Escape for Christmas by Ruth Saberton Read Free Book Online

from the warning cry of a blackbird the place was completely still. An old rowing boat was pulled up on the mudflats and a jetty listed drunkenly beside it, black stumps of wood still embedded in the silt like rotting teeth in a neglected mouth. The air was rich with the smell of salt and wild garlic, and the sun was hot on their skin.
    “Jaysus,” Cal had breathed, drawing Gemma alongside him and holding her close. “What a stunning place.”
    “Do you like it?” Her heart had seemed to wait for him to reply before it could beat again. Penmerryn was one of her most treasured secrets, and she wanted so much for Cal to feel the magic too that it almost hurt.
    Cal had gazed around him. His eyes, when they’d met hers, had been bright with wonder. “It’s fecking amazing, Gem. Magical, so it is.”
    Of course he got it. He was Cal. He totally got her too.
    Hand in hand they’d explored the place, clambering over the fallen rafters and peering up the chimneys into the blue sky beyond. Then, like children, they’d stripped to their underwear and plunged into the chilly creek, shrieking at the icy water and splashing each other until they were soaked.
    “Come over here,” Cal had said to Gemma.
    He was standing in the middle of the creek now, his face split with a huge grin and his curly hair beaded with droplets. Gemma had swum towards him, a leisurely breaststroke rather than her usual slicing crawl, then looped her arms over his neck and wound her legs around his waist. She’d felt his hardness in spite of the cold water and shivered.
    Cal’s eyelashes had been starred with water droplets and his strong shoulders were dusted with cinnamon freckles. He’d pulled her closer and rubbed his nose against hers.
    “I love you, Gemma Pengelley,” he’d said. “More than I ever knew I could ever love anyone.”
    He’d kissed her then and they’d sunk under the water, surfacing again afterwards with gasps of laughter.
    “Come on,” Gemma had said. “I’ll race you! Last one back sorts the picnic!”
    This had hardly been a fair challenge. Cal was a dreadful swimmer (he’d barely mastered a splashy kind of doggy paddle), whereas Gemma had been the school champion. But the water was shallow, and within seconds they’d been staggering onto the weed-strewn riverbank. Gemma had been just about to do a victory dance when Cal had shot past her.
    “Last one back to the house,” he’d called over his shoulder.
    Now who wasn’t playing fair? Cal might have quit professional football and been a few stone overweight, but he still had an athlete’s speed. Gemma could no more catch him up than she could fly to the moon.
    “That’s cheating,” she’d complained when she’d joined him inside the cottage.
    “I won, which means I’m the victor and I get to claim my reward.” Cal had put his hands on his hips and given Gemma a look that had dusted her with goosebumps, even though she was standing in the bright sunshine. “Now, me darlin’, how about we get you out of those wet things? You’ll catch your death, so you will.”
    He’d stepped forward and unhooked her bra with one hand. Just how did boys learn to do that? Gemma had wondered. Was there a special class they had to go to at school? Then Cal’s mouth had been on hers and all thought had been rendered useless as she’d melted into him. He’d lowered her tenderly onto the tartan car blanket that the Pengelleys had used for years as a picnic rug, and as his lips had travelled from the tender skin of her neck to her breasts, the scratchy wool and the hard edge of a twig pressing into her bottom had become just as much a part of the pleasure. The birdsong, the blue sky above the rafters and the smell of honeysuckle and garlic flowers had all mingled with the sensation of his lips and hands, and the vision of the brown eyes flecked with gold that held her own. Every movement had been bliss and every touch had sent her spinning and shimmering to a place