Christmas Affair

by Ginny Frost

  They were crazy for them. Every single girlfriend so far had whispered the W-word at least once in their relationship. And usually, uttering the word prompted him to break it off. He was not the marrying type. Not to short-sighted, brainless girls who only saw lace and diamonds. He’d never be a lace-and-diamonds kind of boyfriend.

  Living in Upstate, he should be able to find hearty women who liked flannel and snowshoeing. But so far, he hadn’t found one. He wanted someone to talk to, not just rock the bedroom. Someone with ambitions beyond being his arm candy. He’d never be a rich man working for his dad. Why couldn’t women understand that?

  He glanced over at Jo. The spotlight over his garage cast a bluish glow, like moonlight. The light pooled into the passenger side of the cab, bathing Jo. In her white dress, she looked like an angel come to earth. His breath caught in his chest. She was gorgeous, smart, and vulnerable.

  Brett blinked a couple of times to erase the image of her princess-like pose, but it branded itself into his brain.

  Without a word, he opened his car door, planning to sprint inside to toss cold water on his face. Hell, he should just bury his head in the snow. The light shining on her cemented his only real thought.

  He loved her.

  It hit Brett hard in the chest, as if someone had answered his wish. A smart, well-rounded woman with an excellent head on her shoulders. She had passions and faults, without being a sugar-daddy chaser.

  He was just transportation here, nothing more, a means to escape from her mother and future husband. He paused, his heart sinking.

  Husband.

  The idea made his blood run cold.

  Fuck.

  Too bad she turned out to be off-limits.

  He could do without this kind of crazy. Especially with all the crap from work. He wanted to talk to his dad, find out about Ryan, and return Ted to his old self. His family needed him. He didn’t have time to rescue the princess—yet here he was.

  Something snagged him as he exited the car. He turned to find Jo’s hand gripping his arm. “Can you pull into the garage?” Her voice held some timidity, but something else lay beneath her words.

  Fear?

  Anger?

  He blinked at her. Her mouth curled up into a pucker, her eyes hard. “I don’t exactly have snow boots on.”

  He glanced at her feet, encased in delicate white shoes that looked too fancy to walk in, much less trudge up his driveway into the house. He sighed. “Stay there.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he’d regret this. An image of him carrying her inside in her wedding dress burned into his head. Like any other woman in her place, she’d see more to it than his helping her in the snow. And his wonderful Jo would morph into another one of those clingy women he dated, droning on about weddings and marriage.

  But no going back now. He had to get her inside.

  He hiked around the car, breathing deeply before opening her door. With no other choice, Brett opened it and scooped her out of her seat. Carefully balancing her in his arms, he walked the snowy path to his front door.

  They stood together on the doorstep, Brett’s cheeks burning, Jo shivering.

  “Uh,” she said, her body pressed against his. “Are you going to open the door?”

  “The keys,” he grumbled, “are in my pocket.” The super-romantic gesture he envisioned of carrying her over the doorway in her wedding gown kinda flopped. He felt so stupid it hurt, but he was also relieved.

  “Well, either I can try to reach them,” she laughed, “or set me down and unlock it yourself. I trust you.”

  “If I put you down, the snow will ruin your shoes. That’s why I carried you.”

  Jo examined her toes. “No, you carried me so that my sickly self kept her feet dry. Put me down, Brett. They’re just shoes.”

  Wha…? Shoes not important? He’d never heard a woman utter those words before. He looked at her, gazing deep into her eyes, and something clicked in his heart and his head.

  This woman.

  No one else.

  Only her.

  Jo was the one.

  He lowered her to the ground, leaving his arms wrapped around her. “Josephine…” he said, pulling her tight against him. He pressed his lips to hers, barely holding back the passion burning inside him. She resisted for about half a second before melting into him, giving herself up to his kiss.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Jo pulled away from the wild kiss. Her body trembled as she did—a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold.

  Brett looked at her, his gaze filmed over with something she didn’t understand. After a moment, the fog in his expression cleared.

  “Oh shit, you gotta be freezing.” He fumbled in his pocket, looking for those elusive keys.

  And thank god for them. The idea of Brett carrying her into his house in the dress mortified her. It looked as if she'd dashed from one man to another.

  And she ran from no one.

  Well, except Mom. But the thing with Brett was so odd and new. At least it wasn’t spoiled by some stupid, tropey romantic image. She’d stay with him for tonight, longer if the snow lasted. Maybe long enough to come up with an alternative life plan.

  And the shoes? Who cared about them? They were not her wedding shoes, not by a long shot. The situation seeped into her brain slowly.

  Her mother.

  Planned a wedding for her.

  To Dexter.

  Without telling me.

  Words failed her. How could she do that to me?

  Brett unlocked the door and gestured for her to enter. He hadn’t said a word since he stopped on the steps. Such a romantic notion to carry her into the house, but far away from where they were. Where did they stand anyway? Jo hadn’t a moment to know the man beyond sleeping with him.

  She hesitated, knowing she should go inside, warm up, and decide what to do. But going inside seemed like a statement. Some sort of commitment, declaration. I’m not going there. She would not run from one wedding into another serious relationship.

  Brett stared down at her, his brow furrowed. He looked like he didn’t know what to do, either. With a wan smile, she stepped over the threshold and into his world.

  He followed right behind her with a preemptive, “Don’t mind the mess. Uh, I wasn’t expecting company. Ever.”

  “Hence the lack of holiday decorations?”

  He shrugged, his cheeks pink. And not from the cold.

  Such a telling statement. Brett appeared to be a lady’s man with his amazing good looks, and that body—oof. But he’d been polite, kind, and respectful. A huge mark in his favor. But now, he seemed standoffish. Not because a stranger entered his house, but because of their connection. She glanced around.

  Archways sat on either side of the small foyer with an L-shaped staircase in front of the main door. Two small hallways flanked the stairs. A couch stood on one end and a dining table on the other. Not a holiday decoration in sight.

  A wry smile twisted her lips. She wondered if he entertained the brothers he mentioned.

  The place was small with a sparse, manly decorative scheme of hunter green and dark woods. A chair rail split the foyer’s walls, green on the bottom, and a rich textured plaster above. Jo touched the wall. The effect looked elegant without being overstated. It didn’t seem Brett at all.

  “Come on in the kitchen,” he said, his words staccato. “Let me get you coffee or something.”

  She trotted behind him and asked, “How about a glass of wine?” A glass of chardonnay sounded perfect about now.

  He chuckled. “That won’t warm you up. Have a seat.” He pulled out a chair from a small kitchen table. Wrought iron painted white, it sported flowers up and down the legs. Probably patio furniture. She put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. Men left to decorate made interesting choices.

  After fiddling with the coffee pot, he thumbed a finger down another little hall. “I’ll grab you something to wear.” He strangled on the last words, his cheeks flush
ing red. Ducking his head, he left the room in a rush.

  In her patio chair, Jo opted to shuck the offending shoes. The dress needed to go, too, but standing naked in the kitchen would send Brett the wrong message.

  Hopefully, he’d understand that. She never intended to use him to escape her mother. And she didn’t sleep with him to break up the wedding.

  After a minute, Brett returned carrying a few articles of clothing. He held up one in each hand. “You’ll swim in these, but it’ll get you through until we…” His words faded off as if he had nowhere to go.

  She hadn’t a clue, either. Anything could happen next.

  Anything.

  “Uh, thanks.” She stood, holding out a hand for the clothes.

  He pointed behind him. “You can change in the laundry room, Uh, it’s pretty clean. I hid the…” His cheeks blazed pink again. “Anyway, those have a drawstring, so…”

  The awkwardness was killing her. Time to break it up.

  “You have a laundry room off the kitchen? Oh, my God. That’s awesome.” She grinned and trotted to the closed door.

  Brett laughed. “One of the reasons I picked up the place. I’m flipping it, in case you couldn’t tell from the fancy stuff in the old place. Side project. Not part of Dad’s business.”

  Jo came back to the kitchen, swamped in his t-shirt and sweatpants. The cinched drawstring barely held up the pants. “You flip houses, remodel hotels. What else?”

  And she was genuinely interested. Her social contacts comprised lawyers, professors, and computer people. No blue-collar man was allowed to speak to her. Once in a while, she’d ask a gardener or a repairman to show her his work. Mom always shooed her away, citing her health, and the dangers of germs, working with her hands, and “those people.”

  And Brett, a likable guy with carpentry skills, who could probably build her a perfect desk for her computer. Something ergonomic—comfortable, durable, and handsome. Kinda like him.

  He shrugged, pouring a couple of mugs of coffee. “This and that. My older brother is brilliant with drywall and carpentry. I’m good at renovations. Dad’s the electrical guy, but he’s retiring.” He stopped talking as if making the coffee required all his attention.

  “And there’s one more brother, right? What does he do?”

  Brett snorted. “He waltzes into town, and everyone goes gaga over him. Thinks himself some great managerial genius. Takes over the business, leaving me and Ted out in the cold.”

  “Oh, no.” Jo never planned to open a can of worms, but discussing someone else’s family problems sounded very distracting. And she needed a distraction. “That sounds terrible, and at this time of year…” She settled at the table and Brett handed over the coffee. She frowned at its lack of wine.

  “Ryan’s a pain in the ass. He’s honest to a fault which might end Kramer and Sons, which would kill Dad. And Ted is so out of it…” His words faded off. “Look, I don’t wanna burden you with my stupid shit. You’re cold and had a crazy shock. I should help you.” He shuffled his feet, still standing by the counter.

  Jo tapped the chair next to her. “Listening to you makes me forget my overbearing mother and her nonsense.”

  Brett’s chin hung to his chest, but his eyes glowed. He was probably dying of curiosity.

  Laughing, she said, “Okay. Ask your questions. I’ll be as honest as I can. But I’m telling you, if I get too pissed, I want my wine.”

  He laughed, shuffling over to the chair next to her. “No wine, just coffee. Sorry.” Plopping into a chair, he set his coffee on the table. “You really didn’t know about the wedding?”

  “Did you?” She laughed. “I had no clue. I thought it was a holiday party. My nose has been stuck in my computer for months now. Mom planned my life around me, as usual. I’ve never gotten much input into what happens.” She sipped the dark brew. “That’s why the computer programing. I wanted to be independent. But she doesn’t trust me on my own.”

  “So, she promised you to some guy like cattle? An arranged marriage? Your family does that?”

  Jo laughed again, unrestrained. The idea of her mother using a cultural practice not her own…

  Never.

  “I have no idea what she was thinking. Other than she’s always directed my life. Most of the time I felt too sick to care what she did. I let her organize things, take care of the problems, make everything easy. I missed so much. Now that I’m healthier, I can see the hole I dug myself into. And if the wedding wasn’t the epitome of it.”

  She shook her head as tears threatened. She wasn’t responsible for her mother’s crazy notions. Mom probably assumed she’d never protest. Jo would have someone to take care of her, to cater to her health issues, pay for everything, and bulldoze every barrier.

  But she didn’t want that life anymore. She was tired of being treated as a child. She had a mind and wanted to use it—to explore the world and try to survive on her own.

  Be free to fail.

  She glanced at Brett, who raised his eyebrows. “Penny for your thoughts,” he said, a slight smile on his lips.

  “My mother is not an evil person.”

  He laughed, and Jo shook her head.

  “If you had a kid who spent half her childhood in bed—sick, weak, tired, wasting away, you’d be overprotective, too.”

  Brett raised his coffee cup in salute. “Good to know. But you’re better now?”

  “Very much so. Apparently, that escaped my mother’s notice. I never want to see her again.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brett glanced at the beautiful woman at his table, buried in his sweats, in his house. Unbelievable. Rescuing her from her own wedding. Jesus, could you get more soap opera?

  And now what should he do with her? He had his own problems to deal with. The stupid repairs at the hotel delayed, dealing with his family and the business. The repairs were almost complete at the Excelsior, and he needed to talk to Dad.

  Brett glanced out the back slider, watching the snow fall. It could wait for tomorrow. He’d have to be out early with the plow, anyway. Many of his neighbors would be snowed in. He didn’t want to think about them shoveling their driveways.

  In this small town, everyone seemed too old to remove snow. No one flew south for the winter. They endured the weather, with neighbor helping neighbor. Plus, no way he’d let Dad shovel this heavy shit.

  Jo cleared her throat, and Brett realized he’d asked her about herself, then slid into his own thoughts.

  What a dick.

  “Sorry,” he chimed. “My brain automatically focused on the snow. You asked…”

  Her cheeks reddened. “Oh, it’s nothing. No biggie. Uh, so it’s okay if I crash on your couch?”

  Jesus, he was thick tonight. “Of course, of course. Stay as long as you want.” The words popped out before he considered. Typical ingrained Upstate politeness. Dad taught him well, and now he had a house guest for a while. He didn’t want to think about the girl’s mother and the consequences when she found her daughter here.

  He scrubbed the back of his neck. “Man, I might not have food you can eat. I don’t want you to get sick.” He glanced around his bachelor kitchen. Did he even have food in the fridge?

  “If you have fruit and veggies, I’ll be fine.” She smiled, probably terrified she’d thrown her lot in with a mountain man. And now they were snowed in. In his mind, their intimate acquaintance helped. He’d have to feel her out about that. No pressure, especially after the wedding shit.

  “Well,” he considered. “I might have something in the fridge besides milk and juice. No bread, huh? I got eggs, I think. Anyway…”

  She grinned. “Well, let’s see what’s for dinner.” She rose from her chair, so cute in the oversized clothes. With her head in the refrigerator, she giggled. “Not as bad as I thought. Western omelets with bacon and fresh, uh, no fresh berries.” Brandishing a basket of fuzzy blueberries, she grimaced. But her eyes twinkled with mirth.

  “Yeah, about those…�
� He laughed. Her amused expression stopped his explanation cold. She didn’t care, and his heart became lighter. He didn’t have to explain away his failures. Ted would have teased, Ryan reprimanded, and Dad, well, Dad was no better than Brett.

  All his life, he always overcompensated for the simplest mistake, overthought, blamed others, or demonstrated how he was not at fault. Jo, for some reason, eased the tension. He didn’t have to talk about how he planned to make blueberry pancakes, but the call to go the Excelsior happened. And he forgot about them.

  He didn’t care. And it felt good.

  Jo found the garbage and tossed the berry basket in. “Eggs and bacon it is. Wanna chop or cook?” She held up a green pepper. Her smile made his knees weak. For this woman, he might do both.

  “Chop,” he said, a dreamlike quality in his voice.

  She giggled. “You into chopping? Is it a tool thing, Mr. Handyman?” She winked.

  He pretended to be macho. “Yeah, give me those sharp tools and see what my manly hands can do.” He stood, flexing his biceps. “I’ll make mincemeat of those vegetables.”

  Laughter filled the room as they fell into the simple chore of making a meal. Brett marveled at the ease with which they chatted, cooked, and hung out. He could get used to it. Commitment didn’t seem so scary around Jo.

  Once they’d eaten with a nice light conversation weaving through the meal, Brett tipped back in his chair. He wanted to pull the woman into his lap and thank her properly for a fantastic meal. Well, eggs and bacon, but it seemed like an event.

  Jo stood, taking his plate and hers. Without a conscious thought, he reached over and grabbed her hand to stop her from cleaning up. Sparks danced along their skin. Their gazes met, and the idea of lap-play drowned out most other thoughts. He held her delicate wrist in his hand. A minimal amount of effort would put her in his lap. Her gaze faltered for a second, and he let go.

  The woman had run away from an awful situation. They’d made no promises after the first tryst. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure her into his bed, no matter how much he desired her. But he knew better than anyone, you can’t always get the things you deserve, and he deserved her.