Page 26 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
But does it have to end?One week. Seven days to show her I could be a guy who’s worth more than a casual fling. Opening up to her this afternoon was the first step. She knows I’m trying. If I keep giving her reasons to believe it, she might see me again once we’re back in the city.
So, less than twenty-four hours after vowing I’ll hold back, I surrender. As if she senses my shifting position, Rachel tilts her face towards me, and I cup her chin in my hand. Her eyes sparkle brighter than the pulsing star above us.
“Kiss me, Teddy.”
Not that I needed an invitation. My mouth seeks hers, sipping carefully at her cool lips. She plunges her tongue into my mouth, tangling it with mine. A delicate tingling sensation tantalises my lips; the tang of the mints she’s always sucking on.
She threads a hand through my hair, twining it tight as she urges me forward.
Even with both of us bundled in bulky jackets, I can feel the firm breasts pressing against me. She lets out a little moan, rolling her hips against mine. We’re so perfectly matched, as if someone sculpted usthe exact height and shape to fit together. I’m rock hard in my jeans and I groan into her mouth as her hand cups my arse.
“You taste so good,” she murmurs between kisses.
“You too,” I breathe out, but I want more than her exquisite mouth.
I flick away her braid, dotting delicate kisses on the pale soft skin behind her ear, working my way down and around to the long column of her neck. Frustrated by the high collar of her jacket, I pause, bringing my fingers to the zipper. Just as I’m about to reveal more bare skin for my mouth to worship, a sharp whinny splits the air, followed by the restless shuffle of hooves from the stables.
“Solly and Bodie,” I mutter, without looking. “They hear us.”
“But we ignore them,” Rachel whispers, her smile daring me on.
And then—a blare of a car horn. We leap apart, startled. Poppy’s Land Rover is blocking the courtyard entrance, a grin from ear to ear. Damn her, sneaking up on us while the horses made enough racket to cover her arrival. She waves at us, and feeling like a prize dick, I give an awkward wave back. Rachel’s not the least bit concerned, her whole arm flapping in an exuberant wave with no hint she cares we’ve been sprung. A niggle I can’t shake: maybe she doesn’t care who sees us, because to her this doesn’t count.
The car window glides down.
“Don’t let me interrupt,” Poppy smirks. “Not a bad idea on a cold afternoon, warming each other up.”
Rachel chortles with laughter. “Yeah, you caught us out, Poppy.”
“Well, if it’s warmth you’re after, there’s an empty stall next to Bodie. Nice and snug. You won’t need your coats in there.”
I can’t believe she’s actually suggesting what I think she is.
“Nah, we’re good,” I say. “Better get back up to the house. We’re all done here.”
“Chicken,” Rachel giggles as Poppy drives off. “But yeah, you’re right, we should get back.”
I take Rachel’s hand in mine, lacing our fingers together. Hers are like ice, and I pull her hand into my pocket, rubbing it to warm it up a little. She wraps her arm behind my back, burrowing a second hand into the other pocket of my jacket. I lead her back to the house, the two of us wrapped around each other, us against the winter cold.
A few steps away from the front door, we’re met by an avalanche of bodies pouring out onto the driveway. Shapes loom in the darkness. It’s only just after four, but on an overcast day at the end of November, night pushes in early.
“Judging time,” Ollie calls out, his voice brimming with confidence.
I can see why. The front door he and Sam chose is now trimmed with an arch of lights, cycling back and forth in a mesmerising sequence of colours that transitions slowly from deep purple to vibrant red, then fades to gold before beginning again. It’s pretty, although a little gaudy. Lucky Haley isn’t the judge. She’d go for that.
“Nice work,” I say. Might as well be generous in defeat.
“Sam’s idea.” Ollie gives her a fond smile. “Wasn’t going to argue on this one.”
I bet that was a relief for the other teams based at the house. Ollie and Sam go at each other like seagulls over chips—fun to a point—but even me, who grew up in a house with three sisters always bitching, finds it tiring.
“The windows look great, too.” Rachel offers the compliment with a cheerful tone, but when she glances across at me, I read the look of worry in her eyes. The other two loved-up pairs lap up her praise, smiling indulgently into each other’s eyes.
“Who did what?” I ask, although I think the blaze of colour across the front lounge room has to be Haley and Christian’s creation. The sheer number of lights speaks to her ‘more is always better’ philosophy when it comes to Christmas. Christian rolls his eyes and points a finger that way, confirming it.
Their window is a riot of multicoloured LED strands forming an animated Santa’s sleigh that actually appears to move across the glass, complete with flashing Rudolph nose and twinkling stars that rain down like digital snow. It’s bold, but kind of tacky. I hope our judges will go for something more tasteful.
“Ours is the dining room,” Liv says, staring up at Garrett with a look of awe. “Not that I can take much credit for it. It’s all him.” Her arm tightens around his waist with a possessive pride, and he dots a kiss on her hair.
