“I... I...” she stammered, searching for a way to express what she felt.
He smiled. “It’s cool. I know you have feelings for me, or else you wouldn’t have approached me.”
She inhaled, filling her lungs slowly.
He placed gentle hands on her shaking shoulders. “Remember what I said. No shortcuts. No pressure.”
A wave of emotion came over her, the force of it surpassing the ocean crashing against the shore. She leaned into him, craving him.
He caught her in his embrace and wordlessly turned, walking them toward the back patio of the town house.
He stooped to pick up the moccasins he’d kicked off by the back door, then left the patio door open after he escorted her inside.
He stopped at the dining room table. When he sat down at the head of it, she assumed he would pull her onto his lap.
Instead, he brought her to stand next to him. Then he ran his palms over the flat of her stomach before circling her hips. “You seem tense. Let me relax you, baby.”
Trembling, she watched his hands move around to the front of her waist, where his fingers lingered at the button of her jeans.
“Can I?” He looked up for her answer.
“Yes...” Her answer came on the heels of a sigh. Swirling heat began to gather between her thighs as her body anticipated the things he would do to her.
So he undid her jeans, first the button, then the zipper. As he tugged them down her legs, she helped him along by wriggling out of them and then kicking them aside. Next, he helped her out of her sweater, leaving her in only her camisole, bra and panties.
He patted the table in front of him. “Have a seat.”
She did as he asked, rising to rest her hips on the tabletop. He eased her thighs apart, then shifted until he pulled his chair up between them.
A shiver ran through her as his fingertips grazed over her skin, tracing a pattern from her ankles to the insides of her upper thighs.
“So sweet...” His murmured words accompanied his motions as he stroked his knuckle over her core, with only the thin satin of her panties between his hand and her sensitive flesh.
The touch hit her like a thunderbolt, as if there were no barrier between them. She fell back then, resting on her elbows to support her upper body.
He smoothly pushed the fabric aside, easing his hand into her panties. His touch was gentle, purposeful and skilled as he swept two fingers over her damp warmth.
Another wave of trembles took over her body as the bliss began to build. What was he doing to her? He seemed to have mystical power over her body, something that gave him the ability to send her beyond the limits of self-control.
Her head dropped back as he continued his ministrations, and when he tugged her panties away, she offered no protest. Then, with her legs spread and her very center bared to him atop his dining room table, he leaned in and kissed the place he’d been so skillfully stroking.
A strangled cry left her lips when she felt his first lick, and more cries and moans followed as he continued. Reality fell away; time became meaningless. All she cared about was Devon, his hands gripping her hips and his wicked mouth driving her out of her mind.
He kept up his attention, never wavering from his mission until she screamed into the silence of the room. Orgasm tossed her toward the stars, and as she came down, shaking and sighing, she knew no other man would ever compare to him.
When she got her bearings enough to move, she sat upright again. Seeing the wicked smile on his face, she said breathlessly, “You are too much.”
He shook his head. “Nope. I’m exactly what you need.”
She smiled. He’s certainly not lacking in charm. “What I need right now is help off this table before you get any more ideas.”
“I was just about to help you.” He stuck out his hands.
She grabbed hold of them, only to be tugged down onto his lap.
“Does this suit you better, baby?” He held her close, watching for her response.
She shook her head, knowing she had little to no resistance when it came to him. “I think I can work with it.”
* * *
Late Sunday morning, Devon awakened in his bed alone. Hadley had gone home after their interlude in the dining room. She’d said exhaustion had taken hold, and they both knew if she stayed, no one would’ve gotten any sleep.
Climbing out of bed, he went about his usual morning routine. Refreshed from a shower, he sat down to a simple breakfast of cereal, toast and a banana.
As he walked across the room to the couch, intent on spending some time reading, he heard his phone ringing. Grabbing it from its spot on the coffee table, he answered it. “Hello?”
“Good morning, Mister... I mean, Devon.”
Recognizing the voice on the other end, Devon smiled. “What’s up, Glenn? I didn’t expect to hear back from you so soon.”
“I’ve spoken to several writers already, as well as a studio head I know.” Glenn paused. “I already had a meeting scheduled at the studio, so I figured I’d go ahead and ask around.”
“And what did you find out?”
Glenn’s tone changed, becoming less upbeat. “It’s not looking good. The studio head says you’re crazy. Most of the writers laughed. I can’t say I made much headway for you.”
Devon sighed. When he’d realized Glenn was calling him back on a Sunday, he’d thought the news was good. “Tomorrow is Christmas Eve. This is a hell of a present.”
“There is one positive, though. One of the writers—the one who didn’t laugh—had a suggestion for you.”
Devon rolled his eyes. This ought to be good. “And what was that?”
“Open a production company.” Glenn paused, and took a deep breath. “Think about it. You have the industry experience to get it done, and if it’s your company, no one will be able to stop you from directing, or doing anything else you want.”
Flopping down on the couch, Devon touched his temple. “I don’t know, Glenn. Going indie is a lot of work, and I’m not sure I’d be able to handle everything that entails.”
“It’s just a suggestion. I respect you, and I believe you can do well as a director.” Glenn sighed. “If there’s anything else I can do to help you, please reach out. But I think you’ve probably hit a dead end out here.”
He sighed, knowing Glenn was probably right. Now that he’d reached out to so many people about this directing thing, the word was out. Odds were there were a bunch of studio types laughing at him all over Los Angeles. “All right. Thanks anyway, Glenn.”
After he disconnected the call, Devon sat back against the sofa cushions. As he turned Glenn’s secondhand suggestion over in his mind, he wondered if starting his own company was really his only solution. Running a business wasn’t something he’d ever aspired to. All he really wanted to do was the creative, artistic work of bringing a writer’s vision to life on screen. Now he was moving into territory he wasn’t sure he wanted to explore.
Tossing the phone aside, he scratched his chin. He didn’t want to think too hard about it now; after all, this was supposed to be his vacation. He turned his mind to Hadley and to the Monroe family Christmas dinner. He’d asked repeatedly if he could bring something and had been turned down each time. Hadley had warned him that the Monroes were big on Christmas, and that he could expect to find the atmosphere “overwhelmingly festive.” He’d chuckled when she’d described it that way, but parts of him wondered if he could sit through it. He was honored to be invited, but he didn’t have much interest in holiday movies, gift exchanges or dramatic readings of “A Visit from St. Nicholas.”
In the end, he decided not to worry about it. All that really mattered was getting to spend the day with Hadley. And if that meant participating in her family’s holiday jamboree, so be it.
If he was lucky, he’d be able to hold on to some of that holiday cheer to get him through the following day. December 26 would be the fifth anniversary of Natalie’s death. Though time seemed to soften his pain, that day still usually felt dark and somber.
Setting aside his worries, he turned on the television. He flipped through the channels until he found some trashy reality show. Then he settled in to watch the train wreck, letting it take his mind off his troubles.
Chapter 14
Christmas day was here, and as Hadley buzzed around the house that day helping her mother set up for dinner, she kept thoughts of Devon in the back of her mind.
Viola, dressed in her traditional Christmas outfit of a red sweater and emerald green skirt, tied an apron over her clothes. “Hadley, set the table for me. I’m going to start pulling out the things that need to be warmed up.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Hadley knew that was the only acceptable response to her mother’s shouted instructions. Viola had never been particularly stern with her children, but when it came to her holiday dinners, Viola Monroe meant business.
As Hadley rolled the silver cart with the holiday china and table service on it into the dining room, she wondered what Devon was doing. It was midafternoon, and he was due to arrive within an hour or so. Thinking of him made heat rise into her cheeks as she recalled the naughty way he’d calmed her nerves a few days ago. It certainly wasn’t something she should be thinking of while setting her mother’s table, but she couldn’t help it. The man was a champion lover, and keeping her mind on the straight and narrow when it came to him was very difficult.
She laid out the snow-white tablecloth, then set the table with dishes, stemware and silver, following the pattern her mother had taught her as a child. Being the only girl in the Monroe family had meant spending hours with her mother learning how to do traditional women’s work: setting tables, cleaning, cooking and taking care of her appearance. Her father had balanced it out by taking her fishing and golfing. Hadley supposed all those things made her a well-rounded individual. Given the choice, though, she’d probably never go golfing again. The game had bored her so much she’d often nodded off sitting in her father’s golf cart.
Once she’d finished setting the table, she pushed the silver cart back into the pantry and turned to her mother for more instructions.
Before Viola could open her mouth, the doorbell rang.
Hadley couldn’t hold back her smile as she jogged past her mother, through the kitchen, into the foyer and to the front door to open it.
On the porch she found a smiling Devon. He looked delectable in a pair of black slacks, a tan sweater and tan-and-black dress shoes. A silver chain hung around his neck, and he had a velvet wine-bottle bag tucked under his arm. With a blinding smile, he greeted her. “Merry Christmas. You look beautiful, baby.” He leaned in and pecked her on the cheek.
She knew he was prone to kissing her way more intensely than that but figured he was being respectful of her parents’ house. “Thank you. And merry Christmas.” She’d dressed as her mother’s dinners demanded—a little black dress that barely grazed her knees, black pumps and a string of pearls. Eyeing the wine, she said, “You brought something.”
He passed her the bag. “Yes. I know you said not to, but I appreciate the invite.”
“I’ll give it to Mom. Come on in.” She stepped aside so he could enter, then retraced her steps toward the kitchen. She could feel Devon following close behind.
At the kitchen door, Viola greeted them. She’d taken off her apron and now held her arms up for their guest. “Devon. It’s so good to see you.”
Sharing an embrace with her, Devon smiled. “Good to see you, too, Mrs. Monroe.”
“Oh, none of that. Call me Vi.” Seeing the bag Hadley held, she took it. “Did you bring this? You know you didn’t have to bring anything.”
He chuckled. “I know. Hadley told me. But I thought you’d enjoy it. Merry Christmas.”
“Aren’t you sweet? Merry Christmas to you, too.” Viola undid the strings, lifting the bottle from its bag. Her eyes widened as she looked at the label. “My word. Ten-year-old cabernet! Thank you, dear.”
“You’re welcome.” He draped his arm around Hadley’s shoulders. “Thank you for raising such a classy, wonderful daughter.”
Hadley looked to her mother for a reaction. She hadn’t really spoken to Viola about what was happening between her and Devon. Viola’s grin told all, communicating her approval even better than words could have. “Well, look at you two. Come on in the family room and see the boys.”
Hadley groaned inwardly. Ever since she could remember, her mother had referred to the men of the household collectively that way. She braced herself for whatever crazy reactions her father and brothers might have to her new boyfriend.
Carver, seated on the couch, looked up from the open book on his lap as they entered, and he smiled. “Devon Granger. Merry Christmas. Long time no see. How are you, son?”
“Merry Christmas. I’m good, Mr. Monroe. How about you?”
“Can’t complain.” The older man nodded, then his eyes moved lower, settling on Devon’s hand, which was wrapped around Hadley’s. His expression changed then, becoming less open and more questioning.
Hadley held her breath. She knew better than to read too much into her father’s use of the endearment son—Carver frequently used the term when speaking to younger men. Truthfully, she had no idea what he would say next.
Carver started to speak. “Well, I—”
Before he could get his sentence off the ground, Campbell entered the room, arms laden with wrapped gifts. “Merry Christmas, y’all.”
As everyone in the room responded in kind, he set the gifts under the seven-foot Fraser fir occupying a corner of the room. “Savion is on his way in with the rest.”
Hadley took the opportunity to sit down next to her father. His body language seemed a bit stiff, but he said nothing.
Devon sat down in one of the two armchairs.
Savion entered then, toting several gift bags, which he also placed beneath the tree. “Ho, ho, ho, folks.”
Viola took the empty armchair, and Savion leaned against the back. Campbell took a seat on the carpet near the tree.
A few moments passed in silence before Carver asked, “Devon, what’s going on between you and my little girl?”
Hadley fought the urge to roll her eyes. She was damn near thirty years old, and had long since grown tired of her parents referring to her that way.
Devon, on the other hand, appeared completely relaxed. “As of last week, we’re dating. And you should know that I plan to treat her like the queen she is.”
Warmth rushed to her cheeks in response to Devon’s words.
Carver looked less impressed but said nothing more.
Savion inclined his head. “You’d better. We Monroe men are very protective of Mom and Hadley. I’d hate to have to kick your ass.”
“Duly noted,” Devon answered with a smile. If he was at all intimidated by the Monroe men, he didn’t let on. He remained just as cool while they continued to pepper him with questions, both about his intentions with Hadley and the latest happenings in his career.
Hadley felt some of the tension leave her body, and the room. Devon’s ability to remain calm impressed her and added to his list of positive qualities.
When Viola called them to dinner, they sat around the table, and after Carver blessed the meal, they all dined on a sumptuous feast. Glazed ham, garlic mashed potatoes, roasted root vegetables, homemade rolls and more all made their rounds of the table. Conversation flowed easily, even as Savion and Carver attempted to intimidate Devon. He let their barbs roll of his back, answering with a smile.
After the plates were cleared away, Hadley grabbed Devon by the arms and secreted him away to the rear of
the house. Just outside the back door, she draped her arms around his neck. “Look up.”
His gaze lifted to the strategically placed sprig of mistletoe. “You put that there, didn’t you?”
She winked. “You know the deal, Devon.”
“Yes indeed.” And he pulled her closer in his arms and kissed her until her knees went weak.
* * *
Devon pulled his rental car into the small parking lot of Mt. Ephraim Baptist Church and cut the engine. The day after Christmas had dawned cloudy and overcast, and those conditions continued to linger. Stepping out of the car, he closed his lightweight trench against the chill hanging in the air and hurried to the main doors of the church.
The redbrick church he’d attended with his parents as a child hadn’t changed much since last year. But he did notice new brass door handles as he stepped up onto the cement pad in front of the entrance. For the past four years, he’d come here on December 26. He didn’t consider himself especially religious and knew he certainly wasn’t as pious as his mother would like. Still, coming here each year, on this day, helped him deal with his reality as a widower in a healthy way.
He gripped one of the shiny new door handles but didn’t pull. He knew why he was hesitating. This was his tradition, his routine on the day of Natalie’s death. Deep down, he knew this year was different. Up until now, there had been no other woman in his life since his late wife. Now that things had gotten serious with Hadley, he sensed there had been a cosmic shift in his perspective.
Taking a deep breath, he tugged the door on the exhale. It opened, and he stepped into the warmth of the vestibule, letting the door swing shut behind him. As he crossed over the soft burgundy carpet toward the sanctuary, he heard footsteps from the west hall.
Camille, the church secretary, approached with a smile on her face and a stack of papers in hand. The moment she saw him, she made a beeline for him and folded him in a hug. “Devon! How are you, son?”
He looked down at her, matching her smile. She was only about five feet tall, and well into her sixties. She had been church secretary from his earliest memories. “I’m good, Ms. Camille. How about you?”
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