‘Happy Christmas!’ I sang, holding up a Christmas tree. It has to be real, Brian said, and strapping with a star and lights. I rooted around in the cupboards back at the barn and found some old decorations. I went to the farm shop to get a bottle of Brian’s best mulled wine and some spiced cookies. He handed me a packet of dried figs and a Christmas cake. I tried to argue that, yes, everyone had them at Christmas, but who actually ate them because they’re fucking vile. He’d told me to shut up and take them, and then added that Cal was feeling homesick, not at all Christmassy, and a real tree was going to be the key to her happiness. I wanted to make her happy. It was important to me that she was happy. I didn’t know why. I couldn’t fathom the feeling, didn’t want to get trapped in the quicksand of what that meant. It just was.

‘Oh, my goodness! That’s amazing!’ she squealed, clapping her hands and jumping up and down. ‘A real tree! Just like home! Thank you!’ It was like a balm to my soul seeing her like that—childlike, a huge smile, perfect. Bringing her a Christmas tree and planning the most Christmassy day in the history of Christmases was the least I could do after she essentially helped me clear the remnants of my wedding a year after the non-event. She was selfless like that. Always looking after others. Making sure everyone else was sorted and OK. Too good for me. ‘Come in!’ she said, stepping to the side and waggling her hands like that was going to get me through the door faster. ‘How did you know?’ she asked before recognition streaked her face. ‘Sneaky Brian!’

‘He may have contacted me,’ I replied, but I didn’t want to say anymore. I didn’t want Brian to take the credit. I wanted that smile to be because of me. I’d kicked myself because I didn’t know how homesick she was, I didn’t pick up on her unhappiness. I must have a flawed detector for these things. Why didn’t I know? I knew the answer, really. I was keeping my distance, busying myself purposefully to stay away from her. Avoiding temptation. Protecting myself. Hiding my heart.

‘Where is it going to go? It’s huge!’ she said, still delirious with happiness. I almost made a quip, a sarcastic comment, a deadpan delivery. Normally those defences came out immediately. That’s what they all say. Said the actress to the bishop. I’m sure we can squeeze it in. But this moment deserved more than that. It deserved to be recognised and accepted for what it was. Raw honesty. She was missing her family and therefore, I needed to bring Christmas to her and make it fucking spectacular in the process.

‘I think it will look great in that corner,’ I said, watching that smile, that electric smile.

‘That’s what I was thinking!’

‘If you go to the front door, I’ve left a bucket and some soil, could you bring them in?’ She practically ran. I was trying to ignore that she was wearing an oversized cream polo neck that swamped her but made her look all elfin and cute. Accompanying that was a pair of little cotton shorts with knee-high socks to cap off the let’s-torture-Drew-with-my-gorgeous-body look. While I was waiting, I hatched a plan to avoid all eye contact and focus on the tree.

‘Hold on,’ she said heaving the bucket down, essentially squatting. Sexy fucking squatting in those little cotton shorts, showcasing the curve of deliciousness otherwise known as her arse. Avoiding all eye contact wasn’t working. My cock was taking an interest too and that was alarming because there were times around Cal when it had a mind of its own, and because she was still squatting and I was hovering above her, I decided I didn’t need an erection-in-Cal’s-face situation.

‘I can do that,’ I said quickly, pulling her up and eliminating the problem, except now I was staring into her perfect face and all that was doing was having the same effect on my cock. ‘It’s heavy and squatting hurts. Pulls muscles, that type of thing.’

‘Are you OK?’ she asked, narrowing her eyes.

‘Never better,’ I huffed as I picked up the tree and placed it in the bucket.

‘Where did you get the decorations from?’ she asked, pulling out tinsel and beads.

‘From the barn. I’ve been up there quite a bit, doing some sorting.’

‘Great. Meghan’s castoffs. How Christmassy,’ she smirked.

‘Not Meghan’s. They were used to decorate the tree in reception,’ I said swatting her leg, which didn’t help at all because it was on the sweet section of bare fucking skin between the little shorts and knee-high socks.

‘I’m glad to hear you’re spending time up there. Have you made any progress?’ she asked.

‘Actually, yes. I’ve updated the website and I’m going to put out an advert for a wedding planner.’

‘That’s so exciting!’ she said, genuine happiness spreading across her face. See? Totally selfless. I’d spent the last couple of days telling her I wasn’t interested in anything more than friendship and the nights staring at the ceiling telling myself what a lying dick I was.

I was interested and it was killing me.

‘Probably won’t get any response until after Christmas, but it’s a start. All because of you. If I haven’t said it before…because…I’m an idiot…thanks.’ She nodded and smiled before gazing in awe at the tree again.

‘We need to get the net off. Break it free. I’ll get the scissors,’ she said, disappearing into the kitchen, and that flash of bare thigh my eyes connected with made me think about kissing it. Pressing my lips there as my fingers found her wet and soaking through those tiny cotton shorts. ‘Drew?’

‘Yep.’

I shook my head, clearing the daze and took the scissors from her as we set about arranging the tree.

‘You know, Dad always let me put the star on top of the tree.’ She was standing on top of the step ladder, fiddling with the tinsel and lost in memories. She never looked more beautiful. Her hair was falling out of a bun that had been piled precariously on top of her head. A pen was sticking out of it and she was make-up free, freckles on show. Just lovely.

‘Why did you have a star and not a fairy?’ I asked waiting for her answer because I could listen to her talk all day.

‘My mum thought it was undignified to plonk it on top, nethers first,’ she said giggling, making ‘V’ shapes with her fingers and scissoring them together.

‘I never thought of it that way before. Poor fairy. Tree in the vag for the whole of Advent. I can think of better ways to spend Christmas.’ Like sunk inside of you.

‘Hmm, so can I,’ she said before turning to me. ‘Oh, I meant to ask you how you’re getting on with my books. I’m expecting written notes and a dissertation. Did I mention that?’

‘I don’t think you did,’ I replied, knowing that if she asked, I would do it in a heartbeat. I had most of the sex scenes memorised anyway. ‘Shame.’

‘Let’s be serious, my friend.’ No, not friend. Christ, don’t say that again. I want more but I can’t. I fucking can’t. ‘Tell me how far you’ve read. First one finished?’ I dipped my head, one nonchalant nod. Yes, the first fucking night. I couldn’t put it down. ‘Second book all the way past the angsty bits?’ I put my finger on my chin in fake contemplation. Finished. It broke me. I thought the story was epically traumatic and the sex…talk about a connection. She put her hands on her hips and rolled her eyes. ‘Third book? Have you got that far?’

‘I’m a good way in.’ I only put it down because Archie decided in that very inconvenient moment—the hero was about to fuck her senseless on a table and I had a boner that probably matched his—that he needed to relieve himself. Oh, the irony.

‘Wow, I’m impressed,’ she said, returning to the task at hand and draping some more tinsel. Her fingers stilled and I could sense she wanted to say something, but she was either too embarrassed or not ready to hear my verdict. ‘So…what do you think of book three so far?’

‘Fine. Good.’ I pulled my collar away from my neck with one finger. Suddenly it was restricting my airway and I was having a hard time breathing because all the blood was rushing to my cock. ‘Remind me of the gist again.’

She smiled knowingly. ‘He’s an artist who’s had a troubled past.’

‘Haven’t we all.’

‘Take it seriously,’ she replied scowling weakly before breaking into a smile. ‘Where did you get to?’

‘The scene in the art room. I think a table was involved?’ It very definitely was.

‘Ah. That’s a good one,’ Cal replied wrinkling her nose like she remembered when a past lover did the same thing to her. Hear that shatter? My heart breaking into a thousand pieces.

‘You’re really good at using words to help the reader picture the scene clearly. Very clearly. Really quite clear.’

‘You liked my sex scene?’ she asked, her sing-song voice making me laugh out loud. Nerves. It must have been nerves.

‘It was described so vividly I could almost hear the music playing in the background.’ I heard her gasp a little, her mouth parted, her hand gripped the step ladder. ‘I was rooting for them because I could feel their connection, their passion. When you described him painting her body, the water spilling onto her shoulders, paintbrushes tumbling to the floor, it was—’ arousing, pleasure inducing, stimulating, exciting, it gave me chills and there was no other option but to stroke myself until I came all over the hand that was still gripping my cock, ‘—sexy.’

She looked at me for a second, weighing up the moment, probably running through what I’d said to her about friendship and being unable to give her more.

‘Did it turn you on?’ she asked, her voice breathless.

Seize the moment or bring us back to friendship? Rein it in and continue the charade of wanting nothing more or go ahead and embrace the sexual tension?

‘Yes.’ Tension embraced.

‘What turned you on the most? Imagining what they were doing or knowing it was me who’d written it?’

You, you, you, you, you.

‘I’m not sure I should answer that,’ I replied.

‘Why?’

‘Because I’ve spent the last few days telling you I can only give you friendship and if I answer your question, it will change that. Change everything.’

She smiled. Her lips twitching, her breath catching. ‘How many times do you replay the night you watched me touch myself?’ she said on a quick gasp. The noise encouraged my bravery.

‘Every day, more than once. Sometimes a lot more.’

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was about to burst. The room was spinning with colours and swirls of light, but Cal was in the middle of it all and she was clear as glass. Perfect clarity amongst the chaos playing around her. I could smell her. Apple fresh. Her hair still falling out of the bun and around her shoulders. She was smiling and her mouth. Fuck. Her mouth and the way it parted and the words it let out, her words, those wonderful words. She was so open, so willing to expose herself. Vulnerability didn’t exist in her world because she revealed herself every single day through her writing.

I’d watched her fingers, long and elegant, piecing the tree together with precision. Delicately holding the ornaments, the sparkly trinkets, studying the glass baubles in her hands and fuck me if I didn’t imagine my balls there. Christ, I was sick. What was I doing comparing my balls to Christmas decorations? She brought out this deviance in me. I kept her books by my bed, marked pages with post-it notes, opened them and imagined her voice reading the dirty words as I slid my hand down my cock. I thought it would be enough. That I could stop the urge to kiss her neck and bring her to her knees if I brought myself off. But those shorts and her legs and the little curve of arse cheek poking out underneath the hem every time she reached up…the sliver of skin inviting me to get closer. I did it. I moved in, licking my lips, letting the voices telling me this could only lead to heartbreak fall away into a black hole until they were echoes and finally with a faint splash…they were gone.

And then I kissed the perfect skin of the inside of her thigh.

‘Fuck,’ she gasped.

‘Tell me to stop,’ I said as put my hands on her waist pulling at the ribbon on her shorts. Untying her. Freeing her to me.

‘No.’

‘Cal. Tell me to stop,’ I pleaded as my hands traced the smooth globes of her ass. The first touch. The one I’d thought about, fantasised about. Nothing could come close to the first touch. It was intense and passionate, repressed feelings rolling around with abandon. I wanted her and she wanted me and that’s all I wanted to deal with—all I could deal with. If I thought of anything else, I knew I’d be lost and hesitation would creep back in.

‘I won’t tell you to stop,’ she replied as I kissed her stomach. squeezed her arse, ran my hands up her legs, parted them with my bare hands. ‘I don’t want you to. I want you to let go. Free yourself with me. You can’t hang on to bad memories. Together we can obliterate them.’

‘Stop me now because this will change everything,’ I said trailing my finger from her ankle bone, dipping into the sensitive curve at the back of her leg and finally stopping where her pussy met her arse, the fleshy mound pressed against my fingers.

‘I want it to change.’ She was breathless. Waiting. But hearing those words repeated by her was like hearing the sound of a warning bell, a high-pitched alarm, a forewarning.

Don’t listen.

‘You’re leaving, Cal.’ Just tonight. Don’t think about anything else. Just now. ‘This can’t work between us.’

And then she said something that finally set off the flares into the sky. Bright pink smoke trails over the sea. A change in thought process going with it, setting it free and celebrating the moment things really did change.

‘Don’t deprive yourself. I’m giving myself to you. Today…indulge in me.’

She moaned out in pleasure as my hands dug into her hips, my full hand pressed against her stomach, squeezing the traces of her rib cage as she sucked in a breath and let me take her, possess her, claim her body with my fingers. Pinching the flesh, testing she was real, that this moment was finally going to happen, that I was ignoring doubt and anxiety without another thought to pull me back.

‘You intoxicate me, your laugh and that piece of hair that falls out every time you throw your head back. And your words, Cal. Your fucking words. I hear them in my head. Taunting me. Telling me to touch you, screaming at me to open up to you. I can’t fucking help myself.’

She wrapped her arms around my head, looking down at me. ‘Take me. I’m yours.’

‘You’re not mine,’ I whispered, clutching her hands that were around my neck. ‘You’re going to leave me broken.’

‘Never,’ she whispered, arching her neck as my hands mapped out the contours of her body, dragging my fingers along the curve of her hips, pushing away the softness of her sweater, discovering her breasts, kneading them, feeling them in my hands.

‘I need you,’ I said, breathlessly.

‘I want you,’ she moaned.

‘I want you more.’

Knock, knock, knock.

Those three loud knocks ruined the plans I had for Cal’s breasts, still cupped in my hands. We both stayed still like we’d been frozen in time. Panting and gasping and recovering from the intensity of it all. If I were a better man, I would have moved my hands, but bloody hell they felt so good against her skin.

A screech of the letterbox made us turn our heads towards the cottage door.

‘Excuse me? Sorry, I’m looking for Mr Carolla,’ a voice through the letterbox said.

‘What’s the time?’ I whispered to Cal.

‘I have no concept of time because your hands are on my boobs,’ she replied, still lost for breath as I barked out a laugh.

‘Sir?’

‘Blake. Is that you?’ I shouted, making absolutely no attempt to move my hands.

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Not great timing, Blake,’ I replied as Cal started to giggle.

‘Sorry, sir, but you’ll miss your schedule if we don’t go now. I’ve got the car waiting. Is Miss Dixon with you?’

‘Shit,’ I said under my breath as Cal pulled her sweater over my head. She felt warm and inviting, her skin soft, desperate to be touched. I wanted to stay there so badly. ‘Are you sure you haven’t got the time wrong?’ Please have the time wrong.

‘Sorry, sir I can’t quite hear you. You sound a bit…muffled.’

Cal giggled. I felt her stomach contract against my face and I kissed her there, half wondering if I should tell Blake to piss off or if the cosmos was looking out for me, stopping us before we start. Keeping my body and soul intact. Perhaps not my heart. I was already trying to Google telephone numbers of the best heart surgeons in Cornwall and she hadn’t even left yet.

‘What have you got planned?’ she said, pulling her sweater back and revealing me, still kneeling before her like the queen that she was.

‘Sir, you’re due to fly in thirty minutes,’ Blake shouted, getting agitated but not as agitated as me.

‘Are you taking me flying?’ Cal asked, her beautiful face shocked and astounded. Astounded at me. The man who didn’t do relationships, or love. The man who declared that he didn’t believe in romance but was feeling pretty fucking tender-hearted right now.

‘I want to take you somewhere,’ I said, feeling high before I’d even started the engine.

‘In your plane?’ she asked, her face slightly panicked.

‘Yes. Is that OK?’

‘How big is it?’ she asked.

I couldn’t resist. ‘Bigger than most.’ She giggled and it was adorable.

Could I really fall for this woman? Open my heart freely again?

‘I was excited until I remembered the journey over here.’

‘Believe it or not, I have flown before,’ I chuckled. ‘I’ll keep you safe.’

‘OK,’ she said. ‘Promising to keep me safe is the only reason I will allow you to remove both of your hands from my boobs right now.’