Snowflakes on Silver Cove: A festive, feel-good Christmas romance (White Cliff Bay Book 2) (27 page)

There was a silence as he stood in the middle of the lounge, a long silence punctuated only with his heart thundering in his ears. Cerys stared at him, clearly waiting for him to make the first move. She’d have a long bloody wait. In fact, he seemed to be paralysed with fear, his feet glued to the carpet where he stood.

‘Erm, Cerys, you should know, I’m not that… experienced in this department.’

‘You don’t need to worry, George, where you lack in experience, I more than make up for it. I’ve been with many men.’

She patted the chair next to her but he couldn’t move at all. What she had just said hung in the air. Was that supposed to make him feel better, that she’d been with many men? If anything, that made him feel worse. What if Josie had been right? What if he was crap in bed? What if Cerys laughed at how bad he was? What if she told everyone and anyone how awful it was? He could imagine her laughing loudly about it in her local, telling everyone who would listen.

Cerys stood up and launched herself at him like a rabid dog.

So this was it, there was nothing that was going to interrupt him now, no other reason to stop her. He told himself that sex with Cerys would be a good thing, an end to his long sexual abstinence.

Cerys kissed him hard, forcing her tongue into his mouth. She seemed to be quite enjoying herself. He was not. He couldn’t decide where to put his hands, her bum seemed too familiar and her waist seemed too polite for what she had in mind. Her tongue was so far down the back of his throat, he was pretty sure it could be classed as a choking hazard. He didn’t know whether to close his eyes or keep them open, or whether he should just keep one eye open and one closed, though he realised that might be a bit weird. She was pulling his hair so hard, licking all over his face like some kind of dog. It was gross. What was wrong with him? He should be enjoying this. She was pulling him back towards the sofa, kissing and licking all over his face.

She put his hands on her breasts and he tried to decide whether he should squeeze them, stroke them or rub them. He tried squeezing the left and stroking the right, but neither seemed to provoke any reaction in her, she was too busy licking his chin.

She leaned into his ear, licking it, nipping at it with her teeth. She whispered, ‘I’m not wearing any underwear.’

Strangely that was a huge turn-off.

Her hands were under his shirt, stroking his chest, his stomach, his belly. She looked down at his stomach, patting it with some amusement. ‘George, you really must go down to the gym, you’re a bit wobbly.’ She leaned in to kiss him again.

He turned away, hurt, but Cerys wasn’t to be put off. She kissed his neck and then forced his head round so she could kiss him on the mouth once more.

This was so not what kissing should be like. Kissing should be beautiful; it should be romantic and tender. It should be like it was when he was kissing Libby, the perfect kiss. But kissing could only be like that when you were in love with the person you were kissing. And he certainly wasn’t in love with Cerys. How could he kiss her when he felt nothing for her? How could he have sex with her? There was a reason it was called making love – it was because you should do it with someone you loved.

Clarity tugged at the periphery of his brain. He tried to focus on it, on the nagging doubt that was filling his mind. This wasn’t right.

‘Take your shirt off,’ she ordered.

He smiled wryly. ‘Cerys, you just told me I was fat, so excuse me if I don’t feel ready to take all my clothes off in front of you just yet.’

‘I didn’t say fat, just… not toned. But that’s why you should go down the gym – it will help you feel more confident in the bedroom department. If you feel that self-conscious you could keep your shirt on, then I won’t see it.’

He thought that what he really needed to feel more confident in the bedroom was not to be told he was fat in the first place, or to be told that he should cover it up with his shirt so she wouldn’t be repulsed by him.

Libby had said that he was beautiful, that Cerys had to love him for who he was, or not at all.

And suddenly the lucidity he had been grasping for slammed into his brain. He didn’t want to sleep with Cerys. He wanted Libby and sleeping with Cerys wouldn’t be fair to him or to her. Libby probably didn’t want him in that way but there was no way he should settle for a poor substitute, someone who didn’t like him for who he was.

‘This isn’t going to work,’ he said, quietly.

Cerys’ face fell and he felt horribly guilty. ‘I’m drunk and…’ He gestured vainly to his groin.

‘Is it me, George?’ she said, quietly. ‘Do you not find me attractive?’

‘Cerys, it’s not you at all, it’s me, stage fright, being with a beautiful woman, well … it’s kind of intimidating.’

She pouted as she bent to put her shoes back on in what she clearly hoped was a suggestive way. She obviously wasn’t used to getting this reaction.

He sat down on the sofa.

‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ she asked.

Was she kidding? There was no chemistry at all between them and she still wanted to try again?

‘Erm…’ George tried to find the right words to turn her down, but couldn’t. Though she obviously took his silence as an assent.

‘I’ll… bring something to help with your little problem,’ Cerys grinned. ‘You can cook for me, and I don’t want you to drink so much tomorrow; that probably hasn’t helped tonight.’

Then she kissed him on the head and left.

He sighed as he stood up. He would call her tomorrow and make some excuse.

His thoughts strayed back to Libby. He had made a complete fool of himself kissing his best friend too. And he knew he had cheated on the first woman he had dated in years in the process.

He well and truly felt like an arse. He had no right to be with Cerys if his mind was on Libby the whole time, it wasn’t fair. And he certainly shouldn’t be kissing Libby behind her back. He really wasn’t cut out for the ‘having his cake and eating it’ kind of lifestyle. He leaned his head against the coolness of the door. But annoyingly his brain didn’t agree. Because knowing that he shouldn’t be kissing Libby made him want it even more. He wanted nothing more now than to go over to her flat and kiss her again. To spend the rest of the night, holding her in her bed and kissing her. Oh, this was dangerous. He turned round and, spotting the second bottle of wine that had been opened, he decided pouring himself another glass might help him to make his mind up. Failing that, it might at least render him unconscious and unable to kiss her again, which was probably the safer option.

A
fter Libby had written
several pages of beautiful, detailed love scenes between Eliza and Charles, she scrolled through, reading what she had written. With George uppermost in her mind, she had written possibly her best sex scenes ever. And now there was nothing she wanted more than to make those words a reality, but that wasn’t going to happen any time soon. He was with Cerys right now, making love to Cerys, a beautiful woman – ‘a gift from the gods,’ Nick had said. How could Libby have let this happen? He belonged with her. She had spent so long dithering about whether this was something she wanted or not over the last few days and now it was too late. She stood up and wandered sadly over to the window. The moon was no more than a sliver in the cloud-filled sky.

Just at that moment, she heard George’s flat door close. A moment later, the most beautiful woman she had ever seen in her life came running down the steps, her long red hair flying in the wind like scarlet ribbons.

So this was Cerys, and Libby could see what all the fuss was about: she was stunning. Though as she moved round the car to get something out the back, Libby did think that the shortness of her dress and the lethal-looking stilettos did mar the effect of her beauty somewhat. As did the rather plunging neckline, her breasts practically falling out. Less Venus, more page three girl. Though Libby supposed George hadn’t minded it.

As Cerys closed the back door, she dropped the keys on the ground, and when she bent to pick them up, Libby was treated to something she would have preferred not to see. Was the lack of underwear designed for easy access? Libby shuddered at the thought. Cerys did look a bit… ruffled. Had they had sex?

Libby shook her head and, turning from the window, she headed for bed.

But dreams were very far away as she lay in bed. The memory of George kissing her was fresh, vivid, and she knew she had to talk to him. But she was hardly going to get anything coherent out of him tonight. But maybe she didn’t need anything coherent – maybe just going over there and kissing him again would be enough to give her the answer. No, that would be dangerous. Kissing him when he was drunk and probably horny would not be good. Who knew what it might lead to? She rolled over in bed and closed her eyes, determined to go to sleep.

G
eorge was lying in bed
, the room literally spinning around him. He couldn’t quite believe how drunk he was.

Libby. The woman of his dreams. She was the only one he wanted, the only thing in his mind. She had definitely kissed him back. And the only thing he could think of now was to go over to her flat and finish that kiss.

He sat up decisively. He would go over. Maybe he couldn’t finish that kiss, but he would at least give her the option. Or maybe it was better to kiss first and ask questions later. He walked across the foyer with a bit of difficulty and let himself into her flat.

Heading straight for her bedroom, he opened the door and saw she was lying in bed, clearly awake.

‘George? Are you OK?’ Libby sat up, pulling back the duvet for him, which he took to be a very good sign. If he could only make it into the bed; unfortunately his legs seemed to want to take him straight to the wall.

‘Are you actually more drunk than the last time I saw you?’ Libby giggled.

‘Completely drunk, more drunk than anyone has ever been in their lives.’ George finally made it to the bed and sat down. In a most ungraceful way he pulled his jeans off and then lay down, propping himself up on one side to look at her. Both of her. She seemed to be very close, but then that was probably his fault; there was a whole half of bed behind him. He hadn’t left her much room to lie in at all.

‘You only have yourself to blame.’

‘No, I’m blaming you entirely. Had you not turned up on my bed in the middle of my date, I wouldn’t have got stressed out and wouldn’t have drunk myself into a coma.’

‘So you’re not going to take any of the responsibility yourself, it’s all my fault?’

‘Completely,’ George agreed, catching her hand and kissing the back of it. ‘I got very stressed at seeing you in my flat when I came home with Cerys. I thought she might shout at me and I didn’t want that, then I thought she might shout at you and I definitely didn’t want that – like Sinead when she saw you, she wanted to slap you and I didn’t want Cerys to do that.’ George was aware he was talking shit, but his mouth seemed to have completely disengaged from his brain now. ‘Then when we kissed I felt guilty that I had cheated on Cerys and that would make me no better than Josie and so I drank some more and then I was nervous about sex with Cerys, and then I kept thinking about you and kissing you. Then me and Cerys tried to have sex but that didn’t work and after she left all I kept thinking about was you, about coming here and kissing you and making love to you and I didn’t want that, so I drank a bit more because really I did, I always have and—’

‘Shhhhh,’ Libby soothed, bending his head down and kissing his forehead.

Oh God. He had to close his eyes quick because, naively or deliberately, she had put his face almost to her breasts. She was wearing a low-cut t-shirt and his mouth was now almost touching her cleavage. He had to keep his eyes closed so he wouldn’t be tempted to slide his hands up her ribs and touch them. Or kiss them. He opened one eye. She had a tiny freckle just above her left nipple, and he wanted nothing more right now than to kiss it.

He let out a frustrated sigh, which to his surprise sounded like an angry snarl. Libby jolted slightly in shock.

‘I should go, I shouldn’t have come,’ George said, his voice thick with anger and desire.

‘Why did you come?’

‘Because I wanted you so badly.’

Shit. That was subtle, wasn’t it?

He moved his head up to look at her, waiting for the look of revulsion, or the ‘I only want to be friends’ speech, but she was still holding his face, her eyes kind.

‘Can I kiss you again?’ On the inside he could feel himself dying with embarrassment – had he no shame?

‘That depends.’

George moved his mouth to her jawbone and kissed it softly. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to look her in the face the next day, but right then he didn’t care. ‘What does it depend on?’

‘Well, if you are kissing me just because you are completely drunk and will regret it in the morning then I’d say you probably shouldn’t kiss me again. But if you are kissing me because you want to, because you really want to and not just for practice, then… yes.’

His head swam with the conditions. He didn’t really understand any of it, except he really wanted to kiss her right now and he was pretty sure she had just said it was OK. Only one way to find out.

And the next thing he knew he was kissing her. He waited for the slap round his face, or for her to push him off, but to his delight, she was kissing him back, wrapping her arms round him.

Quickly, before she changed her mind, he pulled away and kissed that freckle just above her nipple, which made her moan softly, then catching sight of another freckle on her neck, he kissed that too, which made her push her hips against his.

His mouth was back on hers again, her soft hot mouth against his. Fireworks exploded in his head, his heart, his veins. This was what kissing was supposed to be like, beautiful and amazing.

He could feel his lips on fire, his heart pounding against his chest. His senses were exploding, suddenly acutely aware of everything that was Libby. She tasted so sweet, like Starbursts, and she smelt of coconut. Her skin, as he stroked her face, was so smooth, so soft and warm. Oh God, now his tongue was in her mouth, exploring her, tasting her. What would she think of him? A tiny little moan escaped involuntarily from her throat, which made his heart leap into his mouth. Instinctively he wrapped his arm round her waist and pulled her tightly against him. Her hand tightened round the back of his neck, caressing his hair.