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Kiss Me on This Cold December Night:
Charlotte Phillips
HarperImpulse Contemporary Romance NovellaThe third novella in Charlotte Phillips’ deliciously sensual Do Not Disturb series.Christmas in London – a time for late night shopping on Regent’s Street or ice skating at Somerset House under a blanket of twinkling fairy lights, the warming, welcoming aroma of mulled wine in the air…Or, alternatively, a time for bumping into the ghosts of one night stands past in Ella Scott’s case!Checking into her boutique hotel for a weekend of Christmas shopping, the last person Ella expects to bump into at reception is Tom bloody Henley – ambitious doctor, highly eligible bachelor and with whom she had the most unbelievable, mind-blowing brief encounter five Christmases ago.But Ella slipped out quietly the morning after all those years ago for a reason and although Tom’s got a look on his face that suggests Christmas has come early, there’s no way she’s going to be repeating past mistakes… right?
Kiss Me on This Cold December Night
Charlotte Phillips
A division of HarperCollinsPublishers
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
Contents
Copyright (#uf2aaa0b7-64a6-543d-bca0-0d157d2c5c9d)
Dedication (#u6673e914-b9a0-512c-b13a-84017eef6e7e)
CHAPTER ONE (#uf43ef78c-d5fa-5c16-962c-ebd16876a6f6)
CHAPTER TWO (#u23714ddb-f58a-5e4a-954f-c377e0a3884c)
CHAPTER THREE (#ucd6a20b5-0a83-5385-90a3-272392a69598)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
Charlotte Phillips (#litres_trial_promo)
About HarperImpulse (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
HarperImpulse an imprint of
HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd
77–85 Fulham Palace Road
Hammersmith, London W6 8JB
www.harpercollins.co.uk (http://www.harpercollins.co.uk)
First published in Great Britain by HarperImpulse 2013
Copyright © Charlotte Phillips
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Charlotte Phillips asserts the moral right
to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue record for this book is
available from the British Library
This novel is entirely a work of fiction.
The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are
the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is
entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International
and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.
By payment of the required fees, you have been granted
the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access
and read the text of this e-book on screen.
No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,
downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or
stored in or introduced into any information storage and
retrieval system, in any form or by any means,
whether electronic or mechanical, now known or
hereinafter invented, without the express
written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © December 2013
ISBN: 9780007536375
Version 2014-09-30
Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.
For my lovely mum and dad. Mum, thanks for everything. And Dad, wherever you are, if it has internet access I know you’ll be reading everything I write and forcing everyone else to do the same. Love you both.
CHAPTER ONE (#uca977a3b-f85a-54f4-b32b-101b64423e0b)
‘A suite if you have it, but I’ll take anything.’
Tom Henley wrestled his credit card from his wallet. He might have had his plans thwarted by the bonkers British weather, which for some insane reason had decided to dump a shedload of snow over the entire country in late December, putting it bang on track for the first white Christmas in years, but that didn’t mean he had to take it lying down.
‘Odds on for a white Christmas,’ the receptionist said, giving him a wink.
He stared at her beaming smile across the marble counter.
‘And that would be a good thing because…?’
When you’d spent Christmas in Barbados every year for pretty much your entire life, snow was not something to be excited about. On the contrary, it was a complication. Christmas to him meant sunshine and white sandy beaches and swimming in the calm Caribbean sea. And family of course. Let’s not forget that. This year, family responsibility would feature more than ever before. He pressed his thumb and finger to the bridge of his nose. The day had been on a steady nosedive since he’d attempted check in at Gatwick five hours ago only to be told that the entire place was at a standstill because of ‘the wrong sort of snow.’ Faced with the prospect of sleeping rough in the airport concourse, there was no way he was about to see it as a great adventure. A quick change of plan and now he was checking into the Lavington Hotel, his place to stay of choice whenever he came to London. Crystal chandeliers, velvet sofas, marble floors and freshly brewed coffee. Just what he needed after hours of airport tannoys, irritable crowds and fast food outlets. The relaxed luxury and familiarity of the place soothed him.
Or would do, if everyone would stop with the excitement over the UK’s inability to cope with a bit of frozen water.
The receptionist’s smile faltered.
‘It’s romantic, isn’t it? Doesn’t everyone always dream of a white Christmas? It’s only a week away, I’m sure we’ll hang onto the snow long enough for that. And it’s really not that bad in London. The North has got the worst of it.’
Hang on to the snow? Oh just bloody great.
‘I don’t dream of a white Christmas,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve got commitments.’
‘Work, is it?’ Her tone had an edge of frost now that perfectly matched the weather.
‘Work and family,’ he snapped. The two things were going to be inseparable for him, more now than ever. ‘The airport was at a standstill. It might not be too bad in London but apparently it’s the wrong sort of snow. Whatever the hell that means. And there’s some kind of issue with fog and visibility. In twelve hours I’m meant to be holding a glass of eggnog at the yearly family reunion and instead I’m stuck here for the foreseeable.’
Not that he had any particular sense of excitement about going. Anything lost its charm when you’d done it twenty-eight times. But of course the Christmas trip had nothing to do with his own excitement or his idea of what might constitute R and R. It was about duty and responsibility; had been for years now. And in his world those were things that weren’t to be messed with.
‘Ah well, that’s what you get when you tie yourself into tradition.’ An amused voice drifted across from the adjacent check-in line, a faint west-country burr lacing it, and he turned to look at the girl checking in next to him – obviously another snow-lover, was he completely surrounded? His intended cutting response never made it out of his mouth.
Ella carried on filling in the check-in documentation without looking up.
‘Get hooked on traditions and you just set yourself up for a ton of stress when things don’t work out,’ she carried on. ‘Can’t see the point myself. Go with the flow and make the best of the situation, enjoy London in the snow for once. No one’s died, although my will to live is on its last legs listening to you lamenting about some eggnog get-together. I’m sure your family will all still be there in a few days.’
Unlike her own, who’d never actually managed to be present often enough to qualify any situation as ‘tradition’. To her the snow was an exciting twist to what would otherwise be a fun weekend away. Christmas shopping in London had been elevated to something a bit more magical.
She finished signing her name and glanced across to look at him, knowing she was probably about to get a mouthful but really not caring because he was sucking the joy out of the room. She looked straight into the eyes of the one person she’d never expected Christmas to throw at her again.
***
His mind slipped back down the years to the last time he’d looked into those almond-shaped hazel eyes with the slight tilt at the outer corner. Her hair was still the same light brown, not windswept by the sea air today but curling against her neck beneath a knitted beret. The fine-boned face gave her a fragile look that belied the girl he remembered. She had known exactly what she wanted and she took it without hesitation. His blood was pumping faster just at that recollection. Her nose and cheeks were pink from warmth of the lobby after the icy cold outside and her eyes sparkled with the cheeky grin that now faded from softly curving lips. Her eyes widened as she looked him in the face and he knew instantly that she’d recognised him too.
‘Ella Scott,’ he said, her name returning easily to his lips without the slightest need for searching his mind. Wherever he’d buried that brief encounter - it must have been five years ago almost to the day - it clearly wasn’t half as deep as he’d thought it was.
A brief pause as she clearly debated whether to acknowledge him or possibly deny she even knew him. Maybe even make a sharp exit. After all, that was what she’d done back then.
‘Devon. Christmas 2008,’ she said. The hazel eyes now wore a guarded expression. As well they might. She’d left without saying goodbye, leaving him to sleep on alone in his hotel room on the misty-cold seafront that last freezing morning before he flew out to Barbados, the Christmas family get-together not to be missed even back then. He’d never seen her again.
‘What the hell happened to you?’ he said.
***
He took his key card from the receptionist on autopilot, not even glancing her way, and took a step towards Ella, a light disbelieving frown touching his eyebrows as he looked her up and down. She pressed her teeth together hard and arranged her face into what she hoped was a neutral expression that would hide the fact that her brain was flashing a series of progressively more vivid recollections through her mind. Recollections that made her heart pound in her chest and her cheeks feel like they were on fire.
Oh my fuck he’s seen me NAKED! Oh my life did I really DO all those things? With a STRANGER?
The whole point of a one-night stand was that you didn’t have to worry about your behaviour being cringeworthy or about shocking your partner with uninhibited suggestions. Who gave a toss about a little thing like embarrassment when you were never going to see the other person again? You were in it for the moment, no consequences to think about. All you needed to do was make sure there were no repercussions that could come back and bite you on the arse in the future. She’d learned that from her parents, both of whom had failed epically on the no-consequences front, and there was no way she was going to repeat their mistakes. She’d made a clean break of it and walked away, no phone numbers, no addresses, no comeback.
Until now.
***
‘You remember me then,’ he said.
How could she not remember? One scorching night in her memory with nothing to taint it because she’d made sure she walked away immediately, before any of that could happen. She hadn’t hung around to listen to him backtrack and talk his way out of the situation. She knew better than anyone what one-night-stands turned into in the cold light of day, and there would be no awkward morning-after goodbyes in the cold for her as he exited her life as quickly as he’d entered it. She’d circumvented that completely.
‘I should have known it was you just from the complaining,’ she said, not looking him in the eye in the hope that he wouldn’t notice her blushing. ‘I’ve never met anyone else before or since who goes to eggnog parties. Still heading out to Barbados every year then?’
She saw his eyes narrow at that and another memory came from nowhere, filling in one of lots of fuzzy blanks that fitted around the not-so-fuzzy images of hot sex. He’d been negative about the Barbados Christmas back then too, while she’d been fighting down a spike of jealousy. Not about Barbados, although of course if someone ever happened to offer her a ticket there she would rip their arm off in her eagerness for a luxurious beach break. More about a Christmas filled with your entire family. Christmas 2008 had been particularly sparse for her on that front, though she was used to it now.
‘It’s a family tradition,’ he said. ‘The whole point is that you repeat it on a regular basis.’
Family had come first with Tom Henley, she remembered that too. And clearly it still did. One-night stands were meant to only be about sex, but there had been hours of talking too, lying awake with the soft background sound of the tide and the slant of moonlight in the velvet darkness of the seafront hotel room. Maybe that was why he hadn’t been relegated to totally forgettable in her mind. Sex was one thing, but they’d had more of a connection than just that. And maybe that was part of the reason she’d left, because she’d had a glimpse of what it could be like between them if there had ever been more than one night and it had been crystal clear at the time that one night was all it would be. No suggestion of more had made it to being verbalised by either of them.
When it came to leaving, all she’d really done was get in first.
He moved closer, not quite into her personal space but close enough to make her pulse jump. The intense expression on his face, as if he was remembering how she looked without her clothes, the way his eyes were fixed upon hers, the knowing smile touching the corner of his mouth, told her that hers wasn’t the only mind being treated to a hot rerun of their last encounter. The burn in her cheeks refused to stand down. She needed to get out of here, away from that boiling hot gaze that was making her stomach feel like it was melting.
‘So what are you doing in London?’ he said, an interested smile crinkling the gorgeous grey eyes. ‘How have you been?’
Oh my life it was beyond awkward. Her toes curled at his attempted polite small talk when surely his mind must be full of x-rated images from what happened last time they were in the same room. She glanced around her for an easy escape route and shifted her bag from one arm to the other, keeping her door key card in her hand as walked toward the curving staircase. He kept pace with her while she groped for a brush-off comment that would allow her to make a fast exit up the stairs.
‘It’s a long story,’ she said, in a closed tone of voice that she hoped would tell him she wasn’t remotely interested in relating it but he simply stood his ground and looked at her expectantly.
It was clearly going to take more than a hint to fob him off. She turned to face him.
