Chapter 42
There was no time for snuggling under the duvet with a post-Christmas hangover on Boxing Day. Not while Roger Collingwood was still conductor of Egglethwaite Silver.
Rodge was a popular village leader because he combined tireless hard work with shrewd business sense. Which was why every 26th December, he booked us to play outside Bilby’s department store in town: catch the Boxing Day sales crowd.
I couldn’t argue there was a healthy chink as shoppers chucked coins into our bucket. But it was also bloody freezing. It only took until our third number, Carol of the Bells – the world’s creepiest Christmas tune – for my gloved fingers to lose all feeling.
‘I think my slide’s seized up,’ I muttered to the euphonium player, Nathan.
‘Tell me about it,’ Nathan whispered back. ‘My lips nearly froze to the mouthpiece for that one. He’s not really going to make us do the full three hours, is he?’
Of course he was. He was Roger Collingwood. By the time we finished our set – ironically, with Let It Snow – there was about three inches of white powder on the ground.
And things were about to get worse. When I got back to my car, I discovered the damn thing had thrown a tantrum at being left in the cold and was refusing to start. I pulled my phone out to ring Gerry, see if he could fetch me in the Land Rover.
No answer. Bollocks. I tried Tom instead.
‘Hiya, Lana,’ Cameron said when he answered.
‘Hi, Cam. Is our Tom there?’
‘Yeah, he’s helping my mum with the washing up. What’s up?’
‘I’m stuck at Bilby’s in this bloody snow. Can you ask him to pop round Gerry’s, see if he can fetch me? Sorry to be a pain when you’re with your family but I can’t get hold of him.’
‘No worries, we’ll both go. Could use a walk.’
‘Thanks, love.’
I stashed my trombone in the boot and headed back to the front of the shop, abandoning the car until I could get back next day with warm clothing and jump leads.
Fifteen minutes later I was still staring into the road, freezing my jollies off while the mufflered bargain-hunters bustled around me. My thin nylon band blazer was soaked through and there’d been no word from Tom. I only hoped the lack of contact meant Gerry was on his way.
But I blinked in surprise when instead of Gerry, Stewart hoved into view, riding a bike through the crusting of snow. And not just any bike either. This was a whole lot of bike. Two saddles, four pedals…
He braked beside me and rang the bell.
‘Evening, soldier. Need a ride?’
I laughed. ‘You daft bugger. What the hell are you doing on that?’
‘What does it look like?’ He jerked his head to the back of the tandem. ‘I’m picking you up. Your brother stopped by to say Gerry wasn’t in. Best snow-friendly transport I could manage at short notice.’
‘You seriously expect me to ride that thing?’
‘It’s only a few miles. Come on, it’ll be fun.’ He dismounted and rummaged in the pannier bag for an enormous fleece and a helmet. ‘Brought you these.’
I pulled the lovely warm fleece over my blazer and cuddled into it gratefully.
‘How does this work then?’ I asked, examining the tandem.
‘Like any bike. You get your own handlebars and pedals. We just need to find a rhythm that works for us both.’ He grinned. ‘Possibly a euphemism, I’ll leave it up to you.’
I didn’t like it at all when we got going. My handlebars were there to grip, but they couldn’t set direction or brake: all the control was at Stewart’s end. Every time we turned a corner, my stomach lurched.
But after ten minutes, I started to relax. It was actually quite pleasant once you got used to it. I could look around me, enjoy the bonny snow-blanketed scenery, trusting Stew to keep us safe. I’d even feel secure letting him coast us down Cockcroft Hill – almost.
I frowned as we rounded a corner to Holyfield Farm. Gerry’s Land Rover was parked outside, and the light was on in the window.
‘I thought our Tom said he was out.’
Stewart blinked at the farmhouse. ‘He did.’
‘The sneaky git,’ I muttered.
‘Hey, let’s stop a minute,’ Stewart said. ‘Someone’s not doing her share of the pedalling and my knee needs a rest.’
‘So why would your brother say Gerry wasn’t in?’ he asked when we’d propped the bike against a drystone wall.
‘Subterfuge. I think it’s revenge for that intervention we pulled on him and Cameron.’
‘Revenge?’
‘Yeah. Tom’s got this theory. About… about me and you. You know.’
I turned my burning cheeks to the ground and peeked up at Stewart through my eyelashes. There was a little smile at the corner of his mouth.
‘You must be cold,’ he said at last. ‘Come here to me.’
I let him pull me into his arms and sighed against his chest. There didn’t seem any point fighting. I wanted to be in his arms so why not be in them? Suddenly it was all very simple.
‘Tell me about these stars then, skywatcher,’ he said softly.
‘You remember that?’
‘I remember. Couldn’t forget the sparkly look in your eyes when you told me.’ He ran a gentle finger along my cheek. ‘They are very pretty eyes.’
It was a sharp, clear evening now the snow had stopped, with a bleach-white gibbous moon. When a thin cloud passed over, it shone through to make a little halo of rainbow.
I pointed to a cluster of stars against the inky black, tracing them with my finger. ‘Well, that sort of w-shape, that’s Cassiopeia. The Romans believed she was a queen, cast into the night sky for being vain of her beauty.’
Stew laughed. ‘Someone should warn Harper.’
‘I bet he’d like it. Then he could be the biggest star of all.’ I pointed out another constellation. ‘And that stickman one’s Orion. See, you can just make out his swordbelt. Thirteen hundred light years away, can you believe it?’ I shook my head. ‘Always amazes me the Romans could look at that and see a man. They must’ve been smoking something pretty hardcore.’
‘Which star’s your favourite?’
‘Oh, the brightest,’ I said dreamily. ‘First one I ever learned: Venus.’
‘Is that a star?’
‘No. But when I was little Dad used to tell me the brightest star was Venus. Maybe he thought it sounded poetic – the goddess of love.’ I laughed. ‘Or maybe he just picked a random planet because he didn’t want to admit to not knowing the names.’
Stewart’s fingers were playing in my hair. I could feel his heart throbbing hard against my cheek.
‘You’re remarkable, you know,’ he murmured.
‘Thanks,’ I said with a little blush. ‘Most people go with “strange”.’
‘Can I have my Christmas kiss now, Lana?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered. ‘You know you can.’
He took my cheek in his palm and touched his lips to mine. His other hand slid down my back, pressing me closer, but he kept the kiss gentle. It felt like he was waiting. Waiting for me to show him what I wanted.
I parted my lips a little. The next second his tongue was in my mouth and all at once the kiss became hungry and intense, our long-suppressed feelings shooting out in a frenzy.
‘Oh, Lana, Lana,’ Stew breathed as he peppered kisses into my neck. ‘Is it happening?’
‘God, yes,’ I murmured, tilting my head so his eager lips could find as much flesh as possible under the collar of the fleece. ‘Yes, it’s happening.’
‘You’ll come home with me?’
I hesitated, then gasped as his mouth found its way to my earlobe. ‘Well, it is Christmas.’
***
I think we might’ve set a new land-speed record for tandem, getting the thing back to McLean’s Machines. When we got there, Stew practically dragged me to his bedroom, slamming the door behind us.
We fumbled off our helmets and he pulled me on to his lips, wasting no time picking up where we’d left off. I shivered as he feverishly stripped me of the chunky fleece.
‘You ok?’ he panted, calming his passion a little when he felt me tremble.
‘I’m ok.’ I smiled bashfully. ‘Cold.’
‘Course you are. You’re wet through.’ He nodded to the bed. ‘Get your clothes off and get in.’
I laughed. ‘You old romantic.’
‘All right, get your clothes off romantically,’ he said with a grin. ‘You need to warm up.’
I kicked off my soaked pumps and crawled into his bed.
‘Not undressing?’ he asked.
‘Under the covers. I don’t want you to see.’
‘Right.’ He frowned. ‘Why not? Unless I’ve seriously misread the signals, I had assumed we were about to have sex.’
‘Yeah, in the dark.’
He laughed. ‘Is this Lana Donati speaking? Siren-like star of nude calendars and my more erotic dreams?’
‘This is different,’ I said, thrashing the duvet as I struggled out of my damp blazer. ‘Please, Stew, look the other way. I’m shy.’
‘If it makes you feel more comfortable.’ He turned to face the door.
‘Do you really dream about me?’ I asked, sliding out of my trousers.
‘Sometimes. Don’t you?’
I blushed. ‘Sometimes.’
I could only see the back of his head, but I could tell he was smiling.
‘I’ll put on some music,’ he said at last.
While I was unfettering my overly ample bosom, Stew plonked his phone into a speaker dock on the chest of drawers.
‘Kirsty MacColl, right?’ he said as Fairytale of New York started up. ‘Something seasonal for you.’
I smiled as I removed my last item of clothing. ‘How’d you know that?’
‘You told me. One year and – ’ he counted on his fingers, ‘ – six months ago.’ He glanced at the little pile of clothes by the bed. ‘Did you just take your knickers off?’
‘Yup.’
He rubbed his hands. ‘Right. Budge up.’
‘Not until you strip off. You might catch cold or whatever made-up thing you just said.’
‘What, I’m not allowed to do it under the covers? I might be shy.’
‘The hell you are. Go on, McLean, get it off.’
He shook his head. ‘First time I’ve stripteased to Fairytale of New York.’
He pulled off his chunky aran jumper to reveal the toned stomach I remembered from the calendar, then his shoes, socks and jeans.
‘Your legs are ridiculous,’ I said, running my gaze over them. ‘They look like boiled eggs in a sock.’
‘Er, thanks. Not sure you’ve quite got the hang of sexy small talk.’ He nodded to the bed. ‘Can I get in?’
‘You’ve still got your boxers on.’
He slid under the covers. ‘Got to save you one Christmas present to unwrap.’
‘You didn’t just say that.’
‘Let’s pretend I didn’t. Then maybe it’ll never have happened.’
He pulled me close, close enough to smell him. Then he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with one finger. It was a tiny gesture but so light, so intimate, it thrilled me. His hot, short breaths were against my neck; the solid mass of his erection on my hip.
‘Let me look at you,’ he whispered.
‘But – ’
‘Let me look at you, Lana.’
He tweaked the duvet so he could dip his head underneath. For a minute, he didn’t say a word.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he murmured at last. ‘How can you not know?’
‘No one ever told me before.’
‘Then they didn’t deserve to touch you.’
He rolled on top of me and kissed softly along my neck. If he’d seemed frantic out in the snow, he was taking it slow now, and I was glad. I needed this to last.
‘Stew?’ I whispered as he drew tender fingertips over the curve of my waist. ‘Have you – have you been with lots of girls?’
‘Is it important?’
‘It’s just… I haven’t…’ I gasped as his other hand glided to my breast. ‘It’s been a while.’
I sucked in my breath as he ran his tongue-tip around an erect nipple. My whole nervous system was blossoming into flame for him, like a – what was that flower? A poinsettia. Although that could be the Christmas talking.
‘You trust me, don’t you?’ Stew whispered.
‘Course I do. I – ’ I bit my lip. ‘I’m just scared of getting it wrong.’
‘There is no wrong, Lana. Just us.’ He moved his hot mouth to my other nipple, and I gave a little moan as he lapped at it with his rough, wet tongue. My hips had started to rise and fall under him, my body instinctively seeking his.
‘You know how I feel about you, don’t you?’ he murmured between licks.
‘Tell me.’
He smiled. ‘You’re really going to make me go first?’
‘I… need you to. Ah!’ I flinched with pleasure as he took my nipple between his teeth and bit lightly, pushing under my shoulder blades to bring me closer to his mouth.
‘I love you,’ he whispered against my breast. ‘Come on, you know that. Everyone else seems to. We’re even less of a secret than Tom and Cam.’
‘Stew… you mean it?’
‘I do. There’s no one like you, Lana Donati.’ He looked up into my face. ‘You know, politeness dictates you really should say it back now you’ve got your hands in my pants. I wouldn’t want to feel cheap.’
He was right, my hands seemed to have their own sweet agenda. They’d slipped into his boxers and were having a grand time caressing the sleek, enticing muscles of his buttocks.
‘You know I do,’ I murmured.
‘Say it for me.’
‘I love you, Stew.’
He shuddered. ‘Now say it in Italian.’
‘Ti amo. What for?’
‘Dunno, it’s kind of sexy.’
I sucked at my lip as he slipped one finger inside me, his thumbtip gliding around the wet heat between my legs. He groaned into my skin at the touch.
‘Ah! Stew?’
‘Chatty, aren’t you?’
‘There’s just… what we said, just now. Need you to know. I never said it before, not in – God! – not in English or Italian. You’re the first.’
He stopped the delicious movement of his hand for a second and blinked up at me.
‘You’re serious?’
‘Yes. There were boyfriends, but… well, I never felt it so I never said it. It seemed too important to chuck about.’
He reached up to stroke my face. ‘Then I’m honoured,’ he said softly. ‘Relax now, Lana.’
Relax. He wanted me to relax. Those adventurous fingers were dipping rhythmically between my legs as his mouth played around the full, plump flesh of my breasts. Relaxed was the last thing I felt.
I could feel my sex-starved body getting more and more turned on at the noises we made while we explored each other – as much from the whispered, needy sounds escaping my own lips as Stew’s throaty groans. I tried to keep quiet at first, embarrassed by my own arousal, but Stew murmured to go on and I could tell it was getting him excited, so I gave in and was just as loud as came naturally.
Finally, I ran my fingertips along his rippling back to the waistband of his boxers and peeled them off.
‘Oh God,’ I whispered as my fingers found their way to his erection. He gasped as I massaged both hands along its length. ‘Oh God, Stew, you feel… I’m ready now, love.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes. Get on with it.’
He looked up from my breasts to grin. ‘You know what it does to me when you go all schoolmistressy.’
‘Have you got protection?’
‘Somewhere.’ He leaned over me to his bedside cabinet and fumbled in the drawer for a condom packet. ‘Er, cinnamon flavour,’ he said, squinting at it. ‘Hope that’s ok with you.’
I laughed breathlessly. ‘Cinnamon?’
‘It’s not been all that recent for me either,’ he said with an embarrassed smile. ‘Might’ve had this a while.’
‘And there I was thinking you were such a sex god.’
‘Oh, I am. But only on special occasions.’ He rolled on top of me. ‘And since it’s Christmas and there’s a gorgeous woman naked in my bed…’
He ripped open the foil, filling the air with a sweet scent almost entirely unlike cinnamon, and reached down to roll on the condom. The noise he made when our bodies joined was choked, like a sob.
‘Oh Lana,’ he breathed as he thrust gently into me. He nuzzled into my hair, dropping hot kisses against any bit of skin he could find. ‘Oh God, Lana…’
I loved the way he said my name, sliding each syllable over his tongue like melting ice cream. It sounded like he was claiming me, every time a new declaration of love.
‘Does it hurt?’ Stew whispered when he heard me suck in my breath.
It did feel slightly uncomfortable as my body adjusted to his. After three years, it was almost like my first time all over again.
‘No,’ I said. ‘Just… long time. Don’t stop, Stew, please.’
‘Want to swap round? Then you can be in control.’
‘Will you turn the light out?’
‘I will not. You’re beautiful and I want to see you.’ He drew the back of his fingernail gently along my cheek. ‘No need to be nervous, Lana. It’s only me.’
I flushed. ‘Well… ok.’
He guided me round so I was straddling him, shuffled into a sitting position and eased himself inside me again.
‘Lean back,’ he murmured. ‘Trust me.’
I did as he said, flexing against the strong hands holding my shoulder blades. God, it felt incredible in that position; every pulse so deep and thrilling. I clutched his thick thighs and pushed him into me, over and over, discomfort evaporating as my body moulded itself naturally to his.
Stewart buried his head between my breasts, plunging kisses into them and groaning something that might’ve been my name. He met me greedily, thrust for delicious thrust, and my senses responded like they never had to anyone else. And I didn’t care, by then, what parts of me he saw, because I felt beautiful and sexy and in love, and I didn’t even care how much we punished his headboard, which was banging the wall alarmingly. I only cared that I loved him, and I loved his relentless body snug and firm inside mine, and I was about to have the most shattering orgasm of my life.
And then I did, the whole thing catching me by surprise. Stew sucked hard at my nipple, and I pushed myself against him and I moaned, and then I really moaned as something broke and my body shot into a sudden fever of trembling. My hips stilled while the unfamiliar throbs paralysed me, Stew bucking under me the only motion I was aware of. A second later he let out a long, low groan, clasping me tightly, and he whispered I love you, I love you until it was over for him too and we fell back against the bed, panting.
‘That was… different,’ he said breathlessly.
I nodded. ‘Cinnamony.’
‘Can you stay over? Don’t want you to leave me.’
‘I can stay. Tom knows where I am.’ I snuggled against him, wrapping both my legs around one of his, and planted a soft kiss on the tip of his nose. ‘Did I tell you already that I love you?’
‘You might’ve mentioned it in passing.’ His fingers traced the waves of my hair, so gently I was only barely aware he was touching me.
‘I’m so happy, Stew,’ I mumbled as my eyes grew heavy. ‘Everything’s… ok now.’
‘Me too. I’m happy too,’ were the last words I heard before I drifted into sleep.