Sue Moorcroft - The Little Village Christmas

At the top, she halted as she found herself on a postage stamp of a landing under a slanting ceiling. The uncurtained window framed a rectangle of black night. ‘Bijou,’ she observed. A door to her left was closed, then the landing simply opened out into a bedroom. Much of that bedroom was taken up by a double bed. Two small windows in the wall beyond it rose either side of a stone fireplace laid with newspaper and kindling.

As Ben reached the landing too she could feel his warmth crossing the few inches of air between them. He cleared his throat. ‘At least the bed’s made. Kind of.’

Alexia glanced at the forest green quilt dragged untidily up to a heap of pillows and had no idea what to do next. It felt equally wrong to barge through the closed door or lead the way into Ben’s bedroom. There was no room to stand back and let him go first yet if she suggested they go straight back downstairs he’d probably think she was feeling worried or threatened.

She wasn’t … she was feeling warm and swimmy. And it was more to do with his presence behind her than whisky or beer.

From his stillness she suspected he was processing similar ‘what now?’ thoughts. The silence grew until Ben broke it with a sigh. ‘I think in the old days I used to plan some kind of lead-in. That saying about buying dinner first can’t have come from nowhere.’

Though reassured to realise that he seemed to be feeling all the uncertainty she was, he sounded so disgusted with himself that Alexia felt laughter brewing. She turned, meaning to make a joking remark, but he seemed to move at the same time and her forehead clonked his chin, making his teeth click audibly together. ‘Ouch, sorry!’ She clutched her forehead, which felt as if it bore the imprint of his jaw. His look of ludicrous dismay released her laughter into the air. ‘I’m no more prepared than you. I’m so dirty.’

Laughter sprang into his eyes and she began a mortified backtracking. ‘I meant dusty, dusty from the wrecking party and I must smell of sausages and—’ She clutched her forehead harder than ever. ‘And I can’t believe how much I just over-shared.’

Slowly, he reached out and opened the door that had been closed. He pulled a cord and light sprang out to greet them. ‘Help yourself.’

Alexia gazed into the room in wonder. It was as if Ben had made up for the unfussiness of the rest of the house with a bathroom of floor-to-ceiling opulence. A blindingly white corner spa bath and one of those shower cubicles with jets from all angles gleamed invitingly between walls and floors of polished tiles.

‘Ooh.’ She stepped into the room, forgetting their mutual embarrassment. A small sigh of longing escaped her. ‘How gorgeous . It makes me want to wallow in the bath.’

His expression focused now, rather than mortified, he stooped to push down the plug and pull up the lever on the shiny chrome tap. The room began to echo with the thunder of water. A dollop of bath foam from a tall green bottle soon added a froth of luxurious light-reflecting bubbles.

Alexia gazed at the steaming water then back at Ben. ‘Are you sure? It looks blissful.’

His hands were looped loosely into his pockets, his gaze steady. ‘Absolutely sure.’ His smile was pensive. ‘What I’m uncertain about is whether I’m staying. It’s been so long that you’re going to have to give me a sign. One that’s not too subtle.’

She breathed in the sharp smell of the lime bath foam in the steam that was rising to prickle her skin. Or perhaps the tingling was actually the excitement of being wanted, of being fixed in the tractor beam of his gaze. She had to lick her lips before she could speak. ‘Your bath’s big enough for two. Is that clear enough?’

His smile flashed. ‘Even for me.’ He hesitated no more, lifting his hands to rest lightly on her shoulders before dipping his head to kiss her, letting the kiss deepen as they learned the taste of each other. Then he touched her body slowly, as if exploring a new land.

Heart pounding with every new caress, she let him undress her before she reached for him, unfastening the dusty denim of his jeans, releasing him. Enjoying his shudder as she caught him in her hand, savouring the brush of his body hair, the heat of his skin.

Somewhere along the line he’d paused to turn off the tap. Now he tested the water then lifted her, stepping over the bath side, sinking down into the delicious bubbly warmth until the foam threatened to overflow.

Their bodies slipped and slid familiarly, as if they’d known each other for years. He cupped his hands and rinsed the dust and cobwebs from her hair, sending it streaming back from her forehead. Then he turned his attention to her body and soaped her from top to toe, stoking her desires until it was all she could do to concentrate on soaping him in return, learning the shape of him and what made him close his eyes and groan.

Finally, she straddled his body.

His eyes flipped open as if in sudden pain. ‘I have no condoms.’

She halted with a groan. ‘Neither do I.’

Then he surged to his feet, taking her with him, reaching for the towels. ‘Let’s take this into the bedroom. A little imagination … a lot of possibilities.’

Wrapped in towels and sketchily dried, they padded into the bedroom and he paused to put a match to the fire, crouching on the dusky red rug to feed the flames until they danced high, bathing him in flickering golden light. Alexia sank down beside him. ‘I’ve never seen an open fire in a bedroom. Are you a caveman?’

He turned his head, reaching out to flick her towel open. ‘Sounds impressive but actually I get free firewood.’

Then he secured the guard around the fire and reached for her again.

Alexia didn’t know whether it was the heat from the flames or his hands and tongue that scorched her skin. Every touch just made her hotter, want harder, a wanting he took as his mission to fulfil until, finally, they made it onto his bed to sleep.

In the darkness, Ben ricocheted out of his dreams, heart bouncing against the walls of his chest.

He blinked, trying to force open his burning eyes. Nightmares. Again. Sucking in a breath he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about. It had involved fear and pain. Imogen. Again. Panic. Again.

His clock’s illuminated figures told him it was 04.13. Night after night it was as if his body awarded him a single cycle of sleep and then slapped him mercilessly awake.

With a shock of desire, he became conscious of the naked woman curled up against him. Still half-trapped in the web of sleep, he traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist until his hand found her arms nestled between their bodies. He snatched his hand away.

Not Imogen.

Reality crashed back.

Alexia. Bright, vivacious Alexia with her rounded body and naughty smile.

Right on cue, the insidious voice of negativity slunk into his mind. So your head was turned by a mischievous smile. You think this is OK?

Sweat broke like a stripe of shame down his back and he eased his flesh from hers, heart still thumping. He tried to remind himself that it was just another middle-of-the-night anxiety attack; the bombardment of worry, guilt, regret and pain would ease.

But the voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

You’ve got it easy compared to Imogen and Lloyd. And now you’re in bed with a naked stranger. Can you imagine Imogen’s pain if she saw you now?

We’re getting a divorce.

So you pick up a local girl for a one-night stand?

Alexia’s leaving the village soon—

But not right away. She’s going to expect things from you. Calls, texts, dates. You seriously think you can do that? YOU? The fuck-up who lives like a hermit?