by Elise Faber
His mom used to tell his sisters, “You have to date a few bad ones in order to find the right one.” He’d always thought that was ridiculous. Normal people met each other, dated, stayed together, or moved on.
But then he’d dated a bad one.
He’d dated Lori.
And he’d understood exactly what his mom had meant.
Ultimately, it was a good thing. He didn’t think he would have had the strength to say what he had that night, to keep moving forward when he’d overheard the conversation, to declare himself in front of a room of women who were prepared to dislike him.
Except . . . Kate.
She clearly loved her friends. They clearly loved her.
It was a simple as that.
So, it was nothing for him to give her what she needed. Now, he hoped she’d take the words, the sentiment, and hold it close.
Hence, him being on her doorstep.
She’d texted. He’d come.
But now it was almost one in the morning. The house was dark, except for the bright white lights of her Christmas tree in the family room.
And he was looming on her porch like a burglar in the middle of the night.
He’d texted and waited in his car.
Had texted again before going onto the porch and trying the handle, wanting to make sure she’d locked up behind herself, if she was, in fact, sleeping.
She had.
But now he’d driven over here and was finding it very hard to leave.
He wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to make sure she wasn’t going to retreat—
The door opened, revealing legs in fuzzy striped pajama pants, her breasts barely contained in a pale blue top with dangerously thin straps, and Kate looking up at him with sleepy eyes and a warm smile.
“I didn’t hear my phone,” she murmured.
Jaime ran a finger down one of those thin straps. “Want me to go and let you sleep?”
A shake of her head.
Then she stepped forward and into his arms. “I love you.”
The impact of her words was visceral. A sheer punch to the gut that had him sucking in a breath and fighting against the urge to drag her closer, to slant his mouth across hers, to kiss her with every ounce of joy those words brought.
But then she kept talking. “It terrifies me, but I do, baby. I do love you. But . . . I don’t know if I’m ready to.” She shook her head, stepped back. “I know that doesn’t make the least bit of sense. How can I love you but not be ready? Because I feel it so strongly here”—she thumped a fist on her chest, over her heart—“but I’m terrified that I’m going to get caught in a maelstrom, that I’m going to let it in, and then I’ll be lost, blown to the four corners of the world and not able to find my way back.”
God, he loved this woman.
If he’d thought it had taken courage to tell her friends what he was feeling, this was so much more.
This was the depth of her vulnerability laid bare.
He threaded his hand in her hair, stepped close enough that her body was pressed to his, front to front. “I can’t take away your fear.”
She blinked, lips parting. “Wh-what?”
“I can’t make you not afraid, Red.”
Her breath shuddered out. “I-I—”
“I love you,” he said, nudging her inside and closing the door behind them since it was cold. He kept hold of her as he leaned back against the wooden panel. “I’ve never felt this way for a woman, but I also know it’s been a week. I can get a stubborn dog to take a pill. I can calculate the dosage of carprofen for an eighty-pound German Shepherd. I can start an IV on a pissed-off cat, but I can’t take away your fear.” He rested his forehead against hers. “God, I want to, baby. I want to make everything all right, heal that giant heart of yours, and ride off into the sunset.” He pressed his cheek to her temple, held her tight. “But this is real life, so all I can give you is time and my love and the tools for us to ascend that fucking mountain and make it over to the other side together.”
She shuddered, and he felt a hot tear leak out of the corner of her eye, drip down her jaw. “Together?”
Fingers in the silk of her hair, mouth next to her ear, bodies close. “Yeah, Red. Together.”
Silence.
Her throat working.
Another hot tear.
Then a halting chuckle. “Damn, baby,” she said. “It would be so much easier if you could just make all the bad stuff go away.” A breath. “I want to make it to the other side of that rainbow.”
He leaned back, stared into those pretty whiskey eyes. “I’ll pick up some armor. Maybe a white horse.”
She sniffed then smiled before rising on tiptoe to press a quick kiss to his lips. “Me, too.”
Give. Take.
Fuck, he loved this woman.
His alarm came far too soon, but Jaime couldn’t complain about waking up with Kate draped all over him.
The world’s best blanket, that was for sure.
A grumpy blanket, who groaned when his alarm blared. He quickly shut it off and slipped from the bed, tugging on the clothes that he’d worn the night before. They’d ended up crumpled on the floor after Kate had taken his hand and dragged him to her bedroom.
Then had her wicked way with him.
Not that he was complaining.
Having a sexy, turned-on Kate below him, hips moving, breasts bare, head thrown back as she came around him was no hardship.
It was a hard something.
Snorting, he knelt on the mattress and kissed the base of her spine. She was still naked, neither of them having bothered with pajamas several hours before. He’d just blearily made sure his alarm was good to go then gathered her close and let sleep overtake him.
Now, he tugged the sheets up and over her and disappeared into her bathroom, waiting until the door was closed before turning on the lights. He didn’t want to wake her; knew she had the day off. Blinking against the brightness, he remembered she’d drowsily mentioned an extra toothbrush under the sink, and he located it before brushing his teeth and splashing some water on his face.
Feeling slightly more human, he turned out the lights, waited for his eyes to adjust, then cracked the door, tiptoeing quietly into Kate’s bedroom.
But she was sitting up, sheet held to her chest, hair a fucking mess that he itched to run his fingers through. He crossed over to her, sat on the bed, and lightly kissed her mouth. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did I wake you?”
Her forehead dropped to his shoulder. “No.”
“You okay?”
A nod.
He nudged her down. “Go back to sleep, Red. I’ll see you tonight.”
“But—” She yawned, started to sit up. “I should make you breakfast.”
He nudged her back down. “Another time. Sleep, love.”
“I—”
Jaime tucked the covers tightly around her. “There. You’re trapped.” He brushed her hair back, kissed her forehead. “Raincheck on breakfast.”
Her eyes closed.
He smiled. So fucking beautiful.
He pushed to his feet and started for the door.
“Jaime—”
And stubborn. He sighed. “No, breakfast, Red.”
Another yawn, a hint of tart in her tone. “I was just going to say, there’s a key in the drawer by the oven.”
Even a little cranky and tired, she undid him.
“I love you.”
“I lo . . .” Sleep pulled her under, the rest of the words a mumble.
But that was okay because he felt them in his heart anyway.
Jaime slipped from the room, headed downstairs, and out to his car. But he damned sure made certain to stop by the kitchen and grab the key from the drawer before he left.
No more closed doors.
He had the key.
Twenty
Kate
By the time she woke up fully after Jaime left, the sun was bright enough in the sky to rival her high school
sleeping in days.
And her head . . . well, it felt a little like high school, too.
Alcohol and sex and not knowing her limits.
Except, she kind of knew her limits when it came to Jaime. That being, she had no limits when it came to the lovely, sexy man who’d barreled through the door to her heart and made himself right at home.
Then again, she’d thrown the door wide open.
“That’s right,” she said, stretching long and slow but keeping her eyes closed because the sun was ouchie.
Technical term, that.
Snorting, but still feeling very satisfied with herself, she rolled over, peeked enough to grab her cell, and slit open one eye to type out a message to Jaime.
You know, I was thinking this whole thing was my fault.
She pulled the covers over her head, checked her emails while she waited, but she’d barely gotten her inbox opened when her phone buzzed.
Oh, it’s definitely your fault.
Kate chuckled.
I was referring to the fact that you’re stuck with me now, rather than the fake engagement.
A pause.
I was, too.
She laughed outright that time, feeling warm and fuzzy inside and just . . . so much in love.
Barry is here for his check-up, so I need to go. Enjoy your day off.
My heart! Squee! Also, I’ll let you go take care of that cock.
Kate (and in case you couldn’t tell, that was a warning because I can’t get a boner at work).
She giggled.
See you tonight? *angel emoji*
Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.
And you’ve taken care of wild horses—or regular ones anyway, so I know you mean it. *horse emoji, heart eyes emoji, celebration emoji, heart emoji*
*kissing emoji* Proof that I’ve kept up my studying. See you tonight, Red.
Kate didn’t reply, other than with a heart to keep giving him more proof that her emoji skills were as strong as ever before setting her phone on her nightstand and pulling the covers back up and over her.
Happy.
She was happy and fulfilled and . . . she didn’t have a Christmas present for him!
How did she not have a Christmas present?
It was two days away. They would be sitting with her family at her parents’ house with presents all around, and she hadn’t bought him anything.
Of course, a week ago she hadn’t thought she’d needed to do any more buying.
But . . . he meant a lot, had done more to transform her life, her heart in less time than any other person she had ever met.
And he deserved a present.
A good present.
Because he’d given her the gift of time, of courage, of cracking open the door to her heart.
“Well, you can’t just get him a door, Kate,” she muttered, throwing back the covers and blinking against the bright before she got out of bed. Shower. Clothes. Present. Dinner. That was her plan.
She’d feed him, coax him into staying the night.
And in the morning, she’d make him breakfast then see him off to work properly.
Perhaps with a blow job.
Talk about presents.
“You’re a dork, Kate McLeod,” she said to herself as she walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
Hot water paired with shampoo and conditioner went a long way to shaking off her hangover. It did not, however, help her figure out what to get Jaime for Christmas. Because what did one get their fake fiancé, their lover, the man they wanted to build something serious and long-term with . . . that they’d only known a week?
A book, maybe, she considered as she blow-dried her hair.
Or perhaps a T-shirt? He looked really good in T-shirts. Except that wasn’t really personal now, was it?
She wanted something thoughtful, something perfect for this man she was just starting to know, but this man she also already knew down into the deepest parts of his heart.
Jaime was . . . well, he wasn’t perfect, but she thought that he was perfect for her.
She wanted her gift to show that.
To be the beginning of—
“You’re making this too big, you dope,” she muttered to herself, shutting off the blow dryer and staring at herself in the mirror. Shining red hair, so bright she used to hate the garish color. Over the years she’d grown to appreciate it somewhat, just as she felt deep down that she could grow to appreciate herself.
To not shut people out and blame it on them.
To be strong enough to be open.
No more asshole superpowers. Her new one was going to be . . .
Brown eyes stared back at her, question in the depths.
Then she smiled and picked up her tube of moisturizer.
“Being happy is going to be my superpower,” she promised. “To stop being such a weakling and grab on to my happy.”
Nodding, she slapped on some makeup, slipped into a festive sweater and boots, a scarf, and her cozy jacket. A cup of coffee and a piece of toast later, and she was prepped to brave the last-minute Christmas shopping crowds.
Confident. Strong. Excited.
Little did she know what awaited her at the mall was going to shatter all of that.
She’d gone from searching for the perfect gift for Jaime that would express exactly what she was feeling in her heart to just wanting to find any gift.
Everything was cleared out.
Crumbs.
Proverbial, that was. All she had were proverbial crumbs. Oh, and a tabletop ping pong set.
Somehow that didn’t scream true love.
Sighing, she set the box down and knew she was back to the drawing board. She was probably being too picky, should just snap up some lingerie and wrap herself up as Jaime’s present.
Except, how was he going to open that present with her family on Christmas?
They did a small exchange before the neighborhood started traipsing through. Her family would expect her to have gotten Jaime something, and she didn’t even want to attempt a conversation with her brother and dad that insinuated Jaime had already gotten his present earlier.
Bow-chicka-bow-wow.
Nope. No, thank you. She liked all of Jaime’s body parts exactly where they were.
Of course, she could always get him lingerie and something else.
A slow smile curved her lips as she walked out of the entrance to the shop. The kiosk in front of her sold bands for smart watches, but one in particular caught her eye, and she knew it would be perfect for him to open in front of her family.
Then she went to the ridiculously expensive lingerie store and spent far too much money on lace. Red, because it was his favorite color.
It was as she was walking out of the store, carrying an extra bag filled with emerald green lace that she hadn’t been able to pass up—she had to stick with the festive season and get outfits in both holiday colors, right?—when she saw it.
Or rather, him.
Jaime.
With his arm around a beautiful brunette. She was snuggled close, gazing adoringly up at him.
Her heart turned to ice.
Was he—?
No. He couldn’t. He wasn’t an asshole. He was kind and patient and . . . she’d only known him a week. And he had his hands on another woman when he’d promised to build something rock-solid between them, a trust that would never falter.
He brushed back a strand of the brunette’s hair, tucked it behind her ear.
Bile burned the back of Kate’s throat. She knew what it felt like for him to do that, to touch her that way . . . and he was doing it to another woman.
Her heart cracked.
She wanted to run to her car, to lock herself away, to slam the door shut.
But she forced herself to take a breath. To think this through.
There must be an explanation. She couldn’t have opened her heart and been so wrong about the man. She couldn’t have.
Shaking legs c
arrying her over to a bench, she pulled out her phone and called him.
Then watched as he glanced down at his watch and declined the call.
Another crack. Another fissure.
Still, she needed to try once more. She didn’t need to be one of those idiot females who made a snap judgment then ran off when there was a perfectly reasonable explanation.
No matter how much that explanation might hurt.
She typed out a text.
Are you free for lunch? I’m finally coherent.
He glanced down at his watch again. Kate nibbled at her lip. But then he said something to the brunette, stepped away, and reached into his pocket. A second later, he had his cell in hand and was typing.
She held her breath, waited for it to ping through onto her phone.
Ten seconds passed then her cell buzzed.
Can’t. Sorry. I’m slammed at the clinic.
Reading those words snatched away the breath she’d been holding, had the door in her heart slamming shut as hurt overwhelmed her.
“Fuck,” she whispered, rubbing her hand over her chest, over the spot where her heart was breaking into pieces. She shoved her phone into her purse, picked up her bags, and took a step toward the couple, preparing to unleash her fury.
Then . . . she stopped, the crowd of shoppers all around her.
And she couldn’t.
God, why couldn’t she?
Maybe it was the kiss to the top of the woman’s hand. Maybe it was the way she pointed and smiled coyly at the lingerie shop that Kate had spent an exorbitant amount of money in just minutes before.
Maybe it was the sinking, oppressive, really fucking sad feeling.
Maybe it was just her realization that for all her pretending, she’d been right about her superpower all along.
