by Cara Colter
Why did she want to lean against him? To toss the blanket away and fall into his arms and cry until there were no more tears left?
“Why are you here, Dirk?” she asked, wishing he’d go, would leave her to what so far had been a less than stellar day. “Just go home.”
“Can’t do,” he said, shaking the burgeoning plastic bag he’d put on the coffee table. “I brought you breakfast. Or lunch.” He glanced at his wristwatch. “Or dinner. Whatever you want to call it. Regardless, I’m going to make you a healthy meal.”
Just the thought of breakfast made her stomach heave. She grimaced. “Food is the last thing I want right now.”
“You have to eat.”
She rolled her eyes. “What would be the point?”
He stared at her for long moments and when she met his gaze, his were so intent she couldn’t look away even though she desperately wanted to.
“Abby, you’ve got to stop arguing with me.”
She bit the inside of her lip. “Who’s arguing?”
Stroking his fingers along the side of her face, he sighed. “This is certainly a side of you I’ve never seen.”
She was sure it was a side he wished he still hadn’t seen. Unbrushed hair, makeup-less face, nauseated-all-morning pallor. She wouldn’t win any beauty prizes on her best days. Today she might send small children running for the hills.
“No one invited you here or is making you stay,” she reminded him, chin lifting.
But rather than take offense at her unusual surliness, he just smiled, as if he knew some secret she didn’t.
“Go take a shower. You’ll feel better.” Another of those dazzling smiles that it really wasn’t fair for him to be flashing when she felt so…What was it she felt? Hadn’t she decided the other night at the hospital that their baby was a gift? One that she’d treasure? But right now Dirk’s smile, his gorgeous face and body, just annoyed her. How dared he look so wonderful when she felt so awful?
“I’ll slice fresh fruit and cook breakfast.” He leaned forward, dropped a kiss at her temple, lingered a brief moment.
Oh, my. If she didn’t know better she’d swear he was breathing in her scent.
“How do you like your eggs, Abby?” Oh, he’d definitely nuzzled her just then, his hot breath caressing her cheek, burning her all the way down to her toes.
“Have you not heard a word I’ve said? I don’t want breakfast. I don’t want a shower.” Well, a long shower would be nice and the hot water might ease her achy body. “I just want to be left alone.”
He cupped her face, holding her gaze to his. “No.”
Abby gawked, not believing his high-handedness. “No?”
“I’m not leaving, Abby.” This time his lips brushed her face, trailing light kisses on her cheek. “Not when you’re like this.”
Shivering from his touch, she took a deep breath. “Like what? I’m fine.”
He didn’t laugh, but he could have. She was so far from fine that no one would have thought less of him if he’d had a good chuckle at her comment. She felt on the verge of screaming, crying, laughing hysterically, throwing herself into his arms and begging him to love her, an entire plethora of heightened emotions all surging at once through her hormonal system.
“It’s going to be okay, Abby.” He brushed her hair away from her face, stared into her eyes and warmed a place deep inside her that she hadn’t realized had chilled the moment he’d said she was pregnant. “I’m as scared as you are about this, but somehow this is all going to be okay. We’ll make it okay. Together.”
When his lips covered hers, she let herself believe him. Let herself give in to the temptation of his touch, the warmth of his caresses, the power of the emotions between them.
She couldn’t exactly recall how Mistletoe ended up in the floor and Dirk stretched out above her, his weight pressing her into the sofa, his mouth drawing out her every breath. She clung to him, loving the weight of him covering her, loving his strength, the need in his kisses, his touches.
Rather than the frantic way they’d made love on that morning, or even their desperation the night of the Christmas party, their touches were slower, more drawn out, more everything.
Her brain screamed in protest, reminding her she was supposed to be protecting her heart against him, not kissing him, not helping as he pulled her sweatshirt over her head, revealing her naked breasts to his eager inspection. His eager kisses.
“I want you, Abby,” he breathed from between her breasts. “Let me love you.”
Despite knowing she should stop him, should not expose her all too vulnerable heart, she couldn’t deny Dirk, not when his hot mouth felt so good on her body, not when she suspected he already owned her heart. All of her heart.
She wanted his love. More than she’d ever dreamed of wanting anything in her whole life, she wanted this man. All of him. His mind, his body, his heart. Yes, she definitely wanted Dirk’s heart.
She tugged his T-shirt free, helped pull the material over his head, bit back a groan at the beauty of his naked torso. He removed his jeans, her sweats, and was inside her in what seemed a single breath. No condom. What would be the point? Body to body. Soul to soul.
“Abby,” he breathed against her mouth, staring into her eyes, moving inside her. “I’m not going to last long. Not like this. I—I need you so much. So much.”
Clasping her hands with his, he drove deeper, so deep Abby lost where she ended and he began, gave herself over to the emotions flooding through her body, her heart.
Not her heart, Dirk’s.
If she’d had any doubts before, she no longer did. Her heart, all of her, belonged to him, completely and irrevocably.
She wrapped her legs around him, drawing him deeper, deeper still. “I need you, too.”
Saying the words out loud somehow made them more real, somehow made her feel more vulnerable. But looking into his eyes, seeing matching need, real need, she could only expose herself further.
I love you.
She wasn’t sure if she said the words out loud or just in her heart. Regardless, she felt them with all her soul, with everything she was.
She loved Dirk.
Much later, Abby didn’t eat any of the turkey bacon Dirk fried, but she did have a healthy portion of the freshly sliced cantaloupe, scrambled eggs and buttered toast. And didn’t dry heave once.
Amazing what good sex did for a body. Not good sex. Great sex.
No, not sex. No way could what they’d just shared be called mere sex. No, what they’d just done transcended everything.
“Apparently—” she smiled, feeling a little shy “—I like your cooking better than my own.”
“Impossible.” His grin was contagious, complete. Real. “I’ve had your fudge, Abby. You’re a whiz in the kitchen.”
“Thanks.” She watched him feed Mistletoe the leftover bacon. The cat purred against his leg, brushing against him time and again. Mistletoe wasn’t the only one wanting to rub against Dirk. “My cat will forever be begging for more.”
Just like she worried she’d be begging for more of the attention he’d shown her this morning. Wow.
Lord help her! She loved him.
The man had cooked her breakfast, made wonderful love to her until they’d both cried out. Afterwards, he’d held her. Held her tightly to him, stroking his fingers across her belly. She’d wished she’d known what he’d been thinking, wished she’d known if his caress had been incidental or if he’d purposely touched her where their baby grew.
She stood, intending to help clear away the dishes, but Dirk motioned for her to sit.
“I’m pregnant, Dirk, not disabled. You cooked. I clean.”
“No.” He shook his head, pointing at her chair. “My treat.”
Okay, part of her thrilled at the idea that he was pampering her. Had she ever been pampered in her life? She didn’t think so. Not since her mom and dad had died.
“I can wash dirty dishes,” she assured him, not wanting the
way he’d treated her at work to extend into her home. She wasn’t an invalid. “Besides, you really didn’t make that much of a mess. It won’t take but a jiffy to clean.”
“Probably not, but today is my treat. Take a load off, Abby.”
She stood next to her chair, eyeing him, yet again wishing she could read his thoughts. “Why?”
“What do you mean, why? Can’t I do something nice for you without you questioning my motives?”
She bit into her lower lip. “Is it because you feel guilty?”
“I am guilty, but that’s not why I’m here.”
His blue eyes looked so sincere. “Then why?”
He leaned back in his chair, looked perplexed, then shrugged. “I want to spend time with you.”
“Because I’m pregnant?”
He studied her a moment. “I’ve wanted to be with you from the moment we met, Abby. That’s how you ended up pregnant.”
“I’m pregnant because we had a horrible night in the E.R.” She didn’t remind him of the similarities to his own tragic losses. She understood why he hadn’t wanted to be alone, forgave him for using her, found herself wanting to comfort him even more now that she understood why he’d been so deeply affected. But that wasn’t what earlier had been about, was it?
“I’ve had horrible nights in the E.R. before and never slept with my nurse.”
Why did that admission make her feel better, lighter, less used?
“If the attraction hadn’t been so strong between us, no tragedy would have brought us together like that.” His confident tone left no room for doubt. “I made love to you because I wanted to make love to you. Just as I wanted to make love to you today. When I look at you, I can’t think about much of anything except having you.”
Had he really just admitted that he wanted her? She’d thought so, but then the whole pregnancy issue had clouded her thinking yesterday and this morning. But he had wanted her. He’d said made love, not have comfort sex or one-night-stand sex or guilt sex.
“And now?” she asked, grabbing at the rope he was throwing her, hoping it was long enough to save her, hoping she wasn’t grasping at straws. “Months went by with you barely acknowledging I existed outside work.”
“I want you, if that’s what you’re asking. I never stopped wanting you. After what we just shared, surely you don’t doubt that.” His eyes caressed her face. “You’re beautiful, Abby.”
“You told me I looked awful,” she reminded him.
“That was pre-shower.” His tone was teasing, but his eyes remained dark, stormy. “You’re always beautiful, Abby. You must know that.”
“Thank you,” she said. How could she not believe him when his gaze echoed his words? Dirk really did find her beautiful. He really did want her and really had made love to her.
Christmas miracles never ceased.
“But we can’t repeat what just happened. Not when we’re just friends.”
She stood corrected.
Apparently, Christmas miracles did cease.
Chapter Ten
HAVING made it clear that he planned to lighten her load whether Abby wanted him to or not, Dirk went with her to her volunteer stints, becoming more and more involved in her day-to-day life, more and more involved in her Christmas charity events.
Although he didn’t pretend the Christmas aspect didn’t bother him, he no longer winced when she told him what they’d be doing for the day.
As she’d just done.
He’d come over, insisted upon bringing bagels, cream cheese and fresh fruit. They’d eaten and addressed Christmas cards to be distributed to nursing-home residents. When they’d finished, running his finger over the steepled church to her mother’s Christmas village, Abby’s favorite piece, he’d asked what was next.
“It’s called Toys for Toddlers. Various businesses have set up stations for people to donate toys to be given as Christmas gifts to needy children. Our job is to go by the various drop-off points and pick up the toys. We’ll deliver them to the headquarters and volunteers will wrap them at a later time, probably tomorrow.”
His face remained impassive as he picked up a village figure of a couple holding hands on a park bench. “When and how do the toys actually get to the kids?”
Purposely trying to look impish, Abby smiled. “Santa delivers them, of course.”
His gaze narrowed suspiciously and she’d swear he’d have tugged on his collar if he had one. She bit back laughter, enjoying teasing him, enjoying this budding aspect to their relationship.
“Santa?”
Watching as he carefully replaced the figure where she’d had it, she gave in. “No worries.” She placed her hand on his arm, loved the sinewy strength there, but wondered at herself for touching him when she usually so carefully avoided doing so. “You’re safe. I’m not in charge of Santa.”
At least he was safe from playing Santa. Safe from her was another matter altogether. The contact of their skin touching was frying her brain cells, making her want to push him down on the sofa and leap into his lap for a little Santa role playing. She had all kinds of things on her wish list—naughty and nice.
She wanted him to kiss her, believed he wanted to kiss her, too. As frustrating as she found his insistence that they were just friends, she believed he had his reasons. But if he didn’t work through them soon, she was going to make herself a mistletoe halo and wear it at all times.
“That’s good to know.” He sighed with real relief.
She observed him closely, noted that his shoulders had relaxed with her answer. “I was teasing. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I couldn’t resist. Was being my Santa really that bad?”
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Anything to do with Christmas is that bad.”
His words startled like gunshots fired through a silent night. The true depth of his dislike of the holidays struck her with guilt that she’d teased him. Yes, she’d heard him say he didn’t like Christmas, had seen his discomfort, but she hadn’t truly appreciated how deep his dislike ran, hadn’t fully appreciated that he repeatedly set that dislike aside to help her with holiday projects.
“Why?” Why didn’t he like Christmas? Why was he willing to set aside that dislike for her? Even before they’d known she was pregnant, he’d played Santa. Because she’d asked him to. He’d also volunteered to help her at the food bank. Because he’d thought she was ill and needed his help.
Looking at him, his handsome face clouded, his eyes full of pain as he stared at the ceramic village, she wavered between reminding herself to protect her heart and risking his rejection by wrapping her arms around him. But she only held on to his arm.
“I don’t like Christmas.”
If she understood, maybe she could understand him, could understand why he insisted on calling them friends. Out of misplaced honor to his deceased wife and daughter?
“Tell me why you don’t like Christmas. Please.” She squeezed where she held his arm. “I want to understand you and can’t fathom why anyone wouldn’t love the holidays.”
Silence. More silence.
With his free hand, he raked his fingers through his dark hair. His jaw rotated, then clenched. “Sandra and Shelby died on their way to a Christmas sale.”
“Oh, God, no,” she gasped. She’d known they’d died in a car crash, had known he professed to dislike the holidays. Why hadn’t she put two and two together and come up with the right answer about why he didn’t like Christmas?
“It was early morning, before dawn,” he continued, staring straight ahead, but she suspected he saw nothing, that he was locked away in a different time. A time where he had endured a horrible tragedy. Had hurt in ways Abby couldn’t fix with a little Christmas magic.
Her heart bled for him, at the pain still so evident on his face, at the hollowness in his eyes.
“I’d pulled an all-nighter at the hospital, was still there and didn’t know she was going to the sale. When they wheeled
her in, I couldn’t believe it was her, couldn’t fathom why she’d be out that early.”
“Oh, Dirk.” She wasn’t sure he heard her. He didn’t appear to even be in the same room with her, his mind was so far removed from the present.
“She’d dragged Shelby out at that godforsaken hour so she could go and buy my Christmas gift.” Anger cracked his voice. Deep, hoarse anger that chilled Abby to the core.
She clasped his hand, squeezed. “I’m so sorry, Dirk.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He looked toward her, met her gaze, and possibly saw her, although she still wasn’t sure he wasn’t too far lost in the past. “I’d rather have had my wife and daughter than anything any store sold.”
“I know you would.” Beyond caring about protecting her heart, she moved to where she could wrap her arms around him, hold him close. “Of course, you would.”
He remained stiff in her embrace, not relaxing, not making any move to take her into his arms or acknowledge that she held him.
“There was a Christmas tree in the emergency department’s office where they put me after…Christmas music played.” His face twisted. “I felt as if Christmas mocked me. The best part of my life was being ripped away when the world was celebrating peace, love and happiness. It didn’t seem right.”
“What happened was an accident. A tragic accident.” She reached up, brushed her fingers over his face, smoothing the tension lines at his temples. “But Sandra and Shelby wouldn’t have wanted you to be unhappy, to lose the spirit of Christmas, the spirit of life.”
He blinked. “You don’t know that.”
“Your wife was on her way to purchase a gift for you. Not because of whatever that gift was, but because she wanted to buy you something special. That doesn’t sound like a woman who would want her husband to be lonely and miserable at the holidays.”
But it wasn’t just at the holidays, she realized. Dirk had closed off his heart. Permanently.
“As if my family would let me be lonely at the holidays,” he snorted.
