Page 85 of Not My Little Drummer Boy
“Yesss.Home Alone.My favourite,” he says.
“Thank god. I thought you were going to try and convince meDie Hardis a Christmas movie.”
I tuck the blanket around us both as the opening credits roll.
By the time the movie finishes, my hand has snaked its way underneath Teddy’s T-shirt. It lies across his stomach, and I absentmindedly trace the warm skin and the fuzz of hair that disappears below his waistband. He groans, gently removing my hand. My fingers tingle where his skin should be.
He leans forward, pops the last sweet in his mouth and starts to tidy the glasses.
“Teddy, that can wait.” I tug him back down to me. “I’ve been wanting to do this for the past hour.” My lips seek his, the taste of Teddy and sugar.
“Christ, so have I.” His hands fall to the hem of my jumper. My body is wired, totally on edge, anticipating his touch.
He slips one hand underneath. I shiver, but it’s not from the cold.
“We shouldn’t really,” I murmur against the curve of his neck. “Should we?”
“No,” he says with a frustrated sigh. “Ask me again when I’ve finished the list.”
“About this list.” I lay my palm over his bulging jeans. “It seems to me that finishing it is becoming rather urgent.” I smirk up at him, squeezing gently. He hardens further beneath my touch.
“If you keep that up, I’m going to come in my pants like a teenager.”
“Can’t have that then, can we? So what do you suggest to expedite the list?” I joke, but the truth is I’m terrified the list will end and real life will cut us dead.
“Wednesday night. It’s the launch of ‘December Promise’. At the Portobello. You wanted me to take you to an industry event. This is perfect. Not quite red carpet, but there’ll be lots of press there. You think you can handle that?”
“Let them take all the pictures they want. As long as I’m with you, I don’t give a shit.” I lift my chin, pretending I mean it, because tonight I don’t want to hand him any of my worries. The warning from Dad flickers across my mind—his phone call this morning about career suicide—but I shove it back where it belongs. Not tonight.
“Can I see you again before then?” he asks, hope flickering in his eyes.
“Work is hell.” My voice goes softer. “I’ve left the inbox to stew all weekend—hardly partner behaviour. No regrets, though; this weekend was worth it. But Monday will be brutal. And I promised Sam girl-time on Tuesday.”
He nods, not sulking, just steady. “I know how much that partnership means. I’d never ask you to put me ahead of it.”
“Thank you.” I squeeze his hand, forcing a smile. If only it stays that simple.
“Wednesday it is,” he replies, that easy full-beam grin back in place. “All the sweeter for the wait.”
He brushes a kiss across my knuckles, and the moment he lets go, a knot tightens in my stomach. Wednesday suddenly feels impossibly far away.
Chapter 30
Whentheliftdoorspart on Monday morning at 8.31am, Esther is waiting, smile as smug as a cat that’s tipped over the cream jug.
“Morning, Rachel. Big weekend?” One brow arches, shorthand forsaw you snogging the drummer.
“The best, Esther. And you?”
“Nothing special. Danny and I thought we might go skating, but we couldn’t get tickets.”
Yep, she saw the pictures. I ignore the little envious dig, hold my head high and stroll through reception like my name’s already in gold letters on the wall.
Henry, naturally, is at his desk. I picture him curling up on Miranda’s leather sofa overnight, like some friendly tabby cat, just to beat me in by a whisker.
“Morning, Henry.” He startles, closes a browser window in a panic; too late—I’ve already clocked theSunlogo and our kiss frozen mid-scroll.
“Someone’s chipper,” his voice notching up an octave as my Louboutins tap past. “Fun weekend?”
