Unwrapping Her Perfect Match: A London Legends Christmas Novella (11 page)

“Ow ow ow!” Agony lanced across Agnes’s face,
and John immediately dropped his arms.

“What? What’s wrong? I’m so sorry. What did I
do?”

All the pain disappeared in a heartbeat, and
Agnes shoved the chocolate in her mouth, chewing it with glee.
“Mmm,
j’ai gagné
.”

Gwen laughed, and John scowled. “That means
‘I win,’ doesn’t it? Faker. You’re no better than a
footballer.”

Agnes gasped and smacked John’s arm. “I not
football. Rugby, me.”

“Rugby you, huh? First rule of sport, my
angel—footballers pretend they’re hurt. Rugby players pretend they
aren’t
hurt.”

“Which just proves there’s something equally
wrong with all of you,” Gwen said. “Anyway, Agnes won that round.
Cunning beats brawn, yet again. Well done, Agnes.”

“
Merci,
Gwéen.” The girl accepted the
praise graciously and then narrowed her eyes at her father.
“
Pont suspendu
.”

His brows drew down.
“Pontsu-spendu...pontsu-spendu...damn. No idea. What is it?”

“Suspension bridge!” Agnes helped herself to
another chocolate.

“Ah, you win again.” He winked at Gwen, and
her tummy gave a funny little flutter. “I think we need a way for
Gwen to win some chocolate, though.”

“Me? Oh, I don’t eat chocolate.”

“You’re kidding. Why not?”

“I’ve a hard time eating just one. It’s
easier to eat none.”

“And what’s wrong with eating more than
one?”

She gave him her best
you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-me looks.

“Please don’t tell me this is a weight thing.
If it’s a weight thing, I’m going to lose my temper.”

“Why?”

He leaned across the table. “Because you
are—” He stopped and looked at Agnes, who followed their
conversation avidly. Or seemed to be, at least. “Never mind. I’ll
show you later.”

Later would have to be much, much later.
While he napped and Agnes lost herself in her book, Gwen went back
to her flat to change and pick up more clothes before making a mad
dash through the market on Brick Lane to buy gifts. She’d told John
she would stay for Christmas Day. Caroline would return for an
early dinner on Christmas Day, and that was when Gwen’s family
expected her to join them. That meant only one more day—and one
more night—of being part of John’s family.

When she got back to his house, she
discovered he’d carried the tree in from the garage and put it in
the living room. She stuck her hands on her hips and glared at him,
ready to deliver a blistering lecture on lifting heavy objects when
one had brain damage, but then he put his arm around Agnes’s
shoulders and they beamed matching grins at her, melting her ire as
much as her heart.

“We’ve been waiting for you,” he said. “Come
on, let’s decorate the tree.”

“Gwéen. Let’s decorate le tree.”

John’s lips pressed together, his jaw
tightening and nose flaring like he was trying not to laugh. “I
taught her that.”

“Nice. You’re still in big trouble, but I’ll
save my yelling for later. Let’s light this bad boy up.”

They spent a couple of hours making the house
even more festive. John had obviously spent a lot of dosh on
decorations, and not a single surface remained tat-free when they
finished. The tree practically glowed, the lights reflecting off
purple and silver ornaments. Green strands of iridescent garland
twirled with white fairy lights around the windows, walls and
doorframes. Mechanical Santas and elves waved from the shelves of
John’s bookcase, where they stood among cotton balls meant to be
snow.

When they’d put up all of the decorations
John had bought, he slapped his hands together and said, “Right.
Think that’s everything.”

“
Non! Les souliers de Noël!
” Agnes ran
from the living room into her bedroom.

John’s brow creased and he glanced at Gwen
for help. “Lay suliay? Fucking hell, it sounds familiar but I can’t
remember what it is.”

“Christmas stockings. Well, it literally
means shoes.”

“Oh, that’s right. It’s not really a
tradition in Provence, so I took stockings over for the three of us
a few years ago and Agnes loved them—a bit of British Christmas in
France.” He scrubbed a hand over his eyes, pressing his thumb and
fingers into his temples as if they ached. “
Les souliers, les
souliers…
I’m never going to learn this fucking language. I
can’t keep the words in my head.”

“It’s tough when you’re not surrounded by it.
My mum’s a francophile, so I spent summers in France with my family
when I was growing up. But unless you spend a lot of time there,
it’ll be difficult.” Guilt lanced through her. “I’m sorry. I don’t
mean to be negative.”

“You’re not negative. You’re right. I’ve
taken night classes and tried to study in my free time, but I was
never good at languages.”

“I could try to help...if you want. Maybe if
I speak to you in French sometimes in between your trips over
there, you would have to practice more frequently.”

He gave her a long look and she began to feel
self-conscious, as if she’d made assumptions she shouldn’t have.
But then he said, “You speaking French to me would be so fucking
hot I don’t think I’d pay much attention to the words.”

Heat rushed through her, but she couldn’t do
anything about it because at that moment Agnes returned, her hands
behind her back, her shoulders hunched and her gait much more
subdued than when she’d left. John immediately stepped forward.
“Angel, what’s wrong?”

She beckoned him closer, and he crouched to
her level. She whispered something Gwen couldn’t hear. The only
word she caught was her name.

“What’s that, love?” John said. “I didn’t
understand.”

She brought her hands forward and showed him
something, but John’s broad back blocked Gwen’s view. John took
whatever it was from her and was quiet for several long, tense
moments. Then he wrapped his arms around his daughter and gave her
a massive bear hug. “God, I love you. You’re the sweetest thing
that’s ever happened to me.”

Gwen’s eyes filled with stinging tears. She
could fall for this man, fall so hard. His unashamed emotions and
the trouble he’d taken to create a magical Christmas for Agnes made
Gwen want him badly. Not just physically but in every way. She
wanted him in her life, wanted to be someone special to him. Wanted
to be another of the sweetest things about his life.

When he finally stood again, he put his arms
around Agnes’s shoulders and they both approached Gwen. The whites
of John’s eyes had pinkened. “She brought stockings. Two
stockings.”

He held them up, and Gwen gasped. They were
gorgeous. Stunning. Simple and elegant, they’d been cut from taupe
velvet and had a delicate cream lace that resembled icicles sewn
around the top. And just below the lace, someone had embroidered a
name on each one:
Agnes
and
Papa
.

“Oh, they’re gorgeous. Who made them?”

“
Moi
,” Agnes whispered, her voice
breaking. “
Mais je n’en ai pas pour toi
.”

Gwen pressed her fist to her chest. “Is that
why you’re upset? Oh, sweetheart.” She gave Agnes a big hug and
kissed her cheek. “Please don’t feel bad. I don’t need a
stocking.”

John snapped his fingers. “Yes you do, and
I’ve got one for you. Be right back.”

He disappeared up the stairs, and when he
came back he held something behind his back, just the way Agnes had
a few moments ago. He was grinning, though. “Okay, I’ve had to
improvise, and it’s not nearly as nice as Agnes’s, but hopefully
it’ll work.”

He brought his hand around and held up...a
sock. A very long, green sock. Gwen laughed. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, seriously. It’s part of my kit—but I
swear it’s clean.”

Gwen took it from him. It probably came to
his knee when he wore it. It would be thigh high on her. But it was
his, and it was thoughtful. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

He gave her look like he wanted to kiss her,
but his gaze shot briefly to Agnes and he said instead, “Right.
Let’s find a place to hang these.”

When John finished tacking them into the
wooden mantle, the three of them stood back and admired their
handiwork. They’d taken a bachelor pad and created a place that
looked suspiciously like a home.

Maybe someday—long in the future, when she
was finally ready—it could even be
her
home.

Gwen barely made it through the bedroom door
before John spun her into his arms, nudging the door closed with
his foot. His mouth landed on hers and he kissed her, slipping his
tongue between her lips as he held her so close she could feel
every breath he took. She wound her arms around his neck, pleasure
sweeping through her that he had to bend down to reach her. She’d
always wondered what it would be like to feel small. Now she knew
she’d spent her whole life searching for the wrong feeling.
This
was what she’d wanted to feel. Needed. Wanted by
someone who was large—not physically, though that certainly pumped
lust through her— someone whose heart was big enough to hold hers
without crushing it.

She’d wanted to feel safe in someone’s arms.
She didn’t know yet whether she was safe here. It was still too
early to tell. But she felt safe enough to continue exploring.

And John explored too. His palms swept over
her back, cupping her bum and pulling her up tight against his
heavy erection, moaning when she wriggled closer. “God, I’ve wanted
to do this all day. Bloody parenthood.”

His gruff voice held just enough amusement to
tell her that the last part was a joke. “You love it. Admit
it.”

“I admit it. Today was pretty brilliant.”

His sweet grin sent tremors through her. She
ran the pad of her thumb over his lips, her eyelids fluttering
closed when he nipped at it.

“This is the first time I’ve felt like a real
dad, Gwen. I can’t tell you how much it means that you’ve helped
make that possible.”

Blood rushed to her face, burning her cheeks.
“I’ve hardly done anything—”

His fingers tightened almost painfully on her
bum. “Don’t do that. Don’t underestimate yourself. You’ve
sacrificed your own Christmas plans to look after a virtual
stranger so he could spend time with his daughter. You’ve found
ways of helping me talk to Agnes. It’s been the best Christmas of
my life—even better than when I was twelve and got my first rugby
boots. I owe you everything.”

Her throat swelled, and self-effacing denials
shot to her lips.
But my Christmas plans weren’t important. I
was just going to spend the day with my parents, like I do every
year. I don’t mind giving up my plans to spend the holidays with a
man I barely know. I’m that desperate and lonely and uncertain
around men unless I have the excuse of taking care of them
. Her
lips trembled with the effort to hold the words in.

“Gwen? Oh, fuck, don’t cry. I’m sorry. What
did I do? I’m a great big lummox. Don’t listen to me.”

She shook her head and unhooked her arms from
his neck. When he let her go, she covered her mouth and fell back
on her old habit of taking blame where it wasn’t due. “I’m sorry.
It’s my fault. I’ve ruined the moment.”

“Is this about that guy from your
school?”

Stark humiliation rushed through her.
“You...you know about him?”

He cursed and turned away, walking a few
paces before coming back and taking her hand. Threading his fingers
through hers, he tugged her toward the bed. “Sit. I’m going to get
us some water. I’ll be right back. Don’t move. And don’t even think
about leaving.”

It hadn’t occurred to her. Her mind was too
numb trying to figure out what had just happened. One minute they’d
been kissing and she’d thought she’d figured out something
wonderful. Then self-doubt had taken root.

When he returned a few minutes later, she was
sitting against the pillows with her knees hugged to her chest. He
handed her a glass of water before perching on the edge of the bed.
“My head’s still fuzzy from my fall, and there’s this little voice
telling me I shouldn’t have brought that arsehole up, but I’m no
good at ignoring things. I’m trained to bash into people headfirst,
not tiptoe around them. So talk to me.”

“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you know
about him, though it’s quite humiliating to realize it’s something
people still talk about, still associate with me.” She picked at a
bit of fuzz on her sock. “Not as bad as realizing I still associate
it with myself, though. I thought I was over it, but
sometimes…sometimes I realize I’m not.”

He was quiet for a moment, and she wished she
could pull back everything she’d just said. She hadn’t wanted to
bring her insecurities into this room. She
really
hadn’t
wanted to bring them into his bed. Yet still she cracked open her
chest and exposed her vulnerabilities.

He nudged her hip, and she moved to the
middle of the bed so he could sit next to her. He settled his back
against the headboard, his shoulder pressed to hers. “You know why
I started playing rugby?”

“Because your school didn’t have a basketball
team?”

“Funny. No. I was searching for a place to
belong. My family were never particularly close. My parents
probably had kids because all their friends did, but the four of us
never felt like we went together. The rugby team at my school were
more a family to me than my parents and sister. I slipped up once
and called my coach Dad. I pretended it was a slip of the tongue,
but I’d been imagining how much better life would be if he was my
dad.”

“Oh, John. I’m so sorry to hear that.” The
comfort and support of her family were two things Gwen had never
questioned. They’d been her sanctuary and they’d fought on her
behalf. They’d taken care of everything after The Incident—but that
had only made it easy for her to run away from the experience.
Instead of exploding, the way her firebrand sister sometimes did,
Gwen’s life had imploded. She’d closed in on herself and distrusted
most people until she knew them well. Her hobbies were all things
she could do on her own. She’d even chosen a career where most of
the people she met were either unconscious or quickly
discharged.