His Christmas Present (4 page)

But she’d learned
to accept it long ago. It couldn’t be cured by antibiotics or amputation, or even
time. She either had to learn to come to terms with it or be destroyed by it. She’d
decided she was many things—a woman, a brunette, an artist, a singer, as well
as an agoraphobe. It didn’t define her.

Still, at that
moment, standing on the bridge with sweating palms and a pounding heart, she
closed her eyes and wished fervently that she was someone else. It had been
worse the past year, as if the malevolent spirit had sensed the decay of her
relationship in spite of her ignorance, and it had tortured her gleefully the
first few weeks after she broke up with Cody to the point that she’d barely
been able to leave the house. Her feelings of abandonment and of failure had
somehow magnified her inadequacies a hundredfold at first, until her therapist
had helped her to start to see that the end of the relationship wasn’t solely
her fault—that Cody had certainly played his part in it, and she shouldn’t
continue to blame herself.

She was determined
to conquer it. But to exorcise the spirit she needed to have faith, and that was
in short supply at the moment.

“Megan?”

She opened her
eyes at the sound of her name, so panicky and confused that she couldn’t get
her brain to function properly. The man before her was talking, his face alight
with what seemed to be pleasure, but his words didn’t make sense to her
befuddled brain. He looked vaguely familiar… Where had she’d seen him before?
Her palms grew moist, even though her fingers were numb with cold.

He stopped
speaking and stared at her for a moment as she struggled with her fear.
Leave
me alone
, she yelled in her head, although her mouth refused to form the
words.

Then he moved
closer to her. He looked down at her with warm hazel eyes. “Megan?” he said
again. “It’s Dion. You remember me, don’t you?”

“D-Dion?” She
blinked rapidly, her back against the bridge, clutching at the stone with cold
hands.

“Dion Wallace,” he
said patiently. “Sean’s friend. I used to live across the road from you in New
Zealand.”

Recognition hit
her. Dion
.
Of course. It had been a long time since she’d seen him—years
and years. He looked different—plus of course he was out of context here in
Eastern Europe.

He’d always been
tall, but he’d filled out—he’d lost the lean, hungry look he’d sported as a
teenager, and his shoulders had broadened to an impressive width. His face,
though still youthful, had lost its baby fluff and a hint of manly stubble
covered the strong jaw. The eyes were the same though. Kind and gentle, like
the day he’d walked her home from the fair with Sean.

Warmth flooded
through her, melting her frozen muscles, loosening her tongue a little. “Sorry
Dion, yes of course I remember you. I’m…” She swallowed, wishing her brain would
function properly. “I was going to…” She couldn’t think what to say. The same embarrassment
she’d felt at the fair all those years ago washed over her while his handsome
face studied her with concern, and she bit her lip, tears pricking her eyelids.

He picked up her
hand and tucked it in the crook of his arm. “There’s a bench at the end of the
bridge overlooking the river. Want to come and sit with me? I’d love to catch
up.”

“Oh…okay.” She let
him lead her along the road, past the vendors displaying their souvenirs and
the stalls selling sausages and pastries.

“You should be
wearing gloves,” Dion scolded. He placed his large hand in its leather glove
over hers. “It’s cold here, isn’t it? Not like the Northland, eh? I bet the
sun’s shining in Kerikeri at the moment. It was always so warm there. You
remember that Christmas Day we spent at Matauri Bay? We used half a dozen
bottles of sun lotion that day and we still went home looking like lobsters.”

He continued to
talk, not waiting for an answer, his voice low and comforting. Part of her
realised he was trying to calm her the way Sean had taught him all those years
before—by talking about familiar things, using the tone he would have used on a
frightened or injured animal, or a child.

At any other time
she would have been affronted at being patronised like that and told him where
to stick his sympathy, but the technique had always worked during an attack,
and it worked now. Her breathing slowed, the panic abating, and she felt
relieved to be with someone she knew, even though she hadn’t seen him for a
long time.

They reached the
end of the bridge and he turned toward the bench to one side, overlooking the
river. He led her over to it and brushed the layer of snow off with a gloved
hand. They sat, but he didn’t let go of her hand.

Out of the main
flow of traffic and people, the noise died down, and she leaned back against
the bench, aware of his arm pressed against hers. Since arriving in Prague everything
had seemed dreamlike, but Dion was so
real
, solid and tangible.

She took a deep
breath and let it out slowly, shakily. He’d stopped speaking, but he didn’t
look at her. Instead, he watched the flakes settling on the stone wall in front
of them. He’d obviously remembered that she hated being stared at—that the
worst thing about her phobia was embarrassing herself in front of people.

Feeling a bit calmer,
she risked a glance up at him. The snow settled on his dark hair and his
shoulders. For the first time she took in his clothing—the long, expensive, black
coat, and beneath it what looked like a quality, tailored, dark grey suit. He looked
and smelled rich, classy.

He turned his head
to look at her for the first time, and their gazes locked. Her breath caught in
her throat, but this time desire and not panic caused her heart to pick up its
pace.

She’d forgotten how
gorgeous he was. She’d had a crush on him since the first day they met. He’d
laughed at her painting and she’d feigned anger, but inside she’d melted when
he grinned at her. Her infatuation had continued to grow through her teenage
years, but she’d kept it well hidden, mostly because Sean had told her his
mates were out of bounds, but also because Dion tended to treat her like an
annoying younger sister, and she played up to the role, smart-mouthing him
until he grew exasperated and yelled at her to go away.

That had all
changed when his mother died and he came to live with them.

He was eighteen,
and although his father had pressured him to go to England, her parents offered
to have him stay with them until he finished his school exams. It was the best
and the worst six months of her life.

Young,
impressionable and bursting with hormones, she fell heavily for him, entranced by
the sometimes moody, sometimes aggressive James Dean lookalike. But she assumed
he didn’t return her affection, until the night of the midwinter party the June
after she turned fifteen in the April.

She’d gone outside
for some fresh air, feeling the need to escape the throng of people indoors for
the first time that evening. Alone on the cool deck, she started singing to the
Foo Fighters song they were playing inside, and when she glanced over her
shoulder, Dion was standing there watching her, leaning against the doorjamb,
smiling.

He didn’t say a
word, but he walked over to her and, before she said anything, pulled her into
his arms and kissed her.

She’d never kissed
anyone before, and it blew her mind. He cupped her head with a hand and
tightened his other arm around her, and his lips were firm and warm. They moved
across hers with slow, soft kisses which were thrilling enough, but when his
tongue brushed hers, her head nearly exploded. She gasped, her mouth opening
beneath his, and he deepened the kiss, pulling her tightly to him and leaving
her in no doubt how much he was enjoying the embrace.

Later, she
supposed she should have been shocked and pushed him away, but at the time she returned
it whole heartedly with unfettered passion. She pressed herself up against him
and tightened her fingers in his hair, filled with excitement and longing as he
gave a deep groan and pushed her against the wall.

But it had all
come to a terrible end when her father walked out and found them. He yelled at
Dion, and told her to go to her room. After the party a huge argument erupted during
which her father accused Dion of taking advantage of their generous nature by trying
to seduce his daughter. Dion denied it, but her father didn’t let either of
them get a word in edgeways. He rang Dion’s father in the UK, and within a few
days Dion had boarded a plane to England.

She didn’t get a
chance to speak to him alone again. The day he left, she was allowed to say
goodbye, but her father stood three feet away with his arms crossed the entire
time. She cried and Dion looked distraught. He apologised and told her he’d
miss her, and in spite of her father’s thunderous glare, he reached and brushed
the back of his fingers against her cheek.

After he left, she
wrote him a long letter telling him her feelings and explaining how much she
loved him. It was seven pages long, and she poured into it all the emotion
she’d bottled up for years.

Then she ripped it
up.

She’d thought
about asking him to be friends on Facebook, but in the end decided it would be
too painful. Instead she relied on the odd bit of news from Sean to find out
what he was doing. She heard when he finished university and graduated with an
honours degree in English literature, which he loved. She felt sad when he went
to work at his father’s paper mill, knowing he would have preferred to go into
teaching, but as the years went by, he rose higher and higher through the large
firm until he practically ran it for his father. Sean said he’d seen photos of
him, although no wife or children featured in the pictures.

But she never
spoke to him again.

The snow coated
his hair thickly, but he didn’t move, his eyes following the flakes as they
rested on her eyelashes, her lips. She licked them off automatically, and
didn’t miss the way his gaze slid to her mouth.

Did he have any idea
how long she’d pined for him? Half the time she thought she hated him for
leaving her—the other half she yearned for him to return. Eventually, she’d
come to terms with the fact that he wasn’t coming back, and she forced herself
to move on. She went to university and met Cody, thought she loved him and
agreed to marry him.

But staring up at
Dion, her heart racing as his eyes met hers again, she finally realised she’d
never really got over him. Had Cody guessed that? Was that part of the reason
things hadn’t worked out between them?

Dion reached out a
gloved hand and, as he had all those years ago, touched the back of his fingers
against her cheek. Then, to her shock and surprise, he bent his head and kissed
her.

The warning bells
rang in Dion’s head even as their lips touched.

What the hell was
he doing? Not only had Megan had a panic attack, but he hadn’t seen her in
eight years. She could be married with three kids as far as he knew. And he had
the nerve to plant his lips on hers like he owned her.

Just as that time
he’d kissed her at the midwinter party, she inhaled sharply, but she didn’t
pull away. Her mouth curved beneath his, though, and when he lifted his head,
he saw she was smiling.

“Hello, Dion,” she
said, and burst out laughing.

He grinned back
ruefully, although in his head he berated himself.
What the hell? You idiot!
You’re lucky she didn’t slap you.
But the kiss had been instinctive, a
gesture that said a dozen things from “Hello” to “I’ve missed you” to “It’ll be
okay”, born out of a need to comfort her and a rush of pleasure at recognising
her, as well as a reaction to the fact that, well, to be perfectly honest she
looked fucking hot.

His gaze had been
drawn to her even before he’d recognised her. In her scarlet coat, she’d stood
out like a flower against the snowy vista, and her long, shiny brown hair had
caught his eye. His legs had moved him automatically along the bridge to catch
a glimpse of her face, and only then had he realised he knew her.

She’d changed, and
yet at the same time she hadn’t. She’d lost the braces she’d had as a teenager,
and her teeth were straight and white. The youthful plumpness had vanished,
making her high cheekbones stand out, which somehow emphasised her beautiful green
eyes. Her smooth, pale skin had flushed from the cold. She was both familiar
and exotic, and his heart raced with uncharacteristic speed at a mere kiss.

Still, he
shouldn’t have done it. “Sorry,” he said guiltily. “I don’t know why I did
that.”

“Jeez, don’t
apologise. That’s the best thing that’s happened to me for months.” Her
heartfelt reply convinced him of her honesty. What did that mean? Had she been
having a bad time?

She glanced
around. “What are you doing here? Are you with friends? Family?”

“No, on business,”
he said, smiling at her lovely Kiwi lilt. He’d missed it. “We’re taking over a
large Czech paper firm and I’m here to seal the deal tomorrow. I arrived this
morning and thought I’d see a few of the sights.”

She nodded,
smiling. Relief filtered through him that her panic attack had passed. As soon
as he’d started talking to her on the bridge, he’d realised what was happening.