaux on her plate, and that was saying something.

“What were you
thinking?” he prompted.

She’d drunk far
too much. She didn’t feel
drunk
as such, but a boldness surged through
her that she knew must be due to the alcohol, because she would normally have
never made a comment such as the one that hovered on her lips.

“I was wondering
how many women you’d been with,” she said.

His eyebrows
disappeared into his fringe. “Wow.” His eyes gleamed and a smile tugged at his
lips. “I did
not
expect you to ask that.”

“Sorry. I just…I’m
stunned you’re single, that’s all. You’re gorgeous. I know you don’t want
anything serious, but I can’t imagine you going without sex for any length of
time.”

The smile turned
into a grin. “I do rather like it.”

“I guessed you
would.”
And I bet you’re pretty good at it, too.

“And what about
you?” He finished off his wine, put down his glass and studied her. “Do you
like it?”

Her face glowed.
She dropped her gaze and looked into her wine glass. “Yes. I mean, what I’ve
tried, I liked. But I feel like I’m talking to someone who owns an ice-cream
factory. I’m sure you’ve tried a thousand flavours, and I’ve only ever tried…”

“Vanilla?” He chuckled.

“Yeah.” She sipped
her wine, her gaze meeting his. Throughout the evening, they’d steered the
conversation away from anything too intimate, but for the first time desire
simmered in his eyes.

“So Cody wasn’t a
Casanova then?” he said.

“Not with me,” she
said sadly.

A frown flickered
across Dion’s brow at the intimation that Cody had obviously acted differently
with the bimbo. “Fucking idiot,” he said.

She smiled wryly,
liking the fact that he didn’t understand Cody’s lack of interest in her.
“Yeah, I guess. I mean, for a while I thought it was me, that I wasn’t
attractive or sexy enough, you know?”

Now he frowned. “Megan,
seriously?”

“Well, it was a
natural progression,” she explained. “We always got on well, but we never sparked,
like couples in the movies do. Plus, sometimes, I think my disorder embarrassed
him.” He’d tried to be patient with her, but hadn’t understood, implying that
he thought she put it on. And of course the fear of having an attack and
embarrassing him had only increased their frequency and severity. She hadn’t
told Dion that her phobia had been worse the last six months because of how Cody
had made her feel.

Dion was glaring
now though, so she changed the subject. “Anyway, that’s all done. And I’m glad
we’ve broken up. It upset me at first, but now I feel better in many ways.” Although
her feelings of inadequacy hadn’t helped initially, she’d gradually got more
control over her attacks.

“So things weren’t
great in bed?” he prompted.

She sighed. “No. I
started to wonder if there was something wrong with me. I just never…um…” Her
cheeks grew warm. She’d never really talked about this to anyone, but Dion had
had girlfriends, probably lots of them, and she knew he might be able to
explain things from Cody’s point of view. “He never seemed fired up, not like
with the bimbo. I assumed it was my fault.”

Dion twisted his
glass in his fingers. “Honey, I can safely say it was absolutely not your
fault.”

“Really?” She knew
she sounded pathetic, but her need for consolation overrode her wish to appear
sassy.

His eyes were
dark, the pupils dilated to almost encompass his irises. “Any man who isn’t
fired up by just the thought of having sex with you has to have something
seriously wrong with him.”

By the heat in her
cheeks, she knew she’d turned scarlet. Dion didn’t look away though, his
intense, firm gaze insisting he spoke the truth.

“Did he turn
you
on?” he murmured.

 “Sometimes. Kind
of.” She moved the salt and pepper pots around on the table. “I wouldn’t say we
had fireworks exactly. I don’t think I was his type, and I’m not sure he was
mine. I can’t imagine what it must be like to…have sex with someone you really,
really like in that way.” She glanced back up at him.

His gaze rested on
her lips. Automatically she moistened them with the tip of her tongue, and a
corner of his mouth curved, his eyes coming back to hers.

It was obvious
where this was going. They’d been heading in this direction from the moment he
kissed her on the bridge—maybe even from the moment he kissed her that
midwinter night.

She wanted him.
She’d wanted him since even before she knew what it meant, and that longing,
that yearning, had never disappeared. And now, with him sitting before her
looking so gorgeous in his waistcoat, his hazel eyes interested, she wanted him
so much it made her ache.

It could never be
anything serious. And that was okay. She was well aware they only had this one
night.

He tipped his
head, studying her. “So have you ever met anyone you really, really like in
that way?”

When she spoke,
her voice was little more than a whisper. “Yes.”

His eyes darkened
and he went to say something, but once again they were interrupted by a waiter
who asked if they wanted coffee. Megan shook her head, and Dion declined too.

She looked out of
the window at the sparkling lights of the street. The restaurant wasn’t noisy
and the classical piano music had been romantic, but suddenly she wanted the
peace and quiet of the city—she needed time to think. “It’s snowing again. You
want to go for a walk?”

 “Sure.”

So they grabbed
their coats and left the hotel, heading toward the Charles Bridge once again.
Dion tucked her hand in the crook of his arm and pulled up his scarf. The cold
turned her nose to ice, but Megan glowed from the inside out.

They didn’t
mention what they’d been talking about and chatted instead about insignificant
things, about music and movies, laughing and enjoying each other’s company. But
all the while, her heart pounded at the thought of what she hoped would happen.

They reached the bridge
and walked slowly along, entranced by the old-fashioned lamps that highlighted
the flakes of snow floating around them.

About halfway down,
they stopped and leaned on the wall, looking at the river. The sparkling lights
reflected on the surface as if an underwater city also celebrated the festive
season.

Dion fell quiet,
and Megan said nothing, observing the way her breath misted before her face.
There were a few other people on the bridge walking in the snow, and further
along a man in a black tux was playing the violin, the hat at his feet filled
with coins. Jeez, he must be cold, she thought. But the music was beautiful,
haunting. The whole moment was magical, and when she turned her head to see
Dion watching her, she caught her breath at the look in his eyes.

They straightened
and turned to face each other, only inches apart, their hands in their pockets.
Although she wore boots with a two-inch heel, he topped her by a few inches,
and she had to look up to meet his gaze.

“Megan,” he said
quietly, his voice as soft as the snowflakes landing on his hair.

She swallowed,
excited and nervous, her gaze resting on his mouth.

He lowered his
head a little, his lips almost brushing hers, but not quite. Her heart thumped
so loud she was sure he must be able to hear it.

They waited a
moment, like two figures on top of a wedding cake, the violin serenading them
in the background.

And then Dion
lifted his head. Biting the inside of his lip, he looked away, across the
river, and gave a deep sigh.

Shit,
she thought, only just managing not to
swear out loud. He was going to be all noble.

What a pain in
the ass.

Dion watched the
snow disappearing into the black river, his thoughts and emotions churning as
much as the water beneath the bridge.

“Dion?” Megan
spoke softly, but for a moment he didn’t look at her, knowing it would be more difficult
to control his feelings if he did.

She slipped her
hand against his cheek, though, and gently turned him to look at her. “What’s
the matter?”

He studied her
face, speechless. She was so beautiful. He’d struggled all evening against his
desire. He’d tried so hard to keep the conversation from turning intimate, but
time and again she’d brought his mind around to thoughts of sex.