Holiday Confessions
Page 13
“I have to.” She couldn’t hold back the tears.
“No,” he said. “You don’t.” He gathered her against him and she wanted to be there too badly to struggle away.
“I do,” she said. Throwing pride to the wind, she cried, “I can’t stay here. I’m not strong enough to help you with Feather, to see you every day, to live across the hall from you and never be able to be with you again.” She pushed out of his arms. “I appreciate your apology, I really do, and I will always wish I had done things differently, but—”
He put his arms around her again. Lowering his head, he covered her lips with his, cutting off her protests. He kissed her as he always had, exploring and devouring her, eliciting a helpless response until she raised her arms and cradled his head, kissing him back with no regard for her heart’s protection.
When he finally tore his lips away from hers, it was only to transfer his mouth to her neck. “Make love with me,” he said against her skin.
“No.” She struggled again, desperate to get away before she completely dissolved into tears. Was he enjoying making this so difficult?
“Why not?” He was relentless. “That’s exactly what it would be—making love. I love you, Lynne.” His voice grew passionate. “And I know you love me. I was wrong. The woman I fell in love with is no different from the woman you’ve been all your life. If I’ve learned anything, I learned that.”
She bit her lip. She wanted to believe him, wanted to let go of all the sadness and heartache of the past few days, but… “I do love you.” She cleared her throat. “But, Brendan, I can’t change my past. I’m always going to have been a supermodel.”
“Do you still want to be one? Because if you do, or if you decide you might like to go back, I’ll support your decision.”
“No!” That was one thing of which she was certain. “I just want to be a regular person with a regular life.”
“Okay. We can do that.” He lifted a hand and cradled her cheek, and she felt her doubts begin to slip away. “I want to make you happy, sweetheart. And I don’t think you’re going to be happy if you leave me.”
“I don’t think I am, either,” she confessed. “But can you really be happy with me now that you know I’m not just the girl next door?”
“No problem.” He drew her against him again, his big body warm and solid against her. “I don’t want you to be the girl next door, anyway. I want you to be my wife.”
Tears stung her eyes. “I want that, too. Are you sure?”
He smiled as he took her hand and drew her into his apartment. “I have something for you. I was going to wait until Christmas morning, but now I think I’d better not.”
She allowed him to seat her on the couch and watched as he went to his bedroom and returned with a small package wrapped in silver and gaily tied with soft red ribbon. Her heart skipped a beat as hope rose within her.
Taking a seat beside her, he found her hand and turned it palm up, setting the small box there. “Open it.”
“Now? I don’t have your presents wrapped yet.” She wanted to open it badly, but her hands were shaking, and she pressed the small box tightly between them.
“After the way I behaved, the only present I want is you,” he said. He slid from the couch to one knee and loosely cradled her hands in his. “I already asked you to marry me once, but I’m asking again. Will you marry me?”
For the first time, she felt a glimmer of happiness return. “Oh, Brendan, are you sure?” Her throat closed on the words.
“Absolutely,” he said. “There is nothing you could tell me that could make me change my mind. I already learned the hard way that having you in my life is more important than anything that could come between us.”
“Does it bother you that I’m independently wealthy?” Might as well drag every skeleton out and make sure it wasn’t going to fall apart at her feet later.
He snorted, and she knew her fears were needless. “You mean, is my masculinity threatened? Nah. Just as long as you can’t run faster, jump higher or leap buildings in a single bound. That might put me off.”
“You’re in no danger.” Happiness allowed her to respond in the same jesting manner. “Physical fitness was not my best subject in school. I run now to keep in shape, but there’s no speed involved in the activity. And I certainly do not bound.”
“That’s settled, then.” He squeezed her hands lightly. “So open this.”
She took a deep breath. “All right.” Slowly she pulled off the ribbon and carefully pried open the wrapping paper without tearing it.
“What are you doing?” Impatience rang in his tone. “Don’t tell me you’re a paper saver!”
“I most certainly am.”
He sighed. “Wake me when you’re ready to open the box.”
But she’d already slipped the small jeweler’s box from the square white one, and as she flipped the lid, Brendan’s head snapped up.
He didn’t move—and neither did she.
Finally he said, “Well?” and there was uncertainty in his voice once again.
“It’s…incredible,” she said in a small voice. And it was.
“You like it? I told the jeweler what I wanted and he helped me with the details.”
“I love it,” she said fervently. “There’s a large diamond in the center with two smaller ones on each side and the whole band in studded with tiny chips. It’s radiating light like I can’t even describe.”
He reached for the box and removed the ring, then picked up her left hand and found her ring finger. Sliding the ring into place, he asked, “How does it fit?”
“It’s perfect!” She held out her hand, unable to believe she was wearing such a lovely ring.
“Good,” he said. “It will match my wife. Perfect.”
“I love you, too.” She laughed. “Yikes. Nothing like high expectations to live up to!”
“You’re not going to have any trouble.” He paused, and drew her into his arms. “I love you, sweetheart. The day I fell over your boxes was the best day of my life.”
She laughed, her lips skimming over his face. “Just think of the story we’ll have to tell our children of how we met.”
“Our children. I like the sound of that.” He rose, drawing her up with him and linking her fingers with his. “We should get started.”
“Telling the story?”
“No.” He pulled her against him, fitting his hard frame to the softness of her yielding body. “Making the children.”
“Brendan! We’re not even married yet!”
“So? At the very least, we should practice. We want to be sure we get it right.”
And as his hands slipped beneath her sweater, seeking the soft, warm skin beneath, she tugged his tie loose and started opening the buttons of his dress shirt. “By all means, let’s make sure we get it right.”
ISBN: 978-1-55254-699-4
HOLIDAY CONFESSIONS
Copyright © 2006 by Anne Marie Rodgers
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