Kiss Me on This Cold December Night by Charlotte Phillips Read Free Book Online

an orange bobble hat and a manic grin careered into her at an insane speed. In a millisecond, self-assurance gave way to chaotic pinwheeling of arms and grimacing of teeth and then, with an unladylike squawk, she lost her balance and ended up part of a massive tangle of arms and legs on the ice. The kid disentangled himself, totally unscathed, and skated away while she looked up at Tom. A thin spray of ice coated her face and she could feel a cold damp patch soaking into the seat of her jeans and a sharp stinging on her left knee.
    â€˜It’s all about balance, right?’ he said, looking remarkably steady on his skates and holding a hand out to her.
    ****
    She grabbed his hand and was back on her now rather wobbly feet in one strong pull, leaning over to check her stinging knee and noticing that he kept hold of her hand. There was a tear in her jeans through which a bleeding graze was visible.
    â€˜Are you hurt?’
    The concern in his voice brought a flutter somewhere deep in her chest. It was probably because the only person who ever had a stake in her wellbeing was herself. She stood up straight immediately and gave him a breezy smile.
    â€˜I’m fine. Come on, let’s get going again.’
    He tugged hard enough to stop her intended big flourish of a skate off and she saw him watching her with a steady calm.
    â€˜Let’s take a breather and check out that leg.’
    He pulled her by the hand to the side of the rink, somehow managing not to fall flat on his own arse in the process.
    â€˜I’m perfectly alright,’ she protested all the way. He totally ignored her. For Pete’s sake, she’d gone down hard. She was lucky she hadn’t broken her bloody neck. He pulled her across the rubber skate matting to a quiet spot and made her sit down while he unlaced her skates and tugged them off.
    â€˜You’ve cut your leg. So stop with the moaning and let me check you haven’t done anything worse.’
    He held her foot, encased in its thick woolly sock, in his hands, and slowly rotated her ankle. Her eyes were drawn to the gentle way he cradled her heel, his thumb sliding slowly up her instep.
    â€˜Hurt anywhere?’
    She shook her head.
    â€˜Only my pride.’
    He ran practised hands up and over her knee, checking for swelling, and the unexpected slide of his hand over her inner thigh took her mind right off the sting of her grazed knee. He was kneeling in front of her, and he raised his head to meet her eyes steadily with his own dark grey ones, both hands moving over her leg with a touch that could now only be described as a stroke. Her stomach gave a delicious flutter that spread slowly lower to tingle between her legs and simultaneously rushed up to her brain to exhibit itself as clanging alarm bells.
    She stood up sharply.
    â€˜I don’t need looking after,’ she said, adding a couple of paces to her personal space. ‘I didn’t need it five years ago and I don’t need it now.’
    He stood up next to her, feeling the distance she’d put between them, knowing it wasn’t just a matter of physical space. His heart sped in his chest as if he’d skated a few circuits of the rink at full pelt instead of limping around it on two left feet. He’d forgotten how long and slender her limbs were, how her fine-boned fragility hid the fiercely self-reliant person underneath. A surge of protectiveness flooded through him, and the fact she didn’t want his protection made her all the more alluring. She was her own person, now as then, not about to rely on him to take her through her path in life, determined to take responsibility for her own destiny rather than expecting him to make it happen for her. She felt like a clean crisp breath of icy fresh air, and it made his senses spin.
    The elapse of time had convinced him she hadn’t been all that – maybe
they
hadn’t been all that. Self-preservation had made him tell himself