Unwrapping Her Perfect Match: A London Legends Christmas Novella (7 page)

“What happened? What did I do?” Stark terror
welled inside him. Odd as it might seem to those who didn’t know
him well, his biggest fear was hurting people. Sure, he left
opponents battered and bruised, but the one time he’d delivered a
nasty—and illegal—high tackle and left a man unconscious, he’d
puked as soon as he realized what he’d done. His size and strength
were his greatest assets in his career and his greatest weaknesses
in the rest of his life.

Gwen struggled for breath. “I’m okay. I’m
okay.”

But her panting didn’t reassure him. He
knocked Liam’s arm away from her, momentarily catching the look of
surprise on his captain’s face before he put his palm tentatively
on Gwen’s shoulder. “What did I do? Are you hurt?”

She shook her head and finally straightened.
“Nothing. I tried to stop you falling. Stupid, really. I forget
you’re so much bigger than my usual patients.”

I’m not your patient.
But if that was
how she needed to think of him to stay with him for the next couple
of days, so be it. He needed her help—clearly more than he’d been
willing to admit at the hospital. If he’d collapsed like this with
only Agnes around...

Didn’t bear thinking about. He hoisted
himself to his feet before reaching down to help Gwen up. She gave
him a lopsided smile. “You’re a bruiser.”

“I would hate to ever hurt you, Gwen.”

Her smile froze for the barest second before
softening. “Tell that to my tailbone.”

“Happily. Why don’t I—”

Liam cursed. “Can we at least get into the
house before you two start shagging?”

Red stained Gwen’s cheeks. “We’re not going
to—”

“Right,” Liam said, his tone carrying the
weight of his disbelief. “Let’s just get him inside so I can leave.
I’ve got some courting of my own to do tonight.”

Liam opened the door to John’s house and the
two of them helped him to the couch. When he collapsed onto it,
Gwen disappeared to make some tea and get him a glass of water. He
pressed his hand to his throbbing temple. “I can’t wait till we
meet Leicester on the pitch again.”

“I’m sure they know that. Their captain
texted me to ask how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine.”

Liam was quiet long enough that John opened
his eyes. “What?”

“Will you be all right with just Gwen here to
look after you?”

“Mate, I’ll be fine. You go enjoy your
holiday.”

“If you’re sure—”

“Positive.” Two days with Agnes. Two days
with Gwen. The thought of having a virtual stranger in his home for
what was bound to be two days of anxiety should’ve filled him with
annoyance. Instead, knowing that Gwen would be around lifted some
of the stress that had been cramping his gut for days. “She’s so
capable. I didn’t get that impression of her that first night.”

Liam’s eyes flicked toward the kitchen door.
In a soft voice, he said, “She’s supported Tess through some of her
darkest days. She’s been like a rock to Tess, and she must have a
steel backbone to do the work she does. I just don’t know about her
heart, mate. Be careful with it.”

With that warning, Liam clasped John’s
shoulder and wished him a happy Christmas. Gwen walked out of the
kitchen with a couple cups of tea and a glass of water just in time
to say goodbye. The sound of the front door clicking closed told
John that he and Gwen were finally alone.

She sat on the armchair across from him.
“What time do Caroline and Agnes arrive?”

Oh yeah. His memory must’ve been knocked out
of his head when it hit the pitch. “The time’s in my diary on my
phone.”

He tried to open the app but everything on
the screen was too small for his fingers, which suddenly seemed
massive. Letting out a frustrated breath, he gave up and handed his
mobile to Gwen. She swiped and tapped the screen a couple of times.
“Okay, it looks like they land at City airport in about ten
minutes. That doesn’t give us much time.”

Panic shot through him and he struggled to
push himself off the couch. “I have to be there when they
land.”

“Whoa, tiger.” Gwen leaned over him, pressing
him back into the cushions. The neckline of her shirt dipped down,
pulling his attention away from his uppermost head to his
lowermost. “You’re going nowhere, so let me call a car service to
pick them up.”

She straightened and slipped her own phone
from her handbag. Standing in front of him, she spoke to someone on
the other end while John’s gaze devoured her. Her breasts were at
his eye level, and the curve of her waist and hips tempted him to
slide his hands all over her. Images of her half-naked, riding him
through his suit trousers, transferred the throbbing pain from his
head to his cock. Her skin had been soft and warm against his rough
hands. Her throaty voice, so unconsciously sensual, floated around
him as she did whatever the fuck she was doing on the phone. What
was it again?

Oh, yeah. Car service.

She hung up. “Someone’s on his way. He’ll
meet them at the airport. Do you want to call or text Caroline to
let her know?”

“Probably a good idea.” Deciding his ability
to speak was probably better than his ability to spell right now,
he phoned her and left a voicemail.

When he’d hung up, Gwen clapped her hands
together decisively. “What else needs doing?”

“Nothing.” He’d done as much as he could to
prepare for the visit before he’d left for the match. “I got the
shopping in, bought the tree...”

Her brows pulled down, and she glanced around
the living room. “Where is it?”

“Garage.”

“Oh. That’ll be...lovely.”

For the first time all day, he laughed. “It’s
not staying there. My mum was staunchly traditional when it came to
trees. We never put them up till Christmas Eve, and we take them
down on Epiphany. I’ll bring the tree up tomorrow afternoon and we
can decorate it together.”

Gwen silently looked around his house, and
his nerves began bubbling again. “What?”

“Hmm? Oh, nothing.”

Clearly not nothing. “Please, Gwen, if I’m
doing something wrong, tell me. I—” He needed more than just
medical help. “I’d appreciate it.”

“How old is Agnes?”

“Ten.”

Her brows shot up. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-nine.”

“Oh. You don’t look that old.”

He laughed again. “Cheers. The weekly
face-bashing must keep me boyishly handsome.”

“I’m not sure vascular damage works that way.
Anyway, I was going to say, if this is her first Christmas away
from home, don’t you think it would be nice if she arrived to a
cheerful, festive house?”

He hadn’t thought of that, but it made a hell
of a lot of sense. “How long have we got?”

“If their flight lands on time? Not long.
Thirty, forty minutes?”

He leaned forward to stand again, but Gwen
pushed him back...again.

“Let me do it. Did you buy decorations?”

“They’re in bags in my bedroom. I’d—” He
stopped, realizing how stupid he was about to sound.

“What?”

Grimacing, he confessed. “I’d had this vision
of me and Agnes decorating the house together.”

Gwen’s hand went to her chest, and John’s
gaze followed. “That’s so sweet. If that’s what you want to
do...”

“No. You’re right. This is about her, not me.
She’s never been here before.” He glanced around his place, trying
to see it with his daughter’s eyes. Brown wood furniture. Gray
upholstery that he’d chosen because it wouldn’t show stains if he
spilled anything on it. Magnolia walls. Masculine. Boring. But at
least his furniture was no longer propped up on cinder blocks.

“What can we do?” he asked.

“We can leave the tree for you and Agnes to
do tomorrow, but for now why don’t I make this room a little more
festive. And will she have her own room while she’s here?”

Damn. Something else he’d forgotten. “She
will…or would…but…” He cleared his throat. “Uh, I only have one
guest room.”

“Oh. I hadn’t even considered sleeping
arrangements. Of course she’ll have the guest room. I can take the
couch.”

“I can’t let you sleep on the couch.”

“I can’t let you sleep there, either. And I’m
going to win, so you might as well give up now.”

His nostrils twitched. No one spoke to him
like that. People usually took one look at him and gave in—even
before they knew what he did for a living. Being bossed around?
Kind of a turn-on, if he was honest. “We’ll negotiate sleeping
arrangements later. Maybe we can both take the couch.”

Her throat flexed as she swallowed. “I hardly
think that will work, logistically.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll make sure we fit.”

“The decorations are in your bedroom, you
said?” She jogged up the stairs with a haste that had him laughing.
Two days. He’d only asked for dinner and she’d given him two full
days. Why had she done that? She must have patients who left in a
much more vulnerable state than his. Why decide to spend Christmas
with a man she didn’t really know and his daughter whom she’d never
met? His brain was achy and bruised, but he would figure out the
answer by Boxing Day.

Over the next half hour, Gwen became a
whirling dervish. She strung lights around the living room, hung a
wreath and propped the gaudy Father Christmas figurines he’d bought
in a blind panic yesterday along the mantle of his fake fireplace.
For an indeterminate amount of time—he’d fallen asleep watching her
work—she disappeared into his guest room. Agnes’s room. The
daughter he’d met a few weeks after her birth but, a decade later,
still barely knew.

Every summer, he spent a week camping with
Caroline and Agnes. Every Christmas he flew over for a couple of
days. Every time he played against teams in southern France,
Caroline brought Agnes to watch him. In his time as a dad, he’d
learned how to build elaborate sandcastles and pretend to lose a
wrestling match to a giggling girl a fraction of his size. He’d put
dozens of ball gowns on Barbie dolls, which felt strange after
spending much of his childhood stripping them off his sister’s
Barbies. He’d taught his daughter how to throw a rugby ball before
she’d figured out how to kick a football—one of his greatest
achievements.

But this summer, everything had changed. He’d
tried to give her a piggyback, and she’d reeled back in horror.
He’d felt shocked, but Caroline had explained that Agnes was
growing up and probably wasn’t comfortable roughhousing with him
anymore.

What was he supposed to do if they couldn’t
play together anymore? He’d never had more than a few hours alone
with Agnes, and those had been packed full of awkward silences as
he struggled to communicate with her in his broken French. From the
moment he’d first held her fragile, tiny body in his oversized,
clumsy arms, she’d filled him with a special kind of terror. He
could face down a line of men hell-bent on mowing him down; the
little girl he’d lost his heart to could crush him with one
confused look.

“Are you all right?”

The cushion shifted under his arse as Gwen
sat next to him. She’d offered to stay for two days to take care of
him, but—unbeknownst to her—her presence did more for his spirits
than for his head. His arm twitched to wrap around her shoulders,
pull her across his lap so he could properly show her how much he
appreciated her sacrificing her holidays. But he didn’t know where
they stood, and the last thing he needed was to send her rushing
for the exit again.

Curving his hand over her knee, he tipped his
head against hers. “I can’t remember if I told you this already,
Gwen, but thank you for being here.”

He’d wanted her the first time he’d seen her.
Now he feared he needed her.

Caroline was the most French Frenchwoman Gwen
had ever laid eyes on. As she stood in the entry hanging up her and
Agnes’s coats, Gwen checked her out. The body beneath her khaki
trousers and cashmere sweater was slender without being skinny—the
kind of body that screamed, “Why yes, I do live on a diet of brie,
croissants and red wine, but I’m a chain smoker so none of the
calories stick to my bones.” The tips of her brunette hair brushed
her shoulders. It shone like she’d just stepped off the set of a
shampoo commercial. Her skin was clear and practically free of
makeup. What little makeup she wore seemed to highlight the fact
that she didn’t need any.

And she was petite. She came only to Gwen’s
upper arm. Just before John awkwardly greeted her by bending in
half to kiss her cheek, Gwen noticed that the top of Caroline’s
head was about level with John’s nipples.

How the hell did this woman manage to birth
John’s baby without being ripped in two? Because their daughter had
clearly inherited her father’s size, poor thing. At ten years old,
she was already her mother’s height. Her broad shoulders and long
limbs marked her as someone who could someday have a brilliant
career as a swimmer, if she stopped hunching. Her hair was brown
and thick. Unlike her father, who wore his trimmed short, Agnes’s
hung in waves to the middle of her back. Her nose had the same bump
in the bridge that John’s did, a bump that Gwen had assumed had
come from a bad break. Apparently not.

The girl kept her face averted toward the
floor, standing as close to her mother as she could without
actually grabbing her and begging her not to leave. But Caroline
wasn’t leaving tonight, anyway. She and John had both decided it
was best that she stay the first night to make sure Agnes was
comfortable.

Why had they never visited before? And why
did Agnes seem so awkward and shy with her father? Had they only
met each other recently?

But John had told Gwen that he usually spent
Christmases with Caroline and Agnes. That didn’t sound like he’d
only done it a couple of times.

The pseudofamily was a mystery to Gwen, who
was too absorbed in figuring it out to notice that Caroline had
asked her a question. When the room fell silent, Gwen blinked into
awareness and caught the two grownups looking at her expectantly.
“Sorry, I faded away for a second there.”