‘Do you like Christmas?’ Adam asked, feeding a spoonful of eggs into her mouth. They were sitting by the fire, a warm woollen blanket covering their post-coital bodies. For the past few days she’d got into the habit of getting up earlier and earlier, sneaking down to the cabin when it was barely light, only to find Adam at the door waiting for her, ready to lift her up and swing her inside, where the fire was roaring in the grate.
They were precious, stolen hours. Ones that only seemed to exist for them. She wanted to protect them the way you’d protect a faltering flame, cupping her hands to block out the wind.
‘I like the idea of Christmas more than the reality,’ she mused, swallowing down the eggs. ‘This is really delicious, by the way. How did you learn to cook so well?’
‘Amazing what you have to do to get by in strange locations. Sometimes there’s nothing like the great American breakfast, even if you’re filming in the wilds of Colombia.’ He picked up a forkful of bacon. ‘What do you mean by you like the idea more than the reality?’
She bit her lip, staring out of the steamed up window to the wintry wonderland beyond. ‘It can never live up to the hype everybody creates, can it?’ She wiped a speck of egg from the corner of his lips, brushing the now-clean spot with her own lips. ‘We all grew up thinking the only proper Christmas was a white Christmas, even though statistically the chances of that are pretty much nil, unless you live somewhere like this. And we grew up thinking that we’re nothing unless we’re surrounded by family, one of us playing the piano while the rest of us stand around and sing festive songs together. Christmas has somehow been hijacked by big business and Hollywood, and there’s no way to live up to the perfection they project.’
‘You don’t believe you can have perfection?’
She smiled. ‘Not for very long. Reality always wins out, and reality is messy. You must know that.’
‘You’re very cynical for one so young,’ he told her, brushing his lips against the shell of her ear.
‘You can talk, Mr Grumpy. You’re the one who films the dregs of humanity, and brings them back for us all to see. That must have knocked any romanticism out of you pretty quickly.’
He winced for a moment. She had no idea how close to the mark her words were. But he didn’t want to think about that right now. ‘I can be romantic,’ he told her. ‘The two aren’t mutually exclusive. Just because I know how low people can go, that doesn’t mean I don’t think we can fly, too.’
She looked intrigued. ‘Is that so?’
He shrugged. ‘There’s nothing wrong with a little romance. There’s nothing wrong with hoping for the fantasy either. Just as long as you don’t let it blind you to the dark side. All the best fairy tales have bad guys, after all. Romance isn’t about pretending they don’t exist, it’s about defeating them.’
A slow smile spread across her face. ‘That
may be the most romantic thing I ever heard.’
‘I’ve got more where that came from.’ He was feeling cocky now. A combination of the way she was looking at him, and the way his body felt, having had her beneath him, followed by a satisfying breakfast. It really didn’t get much better than that.
‘I bet you have,’ she said. ‘I’m almost afraid to ask.’
He grinned. ‘Let’s try this one. It’s almost eight o’clock, so I’ve got about half an hour to fuck your brains out one more time before you need to get back to the big house.’
‘Oh, Mr Klein, you know how to woo a girl. I’m almost overcome.’ She did a mock swoon, falling onto the blanket.
‘That’s right, stay right there.’ He put the half-eaten plate of breakfast to the side.
He climbed between her legs, feeling himself harden as soon as she wrapped her thighs around his hips. Her blonde hair had fallen in her eyes so he reached out to brush it away. She licked her lips as she stared up at him, her eyes wide and warm. Was it wrong that he loved the way she stared at him? As though the world was a little brighter whenever he was around.
When he moved his lips to hers, she wrapped her hand around his neck, her fingers digging into his flesh. Their tongues were warm, soft, sliding and caressing as they kissed. She shifted beneath him, until the tip of his cock was sliding against her, slick and velvety and oh-so-inviting.
As he slowly pushed his way inside, he opened his eyes to see her staring straight at him, an expression of wonder on her face. Then she smiled, reaching out to caress his bearded cheek.
It wasn’t just about sex. It wasn’t just about the way she made him feel. It was about her, and the way she lit up his cabin just by walking inside. His own walking, talking, loving, secret-Santa gift.
He moved his hips, sliding ever deeper, until they were both breathless and panting, until she was tight and tense and ready to explode.
If this was a fairy tale, then he wanted to believe. He wanted her to believe, too. The alternative was unthinkable.
21
There was a star danced, and
under that was I born
– Much Ado About Nothing
The closer it was getting to Christmas, the harder it was getting Jonas to sleep. Even as his eyelids drooped, his body was still buzzing with excitement, as he talked about Santa and stockings, and presents and snow. Kitty, on the other hand, was exhausted. The combination of getting up at the crack of dawn, and the vigorous workout she got before the winter sun had barely settled in the sky no doubt the culprit.