An Innocent, a Seduction, a Secret

‘Sebastio...?’

He slowly drew his hands away and Edie’s eyes took a second to adjust. When they did, and she took in the scene, she gasped. There was a massive Christmas tree in the corner, dressed with ornate ornaments and small candles that looked uncannily real but which she knew were ingenious LED lights.

Boxes of differing sizes were placed at the bottom of the tree, wrapped in silver and pink paper. And there were other decorations dotted around the sleek space, very tasteful and in keeping with the surroundings. There was an enticing smell of spices. Soft jazz was playing... Christmas classics.

She was stunned and not a little overwhelmed. Sebastio had done this for her? She was afraid to look at him in case he saw the emotion she was feeling.

‘Do you like it?’ He sounded uncharacterisically unsure.

She whispered, ‘I love it... But I thought this was my job.’

He came in front of her, shaking his head. ‘Your job with me is officially completed. I hired the company who worked under you at the house.’ His mouth quirked. ‘Paid them a small fortune to do this in as short a space of time as possible.’

Edie’s chest swelled. ‘You didn’t have to go to all this trouble and expense.’

‘I’ve asked you to be my guest for Christmas and I know you love it...’

Edie blinked rapidly and felt panicked, because tears were forming. She muttered something about needing the bathroom and escaped for a moment, locking the door behind her. She let the tears well and fall, pressing a hand to her mouth to stem any sound. Ridiculous to be so moved, but it was such a thoughtful gesture—and not the kind of thing she would have expected of a man like Sebastio at all. Especially when he hated Christmas so much.

When she felt composed again, and had splashed cold water on her face, she went back out and Sebastio was standing at the window.

He offered her a crystal glass when she came alongside him. ‘Whisky?’

Edie nodded and hoped he wasn’t suggesting she have some because he could see she’d been crying. She accepted the glass, taking a swift restorative sip before handing it back to him. It felt ridiculously intimate to share his whisky.

She kicked off her shoes, lowering her height a few precious inches. She said, ‘For a man who doesn’t like Christmas you fake it very well.’

He took a sip of the drink and looked at her. It was only now that she realised he’d taken off his jacket and undone his bow-tie and top button.

‘I didn’t always hate Christmas.’

She turned to face him. Intrigued. ‘Really?’

He nodded, handing her the glass again. She held it.

‘I used to spend Christmas with my maternal grandmother—here in London, actually. My mother is half-English. My parents would leave me with her while they went on their annual Caribbean break.’

Edie listened as he told her about those few years wh

en he’d experienced relative normality. He mentioned his grandmother’s dog, a one-eyed rescue spaniel called Charlie.

He grimaced. ‘When my grandmother died my parents refused to let me bring Charlie to Argentina. They had him put down.’

The thought of a young, un-cynical Sebastio, loving Christmas and his grandmother and a one-eyed dog, was too much for Edie to contain.

Her voice was husky. ‘Your grandmother sounds like a lovely woman...and your parents were horrid to do that to her dog.’

‘Believe me,’ he said bitterly, ‘that was the least of their sins.’

She had a very stark realisation then of how isolated he must have been. And how lucky she’d been to have had her modest but loving upbringing.

She handed him back the glass and he downed the drink. He put the glass down and faced Edie, an intent gleam in his eyes, turning them molten silver.

‘I’m not really interested in talking right now.’

Feeling a sense of boldness creep over her under his explicit gaze, she said, ‘What are you interested in?’

He tugged her towards him and turned her around, placing his big hands on her waist. She felt his breath and then his mouth on the bare skin at the back of her neck and then her shoulders as he drifted a trail of incendiary kisses along her skin.