Hm. Nate didn’t even bother looking, I thought. I hugged Alec a little tighter. Funny how I didn’t feel as bitter anymore when I thought of Nate. “Thanks for the compliment. But I’d never be as creative as you. You’re a professional artist.”
“Yes. Well. About that.”
Alec sighed, then hiccupped. Somehow I didn’t think he was much of a drinker, and his worried expression remained. “I thought I loved Christmas too. This time last year, I was interning at a design firm in Soho. There were so many parties, so much excitement. I’d hoped they would consider one of my designs for their summer portfolio—that they’d offer me a permanent position. I’d be well on my way to a career in fashion!”
“What happened?”
He snorted sadly, fists curled against my bare belly: my glitter T-shirt had ridden up over my abs the minute I sat down. “Too many parties, it seems. They went broke. So, that’s why I’m here, in this bleak little unit, chatting to anonymous people on the internet. Trying to start again.”
I’d guessed it right. “You’re living here, aren’t you?”
He winced. “My aunt rented it from the charity shop to run her alterations business. She does a lot of theatrical events. But then she got called away on tour, so she said I could use it as my recording studio. That was before I lost my apartment-share, too. Then I didn’t have any other choice.” He rushed on, frowning, looking so adorably defensive, “And why not?”
“No reason, cutie,” I said softly, and kissed his temple.
“The rent is a pittance, and my savings will cover it until the new year.” The harsh light in the unit caught a glimmer of damp in his eyes. “I just have to keep the bills under control. But I’ll get another job soon. And an apartment of my own. And… and everything will be fine.” He hiccupped again.
“I know it will,” I said. “You deserve the best. You’ll be the best. Come here.”
We kissed a lot more, me with compassion and care for this lovely, sweet man, and Alec with some kind of sad, wild desperation. When he slid his hand under my sarong and into my boxers, I let the fabric slip away so he could curl his firm but gentle fingers around my erection. And, greatly daring, I nudged his clingy shorts down over his hips until I released his in return.
“Oh. Gray,” he whispered, eyes closing, head going back with pleasure as I started to stroke.
It was never going to last long, sadly. We were both pretty excited: must have been all that energetic Strictly Come Dancing business. But it was a very thrilling and gorgeous few minutes before his grip grew tighter and his breath more shallow. His eyes lifted to meet mine, shining now with excitement, not tears, his mouth back into the cute O I’d admired when I first met him. But this time, I was causing it deliberately.
“My Personal Santa,” he whispered, and gave a daft little giggle.
“The gift that keeps giving,” I murmured into his ear, making him chuckle again. Then my own breath hitched, and my orgasm kicked through me like a mini avalanche.
“Gray!” Alec cried, shuddering against me. And the bracelets on his slim wrists jangled and glittered as he also came all over my chest.
Four
On The Fourth Day Of Christmas
The fourth day’s delivery didn’t go as well. In fact, it didn’t go at all, because there was nothing in the post for Alec. I couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing him, and I made the poor kid at the distribution centre check three times before I let him close up for the day, and until I was convinced there was no parcel for Mr A Partridge. As my van sputtered away from work in the direction of Alec’s place, four crows perched on the parking lot fence peered disapprovingly at the trail of exhaust smoke I left in my wake.
The rain was a steady mizzle down the back of my neck as I raced up his steps, two at a time, and knocked hard. Alec opened up looking startled, peering at me from under a large floppy sun hat. “Gray, you’re cutting it fine for tonight’s session, but that’s okay—”
“There’s no parcel.”
He blinked a few extra times. “What do you mean, no parcel?”
“Nothing for you today. I mean, I checked, and I searched for it myself, and I rang Head Office just to make sure I had the right manifest, but… nothing.” I was getting redder and redder. Anyone would think it was my business at stake here.
“They said they were sending a box of baseball caps. Rainbow colours. Diamante peaks. What’s going on with them?” Alec’s forehead had a worrying little furrow across it. “I mean, I had a few sharp things to say about the previous delays and, to be honest, some of my followers have been less than complimentary about the quality, so I told the sponsor that things would have to get smarter…” His voice trailed off as his eyes grew wider and his expression more distressed. “Do you think they’ve dropped me?”
My turn to blink in confusion. “Would they do that? Without telling you, I mean?”
“Who knows? This is my first and only deal.” He looked completely lost. “So, what the hell am I going to talk about today on the show?”
There were piles of fabric on the sofa and on the floor: the charity shop must have been having a clear out, closing early for the Christmas break. He’d been passing the time while he waited for the goods by sewing, that was obvious. There were some funky looking woolly socks half-finished on the arm of the sofa—with sparkly tassels on the heel that made them look like they’d belong on a winged Mercury rather than a plodding delivery driver like me, but I’d definitely be grabbing them as soon as they were finished—and several sarongs like the one he’d lent me yesterday, in various stages of completion.
“What’s that?” he asked.
I followed his gaze to the small bag I clutched in my hand.
“It’s… oh.” I’d forgotten I was holding it. I’d meant to tuck it back into my coat pocket before coming in. The heat rose up my neck to my cheeks. I mean, I wasn’t sure I was ready…
“It’s for you. For good luck,” I said abruptly, before I could chicken out. Mr Cool? Not.
“For me?” He looked genuinely stunned. Didn’t people bring him gifts all the time? He seemed like the kind of vibrant, charismatic creature who would attract devotion like summer wasps around jam. If I ever had any money, I’d shower him in presents, I’d dress him in whatever he wanted to wear, take him wherever he wanted to go—
He’d tipped the item out onto the palm of his hand and was staring at it. A soft flush, just like the blusher he sometimes used on camera, bloomed gradually across his cheeks.
Oh fuck. What had I been thinking? Alec was a warm beauty in the middle of everything December-bleak and Gray-clumsy. He shone so far above me, it was laughable I’d offer him something so shoddy.
“It’s nothing,” I said quickly. “My sister makes jewellery to sell at Camden Market, and I dropped off some craft supplies to her last night on my way home. But I must have forgotten to take off that bloody palm tree earring yesterday, so Kate saw it”—and laughed herself silly at me, until she caught the look in my eye, then turned all sympathetic and full of sisterly romance advice, god knows why—“and she stuck it into a dreamcatcher pendant. It’s one of her most popular designs.” I stared at it too: a gold-coloured hoop with delicate threads spinning across its circumference like a web, and the palm tree, lustrous with a delicate coating of turquoise paint, dangling and twisting from the top of the hoop every time it moved.