Chapter Thirteen
J ack’s world shrank to the press of Trish’s lips against his. Soft. Warm. Insistent. Snow was seeping through his jeans, but all he could focus on was her. The taste of her. Coffee and something sweet – leftover syrup from breakfast?
A sigh leaked from her mouth to his, and she wrapped her hands around his face, pulling him into a kiss that devoured all oxygen and reason. Pulse roaring, his heart tried to pulverise every internal boundary. Christ, when was the last time a simple kiss had felt like that? This was… Fuck. It was like coming home after a long day, like sinking into a warm bath.
Her hair tickled his cheeks, still wet from their snowball fight. His fingers tightened around her head, desperate to keep her close. The weight of her body on top of him, the way she fit against him… It felt right.
And fuck, he was hard. Painfully so. All from her laughter. That sound had shot straight through him. He wanted to hear it again. To be the cause of it. To make her laugh like that every bloody day.
Whoa there, postman. Slow your roll.
Trish pulled away. Her eyes were wide behind her smudged glasses. A speck of moisture glistened on the frame, and her lashes touched the glass as she blinked, trying to focus on him. ‘We probably shouldn’t.’
‘Aye’, he agreed, even as he tilted his chin up to capture her lips again. ‘We probably really shouldn’t.’
But he didn’t stop. And neither did she.
Jack’s tongue traced the seam of her lips, drawing them apart. It was like drinking sunlight. She made a small noise, halfway between a whimper and a moan. Her hips rocked against his, and Jack bit back a groan. Christ, he was hard enough to drill through concrete.
‘You feel that?’ He bucked his hips up to meet hers. ‘That’s what you do to me. You make me so fucking hard, I can barely think straight.’
Crimson crawled up her throat, and her breath came in quick pants. Her pupils were blown out, reflecting the stark white of the snow and the deep green of the pines. She pushed her mound against his length again.
‘Trish,’ he gasped out between clenched teeth. ‘I’m going to come like a teenager if you keep doing that.’
The way she reacted… Her breath hitched, and she ground down harder.
‘Oh, you like that, don’t you?’ He thrust up again, his cock throbbing with every beat of his heart. He felt her heat, even through their layers of clothing. ‘You like hearing how thick you have me. How good you make me feel.’
Her hands gripped his shoulders tighter. ‘Yes.’
She was rocking against him in a rhythm that threatened to break him. Jack groaned, and his head fell back against the snow. Cold needled through his hair, a stark contrast to the hot pressure building inside him. Her lips found his – wet, urgent – a kiss that was pure, unfiltered need.
He wanted more.
So much more.
But not now. Not here.
With a herculean effort, he stilled her movements. ‘Wait, Shutterbug. We really need to stop.’ His gaze darted towards Hazelbrae. There wasn’t a clear line of sight; there were snowy pines and all that, but still. ‘Too many potentially prying eyes.’
Trish rested her forehead against his, and he felt her smile. ‘Okay.’
It didn’t just warm him; it set off a chain reaction that had his own lips curving before he could catch up with the why. His muscles loosened, every inch of him humming with a contentment he hadn’t realised was possible. It wasn’t just joy. It was deep, bone-set happiness that snuck up on him.
‘Thanks for taking my mind off things.’ Her breath tickled his cheek.
‘Turns out that’s my favourite thing to do, Shutterbug.’
As they lay there, Jack soaked it all in like he was storing up warmth for the winter. And then it hit him, hard and fast, like someone had yanked the air from his lungs – how long it had been since he’d felt this close to someone. Not just sex but this…connection. This easy laughter. Real intimacy.
Jack pushed the thought away, focusing instead on Trish’s body against his. In another life, this could’ve been something real. If she didn’t live over a hundred miles away. If she weren’t his pal’s girlfriend’s best friend. If he were the type to get tied down. Which he wasn’t. Not anymore.
Even as the thought took shape, a sneaky voice at the back of his mind chimed in, reminding him of something he wasn’t ready to face. Trish was the first person in a long time who made him wonder if he could be that guy. The one who’d stick around, who’d make her coffee every morning. The one who’d support her dreams, cheering her on.
Daft notion. It wasn’t like she was going to stay here. It wasn’t like he was going to leave. It wasn’t like he was looking for forever.
But what if forever was looking for him?
Jack gave a quick cough, trying to shake off the knot tightening in his chest. Getting all choked up right now was the last thing he wanted. He shifted, willing the sudden pressure off his ribs like it would disappear if he moved the right way.
‘I don’t usually have time for this.’ He tried to sound casual. ‘Between the weans and work… Been a while since I’ve just, well, arsed about like this.’
‘Me neither.’ Trish lifted her head, her eyes meeting his. ‘I’ve been so focused on my career, on proving myself… I forgot how good it feels to just let go and have fun.’
‘That’s what I’m here for. I’m the fun guy.’
‘That’s not all you are.’
Jack’s chest constricted as she rolled off him. It was like someone had ripped away his favourite blanket. He stood, knocking flakes from his jeans.
‘We should head back.’ He offered her a hand. ‘Before we freeze our arses off.’
Trish nodded, her cheeks glowing from more than just the cold. As they trudged through the snow, Jack’s synapses fired wild and random. The banter, the snowball fight, that kiss… It all felt natural. Easy. That was what worried him. He knew better than to let himself think it ever could be easy. He’d been down this road before.
Let someone in, and they leave. Things fall apart. Keeping it simple, casual – that was how he survived.
As they neared Hazelbrae, Jack’s steps slowed. He wasn’t ready to share her with the others yet.
Numpty.
He closed the heavy oak door behind them and stomped the snow off his boots as they stepped into the castle’s entrance. Chatter from the ballroom spilled out into the hallway.
‘Where are my little monsters?’ Jack scanned the room.
Marla looked up from where she was chatting with Bert and Niall. ‘Oh, hey there. Your kids are outside in the snow. Trish, how’d the photos turn out?’
She shrugged, avoiding Marla’s gaze. ‘The light was a bit tricky. We’ll see.’
Jack raised an eyebrow. He’d seen the way she handled that camera, like it was an extension of her. She was a visual genius, and he wasn’t just saying that because he fancied her.
Because he did. He did fancy her.
The front door burst open, and in tumbled his three snow-covered kids, followed by Gwen and the two Mrs Bellbottoms, all rosy-cheeked and grinning.
‘Da! We built a snowman!’ Beth exclaimed, taking his hand.
‘I can see that, darlin’.’ Jack laughed, ruffling her hair. ‘Thanks for watching them. It really takes a village, eh?’
Mrs Bellbottom waved a dismissive hand. ‘Och, wrangling the wee ones was our pleasure. But we’re knackered now. The land of nod awaits, dearie.’ She linked arms with Sylvia, and Jack watched as the two women mounted the stairs, steps slow and steady.
Trish cleared her throat, drawing their attention. ‘Hey, um…I was thinking about baking some Christmas cookies. Would you guys like to help?’
Jack caught the hopeful lilt in her words, the way she bent slightly to meet their eye level, a careful balance of confidence and nerves. His jaw tightened. Was she nervous? For his kids’ approval? It made something in him twist, a mix of protectiveness and…something else.
Beth’s eyes lit up, but Jack Jr. squinted like she’d just offered him Brussels sprouts. Phil just blinked at her, thumb in his mouth.
‘Depends. What kind of cookies?’ Junior asked.
‘Simple ones,’ Trish replied. ‘Just lots and lots of butter and sugar?’
She didn’t push, didn’t overwhelm, just offered herself up like this was the most natural thing in the world.
‘Can we make reindeers? With red noses?’ Beth bounced on her toes.
‘Snowmen!’ Phil chimed in.
Junior, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms. ‘Only if Da helps.’
Trish tossed a glance Jack’s way. ‘What do you say? Up for some baking?’
Something tugged inside, like a string being yanked just hard enough to throw him off balance. The fucking way this woman looked at him. And including his children… Who was he to say no? They were still snowed in here for a while, anyway.
‘Suppose I could lend a hand. Can’t have you lot burning down Hazelbrae’s kitchen now, can we?’
Marla clapped her hands together. ‘Great. You lot handle the baking and keep the kids occupied. The rest of us will tackle that snow drift blocking the driveway and the path.’
As the others bundled up to head outside, Trish gathered her camera equipment. ‘I’ll just drop the tripod off in my room. Meet you in the kitchen in five?’
Jack nodded. The thought of being alone with her and the kids felt like slipping on a comfortable jumper he’d forgotten he owned.
Trish disappeared up the stairs, her camera bag slung over her shoulder. He put his hands in his pockets, fingertips snagging on a crinkly candy cane wrapper.
Oh, aye. That happened.
And he’d fucking loved it as much as she had.
Which could only mean one thing: he was going to fuck this up somehow.
Jack’s ribs felt like they were cinching in, locking down his lungs. He’d been there before. Melissa, all her promises and plans. His own dreams of having a family. It had all gone to shite. Jack wasn’t a na?ve eejit. He’d learned long ago that love was something he was monumentally rubbish at, that it was best not to count on anyone. Not since his maw had packed him off to his aunt’s with nothing but a rucksack and a ‘Be good for them, Jackie.’ The memory pricked at him, sharp as the day it happened.
Jack wrestled with Phil’s snow-caked boots. The boy squirmed. ‘Hold still, wee man.‘
Then he hung up the kids’ coats next to his own.
‘Cookies! We’re making cookies!’ Beth chanted, jumping up and down.
‘But only if you promise not to eat all the dough this time, you little snack monster.’ Jack glanced at his other two, who were grinning from ear to ear. ‘Let’s get washed up and ready for operation Christmas cookie.’
Fifteen minutes later, Jack found himself smack in the middle of Hazelbrae’s big basement kitchen, surrounded by chaos. Flour dusted every surface, and his kids were arguing over who got to stir the batter. Trish stood in the midst of it all, laughing and trying to maintain some semblance of order.
‘Alright, alright.’ She held up her hands. ‘How about Junior stirs, Beth adds the chocolate chips, and Phil can help me roll out the dough?’
Jack leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. ‘And what do I do?’
Trish looked up. ‘You? You get to clean up the mess.’
He let out an amused huff. ‘Fair enough.’
As they worked, Jack noticed the little things. The way Trish’s hands, dusted with flour, looked so pretty. Short nails, no fuss, but neat. Like her, in a way. She’d bite her bottom lip or stick the tip of her tongue out when focusing, this tiny tell that said she was properly on it.
Beth cracked some daft joke, and Trish let out a full-volume laugh, rich and warm. He wanted to capture that sound, bottle it up, and keep it for himself.
Jack’s attention snapped to Beth when a sharp yelp broke through the floury chaos. She clutched her hand, her lower lip wobbling, tears pooling but not quite spilling.
‘Caught my finger in the drawer.’ Beth held out her little hand.
The tip of her index finger was red, the tiniest swelling already starting. But before Jack could react, Trish was there, crouching to Beth’s level. ‘Oh, sweetie. Let me see.’
Beth hesitated, glancing at Jack, then back at Trish, before offering up her hand.
Trish took it gently, cradling Beth’s fingers in hers. ‘Hm. This needs a little magic, I think.’ She leaned in, her tone conspiratorial. ‘Do you know what Mrs Kaminski told me when I was your age?’
Beth shook her head, curiosity edging out the tears.
‘She said if you sing a little song, the pain gets bored and goes away.’
Beth blinked. ‘Bored?’
‘Bored.’ Trish grinned and began humming a low, soothing melody as she rubbed gentle circles over Beth’s knuckles with her thumb.
It took Jack a second to recognise the tune. Sounded like The Girl From Ipanema .
‘See?’ Trish said. ‘The magic’s working.’
Beth sniffled, eyes huge as the redness seemed less alarming. ‘It doesn’t hurt so much now.’
Trish smiled. ‘All better. Now, let’s give that drawer a warning. Hurt you again, it’ll have me to deal with. And then we put some ice on your finger.’
Beth pointed her red finger at the wood. ‘You hear that?’
Jack blinked, a knot pulling tight somewhere he hadn’t even known was loose. Trish didn’t belong here, not really. But somehow, in this moment, she fit better than anyone had a right to.
‘Da, look!’ Phil held up a misshapen lump of dough. ‘It’s a snowman!’
Jack’s brow shot up. ‘It’s definitely something.’
Trish snorted as she held an ice cube to Beth’s finger. ‘Hey, don’t knock the abstract art.’
For a moment, Jack just stood there, watching. The way Trish played with his kids, laughed with them, comforted them, and even took the time to explain how reindeer’s antlers grow and shed each year… It was too picture-perfect. Like life was dangling a carrot in front of him, only to yank it away when he got too close. That nagging feeling gnawed at him.
Yet, as he watched her forehead crinkle while she tried to keep up with Phil’s rapid-fire ‘But why?’-questions, Jack felt it – something slid into place. It had no business being there. And worse? It was skirting dangerously close to the line he’d drawn, the one he’d sworn never to cross again.
Hope.
That was what landed you in trouble.
He cleared his throat, turning away to tend to the kettle. ‘Hot choc and extra marshmallows for everyone, right?’ His voice came out too loud. He winced, forcing a laugh. ‘Christ, I sound like Mary Poppins.’
Jack chanced another glance at Trish, catching her faint smile. Humour, keeping it light… This was his shield against the world. A lifetime of practice, of dodging the emotional landmines that were his own childhood, his own mistakes.
Jack Jr.’s voice pulled him from his thoughts. ‘Da, can we make green cookies? Like the Grinch?’
Jack ran his hand through his son’s unruly hair. Junior squirmed while his dad’s fingers found the one spot that always got a reaction, right at the crown, where the hair stuck up like a coo’s lick. ‘I don’t think we have green food colouring here, mate.’
‘I’ll check!’
As Jack poured the hot chocolate into the mugs, he felt Trish’s gaze on him. He refused to meet it, refused to let her see the chaotic thoughts swirling in his head. He couldn’t trust himself not to…
What exactly was he afraid of? That she might look at him like Melissa did, with disappointment? Or worse, with pity? He was a small-town postie with three riotous kids, no money, no prospects, no plan. He couldn’t afford to get tangled in this fake domesticity.
And he wouldn’t dream of holding her back.
Trish would be gone soon, back to her life in the city, her stellar career. And he’d be here, same as always. Just him and the kids.
Trish reached out, her fingers touching his where they both gripped the spoon. She looked up. There it was, that barely-there smile of hers, the kind that slipped out unannounced and gripped him by the balls. She could’ve dragged him all across town with that smile, and she had no fucking idea.
This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. But he couldn’t look away. Her hair was piled atop her head in a bun. The light caressed the curve of her cheek, the line of her neck. He shouldn’t be noticing things like that. Not with his kids around. And it was that – her with his children – more than anything, that had the dread coiling in his stomach.
Because he was falling.
Falling for her, falling for the life he’d never dared to let himself want. And the terrifying part? He knew she’d catch him. Catch him and hold him up.
Jack shuddered. He had no idea what to do with this feeling. The way she fit into their little world like that special chord, the one that made the tune work. Yank it out, and there’d be nothing but noise where the music used to be. All of it was right in a way that scared the piss out of him.
Because nothing good ever lasted. Not for him, anyway.