Millionaire's Christmas Miracle

by Mary Anne Wilson

  He held her more tightly, pressed a kiss to the top of her head and felt her tremble. There were no words, no questions, just the two of them standing in the dark, holding each other. It was enough. It was total. She was an anchor for him, a solid rightness in a world that had little definition for him anymore.

  And he couldn’t let go. He couldn’t step back and say mundane, polite words. He couldn’t stop. He skimmed his hands up her back, then in the deep shadows, he framed her face with his hands. Nothing else mattered. Nothing else could. He lowered his head to find her lips.

  Maybe if she hadn’t responded, if she hadn’t opened her lips in invitation and slipped her arms around his neck, if she hadn’t arched toward him, he might have stopped at a kiss. But there was no stopping when he tasted her and his kiss was answered with an explosive passion that matched his own, a passion that had been locked deep inside him since the first time he saw her.

  He lifted her higher, kissing her with the hunger of a starving man. He’d been starving all his life until her. Until this moment. He felt her presence filling him, giving a sense of completion in his soul with her in his arms, as heady as it was frightening. It was new and incredible and as fathomless as what he felt for her.

  He lifted her higher and her legs circled his waist, twining around him, and he carried her back into his room, into the softness of the shadows, to the bed he’d had since he was a boy. Together they tumbled into the coolness of the mussed linens, never losing contact. As they lay side by side in the shadows, he tasted her and explored her.

  The only sounds were her soft moans, their quick breathing. He felt her hands on him, working their way under his shirt, skin against skin, heat and desire mingling in a fire that threatened to consume him.

  But he welcomed it. He went with it. He touched her, skimming his hand along her arm, then to her middle, finding the zipper on her sweatshirt, fumbling to undo it, as awkward as a teenage boy in the back of a car. Then the cotton of a T-shirt was pushed up and the delicate lace of her bra was too much of a barrier for him. He shifted her up, taking off her clothes, slipping them free and pushing them away until there was skin against skin. She trembled, then gasped when he cupped her breast, his thumb and forefinger finding her nipple. It immediately peaked and hardened, and her gasp turned to a deep moan, low in her throat.

  He shifted, tasting her breast, skimming his hand lower, spanning her middle, then pushing the tips of his fingers under the waistband of her jeans. The fastener popped, the zipper lowered and he felt the top of her panties. He wasn’t sure how he did it, but the jeans were tugged free, tossed into the shadows, then the panties were gone. He found her center and she cried out, a muffled sound of intense pleasure that sent him reeling. She arched toward him, pressing herself against his palm, and he moved slowly, the need to be in her beyond reason.

  Amy was lost and found. She fell into a place with Quint where the world was kept at bay; a place where she could just be…with Quint. Guilt and reality had no standing there, just need and feeling. Everything else was on the outskirts, hovering around the fringes, but as long as Quint was there, as long as he was touching her and kissing her, nothing could hurt her.

  She went to that place, she relished that place and when Quint’s hands explored her and found her, she struggled to stay as close to him as she could. She would have melted into him, if she could have. She would have let him flow into her soul if it were possible. She touched him, felt the sleek heat of his skin, the brush of his mustache as he took her nipple in his mouth. She arched toward him as floods of ecstasy flowed around her and through her.

  In the next heartbeat, coolness took the place of heat, and she opened her eyes, reaching out, but her hands closed on empty air. She looked up and relief left her dizzy when she saw that Quint hadn’t left. He was there, near her, shadows on shadows, but she could see him moving, then he was back with her, his clothes gone, and she felt him against her. Her arms went around him, holding on to him for dear life, and that’s what it was to her at that moment in time. Her life. Her breath. Her ability to live.

  He shifted and was over her, his legs between hers, his strength against her, testing her, but not penetrating, and his voice, rough with need, whispered around her, “Tell me to stop if you want me to.”

  She touched his face, brushed the mustache with the ball of her thumb, then found his lips and she felt an unsteadiness there. “No, don’t stop,” she breathed, “please, please, don’t stop,” and she lifted her hips to him, aching to feel him inside her.

  He trembled, then with exquisite slowness, he slipped into her, filling her, joining with her in a wonder that brought the burning of tears to her eyes. He was still for an eternity, and she was certain if he did anything else, she’d shatter into a million pieces. But slowly, ever so slowly, he moved, and with each stroke, she knew that there was another place to go to, a place of oneness that would blot out every pain in her life.

  Her hips began to mimic his actions, lifting toward him, accepting each thrust. Feelings built in a blinding fire of sensations, higher and higher. And when she thought it was possible to die from pleasure, the world fell away and it was just her and Quint and a completeness that was indescribable. Just her and him. Two. One. She let go and soared, over and over again, until a culmination was there, perfect and awesome. Then the fall back to earth. But she wasn’t alone. She was with Quint.

  He didn’t leave her until they shifted onto their sides, facing each other, and she snuggled into his embrace. His chin rested on her head, his heart beat against her hand, and she felt every breath he took. He shifted more toward her, one arm around her, his other hand resting on her hip. And she didn’t dare breathe in case everything fell apart. She could feel it teetering, then he pressed a kiss to her hair and she closed her eyes tightly.

  Later. Later she’d think, she’d feel, but for now, she had this. She knew it was a time out of time, but it was hers. And she wouldn’t give it up by letting reality intrude right now.

  QUINT NEVER SLEPT. He held Amy, so close to saying I love you that he quite literally thought he’d said it. She was asleep, holding to him, and he couldn’t say a thing. Except he was sorry. Sorry that he was weak and so needy. That he’d thought only of himself and those needs. This was all wrong, all so selfish of him. It was his fault, so he held her and he kept his words to himself and he knew that when they got out of this bed, it was over. And he’d have to make it okay for her any way he could.

  He was startled when the overhead light flashed on, flickered, then stayed on. Trying not to wake Amy, he stretched as far as he could to the right, finding the light switch on the wall with the tip of his finger and flicking it off. But the darkness hid everything, and he didn’t want that now. He shifted, turned on the low light on his side of the bed, then raised himself on one elbow and looked down at Amy.

  Amy in soft shadows. Amy sleeping. Amy with tangled ebony hair tumbling around her naked shoulders. He saw everything about her. The stubborn curls at her temple, the bottom lip that looked slightly swollen from their kisses, her lashes making dark arcs on her cheeks, a soft sighing breath she took every once in a while. Her hand on his stomach, her legs tangled with his and her breath brushing his skin.

  His body began to respond and he shifted lower until he was by her again, but staring up at the ceiling. She was everything that wasn’t his. Everything that he’d remember and regret not having again. Everything that another man would have someday when she could move on. There was no jealousy of that man now, just regret that he’d come into her life at the wrong time for both of them.

  She sighed and he held her more tightly to him as a spark of foolish hope started in him. Maybe what Mike had said to him was right, that being in the world at the same time was all that mattered. He could do whatever Amy wanted. He could love Taylor…he already did. The child and the mother. So easy. So very easy. And he could protect them and care for them both and make things as right as he could for them.r />
  He closed his eyes, letting that idea settle into him.

  AMY WOKE in an instant when a noise drew her out of sleep as surely as if it had been a crashing roll of thunder. Taylor making soft noises, little sounds that she made sometimes, sounds that either meant she was waking, or that she was restless, but would settle herself.

  Amy had opened her eyes to the low glow of the side lamp, and to Quint holding her. The electricity had come back on; she’d made love with Quint. She hadn’t noticed the one because of being so obsessed with Quint.

  She listened, waiting, and when she heard nothing else, she closed her eyes and lay very still. But she couldn’t stop thinking. She couldn’t stop the reality of what she’d done coming to her full force. She’d made love to Quint. She’d let him make love to her. She’d given herself in a way she’d never thought she would again to a man she loved.

  The world stopped. Time didn’t exist. Love? She trembled and felt Quint’s hold on her tighten a bit. That didn’t happen twice. It couldn’t. Not that love that came from your soul and was forever. No, she closed her eyes so tightly that colors exploded behind her eyes. No. She shifted, the need to escape a living thing in her.

  But as soon as she tried to move, Quint held to her, his voice near her ear saying, “I thought you were asleep,” and the heat of his breath fanning her skin.

  “I…I just woke up,” she said, hating the unsteadiness in her voice and the fact that she didn’t have the strength to just get up and leave.

  “You heard Taylor?”

  He’d been awake all this time, too? “I think she’s settled again.”

  His hand moved on her, tracing the swell of her hip, moving around to circle her waist, and she trembled. “We need to talk,” he murmured, his mustache brushing softly against the skin on her shoulder.

  She didn’t want to talk. She didn’t want to feel him against her back, his body angled to fit hers. She didn’t want to feel him touching her skin, or want him to keep touching her. She hated herself and she hated her weakness, and she hated it when she turned in his embrace and whispered, “Don’t say anything. Please.”

  She hated the need in her to touch his face with the soft light behind him, to feel the bristling of a new beard, the brush of his mustache and the softness of his lips. She was thankful that his face was a blur in the shadows. Just as well, she thought, not seeing clearly, and trembled when she felt his arousal against her. She shifted her hand lower and found him, circled him and felt him gasp.

  There was no more talking. Just touching and feeling and being. She wanted him so much, and she’d have him one more time. She took what he offered, kissing and touching, being filled by him, and being given pleasure that knew no bounds. Later, she thought as she went with her feelings and arched to him, giving as good as she got, and losing herself in a world of ecstasy that was its own reality.

  She climaxed with Quint, the sound of mutual pleasures given and taken mingling in her ears, then the slow descent into the peace and satiation of her entire being. She lay with him, her head on his shoulder, the beating of his heart echoing around her, and she waited for the pain. She waited for the regret to drive her out of his bed. But it didn’t come. It wasn’t there.

  She didn’t move, almost not breathing, but nothing happened. Nothing took away that sense of rightness that came out of nowhere. She was doing it herself, she reasoned, making it seem right to convince herself, but amazingly, it was right. It was very right. All of the things she feared weren’t there. The pain, the horror at betraying Rob, that horrible feeling of guilt at being alive and Rob not being there, too. All of them were gone.

  That realization settled into her being, into her soul. All that sorrow that he would never be here again, but a joy that she was here…with Quint. And in that instant, the healing took place. Something let go inside her. A part of her let go of Rob, let him be her past, a good, wonderful past, a joy in her life for such a short time. But she could let it go and let it be her past. The stark reality that finally she could go on living was there.

  Tears came, silently, making her shake, and she clung to Quint. She always cried at goodbyes, at moments when she knew that life was in front of her, and she had to put the past behind her. The past. She had loved Rob. She always would, but remarkably, she could still love now. The mourning was over, and her life stretched out in front of her. A life Quint had given back to her. And she cried.

  Quint held on to Amy while she sobbed, and the faint hope that he’d held, dissolved with each sobbing breath she took. He’d been a fool in more ways than one. He wasn’t the man to stop her pain, to give her any happiness. The man she was crying for was that man. And as that thought solidified, he drew back from her, easing away until the contact was broken. He had a glimpse of her looking at him, her lashes spiked from tears and her skin flushed, and he knew if he stayed in that bed, he’d do the same thing over and over again. Just love her.

  He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and just sat there for a long moment. When she touched him on the back, he jerked forward and stood, reaching for his jeans. He put them on before he turned, and he was thankful for the space he’d created between himself and Amy. Very thankful when she started to sit up and the sheets slipped, exposing her beauty to the softness of the light.

  “You said we need to talk,” she said in a breathy whisper that ran riot over his frayed nerves. “We…we do, we really do.”

  He narrowed his eyes to minimize her image, then he forced himself to do what he knew he had to do…for both their sakes. “I know, and I’m so sorry for this, for letting it happen at all.” The words all but choked him. “Nothing’s changed. Nothing.” Lie upon lie. “I’m still who I am, and you’re still…we’re just in way too different places. This never should have happened.”

  He turned his back to her, finding it easier to talk without looking at her. Each word he said almost killed him. “Big mistake. Chalk it up to the storm, to cabin fever. Whatever.” He moved to the dresser, needing more distance, and he picked up the charged phone. When he turned, he was taken aback to find Amy standing by the bed, putting on her clothes, her back to him.

  In silence she put on her jeans, followed by her sweatshirt, her actions jerky and fast. She reached for the T-shirt and bra she’d been wearing under her sweatshirt and his nerves felt ready to snap. “Did you hear what I said?”

  She turned, and he didn’t know what he thought would be there, but it wasn’t an almost glazed look on her face. “Yes, but I was waiting for you to get to how you’re too old for all of this. I bet you were just getting ready to say that, weren’t you?”

  “Whatever,” he muttered. “Just blame me for this. I should have—”

  “Blame you?” she asked flatly. “I’m not some idiot who didn’t know what I was doing,” she muttered, fumbling with the zipper on her shirt. “And you don’t have to say anything else.”

  No, he didn’t, but that didn’t stop this need to explain and explain and explain. A man of few words, and he felt overwhelmed with words that he couldn’t begin to sort out. All he could say was the truth that sat bitterly on his tongue. “You don’t want this. You’ve made that clear before. You’ve got your life.”

  She zipped her sweatshirt and looked up at him. “And you’ve got yours.”

  He didn’t even know what that life was anymore, but he’d figure that out after she was gone. “Yes,” he said.

  “So you’ve said,” she murmured flatly, and he could see unsteadiness in her shoulders before she obliterated the distance between them. She came closer, looked at the phone, then took it from him. Without another word, she went to the door and left.

  He stared at the spot where she’d been standing, then heard her door down the hallway close with a quiet click. He’d done the right thing. He knew that, but it was cold comfort when he went near the bed and almost tripped over the sheet Amy had wrapped around herself. It lay in a heap on the floor and when he bent to pick it
up, he was certain it held a hint of Amy on it. A subtle fragrance as unique as she was herself.

  He tossed the sheet onto the bed, then turned away from it, went out into the hallway and walked barefoot past the closed door to her room. He never looked back as he went through the house, toward the den to find out if a good stiff drink could help him get through the rest of the night.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amy crawled out of bed while both children were still asleep, looked outside to an amazingly clear sky, then got into the shower. She stood under the hot stream of water, horribly aware of the tenderness in her breasts and the ache deep inside that had started the moment Quint had turned to her and said, Big mistake. Chalk it up to the storm, to cabin fever. Whatever.

  Tears did no good. She had no right to them. He’d told her clearly enough what he did and didn’t want, and she’d gone on ahead anyway. It was her fault, and she’d get over it. At least a numbness that had started when Quint had faced her in his room was still lingering. She’d leave as soon as she could, go back and straighten out the mess with Travis, then get on with her life. She’d figure out what that meant when she had to. Right now, leaving was all she could manage.

  She turned off the water, reached for a towel and dried, then slipped on her robe and stepped back into the bedroom. Travis was waking, slowly and easily, stirring and stretching, so precious it almost took her breath away. She crossed to him, whispered, “Good morning, buddy,” then looked down at Taylor.

  She was stunned to find the makeshift bed empty, and it was then that she realized the bedroom door was ajar. She scooped up Travis, went to the door and stepped out into the quiet hallway. She heard a squeal, saw Quint’s door was open, then Taylor came toddling out, still mussed from sleep, but wearing cowboy boots that went clean up to her thighs. She saw Amy, squealed with delight and headed for her, the boots making clunky sounds on the floor and slowing her progress.