Page 50 of On Circus Lane

“Oh mygod,” I breathe, jumping out of bed, and padding over to the window.

Shivering in the cool air, I stare out at the heavily falling snow, with huge, swirling flakes the size of two-pound coins. The courtyard is already covered, and I can barely see across it. Excitement seizing me, I check my watch. It’s three in the morning.

Is it too early to wake him up?

Nah. It’s snow.

Decision made, I throw on jeans and a hoody and stomp my feet into my boots; I pull on my parka, hat, and gloves, and head like a homing pigeon to Bee’s room. I tap on the door softly, and then, without waiting for a call to come in, I turn the handle, push the door open, and poke my head around the door.

The noise surprises me for a second. It sounds like a full-on storm is happening in his bedroom. Then I remember he likes to fall asleep to thunderstorm sounds. God knows how he manages it. I’d spend the night fighting the urge to get an umbrella.

He’s in a silent huddle under a mound of blankets, and I inhale, catching his vanilla scent. Then I pad over. “Bee,” I whisper, not wanting to scare him. “Bee, wake up.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles, burrowing farther under the covers. My eyes are adjusted to the darkness, and I can see the dark waves of his hair poking out. I tug on one of the strands gently. It’s soft and silky.

“Wake up,” I whisper.

I bend closer and his head comes up and collides with my nose. I fall back on my arse, clutching my face.

“Shit,” I choke out at the explosion of pain.

There’s a pause, and then the light comes on, making me hiss at the brightness.

“What thefuck?” he breathes, sitting up. “Why does my head hurt?”

“Oh, don’t worry.” I wave a casual hand. “It just collided with my dose. Doh harm done.”

His chest is bare, and he’s beautiful in the lamplight, his skin shining like a pearl, his nipples pale pink. “Why on earth was your nose in my bed?”

I gingerly touch my nose, checking for blood. Luckily, there isn’t any. “Notinit. I’m not Cyrano de Bergerac.”

“Alexa, switch off.” Blessed silence falls in the room, and he shakes his head in confusion. “Is this a dream?”

“No, why?”

“Oh, no reason. Did I take hallucinogenic drugs last night?”

“No, just a vat of Baileys.” I suddenly remember why I came in here and jump to my feet. “Look,” I say excitedly, pacing over to the window. I draw the curtains back.

“Oh my god, Tom, it is three in the morning. Are you mad, or did you carry on drinking? And oh, that’s sopretty,” he finishes in a breathy voice.

He pushes the duvet back and bounces out of bed. His grey boxer briefs cling to his narrow hips and little round arse. He’s all legs, sharp bones, and big eyes, and I wonder not for the first time how long I’ll actually manage to hold him off. Not long now I have this gorgeous image in my head.

I grin as he stares wonderingly out the window. It’s even more stunning from this vantage point to see the snowfalling over Edinburgh. Streetlights shine like tiny beacons, illuminating the flakes as they tumble lazily down.

“Want to go out?” I ask.

He turns to me. “Whatnow?”

“Of course. Why not?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“So? It’s the best time. No one will be about.”

Excitement fills his eyes. “Yes,” he says and starts scrambling into his clothes.

“Make sure you put on a jumper,” I instruct. “It’ll be freezing out there. I’ve been in snow in Edinburgh before.”

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