Speaking of not good.
Mick.
Every time he called her sweetheart, good Lord, she melted a little. And wildflowers? She wasn’t going to think about that, but then all there was left to think about was how guilty she felt over deceiving her parents. It didn’t matter why she was doing it. Boy, did they look great, though. The weather in Arizona had done wonders for both of them, especially her dad.
That’s all that mattered.
But she wasn’t good at lying. If she didn’t know that before, she knew it now. Therefore she had to make this work.
She’d very nearly blown it with her drunken foolishness, and the way she’d reacted to Mick staying at her house? No wonder her sister was suspicious.
Mick. Staying over.
Jesus.
She slumped forward to rest her elbows on the sink and held her head in her hands. What was this thing with Mick? Every time she looked at him, she could almost feel the pressure of his lips, firm against hers. The heat of his body, close, but not close enough. Until he’d started shadowing her at the office a few months ago, she’d been able to ignore the lure of him with daily reminders that they were friends and colleagues. And yet now, no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him some more, in other places, and have him do it back. Where was her self-restraint? Had her common sense deserted her?
Maybe it was the stress of the circumstances. Or the wine. Or the champagne. She’d sobered up a lot on the ride home, and Mick had gotten her a cup of coffee en route, but she was in for a doozy of a hangover tomorrow if she didn’t act fast.
Wincing at the weight of her thoughts—gonna be as heavy as your head tomorrow—she straightened and turned on the faucet. Leaning in, she splashed icy water on her face, shivering as it trickled down her neck. Then, she grabbed aspirin from the medicine cabinet and proceeded to wash down three tablets with about a gallon of water. That would take the edge off at least.
“You okay in there?”
Speak of the devil. She dried her face with a fluffy towel and nodded.
“Leah?”
Right. Out loud, dumbass. “Yep. I’m fine. Just washing up for bed.”
She tugged off her skirt and blouse and slipped into the nightshirt and leggings that acted as her winter PJs. Running a brush through her hair, she gave herself a pep talk.
“You can totally do this. He sleeps on the couch, you act like he’s not there, and tomorrow, everything goes back to normal.” She took a deep breath and faced the door.
“Who are you talking to?” Mick called.
Awesome. She’d managed to go from esteemed colleague to drunken psycho who talks to herself in the bathroom in one short evening. That had to be a record. “I was just…leaving someone a voice mail message.” She waited until her cheeks stopped burning and then opened the door.
Mick stood, holding out her cell phone. “I was just coming to tell you, you had a call.” A smile hovered over his lips, and she groaned.
“Okay. So I was talking to myself. Sue me.” She grabbed the phone and peered down. One missed call. “It was Cassandra but she didn’t leave a message. She’ll call back if it’s important.”
She brushed by Mick, holding her breath so she didn’t inhale any of his yummy cologne, and set the phone on the coffee table. Sweeping a shaky hand through her hair, she wheeled around to face him and the proverbial music of her own making earlier this evening. “I’m sorry, Mick. I’m sorry for everything. For getting upset, for not holding up my end of the bargain, for drinking too much and for involving you in this soap opera in the first place. I hope you’ll forgive me.” She swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat and waited for his response. No matter what happened, she didn’t want to lose him as a friend.
He gave her a gentle smile that made her feel safe for a blessed second. “There’s nothing to forgive. I should have stuck to the plan. We said a short, sweet dinner, and I made it a big production. And I’m sorry about Cassandra and the car. She asked me while you were busy popping the bubbles in your champagne, and I didn’t know what to say. It seemed like a long shot plan because she hadn’t even talked to your parents or her friends about it. When she came back, I was as shocked as you were. I don’t know what came over me. I guess part of me wanted your family to be impressed.” He reached out a hand and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Maybe part of me wanted you to be impressed, too.”
His blue eyes held hers for a long, tense moment and the old-Mick smile sizzled away under the new-Mick heat.
Her pulse stuttered and she took a step back. “Well, I-I really appreciate everything you’re doing for me. Especially when I see how well my mom and dad are doing. You know?” Her words were running together, becoming little more than babble. She needed space.
She scurried over to the linen closet and returned with a pillow, a pile of sheets, and some blankets. “This should be everything you need. Make yourself at home. Kitchen is stocked, so if you get hungry or thirsty, have at it.”
Mick took the linens, but also took her wrist in one big, warm hand.
She wouldn’t melt. She wouldn’t.
“Come on.” He rubbed his forefinger over her pulse-point that kicked up by the minute. “We’re going to need to have a conversation about this eventually.”
“This?”
His pupils dilated and she shivered when he said, “Never pegged you for a coward.” Before she could deny it he softly added, “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about, Leah.” He trailed his thumb over the soft skin of her wrist, sending a thrill of need through her and turning her knees to jelly.
It was too much. “Not tonight,” she pleaded in a whisper. “I’m…drained.”
Would he let her get away with it?
He searched her face for a taut moment and then nodded. “Get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow is a new day, and everything is going to be fine. I promise.”
Relief swamped her even as a part of her wilted in disappointment. Her mind was indeed drained, but her body? Her body was a whole different story. Still, she took reprieve gratefully, and bolted for her room.
…
Mick stared at the ceiling and cursed under his breath. He’d been awake for hours trying to forget that Leah was sleeping in those tight little leggings and that nefarious off-the-shoulder T-shirt only a few yards away. He’d counted sheep for a while, until they all morphed into mermaids, which morphed into Leahs. He’d even tried finding animal patterns within the shadows and whorls of paint on the ceiling. The last sighting had been a mermaid with pert, teacup sized breasts, a trim waist and long, silky black hair, so he quit doing that too.
He turned on his side and groaned. The numbers on the screen of Leah’s cell phone glared at him from the coffee table. One a.m. Jesus, he’d been sure it was close to morning and the end of this torture.
He considered getting up and doing what needed to be done to actually end the torture for them both, but thoughts of Luke stopped him cold. Even if he was ready to risk what he and Leah already had for something deeper, was he really ready to open that part of his life to another person? His relationship with his son had been so private. More than that. Protected. Just the two of them. But if he and Leah moved forward, things would have to change, and he wasn’t sure Luke was ready. Hell, he wasn’t sure if he was ready either.
A car door slammed, and he jerked upright. What the hell? He rolled to his feet and padded to the window to peer through the blinds. It was Cassandra, phone cupped to her ear as she made her way across the lawn. Shit.
He hauled ass to the couch and stuffed the linens and pillow under his arm. The sound of keys scraping against the lock froze his heart, but after a long pause, the door remained closed. More scraping, more silence. He’d just started to creep toward Leah’s bedroom door when her phone rang. What to do? Moreover, what would Leah want him to do? The last thing he wanted was to make things harder on her than he
already had, and if he didn’t make the right choice now the whole thing might come crashing down. He stared at the cell for a second and made an executive decision. Pressing the green button to answer, he let his voice go soft and raspy as he spoke. “Hello?”
“Hey Mick. It’s Cassandra. Sorry to wake you guys. I’m at the front door. Can you let me in? I’m going to sleep on the couch if that’s okay. That way I don’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn, but you guys will still have your car back bright and early.”
“No problem.” He jumbled the pillow around near the phone to make it sound like he was getting out of bed. “I’ll come and unlock the door.”
“Yeah, weird, I tried a bunch of your keys and none of the house ones fit.”
Silence that seemed to tremble with unspoken accusations like “You bullshit fake fiancé!” reverberated through the phone. Was he paranoid or was Cassandra on to them, one day in?
“Right. We actually haven’t exchanged keys yet.” Even though he knew on a cerebral level the best lies were those with the least detail, the weight of her continued silence had his instincts howling, “Say more stuff!”
“Yeah, well, you know Leah. She’s so…old fashioned.”
“Hmm.”
She paused and he held his breath, waiting to see if she called him on that ridiculous comment.
“Could you hurry up? I’m freezing my ass off out here,” she said, and then disconnected.
Mick let out a sigh of relief and pocketed the phone. Leah was right, though. If they were going to do this for the next week, he’d need a key. Sliding open her bedroom door he saw by the light of the TV that she was curled up asleep. As gently as he could he dropped the linens onto the floor and pulled the door closed, making no more than a gentle snick.
Heading down the hall, he caught sight of his reflection in one of the side windows. He was still wearing his clothes from dinner. Damn. He stripped off the shirt and tossed it into the bathroom hamper. The pants could stay, because he wouldn’t be opening the door in his boxers even if he had been in Leah’s bed. A minute later he was at the front door.
“Hey,” she whispered when he let her in along with a frigid blast of air.
“Hey, back. Sorry I took so long. I had to get some clothes on.”
She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Yeah, no problem. You go back to sleep. I know my way around the house, so I can get my own sheets and stuff.”
He hesitated, wondering if he should say more to try and convince her or if that would only make things worse.
He was saved from having to make a decision because she continued, “Seriously, I’m sorry I woke you. Better you than the parents though. I wanted to make sure they got some rest. With Dad’s illness the stress of flying really takes a toll on him.”
“Won’t they be worried when you don’t show up?”
She shook her head. “Nah, I told them I might just come stay here. They’ll call to check up on me in the morning. How’s Leah doing? Sleeping it off?”
“Yeah, she’s fine now. Sound asleep.”
She gave him a long, assessing look, and he did his utmost to remain stoic. He’d heard all the stories about Cassandra’s epic bluntness, so he braced himself.
“Look, I’m not sure what’s going on here with you two, but something feels off. She never drinks like that and there seemed to be a lot of tension between you. I’m getting the feeling that maybe you and my sister have some issues to work out. Every couple has them. No biggie. But I love her to pieces and she deserves to be happy, so if you don’t work them out? Don’t get married. A broken engagement is easier to get over than a broken marriage with broken kids and broken trust, okay?”
He knew that better than anyone. Broken kids. He didn’t want to think about how that phrase kicked him in the gut. All he did was nod because she was right. Something was wrong. He was just glad she didn’t know what it was. Guilt stabbed at him again, but he shut it down quickly. Leah was his friend and his priority. He’d do well to maintain some distance from her family and stick to the plan of being a passably decent fiancé who would break her heart later.
For some reason, the thought didn’t sit as well as it had even a day before.
He and Cassandra said their good-nights, and he made his way back to Leah’s room. The key now was getting close enough to her to wake her slowly and explain the situation rather than having her scream at the intrusion.
The TV still sounded in the background, providing some cover noise as he quietly rounded to her side of the bed.
“Hey,” he whispered, leaning close to her exposed ear.
She snuffled and shifted, but didn’t answer.
“Leah,” he tried again. “Wake up.”
“Wha…?” She picked up her head and squinted at him. “Mick? What time is it?” Scrubbing a hand over her face, she pushed herself into a seated position.
“Listen,” he said, keeping his tone even and calm. “Cassandra is here.”
Her eyes widened as panic replaced confusion. “Holy crap!”
“Shh, it’s okay.” He patted her arm gently. “I took care of it. I hid the blankets and let her in. She wanted to sleep on the couch. She probably came by to check on us. No worries. I took care of it. Everything is fine.”
She nodded, her gaze trailing downward to take in his naked chest, and dampened her lips with the tip of her tongue. A bolt of need shot through him, and he pulled his hand away.
“At any rate, I’ll have to sleep in here. I’ll just make a bed for myself on the floor.”
“Not a chance. You’ve been so great about all this, Mick. No way are you sleeping on the floor. Plus, what if she comes in for some reason?” She flipped up the other half of the covers and patted the space beside her. “We’re adults. I’m sure we can manage a sleepover.”
Easy for her to say. He could barely manage to be in the same house with her without turning into a walking erection. Sharing a bed was going to be brutal. He must be some kind of masochist because he found himself climbing in beside her, relishing the upcoming torture.
He’d just settled in when he spotted her reaching for the remote. “Hey, if you like to sleep with it on, don’t turn it off on my account.”
“I don’t usually. I fell asleep watching…a show.”
Something about the way she said it and quickly turned her face away piqued his curiosity. “What show was that?”
She blew out a sigh and shot him a defensive look. “Solamenté Juanita.”
“And that is?”
“A Spanish soap opera.”
He plucked the remote from her hand and turned up the volume a little. “Do you watch it every day?”
“It’s not on every day. Only on Friday nights.”
“And do you watch it every Friday night?”
“No.” Her chin was tipped up in that mulish way he knew so well.
“Leah?” he pressed.
“I don’t. Sometimes I DVR it and watch it on Saturday mornings.”
He chuckled and shook his head. “Is this it?” he asked, gesturing toward the screen.
“Yeah. They run the repeats late night, all night. I think this is the one where Benicio tells Juanita that he’s in love with her mother,” she murmured, her gaze glued to the TV set.
He followed suit, watching as a buxom young woman slapped the strapping young man in the face with a resounding crack. Dang. That had to hurt. The man’s eyes blazed as he went off on a rant in rapid-fire Spanish. “What’s he saying to her?” he whispered.
Leah didn’t take her eyes from the screen as she whispered back, “How would I know?”
Twisting, he studied her relaxed profile. “What do you mean? You don’t understand Spanish?”
“Not a word.” The absurdity of that statement must have struck her too, because even as he tried to bite back a grin, her lips twitched into a smile. “It’s just so…passionate and emotional. I kind of feel like I know what’s going on even without the words. Weird
, huh?”
“Yeah. Kind of weird,” he acknowledged with a dip of his head. For the next half hour, she watched her show, riveted, and he watched her, equally enthralled. In that span of time she laughed, she cried, her eyes went bright with anger. And, when it ended, she turned and grinned right at him.
The look of pure satisfaction on her face took his breath away. This was it. The one thing he couldn’t fight. The very thing he couldn’t deny. She was adorable and had the kind of positive energy he needed in his life. The look in her eyes when she’d called him on the wildflowers had touched him deeply. Hell, yeah. She was a force that would not only be good for him, but good for Luke too.
“What?” She was still smiling as she searched his face. “You love it now, right? It’s addictive.” She reached out and absently brushed something off his cheek. He closed his eyes at the feel of her fingertips. Lying next to her on the bed and that simple, gentle touch reminded him of how lonely he’d been. How isolated. How whenever he’d sought much needed company she’d always been his go-to source of companionship.
Addictive.
He was afraid of exactly that and even more afraid that his drug of choice would be out of reach in a scant few days. Now that he’d found it, he wasn’t going to let it go. Maybe it was time to see if he couldn’t swing the momentum his way a little.
“How do you feel? Better?”
Her smile faded. “Confused.”
“And why is that?” He rolled toward her and attempted to keep his tone casual, but his whole body tensed.
“I-I don’t know. I don’t want to talk about it.”
Damn. He could almost feel her retreating. He leaned in close and tugged her wrist until she rolled to face him. “That’s fine.” Just as she’d done, he brushed a stray curl off her cheek with the back of his knuckles. Her skin was warm velvet. “We don’t have to because what I was asking was whether you felt okay after the drinks and all.”
White Lie Christmas Page 4
