Christmas at the Graff

by Kaylie Newell

  Deliberately slow, she shifted closer to his erection.

  He reached up to cup her breasts, squeezing them gently, then moving his thumbs back and forth over her nipples. Her heart beat so fast she wondered if she might be having some kind of episode. A sex-induced heart attack, brought on by a life-altering orgasm.

  Breathing heavily, she moved lower, lower, until his tip nudged her slick opening. She put her hand between her legs and guided him where she wanted him the most. She felt him tense under her, and then he was inside.

  She knew he wanted to plunge deep, so she denied him, shifting her hips so only part of him remained inside her. He groaned and squeezed her thighs. She moved again, only slightly, but enough to rub him, tease him. Enough to feel her orgasm mounting, mounting beyond her control.

  “Jemma,” he breathed.

  It was the sound of her name coming from his lips that finally sent her over the edge. At that moment, she pushed herself down and he slid all the way in. She thrust forward, coaxing a moan from his throat. Again and again, she thrust until her climax rose like the brightest, hottest sun, and then washed over her with the intensity of crackling, popping flames.

  She cried out just as EJ grabbed her shoulders and pulled her down to crush his mouth to hers. And then she felt his own convulsions, ripples of pleasure that moved through his very core and into her own.

  It was then the thought of love came again. It was warm and sweet, and its innocent simplicity hurt a little. She loved him. She knew that now, just as sure as she knew that snow would fall in Marietta this winter and the ice over Miracle Lake would eventually melt in the spring. The fact was comforting somehow. All the questions gone. Except one...

  What was she going to do about it?

  Chapter Fifteen

  EJ walked behind Jemma through the little Christmas tree farm just outside of town. They were getting an early start. The sun had just made its way over Copper Mountain and was beginning to bathe everything in warm golds and burnished oranges.

  He knew the Scott family who ran the place. Their son, Lane, had been a patient, and EJ had known he liked to open at sunrise and close at dusk. He was a veteran who’d lost his legs in battle, but had reinvented his life with prosthetics. He helped work the farm over the holidays, always going out of his way to make his customers and friends feel welcome. EJ guessed Jemma would like it here, and he’d been right. After they’d talked to Lane for a few minutes, she’d begun walking up and down the rows of trees with a smile on her face, her chin tucked into her bright red scarf.

  “Is he always that colorful?” she asked, turning.

  He looked up. He’d been staring at her ass.

  “Always.”

  Her face colored. She probably knew exactly what he was thinking.

  “He does seem to know his trees,” she said, disappearing behind one.

  Following her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her close enough that she could feel how much he wanted her.

  “He does,” he said, getting way too much pleasure from her gasp of surprise.

  He leaned down and nipped at her neck, and she wrapped her arms around his waist.

  “He might see us,” she whispered.

  “Maybe. Maybe not.”

  He moved his hand up the back of her jacket, reveling in the silkiness of her skin.

  She turned and rested her cheek on his chest. “I think you might be getting distracted from the job at hand,” she breathed. “The Christmas tree is serious business, remember?”

  “It is serious business. But so is getting you naked again.”

  “What if your ability to create a winning tree is compromised by our public displays of affection?”

  “I’m willing to risk it. Besides,” he said, catching her earlobe between his teeth, “nothing fuels my creativity more than a pair of amazing breasts at my disposal.”

  “Amazing?”

  “The most glorious ever made.”

  She was quiet at that. He waited for a minute, then took her by the shoulders and pushed her away a little so he could look down at her. Her eyes were bright, her nose a little too red. She wasn’t crying, but he could tell she was about to.

  “What is it?” he asked, cupping her face and running his thumb under her lashes. He was getting entirely too used to touching this woman. And he didn’t want to see her crying. Ever.

  “Nothing.”

  “That’s not true.”

  She looked toward the mountains and squinted into the early morning sunlight.

  “What?” he asked.

  She took a breath, her shoulders rising and falling slowly. “I was just thinking about leaving here. About leaving you.”

  He’d been going there himself. But had stopped every time the thoughts took hold, because where did that leave him? People left. They left even though he didn’t want them to, and even though they said they cared about him. Jemma was no different. He didn’t hold it against her, wasn’t mad at her. She needed to do what she needed to do, and his feelings for her were irrelevant. That was life. At least, life the way he understood it.

  She looked back at him and licked her lips. The scent of pine tree had mixed with the subtle scent of her perfume, which he could smell on his own skin.

  “If it were you, what would you do?” she asked.

  He gazed down at her, processing the question. Out on the highway, a log truck lumbered past, shattering the delicate mountain silence for a few seconds. But then it was gone, and there was only the sound of the Scott’s old hound dog scratching himself a few yards away, jingling the tags on his collar.

  He pulled his hands away from her, probably some kind of bullshit defensive move that a psychologist would have a field day with, and put them in his pockets.

  “If I were the one who had to leave?”

  She nodded.

  He shrugged, not liking how the question made him feel. Like he wanted to tell her he wouldn’t leave if it were him. But that was insane. Jesus, he didn’t really know her when it came right down to it. Sex wasn’t the same thing as a stable relationship. She was asking if he’d stay based on one night in the sack. An incredible night, but still.

  It was his turn to take a breath. From somewhere deep inside, he summoned up a lie. What he knew was a lie, even though he hadn’t had time to think it through. But it was the most comfortable thing to say, because he couldn’t fathom saying what had skittered across his mind a few seconds ago.

  “I’d leave, Jemma,” he said evenly.

  She stared up at him. He could tell she was trying to keep composed, but her clear green eyes were incapable of hiding much.

  “Okay,” she said. “Why?”

  And there it was. She was going to force him to hurt her. On the surface, they were both trying to be cut and dry. To pretend this was a fling and it didn’t mean much. But further down, he had a feeling she was just as full of crap as he was.

  “Well, you said it the other night. Because this is brand new, right? We have no idea where it’ll go from here.”

  She nodded again. “Right. That’s the smartest thing.”

  “You’ll be back. It’s not like you live in Boston.”

  “To see Dad?” She looked far away then. “I don’t know. I still haven’t come to terms with anything yet. I don’t know if I see myself just popping in to visit.”

  “Okay. Well, obviously for Joe’s sake, I hope that changes. For mine, too.”

  “I’m not kidding myself with you, EJ.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She jammed her hands in her pockets and turned to walk toward a skinny tree, examining it like a damn doctor would. “You’ll move on pretty quick. And who knows how I’ll feel in a few months.”

  He stared at the back of her head. “Ouch.”

  “I’m sorry. Just being honest.”

  He came up behind her, but resisted the urge to wrap his arms around her waist. That was harsh.

  “You’re the one who wanted
a clean break, remember?”

  She didn’t turn, just bent to look at the trunk carefully. “I know. I was just putting a hypothetical out there, that’s all.”

  “Well, as long as we’re talking hypotheticals, want to tell me why a clean break is so important?”

  “You know why. You just said it yourself.”

  “I know what I said. I want to hear you say it.”

  She glared over her shoulder. “Now you’re just being difficult.”

  “Why? Because I’m making you expand on something that makes you uncomfortable?”

  “Oh, please. It makes you just as uncomfortable.”

  “So, we’re a match made in hell.”

  “Precisely.”

  She tried huffing away, but he grabbed her elbow before she could take two steps.

  “Let me go,” she bit out.

  “No way. Things are just getting interesting.”

  She turned on him, and there was serious anger there. He’d been playing, but the flash in her eyes made him pissed, too. She was the one who’d brought it up. What did she want from him that she wasn’t willing to give herself?

  He leaned close so Lane couldn’t hear. “We both knew what we were getting into from the start. I knew you’d have to leave eventually. So did you. Do I wish you could stay? Of course. And I really hope you’ll come back to Marietta soon. But wanting me to say something else isn’t fair. You’re wanting me to put it all out there when you were the one who said no complications. You’re sending mixed signals, princess.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t call me that.”

  “You’re acting like one.”

  “I’m sorry if I don’t project the perfectly cool indifference you do.”

  “I’m not indifferent.”

  “Really?”

  She was seriously ticked. And so was he. Well, he’d been ticked a second ago. Now, he just wanted to tear her jacket off and take her hot peaked nipples between his teeth. He really was full of it. Letting her go might be one of the hardest things he’d ever do.

  “Really,” he said. “This is me being screwed up and trying not to fall for you, okay? That’s the best I’ve got right now. You’re just going to have to deal with it.”

  She was quiet at that.

  He stepped closer and grabbed her elbow again, but this time, he pulled her against his chest. He lowered his mouth to her ear and breathed against it.

  “Next time you want to get into it, I suggest you do it somewhere we can screw afterward, or else I’ll just have to strip you down in public. On a Christmas tree farm, for God’s sakes. In front of Lane and anyone else who wants to watch.”

  She tossed her head back. He could smell her shampoo, her perfume, something else uniquely her but that he couldn’t identify. Her breath puffed from her mouth in silver clouds, and her cheeks were bright pink from the cold. Her eyes were greener than ever—something about the shifting sunlight, or the emerald trees behind her. But the effect was devastating.

  “If you want me, I’m right here for the taking,” she said, her voice low.

  “Don’t tempt me.”

  She cocked her lips. She was playing with him, but she had no idea what she’d unleashed in his mind. Images of her thighs parting for him in the frigid cold, her breasts warm mounds in his palms.

  “All of a sudden, I want to get out of here,” he growled.

  Without a word, she pointed to a short, squat tree to her left.

  He felt his eyes widen. “That?”

  “I forgot to tell you I have a little quirk,” she said.

  “Oh, God. What?”

  “I always want the reject trees.”

  “The reject trees?”

  She nodded.

  “Uh...”

  She shrugged. “I can’t help it. I’m always picturing them after Christmas, all sad and dejected.”

  “You know they don’t have feelings, right?”

  “Tell that to the Charlie Brown Christmas tree.”

  “I believe Charlie and the rest of the gang were projecting their feelings onto the tree.”

  She watched him steadily.

  “You’re serious.” He didn’t know whether to roll his eyes or pull her close and kiss her. “And you do know we’re trying to sell this thing, right? For charity?”

  “I know that. Our tree is special because it’ll be highlighting shelter animals. Animals that need somebody to take a second look. Shouldn’t our tree reflect that same spirit?”

  He let the words settle. She had a point. He didn’t know if anyone else would see it that way, but it was hard to argue with the logic.

  “Okay. All right. We’ll get the ugliest tree here because I can’t seem to say no to you. Even though my Christmas-tree instinct says there’s no way we’ll win with that thing.”

  She beamed and stepped close, pressing her body to his. Jesus. Lane might just get an eyeful after all.

  “Have a little faith,” she purred dramatically.

  He was hard as a rock and getting harder by the second.

  He cupped the back of her head, feeling her silky curls move between his fingers. She stared up at him, parting her lips just enough so he could see the tip of her tongue.

  He leaned down, so close that her breath warmed his mouth. But he didn’t kiss her. Not yet. It was his turn to tease a little. She stood on her tiptoes, but he moved away and smiled.

  Her eyes had grown hooded, knowing, and he didn’t think he’d ever been more tempted by a woman in his life.

  “Lane,” he called, never taking his eyes from hers. “I think we found our tree.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Jemma stood in her dad’s kitchen, making a pot of peppermint tea. They were going to watch Miracle on 34th Street, something they hadn’t done since she was little. She remembered the good-natured arguments about which was better—technicolor or black and white. Her eight-year-old self always sided with color, but now she appreciated the black and white for what it was. Classic, simple. The way it was always meant to be.

  She’d stopped by Monroe’s market on the way and bought some gingerbread cookies, which she arranged now on a plate. Looking up, she saw her dad settled on the couch, thumbing through a magazine with Ethel curled up on his lap. His glasses were slipping down and he smiled at something briefly before furrowing his brows at something else. There was a toasty fire in the fireplace, and it crackled merrily from across the room.

  Jemma’s heart felt full and at peace for the first time since she could remember. She didn’t know how much of that had to do with EJ, or how much had to do with the idea of forgiving Joe for what he’d done. The more days that passed, the clearer things looked. But unlike the movie they were about to watch, they definitely weren’t black and white. And maybe that was it right there. Life was messy—it was complicated and sometimes she couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But wasn’t it better to have people she loved in it, even though they were far from perfect?

  It was a question that turned over in her mind as she carried the plate of cookies into the living room and set them down on the coffee table with a few napkins. She pushed her dad’s walker out of the way and sat down on the other end of the couch.

  Smiling, he looked over. “Have I told you lately how glad I am you’re here?”

  She smiled back and handed him a cookie. “Only about ten times a day.”

  “Well, I am. I’m glad.”

  “I’m glad too, Dad.”

  He took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “I hope you’ll come back soon, honey. I don’t want it to be like before.”

  “I don’t either.” And she wasn’t surprised to find she meant it. Every word.

  The room was quiet except for the crackling of the fire, but it was a comfortable silence, and that was new. They sat there for a minute as dark snow clouds gathered outside the window. She’d heard some of the locals say there were predictions of a snowstorm with a foot or so possible, but that wasn’t supposed to be f
or another week or so. But by the look of it, they might be in for a preview this afternoon. This was Montana, after all, and when the snow came, it was usually fast and hard.

  Her dad sighed and put his cookie down, careful not to disturb the little cat.

  She frowned. “What?”

  He stared across the room at the fire. “I’m so grateful you’re here. I just wish Justine would consider coming, too. I haven’t been able to get her to pick up the phone.”

  “And you’ve written?”

  “Twice a month. She doesn’t want anything to do with me.”

  Despite everything, Jemma’s heart squeezed at that. Her dad didn’t know Justine, the adult Justine, as well as Jemma did. Her sister most likely longed for a relationship, but couldn’t get past her anger long enough to consider opening up again.

  “That’s not true.”

  He shook his head. “She took the brunt of it. She has good reason to hate me.”

  “She doesn’t hate you.”

  “I think she does.”

  “Give her time. She’ll come around.”

  He looked over at the walker and scratched Ethel behind the ears. “This accident opened my eyes to a lot of things, honey. Time isn’t something I have a ton of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Nothing.” He was quiet a minute before he looked over wearily. “It’s nothing serious. But the doctor found an issue with my heart.”

  “Dad?”

  “It’s okay. I didn’t want to say anything because a broken pelvis is enough to deal with.”

  “But you said you don’t have a lot of time?” There was an edge of panic in her voice that she couldn’t disguise. She thought she’d done such a good job of protecting herself from getting hurt again. What a bunch of crap. She felt as vulnerable as a newly hatched butterfly. Like the simplest of words might damage her beyond repair.