by M Never
“Are you going out?”
“I am. What are you doing here?”
“I felt bad you were spending Christmas alone, but I think I should have called first.” She bites her lip.
Well, this is a predicament. I’m looking forward to seeing my family, but I don’t want to pass up an opportunity to spend time with Tara either. We have so little of it as it is. I smile inwardly to myself.
“I’m going to see my family. Why don’t you come?”
“Come?” She raises her eyebrows. “To meet your parents?” she echoes unsurely.
“Yeah.” I shut the door behind me and slip my arm around her, basically making the decision for her.
“You sure?” she asks as we walk down the hall to the elevator.
“Of course, I’m sure.” We step inside and I hit the button for the lobby. “You are wearing clothes underneath that coat, right?”
She looks up me with an impish grin. “Maybe.”
AFTER TARA FLASHED ME HER outfit in the elevator, we headed to Greenwich, Connecticut. The town I grew up in. Although my parents divorced, my home was far from broken. I was blessed with a grandfather who raised me, a stepfather who loved me like his own, and two beautiful younger sisters. But there is no one more important to me than my mother. I don’t visit enough, call enough, do anything, really, that is enough. But she never complains and she is always there when I need her no matter what. It has been that way my entire life. I thanked her once (I have thanked her many times) and she told me a ‘thank you’ isn’t necessary. The best way to repay her love is with grandchildren. I was twenty at the time and nearly passed out. But I think of that conversation often, more so now than ever. I glance at Tara sitting in the front seat next to me and almost scoff. In my wildest dreams, Tara Stevens would ever become Tara Carmichael and then be crazy enough to carry my child. It’s nice to fantasize, but I know where I live, and that is reality.
“Holy shit.” Tara nearly breaks her neck looking out the rental car window as I pull down the driveway that’s almost half a mile long.
“This is where you grew up?” The awe is blatant in her voice.
“Yup,” I confirm. Greenwich is not what you would call a poor town.
I’m not one to flaunt my family’s money, but we have tons of it.
I park in front, and as we step out of the car, my palms suddenly start to sweat.
Tara gazes over at me with an unsure expression.
“I think I am a little out of my element,” she admits nervously.
That makes two of us right now.
“It will be fine.” I take her hand and assure her. “My family is wonderful, and they will love you.”
“I’m taking your word as bond.” She squeezes my fingers tightly as we stroll up the brick walkway to the massive mahogany front door.
I smile as I ring the bell. A few seconds later, there is a loud squeal. “He’s here!” And my sister Cara opens the door. Tara and I are greeted by the entire family all at once. I barely have time to introduce her as Cara and my other sister, Camille, attack me with hugs and kisses. It’s been so long, and they look so different. So grown up since the last time I saw them. Both with long dark hair like my mother and big brown eyes like mine.
“Christopher!” My stepfather, Richard, pulls me into a quick hug.
“What happened to your arm?” I ask as we are led out of the cold.
He holds up his wrist with the brace. “Carpal tunnel syndrome. Can you believe it?”
“I can, knowing how many emails you shoot out.” I laugh.
“Comes with the territory.”
I look over to see my mom standing in the foyer grinning from ear to ear. I give her the biggest hug I can manage, lifting her right off the ground.
“It is about time my soldier came home.”
“Ex-soldier,” I correct her.
“I’ll never buy that.” She winks turning her attention on Tara, who looks a little overwhelmed but trying desperately to handle it.
“Mom, this is my . . . friend, Tara Stevens.”
“It’s very nice to meet you . . .” Tara smiles sweetly, realizing she doesn’t know exactly what to call her.
“Samantha,” my mother returns, eying her discreetly from head to toe.
We all head into the great room where I know drinks are flowing and appetizers are set out. Family tradition—while Christmas dinner is cooking, the family hangs out socializing and watching football. What did you expect? Just because we’re rich doesn’t mean we don’t know how to have fun.
“CJ, Tara? What would you like to drink?” Richard asks from behind the bar.
“Are you still serving your famous hot toddy?” I ask.
“Of course! It wouldn’t be Christmas without it!” My stepfather is the typical CEO. A well-trimmed man who wears sweater vests and has gray hair, but is surprisingly charismatic and outgoing.
“Tara, would you like one?”
She looks back and forth between Richard and me. “What is it exactly?”
“It’s hot tea mixed with brandy, lemon, and honey. It’s divine. Come on, I’ll show you.” He escorts her into the kitchen so he can boil the water.
After they’re gone, my sisters pounce like wild cats.
“Somebody has a girlfriend,” Camille teases me.
“A really young, pretty one. CJ is robbing the cradle,” Cara adds.
“Will you two be quiet. We’re friends.” My sisters are twelve and thirteen years my junior and have always been adorable, little thorns in my side.
“Where did you find her? A high school parking lot?” They continue to heckle me.
“She’s older than both of you. Now shut up or I will hang your Barbies from the ceiling fan again.”
They both gasp. “You’re so mean!” Camille scolds me.
“And you’re so annoying,” I fire back, causing all three of us to erupt into laughter. It echoes around the whole room.
I swear no matter how long I’m away, things never change.
As soon as Tara and Richard re-enter the room, my sisters turn their sights on her, pelting her with questions.
“Where are you from?”
“Where did you go to high school?”
“Sisters, brothers?” Yada, yada.
“Is your hair color real?” That one made me laugh.
Tara barely bats an eyelash as she goes toe to toe with the two of them. I’m impressed, I’ll admit. The duo can be quite intimidating when they gang up on someone.
“How did you and CJ meet?” Cara asks.
“He’s best friends with my brother-in-law,” Tara answers, half done with her hot toddy.
Cara and Camille both laugh, hysterically.
“CJ doesn’t have friends,” Camille says, nearly doubled over.
I take offense to their response, but before I can defend myself, Tara swoops in.
“CJ has friends. Trust me.” The way she says ‘trust me’ turns the tables on the conversation, leaving my sisters curious, and Tara and I snickering. I know exactly what she’s getting at, the privy information about our threesome with Slade. Tara is so bold sometimes she astounds me.
After a little more casual conversation (interrogation is more like it), we move into the dining room to eat.
The table is decked out like always with my mother’s best holiday china, a huge turkey that could feed twenty, and all the trimmings. She even lights Christmas tree pillar candles for added décor. I hear Tara inhale an impressed breath as we sit down next to each other.
“This is the most beautiful Christmas dinner I have ever seen. It looks like it belongs in a magazine,” she whispers.
I just smile and place my hand on her thigh. “My mom likes to go all out.”
“Mine does, too, but this is incredible.”
Richard says grace, and then we all dig in. I beam throughout dinner as I watch Tara charm the pants off every single one of my family members, feeling my mother’s eyes on me every now
and again. I try to avoid looking at her by keeping up with the conversation, but her keen stare is impossible to ignore. I know she has an opinion about Tara, and I guarantee by the end of the night that I’ll hear what it is.
Dinner comes and goes, and I find myself sad the time is moving so fast. Sometimes, I get so wrapped up in work, I don’t realize how much I miss them.
Everyone helps to clear the table and then moves back into the great room where we will have dessert. My mom likes to put out a buffet and let us pick at it throughout the night. I take in the turkey platter for Richard since he is physically challenged at the moment. It still has half an uncarved bird on it. I see leftovers for a year. I place the large silver platter on the kitchen island as my mom rinses the dishes in the sink. I give her a quick peck on the cheek before I head into the great room. It appears Tara, Cara, and Camille have become quite comfortable with each other, and I’m not sure if that’s a good or bad thing for me.
“Christopher,” my mother calls, using that paternal tone.
I stop dead in my tracks and turn on my heel.
“Yes?” I lean against the island directly across from her.
She wipes her hands on a dishtowel and turns to look at me with an astute gaze.
“I like Tara,” she says.
“I’m glad. I like her too,” I reply noncommittally.
“She’s very young.”
Bingo. I knew this was going somewhere.
“She’s younger, yes.”
“You must care about her very much if you brought her home to meet us.”
I open my mouth to respond but then think twice. I don’t want to give my mother—or Tara—the wrong impression.
“Mom. I do like Tara, a lot, but don’t read too much into her being here.”
My mother snorts and actually gets in my face. “Christopher John, you can lie to yourself, but you can never lie to me. I know you. You’ve only brought home three girls in your entire life. Your high school sweetheart, that bitch who dumped you, and Tara. You seem very happy with her, and she seems very happy with you. I just don’t want to see you break that poor girl’s heart because your lives are in two different places.”
I huff, crossing my arms. “I hear what you’re saying, trust me. But Tara and I went into this with our eyes open, okay? And the last thing I would ever do is make her promises I can’t keep or hurt her intentionally in any way.”
“Good.” She smiles satisfied, patting my chest with both hands. “I love that you’re here.”
I smile back at her. “Me too.”
“I’m glad to hear that. Now, take this into the great room for me.” She hands me a bowl of sugar and a small pitcher of cream for the coffee.
“Yes, ma’am.”
In the great room, Richard is watching television, and I think Tara, Cara, and Camille are plotting my death by the way they are huddled together, staring at me next to the glamorously decorated Christmas tree.
I set the sugar and milk down on the table and take a seat at the baby grand piano in the corner of the large room. Its location is optimal for spying and watching my back all at the same time.
Tara comes to sit next to me a few minutes later, all bright smiles and shiny eyes.
“Having a good time?” I put my arm around her.
“Yes.” She hits one of the white ivory keys. “Your family is very nice.”
“Yeah.” I look around the room. “They’re pretty great. It’s been a long time since I spent a holiday with them.”
“That’s sad. You should try harder to see them.”
If it was only that easy. I smile wistfully at Tara, thinking about what my mother said. I could picture us doing this every year, but that future is just not in the cards. Not with my job, or our age difference, or anything.
“What’s your favorite Christmas carol?” She hits more keys and a faint sound reverberates.
“Why? Are you going to sing?” I nudge her.
“Would that be weird?” She wrinkles her nose.
“No. Usually by now Richard would be playing Silent Night for everyone.”
“Is that it?” She places both hands on the ivories.
“No. Carol of the Bells is mine,” I tell her, realizing she’s serious.
“You would like a canon.” She starts to play the notes that give me goose bumps as everyone in the room turns their attention on us.
“You play!” Richard exclaims jovially. Then Tara starts to sing, and the sound pierces straight through my heart. Her voice is almost angelic. I actually get chills as she hits the high notes and pounds on the piano keys. By the second verse, everyone is crowded around us, enamored by Tara as she belts out the words. Listening and watching her, something shifts inside me. This woman is spectacular. I don’t think I can say I’ve ever used that word to describe a human being, but with Tara, it fits. She’s so talented and captivating; I can hardly believe she’s mine.
But she isn’t really, though, is she?
But she could be, couldn’t she?
Tara finishes the song to applause and leaves me with emotion bursting in my chest. My mother was right. What I feel for Tara is something more than just casual. Since we’ve been together everything around me seems bolder and brighter. Is that what love is? Is that what this is? The only thing I’m truly sure of is she’s becoming everything, the center of my universe, and if that’s not love, I don’t know what is.
“Sing another one!” Camille exclaims, and Tara blushes.
“Go on,” I urge her.
“Any requests?” she asks, becoming our entertainment for the night.
CAMILLE, CARA, AND I TAKE a selfie before CJ and I leave. I think I’ve made two new best friends.
“I’m posting this to Instagram. I’ll tag you, Tara!” Camille types away on her phone.
“Shortcake77,” I tell her my user name.
CJ looks down at me with a wry smile. I guess he never stalked me online to know I changed it when I came back from Hawaii.
We say our good-byes to his family and then head out to the car. It was a pretty magical night. I can’t believe I actually started singing Christmas carols to a bunch of people I barely know. But CJ looked so adorable sitting next to me on that bench, I felt compelled to sing to him. That doesn’t happen often, almost never actually, but he owns a piece of my heart. And even if I can’t tell him that, it was a subtle way to show him.
I check Instagram as soon as I get in the car, and sure enough, Camille posted the pic with the caption ‘future SIL.’ I nearly choke. I guess I made an impression.
CJ holds my hand the whole way back to the city. I steal glances at him now and then, wondering how much longer this charade is going to go on. I love being with him, but the more time we spend together, the more attached I become. And if it was a different time in my life, and I was a different girl, I would bring up the whole ‘where is this going’ conversation. Instead, I’m going to avoid it like the plague.
“What are you thinking about over there, shortcake?” He jiggles my hand.
I drop my head back on the seat and lie. “Bed.”
CJ moans long and low in this throat. “Me too.”
I roll my eyes. Incorrigible.
And I love it.
It’s late by the time we get back to CJ’s hotel room. The skyscrapers twinkle in the windows as the snowflakes continuously fall.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” CJ asks as I stare at the snowfall.
“Breathtaking,” I muse.
He tucks some hair behind my ear. “The snow isn’t the only thing that’s breathtaking.”
I smirk at him. Silly.
He pulls me against him and forces me to look up. “I’m not kidding. You’re the most breathtaking woman I have ever been with.” There’s ferocity burning in his big brown eyes.
It makes me ache to know he thinks of me like that. I have been called many things in my life—pretty, beautiful, gorgeous even—but they are all terms that felt superficial
. When CJ uses the word breathtaking, it feels one hundred percent real.
He touches his lips to mine, so softly at first I barely even feel it. And with each kiss, the pressure builds until we are pressed together, our tongues curling around each other and our hands roaming the other’s body. The way he’s caressing me is completely different tonight. It’s still fiery, but fueled more with emotion. It scares me, but not enough to push away, because I want him to touch me like this. I want to feel wanted, worshiped by him.
CJ kisses me so passionately, I stop thinking about every wrong thing in my life and just lose myself in him as kissing becomes caressing, which leads to groping and grabbing, and then full-on ravishing. He takes my face in his hands and looks me dead in the eyes between embraces. He’s never looked at me like that before, with such overbearing emotion.
It makes my heart pound. Riotously. I wrap my arms around his neck as he walks us over to the bed. Indulgently, he pulls my shirt over my head, pressing sweet, savory kisses along my collarbone. He undresses me leisurely, unbuttoning my jeans and then lowering the zipper. When I’m left standing in just my bra, panties, and tousled hair, CJ captures my face in his hands once again. What he says next nearly unravels me.
“Tara, you are the most unexpected, but best thing, that has ever happened to me. I have let plenty of women into my bed, but none of them into my heart.”
My stomach flips—half from guilt, half from elation. I want to be the only woman in his bed and his heart, but I can’t bring myself to articulate what I’m feeling. So instead, I kiss him, grabbing at his pants and stroking his erection. He moans eagerly as he puts his hands all over me, lightly brushing his fingertips against my bare skin. Before long, his clothes are lying on the floor next to mine, my underwear a distant memory.
He lifts me right off the ground, forcing my legs around his waist with our lips fused together. CJ lays me on the bed and uses his mouth to revel in my body, starting from my neck and licking his way down over my breasts to my navel until his breath is tickling my slit. He urges my legs apart and plants his face between my thighs. I immediately jump from the soft feel of his tongue against my clit. He moves it so methodically, it catches me off guard. He’s purposeful with his flicks and the way he circles the tip around my flesh. I’m moaning like crazy from the carefulness of it all.
