Miracle on Regent Street (28 page)

Without thinking I envelop him in a hug. He smells musky, like cloves and spices. My head rests on his chest and I squeeze him, then release.

He looks surprised and embarrassed by my show of affection and I wonder if I’ve done the wrong thing.

‘I feel like I’m always telling you things I shouldn’t,’ he says. ‘It’s just . . . you’re such a good listener, Carly.’ He smiles at me
meaningfully, his eyes dark pools of intensity. ‘Right,’ he brightens visibly as he glances behind me and then turns me around, ‘enough of me being all sentimental. Let’s
have us a good time!’ He points at the beautiful big building we’re standing in front of and gestures with his arm. ‘Your Winter Wonderland awaits, ma’am,’ he says
with a lopsided smile as I slowly turn round.

We’re standing in front of Somerset House, a beautiful eighteenth-century neoclassical building set in a quadrangle. Inside, the sound of Christmas music and squeals of laughter rings out.
We walk through to the courtyard and I look at Joel uncertainly as he proffers his arm and points at the ice rink, which is lit up like a Tiffany’s box and full of warmly wrapped figures
whizzing joyously around the ice. It looks beautiful and festive, and is everything that I love about London at this time of year. I’d be excited, but I can’t ice-skate.

‘Can I have the first dance, m’lady?’ Joel asks in his (terrible) British accent. I really need to stop him doing that.

‘Dance? On the
ice
?’ I splutter incredulously. ‘Are you kidding? The only bolero you’ll be seeing from me is this jacket,’ and I gesture at my little cream
cropped jacket.

He throws his head back and laughs as if I’ve just made the best joke ever. I’m mentally high-fiving my inner comedy goddess again when he stops, draws his eyebrows together and
says, ‘What’s a bolero?’

Never mind, it’s just the language barrier. ‘It’s a word for a cropped jacket,’ I explain patiently, ‘but it’s also a very famous ice dance for which Torvill
and Dean won a gold medal at the 1984 Olympics.’

Joel looks blankly at me. ‘The famous British ice dancers?’ I add. He shakes his head.

‘You know,’ I persist, determined to bridge our cultural divide, ‘Da DAH, da da da DUM.’ I sing the famous ending of the tune and he raises an eyebrow at me and bursts
out laughing.

‘I get it now!’ he exclaims, nodding his head. ‘Great joke!’ He’s just being kind.

He grabs my hand. ‘Come on, I’m sure a couple of mulled wines will turn us into Torvill and, what, Dean?’ and he grins as he pulls me towards the ice rink.

‘Beautiful, isn’t it?’ Joel says wondrously as he stands on the side of the rink with his hands on his hips. He looks so comfortable there on the ice. Lots of
pretty girls who look like they’ve stepped out of a Gap advert, in short skirts, thick tights, brightly coloured knits and winter capes, are turning their heads as they pass him, losing their
balance a little as they do so.

‘It’s lovely,’ I reply, glancing up long enough from the rail I’m gripping onto for dear life to get a view of the sparkling lights, the flushed, half-happy,
half-terrified faces speeding past me, and the Christmas trees dotted around the quadrangle. I look back down as my feet involuntarily do scissor splits and Joel laughs and skates towards me as I
try to scramble back to a standing position.

‘You’re going to have to let go of the rail at some point, you know,’ he says and holds out his hands.

‘Not on your life,’ I say stubbornly. ‘I’m staying right here.’

‘Come on, Carly!’ he laughs. ‘You trust me, don’t you?’

I glance up from the handrail and look into his azure-blue eyes and shiver as I realize that, actually, I do. He nods encouragingly and I tentatively put one foot in front of the other away from
the rail until I am safely in his arms.

He holds me tightly and then he murmurs, ‘So, are you ready to be swept off your feet?’

Yes
, I think,
I really am.

An hour later, giggling with exhaustion and delight, feet throbbing from being on ice skates, we collapse onto the benches and put our shoes back on.

‘That was brilliant!’ I gasp. ‘You didn’t tell me how good you are at that!’

‘A gentleman never boasts about his talents,’ Joel laughs as he leans forward and slips his feet into his trainers, then sits back up. ‘I used to play ice hockey back in
Pennsylvania. It’s practically a national sport.’

‘Well, you’re a brilliant teacher. I never thought I’d be able to stand upright, let alone go backwards! And that bit where everyone stopped and watched us as we sped around
the ice was AMAZING! I felt like Cinderella!’

‘Not Jane Torvill?’ Joel says teasingly.

‘No, not quite . . . Hey!’ I pause from doing up the buckle on my shoes. ‘How do you know her first name?’ I prod him in the stomach. ‘You said you’d never
heard of Torvill and Dean.’

He holds his hands up. ‘Oops. Busted. Sure I know who they are. I just wanted to hear you sing the Bolero for me.’ He winks cheekily at me.

‘I can’t believe you did that!’ I gasp. ‘That was so mean!’ I pummel my hands against his chest.

He grabs my wrists with one big capable hand and pulls me towards him and we gaze at each other, our lips hovering inches apart. ‘Shall we get out of here?’ he whispers, and I nod
silently. ‘To my hotel?’ he asks, his eyebrows lifting hopefully, and I feel a shiver of longing shoot through my body. I nod, mentally making a note to ring Delilah to let her know I
won’t be home tonight. Then he takes me silently by my hand.

It is credit to his kissing skills that I barely notice Joel’s suite at Claridge’s as we tumble through the door and onto the bed, kissing each other until my lips
feel numb. His hands slide down my body, over my waist and hips, lightly squeezing my bum, his fingers brushing up my spine until they reach the zip on my dress. I am excited and terrified all at
once, but mainly I’m thanking God that I had the foresight to put on the only good underwear I own. It’s a pretty black satin all-in-one with a balconette bra that simultaneously holds
up my boobs and holds in my stomach. I bought it in Paris the weekend that Jamie dumped me. I’ve never had the opportunity to wear it and even though it’s giving me a little bit of
extra confidence I’m still petrified at the thought of unveiling my body. It has been a long, long time. Too long, I realize now as Joel’s lips brush my neck gently. I have been living
like some kind of spinster for the past two years.

Joel lifts me up so I am straddling his lap, and he kisses my neck. I hold my breath as he stands, lifting us both off the bed and pulls me up to a standing position so I’m leaning right
against his body. He moves his hands across my shoulders and cups my face as he kisses me along my jaw and round the back of my neck until he is standing behind me. I can feel the length of his
body pressed against mine and I throw my head back so it is resting on the nape of his neck. I gasp as his tongue flickers like hot, hungry flames caressing my ears and throat. He murmurs my name
as he unzips my red dress and slowly slides it down my body, kissing my skin as it is exposed, before letting the dress drop to the floor. I step out of it and close my eyes as he turns me round to
face him, trying to make myself invisible as he takes in my semi-naked body.

‘You’re delectable,’ he murmurs. ‘How on earth did I find you?’ I smile and step towards him, tugging at his jumper as he lifts up his arms and I pull it over his
body. His torso is smooth, tanned and ripped. He has pecs and a six pack. I have never seen a body like this. I actually don’t believe they make men’s bodies like this in England. At
least, none that I’ve seen. I am trying my best not to gawp like some sort of desperate virgin. Which to be honest, I almost am.

Concentrate, Evie,
I scold myself as I remember where I am and what I’m doing.
You have a semi-naked man standing in front of you. Do something sexy to him, for God’s
sake.

Joel smiles at me expectantly and I take a tentative step closer so our bodies are touching again. I slide my arms around his neck and kiss him deeply, my tongue searching for his urgently, as I
try to think about what to do next. I thread my fingers through his hair and tug it a little.
Is that sexy?
I open my eyes and try to look for clues from Joel. But his eyes are still shut. I
can feel his erection pressing against my body and figure it must be time to take his trousers off. I tug at his belt clumsily and my hand accidentally brushes against his groin, which apparently
comes across as lusty eagerness.

‘Oh, Carly, Carly,’ he groans into my ear, which sends shivers racing down my body. ‘I want you so bad.’

I don’t reply; I can’t. I’m trying to push away the unwelcome mental image of Carly and work out what the hell she would do now. She must be much more practised at all this
than I am. Would she talk dirty? I can’t do that, I just can’t. I’ll feel like an idiot. I kiss him again to buy myself more time, then in a flash of instinct I undo his belt,
pull his trousers down and drop to my knees, trying not to gasp at the sight of his muscular thighs and bulging groin clad in tight, white pants. I pull them down gently and take a deep breath.
Surely
this
is one thing a girl never forgets?

Apparently not, is the answer, as Joel groans and gasps and cries out with pleasure. Just as I think he can’t take any more, he pulls me up to me feet, lifts me clean off the floor and
lays me gently on the bed. Then he lies beside me, tilting his body so he is propped up on one arm. His bicep bulges magnificently in my peripheral vision. I can’t see his other arm –
or hand – and I gasp as I suddenly realize why. It has snaked its way between my legs. He kisses me all over as his fingers work their magic and I cry out with pleasure. He pauses, looks down
at me for a moment and smiles as he slides the straps of my underwear over my shoulders, deftly unhooks it as I arch my back, then peels the satin down my body, over my thighs, my calves, my
painted toes and throws it across the room. I stretch my arms above my head, which simultaneously lifts my breasts and holds in my stomach. Then I watch in awe as he lowers his body on to mine and
we become one.

This is it. At last.

And Oh. My. God. I’ve forgotten how good it feels.

Wednesday 7 December

18 Shopping Days Until Christmas

T
he pale peach morning sunlight streams through the windows as the blinds are slowly opened and I blink blearily, rub my eyes and stretch,
luxuriating in the feeling of the wonderfully thick, warm duvet weighing down on my body.

‘Hey there, sleepyhead,’ Joel murmurs as he walks over to the bed, casting a shadow over me and momentarily blocking the light so that he is back-lit by the morning sun, creating
what looks like a yellow aura around his entire body. He looks angelic, Godlike, even. He lowers his face and kisses me softly on my lips. He is already dressed, I notice. Then he walks to the end
of the bed where he picks up a tray that has on it a pot of coffee, fresh juice, fruit, pastries, toast and a silver platter. He lifts the platter up to reveal a delicately arranged English
breakfast.