The Christmas Bliss Romance Collection

by Jennifer Youngblood

  An amused smile curled her lips. “I’ll see if I can find one for you.”

  She had a wonderful voice, soft and silky with just the right amount of moxie. “Uh, huh,” he drawled. He let her get a couple of steps away before tugging on her hand. She raised an eyebrow, glancing back over her shoulder. “Come here,” he implored, turning her around to face him. “The pizza and art can wait,” he uttered, reaching for the card and placing it on the counter. He slid his arms around her waist, drawing her close. Tenderly, he pushed back a lock of her hair, cupping her cheek. His gaze traced the outline of her full, sultry lips. With deliberate slowness, he brushed his lips against her forehead. Her breath caught as she closed her eyes. Lightly, he kissed her nose before his mouth covered hers. Passion burned a hot flame through him as he ran his hands over her back and up through her glorious hair. She tilted her head back, fully accepting the demands of his lips. Beckett had the sensation of rocketing into space in a blaze of brilliance as their lips moved together. With that brilliance came a feeling of completeness, like coming home to a place he hadn’t realized existed.

  When the kiss was over, he pulled back, savoring the details of her delicately carved face. She was a curious mixture of softness and inherent strength. “You are something,” he said softly, twisting a finger around a tendril of her hair.

  A light laugh floated like a summer breeze from her throat. “Back at ya, Superman.”

  Pleasure hummed through his veins. “Superman, huh?”

  She wiggled her eyebrows, assessing him. “Yep. I’ve never met a man who was more fitting of the description.”

  He thought she might’ve been teasing, but was touched when he saw the sincerity in her sapphire eyes. “Thank you,” he said in surprise.

  She gave him a reassuring smile. “I know it’s tough with Jazzie, but you’ll figure it out.” Her smile widened. “I have a feeling you can handle anything that’s thrown your way.”

  If only that were the case. His stomach tightened, knowing that he’d have to come clean about his past. What would Ava think when she learned the truth about him? Would she still look at him with adoring eyes, like he was the greatest thing on the planet? Or, would she regard him with a hostile pity like Melinda had done?

  Concern touched Ava’s features. “What’s wrong?”

  He needed to tell her the truth, but he didn’t want to. Could he just keep the past to himself? Even as the thought raced through his head, his mouth started moving. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

  “Okay,” she said carefully.

  His phone buzzed. He chuckled humorlessly. “Perfect timing, huh?” He pulled away from her to reach for it. “It’s Jazzie,” he explained.

  She nodded in understanding. “Go ahead. I’ll order the pizza while you talk to her.”

  His jaw tightened, knowing it wouldn’t be a pleasant conversation, but it had to take place.

  Chapter 8

  Having ordered the pizza, Ava made her way over to the stack of canvases against the wall. An unexpected gush of emotion swept over Ava as she looked through them. Most were of people living on the streets. Each painting offered a unique angle of the plight of human suffering. One held her attention—an older woman, her face bunched in leathery wrinkles. A tattered blanket was draped around her shriveled frame, her claw-like fingers clutching the sides as she tried to draw into herself. The vacant look in her watery, silver eyes had a haunting, empty quality. The woman’s meager belongings were littered around her, along with a thin, forlorn dog on a leash, huddled beside her.

  Tears misted Ava’s eyes as she blinked. It was one thing to hear about Beckett’s time on the streets but quite another to see these paintings. The suffering was so up-close and personal. No one, except for a person who’d lived it, could capture the suffering so completely. Yes, he was a skilled artist, as his mother had said. However, the art was secondary to the subjects. Ava wondered if the art was a form of therapy for Beckett. Maybe it was easier to paint it than talk about it.

  She glanced back at Beckett who was still on the phone with Jazzie. The conversation had been heated, at first. Now, Beckett was speaking in a calmer tone. If things with Beckett went as Ava hoped, she would have a relationship with Jazzie and would have to learn to navigate the constant emotional swings of a pre-teen. One step at a time. There was no sense in worrying about that right now. She and Beckett had plenty of troubled water to get through first.

  A little while later after the pizza was eaten, Ava and Beckett relaxed on the couch. Ava snuggled into the curve of Beckett’s shoulder, appreciating the protective feel of his arm around her. A Christmas movie was playing on the TV, but she’d hardly paid attention to it because her mind was so consumed with Beckett.

  He stroked her hair, glancing at the unfinished fireplace insert. “I’m sorry the fireplace isn’t working.”

  A smile played on her lips. “Remember who you’re talking to. I’m used to works in progress.”

  “I imagine you are,” he chuckled, angling to face her. “How did you first get into design work?”

  Ava pursed her lips as she gathered her thoughts. She wanted to tell Beckett all about her life. She wanted him to know everything about her, as she did him. If she told him part of the story tonight, it would make it easier when Beckett learned the rest. “Before I went to live with my dad and grandparents, I was raised by my mother Willow.”

  “Willow,” Beckett mused. “That’s an interesting name.”

  “Yes, it was very fitting. My mother was an unusual person.”

  Interest lit his dark eyes. “How so?”

  “She and my dad had a fling in college at UCLA. Until I was a teenager, I didn’t even know who my dad was. He didn’t know I even existed until my mom called him asking for money.” The sympathetic look on Beckett’s face was moving.

  “I’m sorry.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. It was just my life, ya know?”

  He nodded.

  “You asked me why I went into interior design. Well, I suppose part of the reason was to fix something inside myself.”

  He cocked his head. “What do you mean?”

  She moistened her dry lips. “Well, my mom and I were poor. We lived in a rundown house. I was embarrassed about it.” She sighed heavily. “As crazy as it sounds, now, every time I help someone fix up their home, I’m righting something inside of me.” She laughed tonelessly. “I know it sounds crazy.”

  “No, not at all. I totally understand where you’re coming from.”

  She could see in Beckett’s eyes that he got her, in a way few others could. She suspected that he was the same. Helping people helped fix the broken part of him. She braced herself, not knowing how Beckett would react to the rest. It was better for him to hear it from her. “My mother was fun, spontaneous, brilliant.”

  Beckett gave her a smile filled with such tenderness that it caused her heart to melt. “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he beamed.

  “In some ways.” She forced her mouth to push the words out. “My mother was an alcoholic.”

  The sudden intake of Beckett’s breath was the only sound in the room. She felt him tense as his features went rigid.

  Her words tumbled out. “Shortly after my dad found out about me, my mom was killed in a car accident. She was drunk and weaved into the oncoming traffic, hitting a car head-on. The father of the family was killed instantly.” Having lived with the horror of the event most of her life, she spoke the words dispassionately, as if cold reading the lines of play. “They were headed to have dinner with relatives. I went to live with my dad.” Her voice quivered. “I spent two wonderful years with my dad until he died suddenly from his degenerative heart defect. After that, I was raised by my grandparents.” She exhaled in relief at having gotten it out.

  Beckett’s face was ashen, his jaw clenched. The agonized expression on his rugged face cut her to the core. She could only imagine what must be running through his mind ri
ght now. She gave him a searching look. “Are you okay?” She had to keep reminding herself that she wasn’t supposed to know about his past. He removed his arm as he scooted forward on the couch, clenching his hands. She touched his arm. “Beckett?”

  “I can’t imagine how hard it must be to have lost your grandfather recently.”

  She swallowed. “Yes.”

  He let out a long breath, his jaw working. “Remember when I said earlier that there was something I needed to tell you? And then the phone rang?”

  “Yes.” She wanted him to get it off his chest, so she could let him know it was okay. He rubbed his jaw, a look of self-loathing overtaking his features. The transformation was unsettling. “Whatever it is, it will be okay,” she said soothingly.

  “No,” he growled. “It won’t.”

  She had to fight the temptation to speak, knew instinctively that she had to allow him space to get it out.

  He looked at the ceiling, letting out a short grunt, before looking at her. “I’m also an alcoholic.”

  Fear seized her. “What?” She’d thought that was in the past, that he was a changed man. Had she and her grandfather been wrong?

  He pushed out a humorless laugh. “I don’t drink anymore, but I’ll always have the weakness. A recovering alcoholic.”

  A heady relief swept over her. “I’m glad you were able to overcome it.”

  He nodded absently, going straight back to the narrative, his eyes taking on a faraway look. “I wasn’t always a fireman.” His eyes locked with hers, pleading for understanding. “Before … I worked at a financial company in downtown Salt Lake, as a hedge fund manager.” He shook his head in disgust. “I was naïve, ambitious, determined to make my mark on the world. I was over-confident, took unnecessary risks, lost a great deal of my clients’ money. The stress got to me, and I started drinking.”

  She felt his pain as if it were her own, circling around her, squeezing like an anaconda.

  “One afternoon, I picked up Jazzie from dance.” He coughed to clear the emotion. “I was drunk, ran a red light and got t-boned. I walked away without a scratch.” His voice hitched. “Jazzie wasn’t so lucky. Her ankle was crushed, so severely that the doctors feared she’d never walk again.”

  “You’d never know by looking at her now.”

  He smiled grimly. “I know. It’s a miracle.” He clasped and unclasped his hands. “I thank God every day that she’s all right.” Tears rose in his eyes as he swallowed. “After the accident, I went off the deep end, lived on the streets for a few months.” He shrugged. “Eventually, I got my life straightened out. And well …” he gave her a pained smile “… here we are.”

  “Yes, here we are.”

  His lips formed a tight line. “I’ll understand if you don’t want anything else to do with me,” he said morosely.

  She chuckled. “You don’t think you’re getting rid of me that easily, do you?”

  He jerked in surprise. “But, how could you want to be with me after what I told you?” His eyes hardened. “Like your mom, I could’ve been that drunk that cost another person’s life.”

  “But you didn’t. The people in the other car were all okay,” she argued. “Jazzie’s doing great too.”

  “Yes, I was lucky.”

  “And blessed,” she added.

  “That too.” He stopped, tipping his head. “How did you know the people in the other car were okay? I never told you that.”

  Heat fanned her face. “You didn’t?”

  “No.” His brows drew together as he gave her a suspicious look.

  “I guess I just assumed.” She knew how lame her explanation sounded. Briefly, she wondered if she should just tell him everything tonight, here and now, while they were opening up to one another. No, she couldn’t do that. She’d promised her grandfather that she’d let it come from Houston. Her grandfather wanted everything to be done in proper order so there’d be no snags. She flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have just assumed …” Her voice trailed off.

  He gave her an incredulous look. “I can’t believe you still want me, now that you know the truth.”

  “Yeah, it’s hard to hear what you’ve been through, but of course, I want you.” She touched his cheek. “I told you over the phone, I’m falling for you, Superman. Hard and fast. There’s no getting away from me now.”

  “That’s good,” he said, the deep, velvety tone of his voice reverberating contentment through her as he took her in his arms for another hungry kiss that seared a path straight to her heart.

  I love you, she said in her mind as she lost herself in the feel of his lips.

  * * *

  Normally, Beckett enjoyed spending time with his fire crew family and their usual lighthearted banter, but it had been a long couple of days without Ava. It was a little after six a.m., and the guys from the other shift would start trickling in around 6:30 for the official passing of the torch at seven. Taking the last bite of his cereal, he drained the remaining milk and went to wash the bowl and spoon. Beckett was looking forward to having a few days off so he could spend some time with Ava.

  Work had been grueling. They’d responded to four car accidents and a couple of medical emergencies. Last night was the worst because there was a traffic fatality. After the call, Beckett gathered the facts. A young mother was headed to an all-night pharmacy to pick up medicine for her sick child when she collided with another car. Her husband was home with all the children, awaiting her return. Beckett hated thinking of the hardship the father and kids would face, especially so soon before Christmas. That was the tough part of this job—separating his personal feelings. Of course, the fact that he didn’t get back to the station and to sleep until three a.m. didn’t help matters. He was up again at 5:45. doing his part to get the station ready for the next shift. It was interesting, being a firefighter had its own element of stress, but it was different from the stress he’d been under as a hedge fund manager. Here, he felt valued and needed, accepted by the crew; whereas, in his other job everything was a battle. Nothing he did was ever good enough to please his boss. Also, he’d never been able to satisfy Melinda’s desire for more material wealth and status. It had been a hollow, frustrating existence. He hugged his arms, grateful that part of his life was now behind him.

  Even his lack of sleep couldn’t douse his optimism about his wonderful future with Ava. He still couldn’t believe Ava had been so understanding about his past. When she first told him about her mother, his insides had collapsed fearing their budding relationship would erupt into a ball of flames. She didn’t even seem that surprised about his past. She took everything in stride, rolling with the punches. Ava was the kind of woman Beckett wanted by his side, a partner in every way.

  His thoughts moved to Jazzie. The night she was quarantined to her room, he’d given her a severe tongue-lashing over the phone, telling her that he agreed with Dave and Melinda. Jazzie going to bed without dinner was a small price to pay for her actions. The next day, Melinda grounded her. Jazzie was still peeved about that, but she’d come around. Beckett was learning that he needed to take a firmer hand with Jazzie. No way could she continue pitting him and Melinda against each other. Being a parent of a pre-teen wasn’t for the faint hearted. Beckett was sure he’d have many more battles to fight on that front before it was over.

  He sighed. That’s the way life was. You get one part of it figured out and another gives you trouble. At least he had Ava in his life.

  “Look at you over there grinning like a possum,” Charlotte said.

  Was he grinning? Beckett hadn’t even realized. He glanced at the kitchen table where his crew members were sitting, enjoying a quick breakfast together before the shift change.

  “It’s probably just a glazed-over look from lack of sleep,” Nikola added, rising to wash his bowl and spoon.

  Jak tipped his head, studying him critically as if he were a painting in a museum. “Nah, has to be a woman.”

  Beckett fel
t the burn of heat over his face, knew he was shining like a sunburn. He went back to the table and plopped down.

  A shrewd smile spread over Garrett’s lips. “Beckett’s got himself a woman,” he taunted.

  “I guess the Fruitcake Lady wasn’t too far off with her love prophecy, huh?” Charlotte teased, shoving Beckett’s arm.

  Beckett chuckled. “I plead the fifth.” He’d not breathed a word about Ava to the crew. Mostly because he knew they’d tease him relentlessly. Also, he wanted to hold the newness of the relationship close to himself for a while longer.

  Jak shifted in his seat. “Who is this mystery lady?”

  “I never said there was a lady,” Beckett countered stubbornly.

  “You didn’t have to,” Charlotte hooted. “It’s written all over your face.”

  The doorbell chimed. They all looked at each other.

  “Who the heck could that be this time of the morning?” Garrett grumbled.

  Beckett made a face. “It couldn’t be the other shift. They have IDs.”

  Nikola rolled his eyes. “Unless one of them forgot their card. You know how lax A Platoon is.” He looked at Garrett. “Cap would roast us if we forgot our card.”

  “Dang straight,” Garrett quipped, his jaw set in a firm stance.

  Beckett grinned inwardly. Just as it should be, all of them thought that PCFD 3 C, their crew, was the best. They did everything right. The other crews were slackers.

  A cheeky grin spread over Charlotte’s lips. “Maybe it’s Beckett’s mystery woman.”

  Beckett rolled his eyes, secretly glad they were joking around. They were all sleep deprived. Not to mention that the car accident earlier had jarred the entire crew, especially him and Charlotte who, as the medics, had been hands-on with the patient while the rest of the crew worked on extrication.

  “Come on, Beckett,” Garrett urged. “Spill it. We know you have a girl.”

  “How about you, old man? You’ve been awfully interested in going to Piper’s school lately.” Piper was Garrett’s daughter. Beckett suspected that Garrett had a thing for her first-grade teacher. The deep red blush of Garrett’s face let Beckett know he’d hit the nail on the head.