The Little Village Christmas: The #1 Christmas bestseller returns with the most heartwarming romance of 2018. Sue Moorcroft

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СКАЧАТЬ Then he turned his attention to her body and soaped her from top to toe, stoking her desires until it was all she could do to concentrate on soaping him in return, learning the shape of him and what made him close his eyes and groan.

      Finally, she straddled his body.

      His eyes flipped open as if in sudden pain. ‘I have no condoms.’

      She halted with a groan. ‘Neither do I.’

      Then he surged to his feet, taking her with him, reaching for the towels. ‘Let’s take this into the bedroom. A little imagination … a lot of possibilities.’

      Wrapped in towels and sketchily dried, they padded into the bedroom and he paused to put a match to the fire, crouching on the dusky red rug to feed the flames until they danced high, bathing him in flickering golden light. Alexia sank down beside him. ‘I’ve never seen an open fire in a bedroom. Are you a caveman?’

      He turned his head, reaching out to flick her towel open. ‘Sounds impressive but actually I get free firewood.’

      Then he secured the guard around the fire and reached for her again.

      Alexia didn’t know whether it was the heat from the flames or his hands and tongue that scorched her skin. Every touch just made her hotter, want harder, a wanting he took as his mission to fulfil until, finally, they made it onto his bed to sleep.

      In the darkness, Ben ricocheted out of his dreams, heart bouncing against the walls of his chest.

      He blinked, trying to force open his burning eyes. Nightmares. Again. Sucking in a breath he tried to remember what he’d been dreaming about. It had involved fear and pain. Imogen. Again. Panic. Again.

      His clock’s illuminated figures told him it was 04.13. Night after night it was as if his body awarded him a single cycle of sleep and then slapped him mercilessly awake.

      With a shock of desire, he became conscious of the naked woman curled up against him. Still half-trapped in the web of sleep, he traced the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist until his hand found her arms nestled between their bodies. He snatched his hand away.

      Not Imogen.

      Reality crashed back.

      Alexia. Bright, vivacious Alexia with her rounded body and naughty smile.

      Right on cue, the insidious voice of negativity slunk into his mind. So your head was turned by a mischievous smile. You think this is OK?

      Sweat broke like a stripe of shame down his back and he eased his flesh from hers, heart still thumping. He tried to remind himself that it was just another middle-of-the-night anxiety attack; the bombardment of worry, guilt, regret and pain would ease.

      But the voice wouldn’t leave him alone.

       You’ve got it easy compared to Imogen and Lloyd. And now you’re in bed with a naked stranger. Can you imagine Imogen’s pain if she saw you now?

      We’re getting a divorce.

       So you pick up a local girl for a one-night stand?

      Alexia’s leaving the village soon—

       But not right away. She’s going to expect things from you. Calls, texts, dates. You seriously think you can do that? YOU? The fuck-up who lives like a hermit?

      The choking fingers of panic closed around his throat. The slaking of his desire had transported him briefly out of the bleak place he’d inhabited. Maybe he wouldn’t feel so bad if he hadn’t enjoyed it so much, but her smile had made him feel better, more worthwhile, and her enthusiasm had poured into the air like a rainbow on a grey day.

      Desperate not to wake her and have to rationalise these warring emotions, he eased backwards until he could scoot out from under the covers.

       Yes, go. That’s how you cope, isn’t it? By being alone.

      Alexia stirred, muttering in her sleep. He groped his escape across the little landing and down the stairs.

      In the kitchen, breathing came easier. He pulled clean clothes from the tumble dryer and fumbled into them, heart beating too loudly for him to hear whether Barney rustled in his tub. Grabbing the rechargeable torch from its holster on the kitchen wall he cast around for his boots.

      Then he crept out of the front door, refusing to look at that sheet of paper headed decree nisi on the table by the door, lying as it had landed when he’d flung it from him this morning.

       The period between nisi and absolute exists for a reason. It’s for last efforts, second thoughts. For now, Imogen’s still your wife.

      He stumbled through the door and out of the clearing, the torchlight lighting the path unevenly, the same path he’d trodden along with Alexia a few hours ago; a woman he’d wanted. A woman who’d excited him.

      For two years his libido had been sulking, but last night Alexia had unleashed it and it had flown out, fizzing and spinning.

      Now, the memories of all the mornings he’d woken wrapped around Imogen’s body swept in.

       You’ve been unfaithful.

      It can’t count. We’re nearly divorced and—

       And your heart and your guts are telling you that you’ve been unfaithful.

      Like one of the animals that wandered the night Ben trudged around the path edging the lake, where the water lapped and the breeze stirred the leaves.

      The negativity always won in the dark hours.

      He should have remembered that before he invited Alexia to share his night.

       Chapter Three

      Alexia woke slowly, languorously stretching sleep-heavy limbs. Through the windows she could see patches of blue sky hung with hurrying clouds. But it wasn’t her window.

      The events of last night rushed back at her.

      The Angel. Ben. Coming back to his enchanting little house in the woods.

      The ashes in the grate were grey and cold now but last night the fire had roared up the chimney as she and Ben enjoyed each other’s bodies, the shadows dancing across his skin as he rose above her.

      It had been a damned shame that neither of them had had a condom to allow them the satisfaction of the final act. Still. Hands and mouth had provided a fine substitute.

      She glanced at the other side of the bed, but already she knew it would be empty from the absence of warmth stealing towards her along the sheets. She yawned, then stopped and listened. The house was quiet.

      ‘Ben?’

      No answer. She felt a little as Goldilocks might have done if there had been no bears, waking alone in a strange bed in a cottage in СКАЧАТЬ