Page 87 of Not Just for Christmas

‘Maybe you’re right,’ he murmured.

He reached for my hand and brought it up to his chest. I was hyperaware of the pressure of his leg against mine, the warmth of his fingers, the faint trace of his spicy aftershave, the sound of his breath as his chest rose and fell.

There was no point me denying it any longer; I was falling for him.

I tilted my face towards him and whispered his name, my eyes riveted to his lips.

‘Lucy?’ He lifted my hand to his mouth, his lips brushing my fingers. A faint crease wrinkled his brow. Are you sure about this, his look seemed to say.

And I was sure. I wanted this. I wanted him.

‘Yes.’ I felt myself melting under his gaze.

‘I meant what I said before,’ he said huskily, ‘about this being my happy place, here with you.’

‘I’m glad.’ I couldn’t wait a second longer. I leaned in closer until my lips reached his.

And then we were kissing, his mouth on mine, his hands cupping my face, my lips parting to meet his tongue, my fingers in his hair. Heat flared where his skin touched mine and I leaned closer, wanting to lose myself in him. He reached for my thigh and pulled me across his lap, pushing the piano stool backwards to create space for us. His hands were at my waist, my legs straddling his hips and when he tilted me backwards against the keys, there was a sudden scatter of notes as urgent and unexpected as if the piano itself was gasping for breath. The kiss deepened, he slipped my dressing gown down over my shoulder, his fingers trailed along my collarbone and my pulse quickened, desire flickering low in my stomach.

‘Is this OK?’ he murmured.

The sound of his voice broke the spell.

Dylan. This was Dylan.

‘Oh my God.’ I sprang from his lap, tugging the lapels of my gown to cover myself. ‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Hey,’ he reached for my hand. ‘There’s nothing to apologise for, it’s OK.’

‘No, it’s not. We can’t do this. There’s too much history between us. We’re friends, just friends.’ I was talking too fast, stumbling over my words. What was I thinking?

‘I’m sorry if I went too fast,’ he said gently, taking a step towards me. ‘I couldn’t help it, you looked so kissable and sexy.’

Heat flared in my face at his words. I shook my head. ‘This is wrong, you’re Jack’s best friend.’

‘Just take a beat,’ he said slowly. ‘I know this is a big moment for us. But think about it: we’re single, we’re attracted to each other, we have fun together. If something feels this good, it can’t be wrong. This could be our time.’

‘It feels like a betrayal,’ I argued. ‘It’s all right for you, your life hasn’t changed since Jack died. I know you miss him, but your loss is nothing like mine. He’s gone, but his presence is always here, will always be here.’

‘There isn’t a day goes by without me thinking about him, or wondering what I could do to make sure accidents like his don’t happen to anyone else.’ He looked at me with hurt in his eyes and I felt a pang of regret.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said. ‘That was unkind of me. I’m … this is all so confusing.’

Dylan held out his arms and this time I stepped forward and rested my head on his shoulder as he held me gently. ‘Jack’s gone, and it was awful. But you’re alive, Lucy, we are alive. You and me, we could be so good together.’

‘It’s impossible,’ I murmured into his shirt.

‘It’s not. We could make it work.’ His hand moved in small comforting circles on my back. ‘Jack would want you to be happy, and I want that too.’

I blinked away my tears. ‘This was why I didn’t want you to come to Merrydown for Christmas. In case something happened that shouldn’t.’

The moment the words were out of my mouth I knew I’d made a mistake. His hand stilled and he pulled away.

‘What do you mean?’ His eyes roamed my face for answers. ‘You invited me. I’m here because you invited me.’

‘I didn’t, it was Sam.’ I stared down at the floor. ‘He used my iPad to send you a message without me knowing. By the time I found out, you’d already accepted.’

‘Sam?’ Dylan took a moment to take in my confession and gave a soft laugh of disbelief, his arms falling to his sides. ‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth? I’m a big boy, I could’ve handled it.’