A New Year Bride

He didn’t think. He didn’t hesitate. He held his hand straight out to hers as Wham’s Last Christmas filled the room. ‘Then let’s dance.’

She slid her hand into his. Her fingers starting at the tips of his, running along the palm of his hand and finishing as her fingers fastened around his wrist. His hand slid around her waist, skimming the material of the dress as they walked across the dance floor. He gave a nod to a few members of staff who nodded in their direction.

They were attracting more than their fair share of attention. He should have known this would happen. But the truth was, he didn’t really care. This wasn’t about anyone other than them.

Grace spun around as she reached the middle of the dance floor. Her hesitation only showed for a second before she slid her hands up around his neck.

It wasn’t exactly an unusual position. This was a Christmas slow dance. All around them people were in a similar stance. If they’d stayed apart it would have looked more noticeable.

He kept his hands at her waist as they moved slowly in time with the music. Grace was already singing along with her eyes half closed. ‘Hey, isn’t this a little before your time?’

Her eyes opened wider. ‘Of course. But I don’t care. I just love it. I loved the video even more. I watched it a hundred times as a teenager.’

Finlay wracked his brains trying to remember the video. For the first time he actually heard the words to the familiar tune. ‘You like this? Isn’t this the video where the girl dumped him and came back the next year with someone else?’

She threw back her head and laughed, giving him a delightful view of the pale skin at the bottom of her throat. His teeth automatically ground into his bottom lip. He knew exactly where he wanted his lips to be right now.

‘Yes, that’s the story. But I liked the snow in the video. It looked romantic. And I like the tune.’

Her body was brushing against his as she moved in time to the music. He pulled her a little closer as he bent to whisper in her ear. ‘I can’t believe this is your favourite Christmas song.’

She stepped back a little, grabbing his hand and twirling underneath it, sending the bottom of her silver dress spinning out around her, with the coloured lights from the disco catching the silver sequins on her bodice and sending sparkles around the room.

Her eyes were sparkling too, her curls bouncing around her shoulders. Grace was like her own Christmas decoration. When she finished spinning her hands rested on his chest.

He almost held his breath. Would she feel the beat of his heart under her fingertips? What would she make of the irregular pattern that was currently playing havoc with any of his brain processes—that must be the reason he couldn’t think a single sane thought right now?

She finished swaying as his hands went naturally back to her hips. He could see a few staff members in the corner of the room looking at them and whispering. He might be the boss, but Grace worked with these people. She did a good job. She brought a little life into the hotel. She deserved their respect. He didn’t want to do anything to ruin that.

As the music came to an end he grabbed hold of her hand and pulled her towards the exit. All of a sudden the room felt claustrophobic. There were too many eyes. Too many whispers. He didn’t want to share Grace with all these people.

He wanted her to himself.

‘Hey, Finlay—what’s wrong?’

He leaned into the coat check and grabbed her stole, leaving some cash as a tip. He could hear Grace’s feet scurrying behind him as he lengthened his stride to reach the exit as quickly as possible.

They burst outside into the cold night air. He spun around and put the stole around her shoulders. She was breathing heavily; he could see the rise and fall of her chest in the pale yellow light of the lamp post above them. ‘What are you doing?’ Her voice was high. She sounded stressed.

He took a deep breath. He had no idea what he was doing. But could he really admit that?

He reached out and touched her cheek—just as he had on the roof that night.

‘I needed to get out of there.’

He kept his finger against her cheek. It was the slightest touch of her skin. The tiniest piece beneath his fingertip. But it was enough. Enough to set every alarm bell screaming in his brain. Enough to let his senses just explode with overload.

He was past the point of no return.

Grace reached up and captured her hand around his finger, leaving it touching her cheek. ‘Why, Finlay? Why did you need to get out of there?’

He could hear the concern in her voice. She didn’t have a clue. She thought this might be about something else. She didn’t realise that every tiny part of this was about her.

Guilt was racing through his veins in parallel to the adrenaline. Feeling. He was feeling again. And the truth was that scared him.

Guys would never admit that. Not to their friends. Not even to themselves. But most guys hadn’t loved someone with every part of their heart, soul and being and had it ripped out of them and every feeling and emotion buried in a brittle, cold grave.

Most guys wouldn’t know that they didn’t think it could be possible to ever get through that once. Why would they even contemplate making any kind of connection with another person when there was even the smallest possibility they could end up going down the same path?

Once had felt barely survivable. He couldn’t connect with someone like that again. How could he risk himself like that again?

Where was his self-preservation? The barriers that he’d built so tightly around himself to seal his soul off from that kind of hurt again.

Somehow being around Grace had thrown his sense of self-preservation out of the window. All he could think about right now was how much he wanted to touch and taste the beautiful woman in front of him.

She was still watching him with those questioning brown eyes. She was bathed in the muted lamplight—her silver dress sparkling—like an old-fashioned film star caught in the spotlight.

He stopped thinking. ‘Because I couldn’t wait to do this.’

He pulled her sharply towards him, folding his arm around her waist and pulling her tightly against the length of his body. He stopped for a second, watching her wide eyes, giving her the briefest of pauses to voice any objections. But there were none.

He captured her mouth in his. She tasted of cocktails and chocolate. Sweet. Just the way he’d imagined she would. One hand threaded through her tumbling curls and the other rested on the satin-covered curve of her backside. He’d captured his prize. He wasn’t about to let her go.

After two seconds the tension left her body, melding it against his. Her hands wound their way around his neck again, her lips responding to every part of the kiss, matching him in every way.

This was what a connection felt like. He hadn’t kissed a woman like this since Anna died. This was what it felt like to kiss a woman you liked and respected. It had been so long he hadn’t even contemplated how many emotions that might toss into the cold night air.

Her hand brushed the side of his cheek, running along his jaw line. He could hear the tiny scrape of his emerging stubble against her fingernails. The other hand ran through his hair and then down to his chest again. He liked the feel of her palm there. If only it weren’t thwarted by the suit jacket and shirt.

Their kiss deepened. His body responded. He knew. He knew where this could potentially go.

Grace pulled her lips from his. It was a reluctant move, followed by a long sigh. Her forehead rested against his as if she were trying to catch her breath. He could feel her breasts pressed against his chest.

His hand remained tangled in her soft hair and for a few moments they just stood like that, heads pressed together under the street light.

He eventually straightened up. Should he apologise? It didn’t feel as if the kiss was unwanted. But they were right in the middle of the street—hardly the most discreet place in the world for a first kiss. He could ask her up to the penthouse but somehow that didn’t feel right either—and he was quite sure Grace wouldn’t agree to come anyway.

‘Thank you for coming tonight,’ he said quietly.

Her voice was a little shaky. ‘You’re welcome.’

He took a step back. ‘How about I get one of the chauffeurs to drop you home?’

He had no idea what time it was—but whatever time it was, he didn’t want her travelling home alone. He trusted all the chauffeurs from The Armstrong. Grace would be in safe hands.

She gave a little nod. ‘That would be nice, thank you.’ This time her voice sounded a little odd. A little detached. Had she rethought their kiss and changed her mind?

He put his arm behind her and led her back to the main entrance of the hotel, nodding to one of the doormen. ‘Callum, can you get one of the chauffeurs to take Grace home?’

She shivered and pulled the stole a little closer around her shoulders. ‘Do you want me to get you another coat?’

She shook her head, not quite meeting his gaze. ‘I’ll be fine when I get in the car. That’ll be warm enough.’

For a couple of minutes they stood in awkward silence. Finlay wasn’t quite sure what to do next. He wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do next. And he couldn’t read Grace at all.

The sleek black car pulled up in front of them and the driver jumped out to open the door. Grace turned to face him with her head held high. ‘Thank you for a lovely evening, Finlay,’ she said as she climbed into the car.

‘You too,’ he replied automatically as he closed the door, and watched the car speed off into the distance.

One thing was for sure. Finlay Armstrong wouldn’t sleep a wink tonight.

CHAPTER SIX

SHE COULDN’T DESCRIBE the emptiness inside her. It was impossible to put into words.

She stared at the texts on the phone from her friends, teasing her about the party and assuming she’d had the time of her life.

She had—almost.

But last night when she’d opened the door to the cold and empty flat, everything had just overwhelmed her.

Silence echoed around her.

Unbearable silence.

The home that had once been filled with love and happiness shivered around her.

She actually felt it happen.

Even when she flicked the light switch, the house was dark. Emptiness swamped every room. She’d started to cry even before she’d made it to bed, wrapping herself in her gran’s shawl, her own duvet and wearing the thickest pair of flannel pyjamas imaginable—but nothing could keep out the cold. Nothing at all.

That feeling of loneliness was enormous. Somewhere, on the other side of the planet, her mother was probably cuddled up to her husband or sitting around a table with her two children. Children she actually spent time with.

It wasn’t that she didn’t understand. Getting pregnant at sixteen would be difficult for any teenager. But to move away completely and form a new life—without any thought to the old—was hard to take.

It made her more determined. More determined to never feel second best with any man. She’d spent her whole life feeling second best and a cast-off. Although her relationship with her gran had been strong and wonderful, there had still been that underlying feeling of…just not being enough.

For the briefest spell tonight, under that lamp post, she’d felt a tiny bit like that again. All because of that kiss. Oh, the kiss had been wonderful—mesmerising. The attraction was definitely there. But the connection, or the sincerity of the connection? She just couldn’t be sure if when Finlay kissed her he was thinking only of her.

She shivered all night. The heating was on in the flat and it didn’t matter how high the temperature was—it just couldn’t permeate her soul.

The night with Finlay had brought things to a precipice in her head.

Alone. That was how she felt right now.

Completely and utterly alone.

She’d thought being busy at Christmas would help. She’d thought decorating the flat the way it always used to be would help.

But the truth was nothing helped. Nothing filled the aching hole that her grandmother’s death had left.

A card had arrived from her mother. The irony killed her. It was a personalised card with a photo of her mum with her new husband, Ken, and their two sons on the front. They were suitably dressed for a Christmas in Florida. It wasn’t meant to be a message. But it felt like it.

Her mother had moved on—playing happy families on another continent. She’d found her happy ever after. And it didn’t include Grace. It never had.

She received the same store gift card each year. Impersonal. Polite. The sort of gift you sent a colleague you didn’t know that well—not the sort of gift you sent your daughter.

As she rode the Tube this morning people seemed to be full of Christmas spirit. It was Christmas Eve. Normally she would be full of Christmas spirit too.

But the sight of happy children bouncing on their parents’ knees, couples with arms snaked around each other and stealing kisses, only seemed to magnify the effect of being alone.

Tonight, she’d go home to that dark flat.

Tonight, she’d spend Christmas Eve on her own. There was no way she could speak to any of the girls. They were all too busy wrapped up in their own lives, finding their own dreams, for Grace to bring them down with her depressed state.

The train pulled into the station and she trudged up the stairs to work.

This time last year her stomach had been fluttering with the excitement she normally felt at Christmas. Christmas Eve was such a special day.

It was for love, for families, for sharing, for fun and for laughter. Tomorrow, she would probably spend the whole day without speaking to a single person. Tomorrow, she would cook a dinner for one.

She’d pushed away every single thought about how she might spend Christmas Day. It had been easier not to think about it at all. That way she could try and let herself be swept along with the spirit of Christmas without allowing the dark cloud hanging above her head to press down on her.

But now, it seemed to have rushed up out of nowhere. It was here and the thought of being alone was just too much.

She pulled her phone out of her pocket and dialled. ‘Clio? Are there any shifts tomorrow?’

She could almost hear the cogs whirring in Clio’s brain at the end of the phone. ‘Grace? What’s wrong?’

Grace sucked in a deep breath to try and stop her voice from wobbling. She couldn’t stop the tears that automatically pooled in her eyes. ‘It’s just the time of year…it’s hard,’ she managed.

‘Your gran. You’re missing her. I get it. But do you really want to spend Christmas Day working?’ The compassion in Clio’s voice made her feel one hundred times worse.

‘Yes.’

There was a shuffle of papers. ‘You can work at The Armstrong as normal. There are always lots of shifts at Christmas. I can put you on for that one.’

‘Great, thanks.’ The words came out easier this time; it was almost as if a security blanket had been flung over her shoulders. ‘And, Clio? Congratulations on your engagement. Enjoy your time with Enrique.’

She hung up the phone and sighed. She meant it. She really did. Clio was over the moon with her new relationship and she deserved to be happy.

She changed quickly and started work. The Christmas themed music that she’d chosen was playing quietly in the background everywhere.

Other members of staff were smiling and whistling. No one was rushing today. The whole work tempo seemed to have slowed down for the festive season. And Grace noticed a few sideways glances from people who’d attended the staff party.

Her list was long. Lots of people had the day off. But Grace didn’t care; it would keep her busy and give her less time to think.

It was surprising the amount of guests who checked in and out around Christmas. Something panged inside her again. People coming to visit families and friends.

Eight hours later her hair was back to its semi-normal dishevelled state and she really wanted to get changed. One of the staff called her over. ‘Can you do one more before you knock off tonight? I’m in a bit of a rush.’

Grace pressed her lips together. She knew Sally had four kids and would want to get home to them early. She held out her hand. ‘Of course I will. No problem.’

Sally gave her a hug. ‘Thanks, Grace. Have a great Christmas.’

Grace glanced at the list and her stomach did a little flip-flop. She had The Nottingdale Suite to clean—Finlay’s place. She glanced towards the office. He’d be in there right now. If she was quick—she could get things done and get back out before he knew she was working.

It was a weird feeling. When he’d held her in his arms last night she’d felt…she’d felt…special. A tiny little fire that had been burning inside her for the last few days had just ignited like a firework—only to sputter out again.

The Nottingdale Suite didn’t feel quite so empty as before. One of her Christmas snow globes was sitting on the main table, with a wrapped parcel on the slate kitchen worktop.

Grace couldn’t help but pick it up. It was intricately wrapped in silver paper with curled red ribbon and a tag. The writing was copperplate. Grace smiled. She recognised it immediately and set it down with a smile. Mrs Archer had left a present for Finlay. How nice.

She made short work of cleaning the penthouse. The bathroom, kitchen area, bedroom and lounge were spotless in under an hour.

She stared out for a second over the dark London sky. In a few hours Christmas Eve would be over. By the time she got home, she could go straight to bed then get up early for her next shift. She squeezed her eyes closed for a second.

Please just let this Christmas be over.

‘Grace?’ She was the last person he expected to see at this time of night. ‘What are you doing?’

The words were out before he even noticed the cart next to the doorway.

She jumped and turned around. ‘Finlay.’ The words just seemed to stop there.

She was wearing her uniform again. But in his head she still had on the silver dress from the last night. That picture seemed to be imprinted on his brain. Seared on it, in fact.

She still hadn’t spoken. The atmosphere was awkward.

He wasn’t quite sure how to act around Grace.

That kiss last night had killed any ounce of sleep he might have hoped to get.

His brain couldn’t process it at all. There was no box to put it in.

It wasn’t a fleeting moment with someone unimportant. It hadn’t been a mistake. It wasn’t a wild fling. It hadn’t felt casual. So, what did that leave?

Grace’s eyes left his and glanced at the outside view again—exactly where she’d been staring when he came in. He heard a stilted kind of sigh. She moved over towards the cart.

This wasn’t going to get any easier. Neither of them seemed able to do the casual and friendly hello.

He had a freak brainwave. This was Christmas Eve. Grace was the woman that loved Christmas. No—she lived and breathed Christmas. What on earth was she doing still working?

Grace picked up some of the cleaning materials and shoved them back in her cart. ‘Merry Christmas, Finlay.’ The words were stilted. Was this how things would be now?

‘Merry Christmas, Grace.’ His response was automatic. But something else wasn’t.

The feelings that normally washed around a response like that. Normally they were cold. Harsh. Unfeeling and unmeant.

This was the first time in five years he’d actually meant those words as he said them.

He wanted Grace to have a merry Christmas. He wanted her to enjoy herself.

What if…?

The idea came out of nowhere. At least, that was how it seemed. He was flying back to Scotland on Boxing Day to see his family. Chances were, this would be the last time he would see Grace between now and then.

There were a dozen little flashes in his brain. Grace on the roof. Touching the tear that had rolled down her cheek. Drinking hot chocolate with her. The gleam in her eyes when she was cheeky to him. The expression on her face when she’d tried on the pink coat. The wash of emotions when he’d spotted the little girl and bought the rocking horse for her Christmas. Grace’s ruffled hair and pushed-up shirt as she’d wound in hundreds of purple bulbs. The way she’d clapped her hands together when he’d first seen the tree.

And the feel of her lips on his. Her warm curves against his. The soft satin of her dress under the palm of his hand.

He’d felt more alive in the last week than he had in the last five years.

And that was all because of Grace.

He reached out to touch her arm. ‘It’s been nice to meet you. Enjoy Christmas Day.’

The words were nowhere near adequate. They didn’t even begin to cover what he wanted to say or what was circulating in his brain.

Grace’s dark brown eyes met his. For a second he thought she was going to say the same thing. Then, her bottom lip started to tremble and tears welled in her eyes. ‘I’ll be working as normal.’

He blinked. What?

Why would the girl who loved Christmas not be spending it with her family and friends?

‘What do you mean—you’re working? Don’t you have plans with those you love?’

As soon as the words were out he realised he’d said exactly the wrong thing. The tears that had pooled in her eyes flooded over and rolled down her cheeks.

He reached out his arms to her. ‘What on earth’s wrong? Grace? Tell me?’

She was shaking and when the words came out it was the last thing he expected.

‘There’s no family. My gran…she died…she died a few months ago. And now, there’s just no one. I can’t face anything.’ She looked at him, her gaze almost pleading. ‘I thought I could do this. I thought I could. I thought if I kept busy and kept working everything would just fall into place. I wouldn’t have time to miss her so much.’ She kept shaking her head. ‘But it’s harder than I could ever imagine. Everywhere I go, everywhere I look, I see people—families together, celebrating Christmas the way I used to. Even Mrs Archer—I love her—but I’m finding it so hard to be around her. She reminds me so much of my gran. The way she speaks, her mannerisms, her expressions.’ She looked down as she kept shaking her head. ‘I just want this to be over.’ Now, she looked outside again into the dark night. In the distance they could see the Christmas red and white lights outlining Battersea Power Station. ‘I just want Christmas to be over,’ she breathed.

Every hair on his arms stood on end. He got it. He got all of it.

The loneliness. The happy people around about, reminding you of what you’d lost. The overwhelming emotions that took your breath away when you least expected it.

He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘Grace, you don’t need to be here. You don’t need to work at Christmas. It’s fine. We can cover your shifts. Take some time off. Get away from this. The last thing you want to do is watch other families eating Christmas dinner together. Stay home. Curl up in bed. Eat chocolate.’

It seemed like the right thing to say. Comfort. Away from people under her nose.

But Grace’s eyes widened and she pulled back. ‘What? No. You think I want to be alone? You think I want to spend the whole of Christmas without talking to anyone, without seeing another living soul? Do you think anything looks worse on a plate than Christmas dinner for one?’

As she spoke he cringed. What he’d thought might take her away from one type of agony would only lead her to another. He hated this. He hated seeing the pain in her eyes. The hurt. The loneliness. He recognised them all too well. He’d worn the T-shirt himself for five years.