Harlequin Romance December 2020 Box Set

by Susan Meier, Sophie Pembroke, Jessica Gilmore

  Her mind was already whirring with the possibilities while her body relaxed with the knowledge that he didn’t want her to leave. ‘I can stay.’

  ‘Good.’ He pressed a kiss to her curls. ‘Your family won’t miss you? I can probably track down your phone if you want to call them…’

  Pulling back slightly, she raised her eyebrows and gave him a look of disbelief. ‘You saw them tonight. Do you honestly think they’re going to notice I’m not there?’

  ‘Well, maybe not your stepsisters. Or your stepmother. Your dad?’

  She shook her head. ‘Probably not.’

  That, of course, was the part that hurt the most. Hannah, Gretchen and Maisie…they weren’t blood family. They didn’t choose her; she just came as a package deal. She could cope with them not caring.

  But her dad… He loved her, she knew that. Every bit as much as she loved him. But he was torn between his love for her and his new family.

  ‘He, well…when my mum died, he was an absolute wreck. People started telling him he had to pull it together for my sake. That I needed a family. A new mum, even. So he remarried to give me that. But instead, Hannah and the girls became his new family.’ The memories hurt. She swallowed and forced herself to continue. ‘He desperately wanted me to fit in with that too, to start with. He’d talk about how we’d be a proper family again, now we were all together, instead of it just being the two of us.’

  ‘And you? Did you want that “proper family”?’ It was as if now he’d touched her so intimately, seen every bit of her on the outside, he’d gained the ability to see inside too. Into her mind, into her heart.

  She’d have to be careful with that. She knew what happened when people saw too deeply.

  ‘No. I didn’t.’ She shifted just a little away from him. Still close, still in his arms, but not quite so intimate. ‘I was happier when it was just the two of us. Mum…she died when I was twelve. I was old enough to remember what a real family felt like. And this…it wasn’t that. Suddenly there were three other people and we lived in a new house—a bigger, better house, as Dad kept pointing out. But for me… I never felt like I was a part of it. I was fourteen when he remarried, raging at the world and, well, I guess I stopped trying to fit in at all.’

  Would she have had a better relationship with her stepfamily if she’d made more of an effort to be part of it? Perhaps. But she knew herself too well now to believe that she could ever have been the sort of person that Hannah and her daughters valued. She would always have been lesser—less important, less beautiful, less rich. At least this way she got to be less on her own terms.

  And right now, here in bed with Damon, she didn’t feel less at all. She felt mighty.

  ‘What about you?’ she asked, suddenly keen to turn the conversation away from herself. ‘I remember, when you used to come and visit us at university…’

  ‘I’d get drunk and rant about my parents?’ Damon finished for her, then sighed. ‘Yeah, well. All teenagers do that.’

  ‘True.’ But somehow, she’d always suspected it was more than that with Damon and Celeste’s family. The siblings were so different in so many ways, but Rachel had watched them closely enough to find the similarities too.

  ‘My parents are…academics. Which isn’t a bad thing. Except sometimes it feels like that’s all they are. That even as kids Celeste and I were more like experiments, more academic curiosities than children. They are intelligent people and they expected us to be the same. Celeste never let them down there; she was as focussed on an academic career as they were. But I knew pretty early on I wasn’t going to make that cut.’

  Rachel wasn’t sure she believed that. ‘You’re an intelligent guy, Damon. If you wanted to be an academic like your parents—’

  ‘Ah, but that’s the thing. I really didn’t.’ Sighing, he rolled further onto his side to look her in the eye. ‘I saw how single-minded it made them all. How they ignored the whole rest of existence outside their little bubble and… I didn’t want to be that way. I wanted to explore the world, meet new people, do new things. I didn’t want to be tied down to one career, one obsession, my whole life.’

  ‘That makes sense,’ Rachel admitted. ‘I guess some people know from really young what they want to do and be. Then for others…it takes us a bit longer.’

  ‘Yeah. My parents never really understood that. Or me.’

  ‘I think that’s their loss,’ Rachel told him. ‘So is that why you work for yourself? Why you take a different sort of project every time?’

  Why you never date the same woman more than a handful of times?

  Damon shrugged. ‘I like variety. In all things.’

  She heard the hidden message, whether he meant her to or not. She was a novelty, something new and interesting to pass the Christmas season. Once it was over, so were they.

  Just as she’d told him she wanted. Just as she still should want.

  And she would.

  She’d take what she needed from this thing with Damon, then move on. Explore the wider world of possibilities he’d opened up for her.

  Figure out what she wanted and ask for it.

  Starting now.

  ‘So, speaking of variety…’ She moved closer, her whole body pressed up against his. ‘Tell me more about this shower of yours.’

  Damon grinned. ‘Better than that, I’ll show you.’

  * * *

  It should have been awkward afterwards. It usually was. Certainly, mornings after, in Damon’s experience, had never been less than mortifying.

  More often than not he tried to avoid them happening altogether. He’d sneak out of women’s beds and apartments late at night and head home. If they came back to his and somehow ended up staying the night, which didn’t happen often in the first place, he had a routine for the following morning. He’d get up early, shower and dress, and be ready to claim an early morning meeting when they finally roused. He’d leave them with coffee, breakfast, and occasionally plans to get together in another week or so. Once or twice he’d even followed through on the plans without cancelling.

  The point was, waking up in his king-sized bed to the weak winter sun already fighting its way through the window, Rachel propped up on one elbow watching him, should have been awkward. Beyond awkward. Alarm bells should have been ringing. He should have been bounding out of bed and racing for the shower, ready to escape. His heart should have been pounding with fear that she’d read more into what had passed between them than was really there.

  Instead, as he opened his eyes and she smiled down at him, he smiled back.

  He checked in quickly with his body—pleasurably aching—his mind—quiet, for once—and even his heart—still beating. The world seemed…fine. Right, even.

  ‘Good morning,’ Rachel murmured.

  ‘Very,’ he replied, then kissed her.

  And as one kiss turned to another, he decided that perhaps he was overthinking this after all. Maybe he could just enjoy being with Rachel, letting her ask for what she wanted and needed for once in her life, then leave her in a better place once Christmas was over. A place where she believed in herself, and had the confidence to show that to others.

  The fact that he got incredible sex and lots of time with the most fascinating woman he knew was just an added bonus. Right?

  Because in one night together, he’d already opened up more than he had with anybody since…well, since the last time he talked all night with Rachel, nine years ago. And he felt as if he’d seen the real Rachel again too. The passionate, open woman hiding behind the shy and reserved exterior she showed the rest of the world. He felt as if he’d gone through the window, into the deeper world she concealed inside, and he didn’t want to leave.

  So he pushed aside the part of his mind that reminded him how much this had scared him last time he’d grown close to Rachel. This time was different.
<
br />   This time, he had an exit strategy. He could enjoy this, just until Christmas was over.

  * * *

  Five days later—five blissful, sex-soaked days later—came the first real test of their fling.

  The days in between had been filled with waking up with Rachel, having breakfast with Rachel, walking to work with Rachel, working at the arcade with Rachel, having dinner with Rachel, going to bed with Rachel, making love to Rachel…

  But he couldn’t think about that last part now. Couldn’t risk today’s companion reading his mind, like some sort of witch.

  Because today he wasn’t working with Rachel, or doing anything with Rachel.

  Today, he was Christmas shopping with his sister.

  Across a rack of historically patterned scarves in the British Museum shop, Celeste narrowed her eyes at him. ‘What is going on with you today?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he lied.

  One eyebrow raised sceptically, she checked her watch. ‘Well, there’s nothing for Mum here. Come on, let’s try the bookshop.’

  If they ended up in the museum bookshop they would never, ever leave. ‘What about this scarf?’ he asked, grabbing the first item that came to hand.

  Celeste cast a cursory gaze over it, then shook her head. ‘That pattern is generally accepted to be from the right era, I admit, but Mum’s latest research suggests it might actually be later, so it’ll only cause an argument between her and Dad. Come on. Bookshop.’

  Damon blinked down at the apparently controversial scarf. It looked like a nice pattern to him. And this is why I don’t go shopping for our parents’ presents on my own, he reminded himself as he hurried to catch up with Celeste.

  They’d instigated the annual shopping trip for their parents’ Christmas presents five years ago after a particularly disastrous round of gifts from Damon one year. He’d thought the racing wind-up monks were hilarious, but apparently not according to the rest of the family. Similarly, the British History tie that turned out to have some dating errors on it. In his defence, he’d already tried things like spa vouchers his mother never remembered to use before they expired and experience gifts for his father that apparently he didn’t want to experience. He’d been running out of ideas and, frankly, enthusiasm. Especially since Celeste always managed to find the perfect—and historically accurate—gift for them both.

  Celeste had insisted that next year they’d go shopping together for joint gifts. She’d said it at the Christmas dinner table so he’d been able to see the matching looks of relief on their parents’ faces.

  Sometimes he didn’t know why he bothered buying them anything at all.

  The museum bookshop curled around the centre of the circular Great Court, filled with all sorts of literature from academic tomes to light-hearted romps through history. Celeste obviously bypassed all the books he thought looked vaguely entertaining and went instead to the more academic end of things, eventually settling on a large, coffee-table photo book of archaeological digs through the ages.

  ‘This will do for Dad,’ she said, turning decisively towards the till. ‘He’ll enjoy criticising the older techniques. Now, once I’ve paid for this you can buy me a coffee and tell me what’s going on with you and Rachel. Then we can go to this arcade of yours and look for something for Mum.’

  Damon winced. He knew that tone. That was Celeste’s no arguing tone.

  ‘I’ll go and get in the queue for the coffees.’ At least that would give him a chance to figure out what he was going to say.

  He was walking around the Great Court heading for one of the coffee stations when he was distracted by something in the children’s shop. A small felt mouse, dressed in Victorian costume, singing from a tiny carol book. Smiling to himself, he picked it up, examining the details and imagining Rachel’s smile if she saw it.

  He glanced back over his shoulder but there was no sign of his sister yet. Celeste was bound to get distracted by the books on her way to the till. He had time.

  Decision made, he paid for the mouse, then continued to the café.

  He might not be any good at shopping for his parents, but at least there was someone in the world he knew a good gift for when he saw it.

  ‘So,’ Celeste said, easing herself onto the bench across the table from him ten minutes later. He pushed her coffee towards her, hoping it might mellow her somehow. ‘You and Rachel.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to her?’ He needed to know what she already knew before he could figure out his line of defence.

  ‘No. That’s how I know there’s something going on. She’s dodging my calls.’

  Damon winced. ‘Not dodging. She’s…been busy.’

  ‘With you.’

  ‘Well, yes. We’re working together.’

  Celeste pinned him to his seat with her steeliest gaze. ‘And is that all you’re doing together?’

  ‘Isn’t this a conversation you should be having with your best friend?’

  ‘I’m trying to have it with my brother. Damon, I warned you not to mess her around—’

  ‘I’m not!’

  ‘Oh, so this is true love at last?’ Celeste scoffed.

  ‘I didn’t say that.’

  ‘Of course not. You wouldn’t ever. And Rachel deserves true love.’

  I know that.

  Worse, he knew he wasn’t the person who could give it to her.

  ‘You have no focus, Damon. You can’t commit to anything.’ His mother’s voice was echoing Celeste’s implications in his head.

  Damon sighed. ‘Look. If I promise you that I know what I’m doing, will you let this drop?’

  She raised both eyebrows at that. Never a good sign. ‘That depends. Do you know what you’re doing?’

  The lie was on the tip of his tongue. How hard was it to just say yes? To blithely promise that he had everything in hand and there was no need to worry, just as he did for work projects all the time? Even when things were a little off course, he always managed to bring them back round again. He’d do the same this time.

  So he hadn’t planned on a festive fling with his sister’s best friend. But now he was there…he could hardly imagine this Christmas happening any other way.

  ‘Do you?’ Celeste pressed.

  ‘I hope so,’ Damon replied, and prayed that would be enough.

  * * *

  Rachel was just putting the finishing touches to the window of Jasmine’s Bridal and Formal Wear Boutique when she heard her best friend’s voice behind her.

  She froze, one hand still holding a small posy of holly, mistletoe and white roses she’d begged from Belinda the florist but had yet to find the perfect place for. If Celeste was here that meant Damon was probably back too, which was good because she hadn’t seen him all day.

  But if Celeste was here it was also bad. Because it probably meant she’d realised Rachel had been avoiding her all week.

  Quickly, Rachel tucked the posy into the hands of a bridal mannequin dressed in an icy lace wedding dress—with tiny mice pulling tight the ribbons of her bodice—and ducked out of the window into the shop. Jasmine was still behind the counter, humming to herself as she worked. Rachel thought she was making a tiara, although she wasn’t entirely sure. She also had bigger issues.

  ‘Avoiding you?’ she whispered to herself, practising the upcoming conversation under her breath. ‘Why would I be avoiding you?’ She added a tiny laugh at the end, hoping it sounded genuine.

  Behind the counter, Jasmine looked up, staring straight at her. ‘If you’re trying to sound convincing, you need a lot more practice than that.’

  ‘No time,’ Rachel said as the door to the shop swung open.

  ‘There you are!’ Celeste swept into the shop, elegant in her soft white woollen coat, her dark hair tucked up in the sort of clip Rachel’s curls would escape from in a heartbeat. She wrapped one arm aro
und Rachel in a perfunctory hug, the other arm weighed down by an enormous black handbag. Knowing Celeste as she did, it was probably full of reading material and notes rather than Christmas shopping.

  ‘Hi, Celeste.’ Rachel met Damon’s gaze over his sister’s shoulder. He had the beaten-down look of a man who knew he couldn’t win the fight he was in.

  People often had that look around Celeste. Normally she wouldn’t read too much into it, except this time…this time, she was pretty sure the fight was about her.

  ‘I thought you two were shopping at the British Museum today,’ Rachel said, stepping back. She held her hands clasped in front of her, trying desperately not to fidget. Celeste was her best friend, for heaven’s sake. Why was she nervous now? Especially when she’d spent almost a whole week with Damon, learning not to be nervous about asking for what she needed.

  She straightened her spine and looked over to see Damon giving her an approving smile.

  ‘I wanted to see this arcade that’s got you and Damon so busy this month,’ Celeste said, glancing around the boutique. ‘You know me, I’m not much of a shopper.’ It was one of the things that had drawn Rachel and Celeste together at university when everyone else was spending their student loans on new clothes. ‘But this place is stunning. I can see why you both love it. And your window displays are amazing.’

  ‘That’s why I had to have her. For this project, I mean,’ Damon added hurriedly as Rachel’s eyes widened. ‘I knew she’d be perfect for the Cressingham Arcade.’

  Celeste still had her back to her brother so he couldn’t see her raising her eyebrows in an amused expression. But Rachel could. She’d had years of translating Celeste’s every slight frown or eyebrow lift, every half-smile or concerned look. And Celeste could read hers too. Between them, they could have an entire conversation across a library and know when the other needed rescuing from an overenthusiastic fellow researcher. It also worked well on their rare nights out in pubs and clubs. It was how Rachel had known that her friend was overcompensating for nerves as she argued with Theo at the filming.