Page 36 of Christmas at Sturcombe Bay (Sturcombe Bay Romances #3)

“You think you’re going to take me to bed?” she challenged, aware that the slight tremor in her voice betrayed her.

“Or you can take me — I don’t mind which. But for now . . . dinner.”

His abrupt change of subject caught her still struggling for breath. She was sure he did that deliberately, to keep her off-balance, unable to think straight.

But the plate that he placed before her was a powerful distraction — a fiesta of colours and textures and rich aromas, tantalising her taste buds.

“Looks good,” she approved, picking up her fork. “Oh, wow!” The subtle blend of flavours on her tongue more than lived up to the promise. “This is fabulous! How did you learn to cook like this?”

“I had a teammate from Thailand — Tommy Thongchai. He loved to cook, and he taught me this and a few other Thai dishes.”

“Well, it’s really excellent. And before you ask, you get five points.”

He laughed, that low, husky laugh that did crazy things to her heartbeat. How did you disentangle sexual attraction from love? Or liking from both? Was it even possible to fall in love with someone you’d only known for a little more than a month?

Or was she just on the rebound? That was a sobering thought. Just because she was sure she was over Glenn didn’t mean she wasn’t susceptible to a rebound reaction.

* * *

They ate in silence for a while. Paul watched Jess, fascinated by the changing expressions flickering behind her eyes. What was she thinking? Was she remembering that kiss? He hadn’t planned it — it had been pure impulse. But if it had taken her by surprise, she hadn’t objected. And she had stayed.

He had kissed a lot of women — a lot. But none had been as fiery and as sweet as Jessica Bennett. He’d wanted a lot of women, but he’d never wanted one quite as much as he wanted her.

Which was moving into dangerous territory.

“How’s the wine?” he asked.

She took another sip. “Actually, it’s quite good.”

“Told you so.”

She laughed. “I was going to award you a point for it, but you just lost it again. Nobody likes a smart-arse.”

Oh, he liked that provocative sense of humour. Most of the women he had dated over the years tended to just sweetly agree with everything he said. Which could get rather boring.

“What do you think of the work on the hotel so far?” he asked.

“I had a peek in at the annexe. I like the new tiles for the swimming pool.”

“We have to get new covers for the drains. The flat ones can be dangerous. Too much suction apparently. The new ones are dome-shaped.”

“Are they starting on the windows and rewiring straight after Christmas?”

“Uh-huh. Then we’ll start on upgrading the décor throughout. The main public areas will be first — reception and dining room, and the ballroom. Dan Tuckett’s a local guy. He was at school with me and Liam and Tom. We aim to use local labour as much as possible.”

“That’s good. But if you’re going to upgrade, you’ll be putting up the prices.” Her brow furrowed. “Then what about people like the Wrights? They probably wouldn’t be able to afford it.”

“Ah, we have a plan.” He took a long sip of his wine. “We’re going to award our long-term regulars Gold Star Status, with special discount prices which would bring them down to the same price bracket as they’re paying now.”

“That’s a great idea!” Her eyes were bright. He had guessed that she would like that scheme. “What about the Turkey-and-Tinsel groups?”

“We’ve discussed that with the agents. They also do premium groups, so we’ll be looking to upgrade with the new contract.”

They carried on chatting as they ate. Talking about the hotel felt like a safe distraction from thinking about where this might be heading. He wasn’t ready to look that far ahead yet.

He brought out a tiramisu for dessert. His culinary skills didn’t extend to sweet stuff, so he usually kept one in the fridge for when he had a date round for dinner.

They finished the bottle of wine as the conversation moved on to talking about his football career, the places he’d been, and Jess told him about a motorbike trip she’d done through France and Spain.

“We were planning to go on to Morrocco, but the heat was a bit too much. And after fifteen hundred miles on a motorbike, your bum begins to ache!”

He’d intended to suggest a move into the sitting room to settle on the sofa and watch a film, but by the time he glanced up at the clock on the wall it was almost eleven o’clock.

“Oh . . .” Jess’s eyes widened in surprise. “I . . . I ought to be going. We have the first of the T’n’T groups arriving this weekend, and it’s likely to be a bit full on, getting everything ready.”

Instinct told him not to try to persuade her to stay — this had to go at her pace. She gulped down the last of her wine and rose to her feet. He followed her out to the hall, lifted her jacket down from the hook, and helped her to shrug into it. Then he reached for his own overcoat.

“Oh . . . Uh . . . You don’t need to . . . It isn’t far.”

He smiled, shaking his head. “A gentleman always walks a lady home.”

She rolled her eyes, but didn’t argue.

* * *

Instead of turning down Cliff Road, Jess crossed over to rest her hands for a moment on the rough stone wall. A cold wind was blowing in from the Channel, nipping at her nose and ears, whipping up the waves to thump against the cliffs below.

Over there on the far side of the bay stood the Carleton, spotlit in white, still proud and elegant as she reigned over the small town. It was good that Paul and Alex Crocombe were buying it, saving it from being demolished.

She had seen how important it was to the local community, how it was the focus of the town, sitting up there on its cliff, surrounded by its gardens, watching out over the sea.

And that story old Arthur had told, about its role during the war — she could understand how that had fired people up to defend the place. She had felt it herself, and she’d only been here for a few weeks.

Paul came to stand beside her. “So, are you going to tell me that was a pleasant evening?” he teased, smiling down at her.

“It was.”

“Very pleasant? Extremely pleasant?” His face held a doleful expression that she had no trouble in recognising as entirely bogus. “Mildly pleasant?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Your sister told me you used to talk her out of her last red jelly baby when you were kids.”

“She did? The traitor! Family aren’t supposed to grass up family.”

“I’m glad she warned me.”

He picked up her hand and lifted it to his lips, brushing a light kiss across her knuckles. “For me, I would say it was an exceptionally pleasant evening. I’ve rarely enjoyed an evening so much.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Ah, smooth operator.”

“Uh-huh.” He slid his hand around her waist and drew her closer. She felt his breath warm against her cheek, and then his mouth met hers, warm and firm, his tongue swirling deep inside, exploring all the secret corners within.

A whimpering moan escaped her throat, and she felt the ground beneath her feet slipping away . . .

A shower of spray from a crashing wave startled her out of the moment, and she drew back, her eyes misted. As they cleared, she shook her head, laughing.

“It’s much too cold to stand around here,” she declared, aiming for a note of casual unconcern but not sure that she’d hit it right. “Come on. If you’re going to be a gentleman, let’s go.”

He laughed. “I could warm you up.”

“I think I’ll stick with my hot water bottle, thanks.”

They strolled on down the hill. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was the spirit of Christmas already infusing the atmosphere, but she was beginning to feel more relaxed in his company.

Maybe she could take the chance of taking this a little further. It could be fun . . .