Page 46 of Christmas at the Home Farm Vets
‘Night. Sleep well.’ He turned over, hunching onto his side as she hung up her dress.
‘Thanks. You too.’ Erin got in beside him, wrapped in her winter pyjamas. She lay still, utterly aware of Oli. She knew the moment he’d fallen asleep when his breathing changed, one arm tucked beneath the pillow. She lay awake for an hour, staring at her phone and alternating between relief and profound regret. She eventually dropped off and woke again a couple of hours later, turning over and rearranging the pillow as she tried to settle.
‘What’s the matter?’ he muttered sleepily.
‘I’m too hot,’ she replied irritably. ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.’ She punched the pillow and turned over again. She definitely couldn’t sleep facing him and she inched across to the very edge of the bed.
‘I’m not surprised. Those pyjamas could probably take you on a polar expedition.’
‘I didn’t know we’d be staying in a boiling new-build and not some draughty old manor house,’ she shot back, trying to keep her voice down lest they wake Imogen and Alex in the next room. She’d heard them return about half an hour after Oli had fallen asleep. ‘I was expecting freezing temperatures and high ceilings, not underfloor heating.’
‘Imogen can’t stand the cold, she always has the heating turned up to tropical.’ Oli sat up. ‘Can’t you change into something else?’
‘Like what? I only packed enough stuff for one night and I need my clothes for tomorrow.’
‘You can have my T-shirt. I’m too warm anyway.’
‘Oli, no!’ She flipped over in time to see him yank it over his head and he dropped it on the duvet between them. ‘Sharing a bed with you is bad enough, how you do expect me to sleep if you’re…’
‘I’m not naked,’ he muttered. ‘I’m wearing shorts.’
‘No, but you’re…’ She’d rarely seen him like this, so close, and not since the incident back in the cottage with the peelings when he’d been heading to the shower. Years of rugby and surfing had kept him fit and he’d retained those muscles, his arms, shoulders and chest perfectly defined. ‘Almost.’
‘Do you want the T-shirt or not?’ He picked it up, dangling it through the darkness.
‘Okay,’ she replied steadily. ‘But only because I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep otherwise. Please can you turn away?’
Erin sat up and she felt the mattress sink as Oli turned over. She undid her pyjamas with clumsy fingers, remembering his own, deft and sure, on her dress earlier. Her pulse was beating to that dangerous rhythm again as she wriggled out of her top and snatched up his T-shirt, tugging it hurriedly over her head.
It was still warm and smelled of him, that same vanilla and bourbon scent that lingered whenever he was near. She lay back, as tense and taut as before. It was tricky to get the bottom half of her pyjamas off lying down under the duvet, but she managed it, and they hit the floor too. She breathed out a calming sigh now the heavy cotton was no longer covering her body. In truth it wasn’t just the house making her overheat, but trying to feign indifference to Oli beside her. Erin closed her eyes, willing sleep to come.
Chapter Eighteen
Erin woke again later, sunrise still a while off yet. She lay back and stared at the ceiling, wanting strangely to cry. They had managed it; she and Oli had spent the night in the same bed, and the knowledge should have been a triumph. She was trying to recall why being sensible had been such a good idea and instead all she could think of was his fingers on her back, undoing the spaghetti straps of her dress and how she’d longed for him to continue.
Oli’s bare chest was revealed by the duvet he’d pushed away, and she was loath to disturb him again. Trying to banish the indecision racing around in her head, she slid out of bed and crept to the bathroom. She freshened up and stared at her reflection in the mirror. The make-up had gone, her hair was returned to its usual long, loose curls and she looked like ordinary Erin again, not the woman who’d worn a beautiful silk dress and danced in the arms of the only man she’d ever loved.
Her family and her career were everything to her, but Oli was moving on soon. What if they missed this final chance to be together? At least she understood after the conversation with Imogen last weekend that creating a home wasn’t for him, and their priorities were different. They were leaving for Hartfell in a few hours, and she knew, absolutely understood, that there her resolve would be stronger. She returned along the landing, her pulse banging with nerves and something much more dangerous. It was desire, and she was so tired of pretending.
She opened the bedroom door and halted abruptly. Oli was sitting up, illuminated by faint golden lamplight. He looked sleepily dishevelled and utterly gorgeous, and Erin swallowed as he ran a hand through his hair.
‘Sorry,’ she croaked. ‘I didn’t mean to wake you again.’
‘Don’t be.’ He smiled slowly as he eased the hand behind his head. ‘Much as I love you wearing my clothes, I’d like my T-shirt back now please. I’m cold.’
‘No you’re not.’ This was the moment, and her decision was made. A tremor darted over her skin as she closed the door, her low tone matching his. ‘You’re just saying that because you want me to take it off. At least that’s what I think you meant.’
His eyes darkened as they went to the T-shirt skimming her thighs, and his lazy smile widened. ‘That’s exactly what I meant.’
She was remembering the last time she’d worn something of his; when he’d tossed a drink over her at the May Ball, and she’d made him swap shirts. That rush of confidence and joy after their first kiss, the powerful high of realising he’d wanted her as much as she did him. She wasn’t that same young woman now, caught between their past and an uncertain future. She was stronger, capable and decisive. And she wanted him.
‘If you want it you’ll have to come and get it.’ The husky note in her voice was new and she raised the hem of his T-shirt an inch, that same confidence surging again as he watched.
In a second he’d flipped the duvet aside and got out of the bed. As he slowly walked towards her, she was drinking him in too, those shoulders and the arms that had held her before. The bare chest she couldn’t stop thinking about, night after night in bed with Oli sleeping just the other side of the wall.
He halted six inches away and her senses were full of vanilla again, her heart full of him. A tear slipped free at the longing and passion she read in his eyes, and he caught it with a finger, gently brushing it away. It was as though she was seeing him for the first time, without the barriers of before and the differences in their backgrounds she’d always thought had mattered.
‘If this isn’t what you want, Oli, then say so now.’
