“What are you making?” she asked, eyeing the cubed lamb on one of the cutting boards. She was not a vegetarian, but the thought of eating lamb so soon after petting the sheep made her feel a bit queasy.

“Shepherd’s pie,” Adam said. “Not exactly a traditional Christmas dinner, but I don’t have a roast or a turkey on hand.”

“Shepherd’s pie sounds delicious,” Amelia assured him. “Seems to be the national dish here.”

She watched him put the meat into the skillet. This was far from a traditional Christmas, but she was finding, to her surprise, that she didn’t mind that at all.

It was six o'clock according to the sunray clock on the wall. David and his parents would probably be sitting down to Christmas dinner now. The table spread with a velvet runner, set with china and crystal. The atmosphere would be, subdued, bordering on formal. There would be maids pouring their wine and serving their meal.

She’d never thought she would miss her home, but the frigid formality of David’s parents’ home had made her wish for the casual, buffet style Christmas dinners of her childhood—a turkey that was slightly too dry, green beans smothered in cream of mushroom soup and fried onions, and a couple of bottles of wine from the clearance aisle.

The aroma of garlic and sage was starting to fill the kitchen, and Amelia sniffed appreciatively. “That smells amazing,” she said, walking up to peer around Adam.

“It’s going to taste even better,” Adam assured her.

“Very modest of you,” she teased.

He shrugged, glancing at her and grinning. “What can I say? I know what I’m good at.” He winked at her, and Amelia felt a delicious shiver run down her spine.

After dinner, Adam wouldn’t hear of her offer of help with the dishes. Amelia put the kettle on the stove for tea, and then wandered into the small living room, poking at the fire that Adam had started just before dinner. The chill was now well and truly off and the air was suffused with a welcoming coziness. There were no decorations for Christmas, nothing to make the evening feel especially festive, but Amelia felt more content than she had in a very, very long time. She sank onto the couch, toying with the edge of the knitted afghan thrown over one arm. She could almost picture herself staying here, nestled away, insulated from the crazy world outside.

Adam walked in, set the pot and two teacups on the small table, and sank into the couch next to Amelia. She shivered slightly at the feeling of him next to her, the closeness of him making her feel butterflies start in her stomach. He glanced at her. “Cold?”

“No,” she whispered. “Not at all.”

He looked at her for a long moment, and then turned to pour a cup of tea. Amelia noticed the chocolate roll on the platter next to the tea, and her eyes widened slightly. “You know how to make that?”

Adam grinned. “My mom taught me not long before…” he cleared his throat. “She taught me how to make it. I was sort of a stubborn teenager and insisted that it was a girl’s thing to do. She said men could bake just as well as women, and anyway, our father hadn’t seen fit to give her a daughter, so I could bloody well stay in the kitchen and learn to bake.” His voice wavered for a second, thickening with emotion, and then he cleared his throat. “Anyway. It’s not all that hard, really.”

He cut a slice of chocolate roll, placed it on a delicate china plate and handed it to her. Amelia knew without asking that the china belonged to his mother. She wanted to ask questions, but something about the way he spoke when he did talk about her told Amelia that it was a painful topic. She knew his parents were dead, but she didn’t know what had happened to them. The mood in the room was cozy and peaceful, and she didn’t want to break it by bringing up awkward topics. It seemed Ironic that the man she’d been with for the last four years had been ruled by his mother, while this one could hardly stand to talk about his.

She took a bite of the chocolate roll. The cake was soft and moist, the filling light and creamy, and she’d never had a better dessert in her life, she was sure. The soft lavender flavors in the tea complemented it perfectly. She took a deep breath, drawing in the heady mixture of aromas. In that moment, Amelia could think of nothing she wanted more than to stay where she was, forever.

She set her plate down on the table and leaned forward to pour another cup of tea. She felt Adam’s fingers, suddenly, reaching to brush along the nape of her neck, playing lightly with her hair. Her breath caught in her throat, her skin prickling under his touch. It was feather-light, so soft, and she felt a rush of warmth, her heart speeding up in her chest.

It felt so different from that first night in her cottage. She’d been so unsure then, and then there was the storm howling outside on that night, as if it were screaming at her to go away. Not tonight. It was quiet out tonight, perfectly silent, and she turned her head towards Adam, leaving her cup where she’d set it down, the only sound in the room the crackle of the fire.

His hand stroked down her cheek, his thumb tracing the edge of her lower lip, and she parted them slightly. Feeling suddenly bold, she licked the tip of his thumb, just a touch, her eyes flicking up at him mischievously, and she heard his soft intake of breath. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered. “We’ve only just met, and you’re getting under my skin.”

“Do you mind?” she murmured, leaning closer.

He took a deeper breath, and for a moment she thought he might say yes, that he didn’t want this at all. Then his fingers on her chin tightened, just slightly, and she turned her body towards him, as if he were a magnet pulling her in. His mouth came down on hers, his arm going around her waist to pull her closer.

She was half in his lap, her fingers going into his hair, her mouth pressing against his as he kissed her. She felt him breathe in, his hand tightening on her waist, and she swung one leg over him to straddle him, not caring anymore if she was moving too fast. She wanted him.

She could feel him just beneath her, hard and thick, pressing against her through her jeans, and she couldn’t help but wiggle her hips a little, rocking against him, and he moaned against her mouth. He grasped her waist and pushed her down, grinding against her, and Amelia gasped. He groaned, his tongue licking along the edges of her lips, plunging into her mouth, as if she were something he might eat. He tasted of chocolate. Amelia reached for his hand, pulling it up to her breast, pressing herself against him. She wanted him desperately, had wanted him again since that first night they’d spent together, and now that he was willing, she could barely keep herself from stripping off their clothes then and there. She wanted to feel him again, the weight of him atop her, the hard, pulsing thickness of him between her legs. She felt his hand tighten around her breast, felt his other hand slip down to her ass, holding her between his palms as she rocked against him, wishing desperately that the layers of denim between them were gone so she could feel him, skin to skin.

He pushed her back onto the couch, his hands hard on her waist, his hair falling down around his face as he leaned over her, grabbing one leg and hooking it around his hip as he pressed against her. He looked down at her, panting beneath him, her eyes wide with lust, and he blinked, slowly, as if he were coming out of a fog.

He sat back, hands running through his hair, pushing it back away from his face as he took a long, slow, deep breath. “We can’t do this, Amelia.”

She stared at him, hardly able to think. “Adam…”

He shook his head. “I can’t do this,” he corrected himself. “I just can’t, Amelia.”

She sat up, the moment fading away, leaving her aching and hollow. “Adam…” she said again, but she could think of nothing else to add.

“You’re going to leave,” he said, looking away from her. “You’re only here for a little longer, and then you’re going back to your life in Chicago. With what I feel for you, Amelia, how badly I want you, a few nights with you won’t be enough. I’ll want you more and more, and you’ll leave.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not blaming you for that, not at all. But I can’t get any deeper into this, and then watch you leave. It’ll just be too much to bear.”

He stood up, and Amelia watched, aching to reach out and touch him. “I’m sorry, Amelia,” he said gruffly. He pressed his lips together, looking away from her for a moment. “Thank you for spending Christmas evening with me. I think I’m going to head to bed. The guest room is just down the hall. It's made up.” He paused, then leaned forward, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “I just can’t, Amelia,” he whispered again, his voice thickening, and then he straightened, his face blank. “I'm so sorry. Good night.”

“Good night,” Amelia murmured, watching him turn and walk towards his bedroom.