It was as if no time had passed. He looked gorgeous and just a little dangerous, the way he’d looked the first Christmas they’d come here…
And the last.
That last Christmas was the one she had to remember, when they’d finally admitted what each had known for months, that their marriage was not dying but dead, and that the only decent thing to do was give it a quick burial.
‘Hi,’ she said, and flashed a quick smile. ‘I made some more coffee and the eggs are ready to go.’ She smiled again, even more brightly. ‘No bacon, I’m afraid, so you’ll just have to make do with whatever I can whip up.’
‘Over easy is okay with me.’
‘Well, I have some cheese. And some cream. If you’re feeling adventuresome…’
‘That’s right, I almost forgot. Cookbooks, you said.’ Nick shrugged. ‘What the heck? Surprise me.’ He shrugged on his jacket and pulled a toothbrush from his pocket. ‘Just give me five minutes to use the facilities…’
Holly laughed. ‘You’ll be back quicker than that. I’ve already used the facilities. It’s probably ten below zero outside.’
Nick grinned. ‘Thanks for the words of warning, but you’ll see. This is guy weather. I can handle it.’
‘Yeah, yeah, yeah.’ Holly grinned. ‘That’s what they all say.’
* * *
He came bursting through the door minutes later, snow sparkling on his hair and on his shoulders, with a pile of wood in his arms.
‘You weren’t kidding! Ten below is right.’
‘Told you so.’
‘Let me just dump this wood and then I’ll set us up for breakfast on the coffee table, so we can stay warm beside the… Hey. You already did.’
He dropped the wood, straightened up, and put his hands on his hips. Holly had moved the coffee table so that it stood before the fireplace. She’d set two places, complete with linen napkins. A small basket stood centred between the settings, heaped with…
‘Biscuits?’Nick said, looking up at her in amazement.
Holly blushed. ‘I brought some leftover stuff, from home.’
‘Leftover biscuits?’
‘Uh-huh. I’ve been trying out new recipes, trying to zero in on what I want to do in my next book… Oh, for Pete’s sake.’ She sat down, cross-legged, before the table. ‘Stop looking at me as if I’d just invented penicillin or something. Let’s eat, before we both collapse from hunger.’
She served him something that looked like a cheese omelette but tasted like heaven. It was either almost as good as the light-as-air biscuits or maybe the biscuits were almost as good as the egg stuff. Nick couldn’t tell and besides, it didn’t much matter. The meal was incredible, all the more so because it had been cooked over an open fire by a woman whose only claim to culinary fame had been…
’A Hundred and One Ways to Cook Hamburger.’ Holly folded her linen napkin and smiled at him. ‘That was my very first book.’
‘You’re joking.’
‘Cross my heart. I’d been doing a column for a magazine, and I’d done some pieces on inexpensive meals for couples just starting out—’
‘Dining on the Cheapside,’ Nick said. ‘Wasn’t that what we called it?’
Holly laughed. ‘Yes. I mentioned that, to my editor, and she really thought it would make a good title, but—’
‘But?’
But I knew that I’d never be able to look at the book without thinking of you…
‘But I was afraid it would sound too, ah, too flip.’ Holly reached for the coffee pot and refilled both their cups. ‘So, we went with something more straightforward.’
‘And the cookbook was a success?’
She nodded. ‘More than we’d expected. They’d done an initial print run of 25,000 and they’d have been happy with a fifty per cent sell-through, but—’
‘Wait a minute!’ Nick smiled and held up his hand. ‘Can you translate that into English?’
‘Oh. Sorry. Well, print runs can range from—’
She explained. Print runs. Sell-throughs. Wholesalers, and distribution, and dealers. And he listened. Tried to listen, anyway, but it was tough. This astute woman—this knowledgeable businesswoman—was the same girl who’d never balanced a checkbook in her life, until he’d shown her how.
‘I never had a checkbook before,’ she’d said, when he’d almost gone crazy the first time the bank had phoned to say their account was overdrawn.
‘That’s unbelievable,’ he’d snapped. ‘How could you never have written a check?’
‘I charged things. I mean, I had accounts wherever I needed them.’
That was the first time he’d really understood how different they were. They weren’t just a rich girl and a poor boy trying to make a marriage work, they were people from planets at the opposite ends of the galaxy, struggling to find a common language.
‘I’m boring you.’
‘What?’ Nick blinked. ‘Boring…? No. Not at all. I’m just fascinated by, you know, how you’ve changed.’
‘I’m not eighteen anymore,’ she said quietly.
He nodded. ‘Seven years is a long time.’
‘A lifetime.’
Nick cleared his throat. ‘Are you—are you happy?’
‘Yes.’ Or, at least, she’d thought she was happy. Until the dreams. Until last night. ‘Yes,’ she said, and smiled brightly. ‘I’m very happy. I love my work. And I love Boston. I’ve made lots of friends, and I’ve got this wonderful apartment… What about you? Are you happy?’
Nick hesitated. He hadn’t hesitated a month ago, when a reporter on This Week had slyly posed him the same question. ‘Of course I am,’ he’d said.
‘Nick? Are you happy?’
‘Sure.’ He smiled. ‘Life’s been good to me.’
‘I know. I see the Brennan name everywhere. In fact, I stayed in a Brennan hotel the last time I was in Dallas on a book-signing tour.’
He grinned. ‘And? Did it win the Holly Cabot seal of approval?’
His smile made it all right; there was no anger to the words this time, the way there’d been last night.
‘Absolutely. Fresh flowers in the room, chocolate on my pillow at bedtime. Nothing was missing…’ Except you.
The cup slipped from Holly’s hand and clattered against the table. Coffee oozed over the polished wood.
‘Here,’ Nick said, ‘let me—’
‘No. That’s okay.’She stabbed at the spill with her napkin, then got quickly to her feet. ‘Well. I guess it’s time to clean up. Why don’t you take a pot of water from the kitchen and heat it over the fire so we can do the dishes?’
He nodded. ‘Sounds like a good idea.’
He stood up, his gaze following Holly as she walked to the kitchen. There’d been something in her eyes, a moment ago. Regret? Pain? No. He was seeing what he wanted to see—and what did that mean, anyway? There was nothing to see, nothing to look for except that which he’d come for in the first place.
Closure. And, thanks to the storm, and the enforced intimacy of the long night, he had that.
He could leave today, knowing he’d made peace with his past, and with Holly.
Holly. Once she’d been his wife, and his lover. Now, at long last, she might just have become his friend.
And that would have to be enough.
* * *
‘What’ve you got in this thing, anyway?’ Nick grunted as he heaved the ice chest from the trunk of Holly’s car. ‘Rocks?’
‘Supplies,’ she said, hurrying ahead of him to open the door. ‘Here. Put it on the counter.’
‘Supplies, huh?’ He groaned as he set the chest down and turned towards her. ‘I brought “supplies”, too. They didn’t weigh enough to give a guy a hernia.’
‘Well, I told you, I’m going to be staying a while. And I’m going to be working up some recipes. I’ve got a new book to write.’
Nick leaned back against the counter and folded his arms. ‘One Hundred and One Ways to Cook Chicken?’
Holly laughed. ‘More like a hundred and one ways to cook lobster.’
His brows lifted. ‘People can dine on the cheap eating lobster?’
‘I write for a different crowd now.’ Holly wrinkled her nose. ‘Two-income households, lots of money but no time to cook during the week, so they go all out on Saturday and Sunday.’
‘Ah. Yuppies.’
‘Or whatever they’re called today. How about you?’
‘How about me, what?’
‘You said you had some stuff, too. Don’t you want to bring it in?’
He shrugged. ‘Is isn’t much, just a couple of steaks. I left the box in my car. It’s cold enough to keep and besides…’
‘Besides, you’ll be leaving soon.’
They looked at each other for a long moment, and then Nick smiled.
‘Remember when we were here before?’
‘Which time?’
‘The first time,’ he said quickly. ‘There’s nothing about the last time that’s worth recalling.’
Holly nodded. ‘I remember.’
‘It snowed that first time, too.’ His smile tilted. ‘We had a snowball fight. And you said I cheated.’
‘You did! You sneaked up behind me—’
‘I hit you, fair and square.’
‘Didn’t.’
‘Did.’
‘Didn’t! The rules were—’
Nick walked casually to the door and opened it. Holly saw what was coming, shrieked and feinted, but it was too late. He grabbed her, and the handful of snow he’d gathered slid icily down her collar and along her spine.
‘That’s a declaration of war, Brennan,’ she gasped.
‘Marquess of Queensberry rules,’ he yelled, as they grabbed their jackets and ran outside.
‘Street rules,’ she yelled back.
‘Give me a break, Cabot.’ Nick dodged her first snowball. ‘What does a poor little rich girl know about the street?’
‘Plenty,’ Holly said, and set out to prove it.
* * *
Half an hour later, they’d fought their way almost to the road.
Nick ducked behind a pine tree. A snowball whizzed by his nose.
‘Enough,’ he said, laughing. ‘I give up, Cabot. You win.’
Holly stalked towards him. ‘You’d better not be trying to fool me, Brennan.’
‘Me?’ he said, eyes wide and innocent.
She bent, scooped up a handful of snow, and kept on coming. ‘I haven’t forgotten how this started, with you jamming ice down my collar while we were still in the kitchen.’
‘It was snow, not ice, and that was different.’
‘Different, how?’
‘Different, because I saw an opportunity and took it.’ Holly yelped as Nick grabbed her and hoisted her up in his arms. ‘Like now,’ he said, laughing, and they tumbled down into a deep white drift.
She struggled to get away, but he caught her, rolled her on her back and straddled her.
‘Give up?’ he said, holding her arms above her head with one hand, while he scooped up snow with the other.
Holly gasped. ‘No fair,’ she sputtered.
‘You called it war, Cabot. Anything’s fair, in love and in war.’
‘You’re no gentleman, Nick Brennan.’
‘And you’re no lady, Holly Cabot.’ He leaned forward. ‘Say “uncle” or get your face scrubbed with snow.’
‘Never!’ Holly stuck out her tongue. ‘I don’t give up that easily.’
‘Okay. You asked for it—’
Holly bucked as he leaned towards her. ‘Nick. Nick, you rat…’
She laughed, and he laughed…and suddenly they were in each other’s arms and their mouths were clinging together.
‘Nick,’ Holly whispered, ‘oh, Nick!’
‘Baby,’ Nick breathed, ‘my sweet, sweet baby.’
He flattened his hands on either side of her flushed, snow-chilled face and kissed her with all the bottled-up passion and desire of the endless years that had separated them. Holly wound her arms around his neck, kissing him back as she had so many times in her dreams.
‘Kiss me,’she sighed, against his mouth. ‘Kiss me…’
The sound was faint, at first, and had no meaning. It was a distant rumble, but it grew louder and louder.
No, she thought, no, please!
Nick heard it, too. He raised his head, listening. ‘What in hell is that?’
Holly tucked her face against his shoulder.
‘It’s the plow,’ she said, in a broken whisper. ‘They’re clearing the road.’
‘No.’ The word burst from his throat, harsh with anger and disbelief. He rolled over, sat up, and glared around him. ‘I don’t—’
‘Look. Through those birches. Do you see it?’
Nick’s breath left his lungs in one long rush. He saw it, all right. The plow had come, the road was clear.
It was time for him to leave, unless…
Holly reached out and touched her hand to his cheek. ‘It’s for the best,’ she said softly. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, but she smiled. ‘There’s no going back, Nick. We both know that.’
The hell we do, he started to say…but she was right. Time machines existed only in the movies, not in real life.
So he nodded, got to his feet and held out his hand. Holly took it and stood up beside him.
‘You’ve got snow in your hair,’ she said, and gently brushed it away.
There was a catch in her voice. He knew there’d be one in his, too, if he tried to speak. So he took her hand, instead, and brought her palm to his mouth. Hands clasped, they walked slowly to the cabin.
‘I’ll get my things,’ Nick said.
Holly nodded. ‘I’ll wait here.’
He reached the top of the porch steps and looked around. Holly’s back was to him but he knew she was crying.
‘Get it over with,’ he muttered, and reached for the door.
What was the sense in prolonging this? She’d spoken the truth. It was too late to go back. Miracles only came around once in a lifetime. They’d had theirs, and they’d tossed it away.
Determination got him through the door and halfway up the stairs to the bedroom—and then he stopped.
How could he leave her? They had just found each other again. Sure, they’d had their miracle, but who said you only got one in a lifetime?
Wasn’t Christmas all about miracles?
Nick’s jaw tightened. He’d never run from anything in his life, except his marriage. Now, he had a second chance. Okay, maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe by the time the weekend was over he’d be more than ready to admit that what they’d had was really gone for ever.
But how could he know that, if he left now?
He took a deep breath. All he had to do was convince Holly. And, dammit, that was what he was going to do…
‘Nick?’
He turned at Holly’s whisper. She was standing in the open doorway, looking up at him, her hair wet with snow, her lashes spiky with tears.
‘Holly.’ He came down the steps slowly, searching for the right words, for the right way to say them.
‘Nick,’ she said, ‘oh, Nick, please, please, don’t go!’
And then they were in each other’s arms.
CHAPTER SEVEN
A MOMENT ago, Nick had been searching for the words that would convince Holly to let him stay with her.
Now, with her in his arms, words had no meaning.
At the beginning of their marriage, they’d never been able to get enough of each other. Need had fed on need; coming through the door at night, seeing Holly waiting for him, he’d been gripped with such hunger that there’d been times they hadn’t even made it to the bed before they were in each other’s arms, loving each other.
What he felt now transcended even that.
Desire hammered in his blood and roared in his ears, until the universe was reduced to this moment, and this woman.
His wife.
Nick cupped Holly’s face and lifted it to his.
‘Do you know what you’re asking?’ he said, his voice a rough whisper.
Color flew into her cheeks. She slid her arms around his neck. He felt her fingers curve into the hair at the nape of his neck. She swayed forward, rose towards him, so that they were breast to breast, hip to hip.
‘Yes. Yes, I know,’ she said, as she kissed him.
The kiss drove away whatever remained of Nick’s ability to think. He swung Holly up into his arms, kicked the door shut and carried her through the silent house. Her hands linked behind his head; she buried her face against his neck and kissed his throat, and he told himself to hang on, hang on.
He took her to the blankets that had been their bed throughout the long night. The fire still burned on the hearth; the flames flickered and cast their soft glow over Holly’s lovely face as he lowered her to her feet.
‘I couldn’t have left you,’ he whispered, framing her face in his hands.
She caught his hand in hers, turned it to her lips and kissed the palm.
‘And I couldn’t have let you go.’
Nick bent his head and kissed her mouth. ‘It’s been so long, baby. And I’ve been so lonely without you.’
‘Tell me.’ Her eyes were dark, and deep enough to drown in. She laid her palms against his chest, letting the rapid beat of his heart pulse through the tips of her fingers. ‘I need to know that I haven’t been the only one—’
He silenced her with a long, deep kiss. She tasted just as he remembered, as sweet as honey, as dazzling as champagne. She made a soft, whimpering sound and pressed herself to him, fitting the soft curves of her body to the hard planes of his. He groaned, slid his hands down the length of her spine and under the waistband of her jeans, under her panties, cupping her warm flesh in his hands.
‘Nick,’she whispered, ‘Nick, please…’He curved his hands around her, sought and found the heat between her thighs. She gave a broken sob and said his name again.
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