Liz Fielding - A Surprise Christmas Proposal

As I looked down into his face, forcing myself to take steady, even breaths—I hadn’t realised until then that my heart was beating rather too fast for comfort—it occurred to me that even in extremis Gabriel York had an austere beauty, that his wide, sensual mouth was the kind a girl might enjoy kissing under less trying circumstances. At least she would if she was into kissing and all the messy stuff that inevitably followed.

Heartbreak, pain…

I forced myself to concentrate, cupping his chin in my hand and placing my lips over his to seal off the air.

His unshaven chin was bristly against my palm, my fingers. His mouth was cool, but not cold…

I forced myself to concentrate and blew steadily into his mouth.

At this point I nearly passed out myself from lack of oxygen. I’d been concentrating so hard on remembering what to do that I’d missed out the vital step of taking a breath first. Okay. I’d got it now. Breath in, mouth to mouth, blow. And again.

How long was I supposed to keep this up? As if in answer, I heard that long-ago demonstrator sternly warning that once you began CPR you had to continue until relieved…

How much longer was the ambulance going to be?

I paused for another breath, and this time when I looked at him he seemed to have regained a little colour. Encouraged, I tried again.

There was a definite change—the kind of response that if I didn’t know better would have given me the distinct impression that I was being—well, kissed back. No, definitely kissed back…

Oh, sugar…

I opened my eyes—that level of concentration had required my eyes to be tightly shut—and discovered that I was not imagining things. Clearly I had this kiss of life thing down to a fine art, because Gabriel York had his eyes open, too. Black, glittering behind quite scandalously thick lashes, and dangerously over-heated. Quite suddenly, I was the one in need of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation.

Rapidly recovering my wits—I had a highly developed sense of self-preservation where thick dark lashes were concerned—I decided it was time to put a safe distance between us. He was having none of that; his arm was around my waist before the message from my brain reached my limbs, holding me with rather more strength than anyone who’d been unconscious just moments before should have been able to summon up.

‘Who the devil are you?’ he demanded.

Huh? Whatever happened to, Thank you for saving my life?

Charitably putting his brusqueness down to disorientation—and bearing in mind that my electricity bill was in his hands—I didn’t say the first thing that leapt into my mind. Instead I replied—somewhat breathlessly, it’s true—‘I’m Sophie Harrington.’ All my spare breath had been pumping up his lungs, okay? I would have offered him my hand at this point, and said the obligatory How d’you do?, but one of my hands was already busy cradling his chin, while the other was doing something Florence Nightingaleish in the vicinity of his brow. I immediately stopped that nonsense and, in the absence of any other bright conversation ideas, said, ‘I’ve sent for an ambulance. It should be here any minute.’

‘What the hell did you do that for?’ he demanded, with a lack of gratitude that I found just a bit galling, considering all I’d been through.

‘Because you were unconscious—’

‘Rubbish!’

‘You had your eyes closed, you didn’t respond to the doorbell and…and I couldn’t find a pulse.’

‘Where did you look?’ I stopped cradling his chin and pressed my fingers against his Adam’s apple. He moved my hand to the right and pushed it firmly beneath his chin. ‘Try there.’

‘Oh…’ He definitely had a pulse. His heart was beating almost as fast as mine.

He made a move to sit up, but, hoping to retrieve some credibility in the first aid department, I said, ‘Look, you were out cold. I think you should roll over into the recovery position and wait for the paramedics.’ He made no attempt to obey instructions and he was too big for me to push him—at least he was if he didn’t want to be pushed—so I said, ‘In your own time.’

I added a smile, just so he’d know he was in safe hands.

All I got for my pains was a scowl, but at least he was alive and talking. Whether he was quite making sense only time would tell. Whatever. I’d done my bit, and at this point I should have been safe in assuming that nothing worse could happen. Indeed, that when he’d recovered sufficiently to realise that I’d risked my life to save his he would be transformed into Mr Congeniality and I would be showered with thanks for bravery above and beyond the call of dog-walking duties. Possibly. I could wait.

Instead, still frowning, he said, ‘Why were you kissing me?’ From his tone, I didn’t get the impression it was an experience he would wish to repeat any time soon.

Well, snap.

‘I wasn’t kissing you,’ I replied, losing the smile. What did he think I was? Some crazy woman who leapt on unconscious men? I wanted to make sure he understood that I did not kiss men I didn’t know, and even if I did I certainly wouldn’t have to wait until they were unconscious. ‘I was giving you the kiss of life.’

He barked out something that might have been a laugh. The dismissive kind that lacked any kind of humour or warmth. ‘That had about as much in common with CPR as—’

I was spared whatever unflattering comparison he had in mind as a couple of uniformed policemen, taking advantage of the fact that I’d left the door ajar for the paramedics, burst into the hall. One of them grabbed me by the arm and without so much as a by-your-leave hauled me to my feet with an, ‘All right, young lady…’

With that, pandemonium broke out as the older of the two dogs—the one that had been keeping watch over Gabriel York—leapt up, pushing himself between me and the policemen. From somewhere deep in his throat he produced a low, threatening growl that he might well have learned from his master.

The other dog immediately stopped dancing excitedly about the new arrivals and joined in. My heroes.

‘Percy! Joe! Down.’

Percy, still baring his teeth but lowering the growl until it was scarcely audible, obeyed his master’s voice in his own good time, his haunches almost but not quite in contact with the floor, ready to spring to my defence at the slightest provocation. Joe followed his example. The policeman, taking heed of this canine warning that any injudicious move would be met with extreme prejudice, let go of my arm and took a step back.

‘Would someone like to tell me what the hell is going on?’

Gabriel York had taken advantage of the distraction to sit up and now, grabbing hold of the stairpost, he hauled himself to his feet.

‘No…’ I began. He glared at me for apparently daring to defy him. More gently, I said, ‘You really should sit down, Mr York.’

He gave me a look that suggested he would deal with me later, before ignoring my advice and turning to the nearest policeman. ‘You,’ he said. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘One of your neighbours called us, sir. She saw this young woman—’ he unwisely gestured in my direction, got a warning reprise of the growl from Percy for his trouble and immediately lowered his arm ‘—er, apparently breaking in through an upstairs window and called the local station.’

Gabriel York turned back to look at me. Sweat had broken out on his upper lip and he looked as if he was about to pass out again at any minute. But not, apparently, before he’d got some answers. ‘Is that right? You climbed in through an upstairs window?’

‘I had to do something!’ I was absolutely livid. I’d been out there, hanging on by my fingernails, risking my life, and instead of coming to help me his nosy neighbour had sat behind her curtains and called the police. Actually, my own legs felt suddenly less than solid as I had a quick flashback of the risks I’d taken. ‘I couldn’t just leave you lying there.’