Page 10 of One Last Gift

Sam cleared his throat. “I’m, err, going to have a shower.”

“Right.” Cassie nodded. “Me too.” Keep it easy, keep it casual. Even if the energy was still surging through her, even if she didn’t want to be casual about this.

She showered and changed and tried—and definitely failed—to control the nerves jumping in her stomach. He’d kissed her. He’d actually kissed her—so what now? She hadn’t heard the others come back, which meant it was still just the two of them. She gave herself a look in the mirror before going downstairs, her cheeks slightly flushed, her hair still damp. She should dry it so it didn’t look so straggly. But then, it would be obvious she’d made the effort, and what if the others got back while she was drying it and she lost the chance to…What? No expectations, Cassie. But telling herself that didn’t help, because this was Sam they were talking about.

The fire was on when she got back to the living room. Flames were licking away at the wood, hot sparks jumping and crackling. She glanced over to Sam, who was standing in the kitchen. “You got the fire started, then?” A redundant question, she supposed.

He jumped a little, and it made her lips curve, the fact that he was clearly on edge too. “Yep.”

“A man of many talents.”

He huffed out a laugh. “Clearly.” He held up two mugs as she went to stand with her back to the fire—not that she needed the extra heat, but there was something comforting and calming about it. “Another mulled wine? Don’t want it to go to waste.”

“Sure,” she said, trying to match his easy tone.

He filled the mugs then crossed to her. She was aware of his gaze on her the whole time, blue firelight dancing in his eyes. Her heart picked up speed and she felt the nerves thrumming in her fingertips. But he didn’t make a move. Actually stepped back a little, after he’d handed her the mug. But then, who said the guy had to make all the moves?

She put her mug on the fireplace mantelpiece, then reached out, took his mug from him, and set it next to hers. She smiled a little, tried to hide the way her nerves were tumbling in her stomach, and linked her fingers through his. He followed the move, staring down at their joined hands. And swallowed. “Cassie, I—”

But she shook her head, not wanting to hear words of apology or whatever he was about to spout. So she reached up and laid her lips on his. Kissed each side of his mouth softly. She felt the way he was holding himself, so stiffly, so tense. As if those impressive muscles might snap at any moment. His lips stayed still, unresponsive, and she had a moment of doubt that maybe she’d misread this somehow.

Then he swore, quietly. And crushed his mouth to hers, arms coming around her, one hand tangling in her hair, the other going to her hip, where it slid inside her top, just barely, resting on her waist, his fingers tracing circles in a way that made her gasp. She pressed herself closer to him, wanting more, and he let out a soft groan. And God, this, this was how it felt to be properly kissed, this was what it was supposed to be like, where everything felt right, and perfect, and her body felt unbelievably alive, the fire behind her nothing compared to the heat in her core. She ran her hands under his T-shirt, feeling the hard, toned muscle there, wishing she could stay here, with him, forever.

The front door opened with a bang, and Cassie felt Sam spring away from her, felt the immediate absence of his warmth. She took a slow, shuddering breath, pressed a hand to her lips automatically before dropping it when she heard Hazel.

“It is not true!” Hazel’s voice had a petulant tone to it. “And besides, you cut me off and—”

“Details, details, you’re just a sore loser, Niagara.”

Sam took another step away from Cassie, and she straightened her top, feeling like it would somehow betray what had just happened, even if it had, really, just been a kiss, even though they’d gone no further. Would they have? She tried to push aside the thought before it could take hold, and picked up her mug of mulled wine from the mantelpiece so that she had something to do with her hands.

Hazel and Tom came into the room. Cassie felt too hot. Well, yes, of course she felt hot, she was standing next to a damn fire. But she glanced at Hazel. Surely her best friend could tell, could hear her heart beating from there? But Hazel only wrinkled her nose at Tom. “OK, fine.” She sighed, looked at Cassie. “So he did win, but I’ll beat him tomorrow.” She stripped her jacket off, dumped it unceremoniously on the back of the sofa. “But, Jesus, Cassie, you should’ve seen the speed of him!”

Cassie tried to make her voice casual, even though her body was still intently aware of Sam standing a meter away from her, tactfully not looking at her. “No, thanks.” She didn’t want to be anywhere near the black slopes, didn’t even want to watch Tom do it—seeing him do things like that made her worried that something would happen to him, that he’d break a leg or something. “I, err, made mulled wine, if you fancy it.”

“Ah, my little sister, ladies and gentlemen, a hero.” Tom winked at her and she smiled, though she caught a movement from Sam out of the corner of her eye. Was that a wince?

“Great,” Hazel said, and went over to the little bookcase, the opposite side of the glass double doors. She took one of the board games off the shelf. “And we can play Articulate, boys versus girls.”

Tom shook his head in mock sadness. “You just love to lose, don’t you?”

Hazel rolled her eyes theatrically. “Does this new girl of yours like this ego, then?”

Sam looked from Tom to Hazel. “New girl?”

“You mean Amy?” Cassie piped up, feeling like she should insert herself into the conversation.

Sam frowned. “Thought you’d only been on like two dates with her.”

Tom sighed. “Yes, which is what I told these two.” He gestured at Cassie and Hazel. “It was two dates—two coffee dates, at that, we haven’t even progressed to dinner yet.” But Hazel and Cassie exchanged a look, and Cassie knew that Hazel had obviously read what she’d read—that Tom, though he was trying to hide it, had a serious thing developing for this publishing intern. “And now, if you could all stop dissecting my love life…” He helped himself to mulled wine, looked over at Cassie. “Ready for round two tomorrow?”

Cassie made a face. “I’m not sure skiing’s my thing.”

“She was not as bad as she’d have you believe,” Sam said.

Cassie crossed her arms, raised her eyebrows at him, forcing herself to pretend that what had happened had not just happened. For now, anyway. “Not that bad, hey? You certainly know how to compliment a girl.”

“Did I say not that bad? I meant brilliant. Olympic skier next year, for sure.”