Katie flushed to the roots of her hair and snuck a quick peek at Sam, who, despite still being firmly in Olwen’s grip, was watching Katie closely; his blank expression was back in full force. Why had she decided to hook up her phone to the sound system last week and attempt to liven things up with a bit of Beyonce’s ‘Put A Ring On It’? She’d made the mistake of dragging Russell along that evening and they had both got the ladies (and even some of the men) up and dancing the dance. But she’d certainly not envisaged having to perform it in front of Sam. After plugging in her phone, a huge crowd formed on the dance floor in preparation.
Right, fine, whatever, Katie thought,you’ve been more embarrassed than this in your life, suck it up. And anyway once the music was going and everyone was doing the routine, with hilariously mixed results, she didn’t really care any more. That was until Bill’s unstable angina interrupted the proceedings and Katie had to lead him off and sort him out with his GTN spray.
*****
Sam clenched his jaw and tried to concentrate on the road ahead so that he could drown out the relentless chatter from the back seat, most of which was thankfully directed Bryn’s way. The change in the old man from the beginning of the evening, when he had looked every one of his eighty-seven years, to now, with his face alight with humour and his chest puffed up with pride, was startling. Katie’s ability to affect those around her with the sheer force of her personality was astounding. She had literally transformed that entire dingy hall the minute she’d walked in, infusing energy and hilarity into the previously staid atmosphere. They all treated her as a combination of friend, confidante, doctor, and partner-in-crime rolled into one. Sam did not think this was common practice for GPs or indeed any young woman in her twenties, but Katie seemed to take it all in her stride.
She flipped from Welsh to English frequently, depending on who she was talking to, almost as if she didn’t notice she was doing it; another trait that Sam tried and failed not to think of as goddamn adorable. Why couldn’t he just have arrived at her house, measured up for the alarm system, and been on his way? Well, he reasoned, she wouldn’t have got very far in those heels without his help and would probably have put her back out trying to get Bryn up off the floor. But why was that Sam’s problem? She was like some sort of drug or maybe a kind of infection, working its way under your skin and festering, chipping away at the walls he had up to guard against any real emotion.
Christ, he’d actually laughed tonight. Him, laughing in a sodding church hall surrounded by a bunch of old people – somewhere that should by rights have been pretty depressing, but with Katie there he had been in the lightest mood he’d experienced in over six years.
His hands clenched around the steering wheel as he swung into Bryn’s drive. There was a reason he normally tried to avoid this woman. He should have thought of that before he agreed to any of this.
‘I’ll help you inside, Bryn,’ he said abruptly once he’d parked the car, cutting off some bollocks Katie had been banging on about: something to do with ‘new feminism’ and how Bryn was actually a secret feminist. Bryn was nodding along, smiling benignly – Sam found out why when he helped him into the house and Bryn shared that he had ‘turned off the old hearing aids a while back, son. Trick I learnt with my wife, bless her.’
Unfortunately Sam had no such defence to fall back on when she began to convincehimthathewas a latent feminist. For some reason she had dragged Emma Watson into her argument. What possible bearing that bird from Harry Potter could have on her chosen subject he had yet to determine. He drew up as close as possible to her doorstep and jumped out of the car whilst she was mid sentence. When he opened her door she looked vaguely surprised that they had arrived outside her house, then looked down uncertainly at the snow-covered drive.
Sam rolled his eyes, reached into the truck and plucked her out. Instead of planting her in the snow he lifted her up by her hips and walked her over to her front door, depositing her unceremoniously on the porch. She blinked in shock and looked up at him. Her ridiculous woolly bobble hat was pulled down over her forehead and ears, her curls tumbling out from beneath it. Her wide blue eyes looked up at him and for some reason she shivered.
‘Um … ’ she murmured awkwardly, shoving her hands into the pockets of the bright purple fluffy coat she always wore, ‘… so I guess, thanks?’ It seemed like she was asking if she should thank him or not, which almost – almost – made him smile for what felt like the hundredth time that night, a far cry from the sour expressions he was normally so scrupulous at maintaining.
He lifted his chin and was about to turn and leave when it happened. She did that thing with her face again. Her small, turned-up nose, complete with five (yes he had counted) freckles,scrunchedas she frowned. Something snapped in him, and the control he exercised in all things eluded him for a moment; a moment that was long enough for his body to move into hers and his large hands to cup either side of her face. He hesitated for a beat, but when he was sure her face was awash with just confusion and no trace of fear, he moved his mouth to hers.
Then he was kissing her. He was finally, finally kissing her.
She stiffened for a moment in shock, but after a few seconds she relaxed against him. Her hands wriggling out of the pockets of her coat and reaching up into his hair cut through his stupor, bringing him back to reality. He tore his lips from hers and his hands fell away from her face to the wood of the door, which he used to push himself away from her almost violently. He watched as her thick dark lashes blinked open. She had a faraway look in her face for a moment, but once she’d registered the distance he had put between them and the look of horror inhisface, she frowned.
‘Shit,’ Sam muttered, closing his eyes as he dragged his hands through his hair. Six years of control shot to hell with one scrunch of her nose. He opened them when he heard her key turning in her front door. Her back was to him and her shoulders were practically in her hairline with how rigid she was holding her body. He sighed at the first evidence of his not being good enough for someone like her. Katie was open, warm, friendly; he’d never seen her body language so closed and defensive.
‘Look,’ he said, laying a hand on the arm that was now pushing the door open, and then gritting his teeth as she flinched away from him. For some reason Katie shying away from him in any way felt wrong, almost painful. Something in his chest was clawing for him to stay with her, but he fought it down. He had been building a wall against experiencing any real emotions for so long that it was second nature. She threatened the blanket of numbness he kept over his mind, the one that helped him forget. He knew that given the chance she could work her way underneath. She could make him feel again, and he wasnotgoing back there.
Not even for her.
He had to make sure that she wouldn’t want that chance. He had to make himself safe from her. Ironic really, a well over six foot ex-SAS-turned-mercenary, terrified of a five-foot nothing little scrap like her, but he knew it was fear that drove him to say his next words. Before she could escape into her cottage, he turned her to face him. She peered up at him, and although her eyes were still guarded, there was also a small flicker of what looked like hope.
‘It’s been a strange night,’ he told her. ‘I don’t know what got into me, but it’s probably best we just forget about this and –’
‘Youkissedme, arsehole,’ she fired back, her hands on her hips and her face a mask of fury. He had to bite back another smile and ruthlessly force himself not to kiss her again; she was the most adorable angry woman he’d ever seen. Like a puffed-up hissing kitten.
He shrugged. ‘Well, you didn’t exactly put up much of a fight, did you?’ He watched in fascination as her beautiful face flushed bright red with embarrassment and anger. Deciding to drive his point home, he started rubbing his neck and pretended to wince in pain. ‘Bit of a crick now, though. Maybe try someone more your own size next time.’
She stared at him for a second and the hurt look in her eyes had him almost wishing he could claw his words back. Before he could say any more, she spun on her heel and slammed the door in his face, locking the weak-as-shit useless lock (which he was replacing tomorrow whether she liked it or not). As he turned to go he heard her mutter ‘Over-sized, roidy, grumpy, sodding wanker,’ as she walked away from her obviously way-too-thin front door (something he had just decided was getting replaced tomorrow as well).
He closed his eyes tight and clenched his fists at his sides to stop him tearing open the door and diffusing her anger in a very different way. It cost him to walk away. It cost him but he knew that if he lost himself in her, the cost would be higher, for her and for him.
When he opened his eyes he found himself staring at another small cream envelope slid underneath the doorknocker. He scrubbed his hand down his face, sighed, and snatched it off the door before sliding it into his pocket and stalking back to his truck.
*Ffwcin -fucking
*Saesneg –English
Chapter 8
Regrettable but unavoidable
There she was again. Katie shook her head and focused on the blonde woman sitting at the back of the waiting room. What was she waiting for? And she was so still, almost unnaturally so. Katie didn’t think she’d seen the woman move once all morning. It was seriously spooky and Katie was not up to dealing with spooky after two nights of zero sleep. The first she could blame on ‘Weird Rambo’, as Russell had now dubbed him. She hadn’t wanted to talk to Sarah and Rob about Sam, so she’d phoned Russell instead, and unfortunately they had spent half that night at her cottage drowning her sorrows in cheap white wine, and making up names for Mr I-Could-Kill-A-Man-With-My-Bare-Hands-But-I’m-Still-A-Grumpy-Tosser (their second favourite).
Katie narrowed her eyes at the blonde: she was wearing brown knee-high boots over skinny jeans, a cream high-neck jumper and a short brown leather jacket. Her almost white blonde hair was short and layered; but what really stood out about her was her face: she had high cheekbones, bright blue eyes framed by long dark lashes, with slightly smudged eyeliner her only make-up. She was the most stunning woman Katie thought she had ever seen in real life. If that wasn’t odd enough Katie had felt all morning like the blonde was somehow watching her, even though she’d yet to actually catch her looking directly.
