Christmas Awakening

by Ann Voss Peterson

  He slipped it off.

  Marie said nothing, but he could feel her watching. He could feel her body close and smell her delicious, spicy scent.

  If only he’d trusted his feelings for her ten years ago. If only he’d stood up to what was expected of him and listened to his heart. He still would have hurt Charlotte, still would have been unfair to her. But her hurt would have faded, and she would have had a good life. Marie and he would have had a good life.

  Despite the unease still niggling at the back of his mind, he’d like to believe they could have that good life now.

  The car slowed and turned. Passing the redbrick and iron gate of the Manor at Drake Acres, it went through the simple white pillars announcing Drake House. Brandon pulled in a breath and peered out the window.

  Black soot still stained the gray stone wall. A bouquet of flowers lay at the foot of the small cross Edwin had placed on the site. Flowers arranged by Shelley, no doubt, and placed with the utmost care. “Stop for a moment, Josef. Will you?”

  The car slowed to a stop.

  Brandon sat still, watching out the window. “I’ve never looked at that spot. Not since that night. Every time Josef drove me past, I averted my eyes. I just couldn’t…”

  “It’s different now.” Marie’s voice sounded hushed, respectful and so wise.

  “Yes. It looks different in the sun.” He thought about placing the ring on the cross. Thought about bringing it to her grave outside Jenkins Cove Chapel. But in the end, he knew neither option felt right. He slipped it into his pocket. Charlotte was a part of him. A part of his past. And even though he would never again wear it, he would keep the symbol of their marriage with him. To remember the good things…and the mistakes.

  “Go ahead, Josef.”

  The car resumed moving down the drive. He didn’t remember getting out. Didn’t remember walking to the house and unlocking the door. Didn’t remember turning off the alarm and ensuring that the house was empty. All he remembered was taking Marie’s hand in his and leading her upstairs.

  He felt as though he’d waited ten years for this. He supposed he had. He peeled off her coat, her blouse. He pulled off her jeans tenderly over her bandaged leg and stripped her panties and bra.

  The soft light of morning glowed through the bedroom window and kissed her skin.

  When he’d last made love to Marie, she’d been a girl. Now the naked body before him was that of a woman. And he couldn’t quite catch his breath. “You’re beautiful.”

  She looked down at the floor.

  He slipped his hand to her face and tilted her chin up. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.”

  He brought his mouth down on hers, tasting her, savoring her. She kissed as she had in his dreams, light and caring one moment, passionate and needy the next. Smelling her scent aroused him. Touching her filled him up.

  She raised her hands to his shoulders, combed her fingers through his hair. She moved one hand to his face as they kissed, and traced her fingertips over his cheek.

  The skin had once been so tender, so sensitive that a whisper of air inspired agony. Back then, after the car fire, he’d wished he couldn’t feel anything. He’d prayed for it. Now her touch felt faint, his nerve endings protected by scar tissue. And for the first time he wanted to scrape it off, to dig deep, to feel.

  For the first time he wanted more.

  Without releasing her lips, he shucked his clothes. She helped him, unbuttoning his shirt, pushing his pants down his legs. He wanted to be as naked as she was. He wanted to feel every inch of her skin with every inch of his.

  When the last piece of clothing fell, he picked her up in his arms and carried her the few steps to the bed. It was an old-fashioned move. Something he’d seen in the movies. Something he’d never thought a modern man would do. But it felt fitting. It felt right.

  He lowered her to the bed, gently, so gently. He feathered kisses down her neck and over her collarbone. He worshiped her breasts with his mouth, his tongue, his teeth. He’d never wanted another woman this way, only Marie. He’d never felt so powerful and strong and important as when he looked into her eyes.

  He kissed her whole body. Her belly. Her thighs. Between her legs. And when shudder after shudder took her, it was the best feeling in the world.

  When he kissed his way back to her mouth, she rolled him to his back and smiled. Moving down to his legs, she traced her tongue up the scars on his legs before devouring him with her warm, wet mouth.

  She moved her lips up and down his length, stoking his want, drawing out his need. He felt as though he’d explode—with need, with love, with more happiness than he’d ever dared to dream. And when she came back to his lips, he took her mouth, tasting himself, tasting her, wanting more.

  She sat up, arching her back. Sun caressed the curve of her breasts, lit her taut, reddened nipples. She moved over him and positioned him between her legs.

  Sinking down, she accepted him inside.

  He groaned as her slick heat enveloped him. Swallowed him. Claimed him. He covered her breasts with his hands, feeling her softness, reveling in her strength. He didn’t know how long they moved like that, her on top, him on top, every way they could invent. Not long enough. Too long. It didn’t really matter. Finally pleasure shuddered through her and spread to him as well. Release. Redemption. And when their bodies calmed and the sweat slicking their skin cooled, he cuddled her close. “I love you, Marie. I always have. More than I thought I could love anyone.”

  She smiled, a beautiful, open smile. “I love you, too, Brandon. And I’ll never stop.”

  Her voice curled inside him. Her scent marked him. Her body melded to his. She was so precious to him, so perfect. He always wanted to hold her. Never wanted to lose her.

  To lose her.

  He pushed the thought away and snuggled a kiss into the crook of her neck.

  Her giggle bubbled through him. Light. Carefree. Just what he wanted. To be carefree. To be untroubled. For once in his life to be happy.

  But he wouldn’t have those things. Not if something tragic happened. Not if he lost her.

  His chest felt tight. His leg started to ache. He was being morose, but he couldn’t help it. He had everything he wanted—right now, right here—yet he was more conscious than ever of how quickly it all could be taken away. How quickly Marie could be taken away.

  All Brandon loves will die.

  The words beat in the back of his mind like a war drum. Matching the beat of his heart. Overwhelming it. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Not really. He’d never seen one, never heard one. Why would he believe a ghost’s words?

  He rolled his shoulders to loosen them. He tried to breathe deep, to draw in her scent, to pull oxygen into his starving lungs, but the pressure was too strong to shrug off. The fear was too strong to push away.

  Maybe it wasn’t about believing or ghosts or any of that. Maybe it was just about Marie. And if there was even the slightest chance that loving him was putting her in danger, it was a risk he couldn’t take.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Marie didn’t want to get out of bed. She didn’t want to move away from Brandon. She didn’t want to shower and wash off Brandon’s scent from her skin. She felt if she disturbed this perfect moment, this perfect scene, the magic they had finally found might slip away.

  Chimes rang through the house. The doorbell downstairs. She could hear the click of Isabella’s footsteps crossing the marble foyer.

  She flinched. “I don’t want to move.”

  Brandon ruffled her hair with his fingers. “Can you see the surprise on Detective McClellan’s and his evidence team’s faces when they come up to search the master bedroom and find us naked in bed?” Brandon’s words were light and joking, but something in his voice made Marie uneasy.

  She propped up on an elbow and studied his face. “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head, but he didn’t meet her eyes.

  “Please, tell me.” Her voice
sounded strained, frightened to her own ears. She was frightened. The way he’d avoided looking at her scared her to death.

  She was probably overreacting. The last time she’d made love with Brandon and let herself feel this happy, her whole world had come tumbling down around her. But things were different this time. Weren’t they? There was no pending marriage. Their age difference didn’t matter anymore. And after this morning’s revelation, nothing was in their way. Everything had changed.

  Brandon cupped the back of her head in his hand and pulled her snug against him.

  Marie leaned her head against the solid strength of his shoulder. She knew there would be tough times ahead. She knew everything wouldn’t be magically okay. That was fine. Brandon would never totally put the pain of the past behind him. Neither would she. But now that they had each other, maybe they could move forward. Bit by bit. Day by day. They could be happy together. At least after this morning, she dared to hope. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to worry. We’ll handle it. Together.”

  He didn’t answer.

  She could feel her heart rate rise, beating against his chest. Her throat grew dry. “Brandon?”

  “You need to go back to Michigan.”

  His words jangled through her with the force of an electric shock. She sat up. As an afterthought, she pulled the sheet up, covering her breasts. “What do you mean, go back to Michigan?”

  “You’ll be safe there.”

  “I’ll be safe here. The police—”

  “Don’t need your help.”

  “I wish that was true. But they wouldn’t even have looked into this if we hadn’t made them.”

  “But we did. And they are.” He reached up and ran his fingers over her shoulder, down her arm. “It’s up to the police now. Remember? You helped me see that. You helped me step away and go on with my life. Now let me help you.”

  “But I don’t have to go back to Michigan for that. I’ll look for teaching jobs in Baltimore or D.C. My life is here now.”

  He pushed himself up from the pillow. The soft glow of the afternoon sun lit his bare chest.

  “Isn’t my life here?” Panic clawed inside her. She struggled to remain still. To not grab him. Shake him. “Brandon?”

  He thrust himself from the bed. He stepped to the chair and stood there, naked.

  Marie scanned his face. His body. Her focus landed on the long scar marking his leg. Brandon had other scars, not so visible. Scars not totally healed.

  “How can you send me away?” Her voice cracked. She sounded hysterical. She felt hysterical. This couldn’t be happening. Not now that he knew Charlotte hadn’t committed suicide. Not after they’d made love. Not after he’d told her he loved her. “We’re supposed to be together. We’re supposed to be happy. How can you ask me to leave?”

  He grabbed a thick terry cloth robe from the back of the chair. He pulled it on and tied it at the waist, covering himself. “It’s temporary. It’s for your own protection. Once Detective McClellan finds out who killed Charlotte and your father, you can come back.”

  She shook her head. She knew what he was saying was smart. It was safe. It made sense. But logical or not, she had the feeling that once she left, what she and Brandon had found would be gone. That once she walked out of Drake House, she couldn’t come back again. “I love you, Brandon. I don’t want to lose you again.”

  “You won’t lose me.”

  “If I leave, I will. I’ll lose you. I know it. I don’t want to leave.”

  “No, Marie. If you don’t leave, I’m afraid I’ll lose you.”

  A wave of cold swept through her and penetrated her bones. She clutched the sheet tighter against her breasts. “What? Why? The police have the sketch. It’s out of my hands now.”

  He shook his head. He raked a hand through his hair. He seemed conflicted. Desperate. As tortured as when he’d believed he was the cause of Charlotte’s death.

  Now he was really frightening her. “What is it, Brandon? Tell me.”

  He met her eyes. “‘All Brandon loves will die.’”

  He didn’t have to explain where the quote came from. She’d heard it with her own ears, and she’d never forget. “Did Charlotte speak to you?”

  “No.”

  “Then what has changed since this morning?”

  He stared at her as if he wasn’t sure how to answer.

  “You told me you loved me this morning,” she said. “You made love to me. I thought you wanted us to be together.”

  “I did. I do.”

  “I told you what Charlotte’s spirit said days ago.”

  He raked his hair again. “I know. I just didn’t really understand what it meant until now.”

  Her throat felt tight. As if she could scream and scream and never get the pressure to loosen. “What does it mean, Brandon? What does it mean to you?”

  “That I could lose you.” He tested the belt of his robe, as if it wasn’t tight enough, as if he’d felt it coming loose. “What if it isn’t just about who killed Charlotte and your father? What if it isn’t about you snooping around?”

  “What are you trying to say?”

  He splayed his hands out in front of him, begging for her to understand. “I’ve been investigating this, too. I’ve been asking questions. I even helped you find that damn sketch. But someone tried to throw you off the roof. They cut the brakes in your car. They shot at you alone, even though I was a much easier target.”

  “All that stuff is about covering up the murders.”

  “What if it isn’t?”

  “Are you saying you’re afraid I’m a marked woman?”

  “No. I’m saying what if by loving you, I’ve made you a marked woman?”

  She shook her head. She was hoping things had changed. She was hoping the proof that Charlotte was murdered had taken away Brandon’s guilt. Taken away his fear. But she’d failed to realize the fear wasn’t really about Charlotte. Maybe it had never been. Maybe it was older than his marriage to Charlotte and his summer with Marie. Maybe it was something rooted deep in Brandon himself.

  Tears filled her eyes, making the room blur. She turned away. “You’re blaming yourself again. Just like you did with Charlotte. Just like you always do. What are you so afraid of?”

  He was in front of her in two steps. He gripped her shoulders, turning her back toward him, forcing her to look into his eyes. “‘All Brandon loves will die.’ You said you heard Charlotte’s spirit speak those words.” His voice was hard, almost accusing.

  “I did.”

  “Do you believe in ghosts, Marie? Because it seems like if you believe in ghosts, you should listen to the things they tell you. You should believe the words they say.”

  Her throat felt thick. Her heart ached with each beat. For him. For her. “Loss is part of life, Brandon.”

  He released her arms. Shaking his head, he limped to the fireplace and grabbed his cane.

  Tears rolled down her cheeks, but she didn’t push them away. She understood what he felt. Understood what he feared. “Last week when I talked to my father, our discussion was so ordinary. The snow in Michigan. His plans to visit me at Christmas. The box of ornaments he sent me from when I was a kid. I never guessed I wouldn’t hear his voice again. And when he died, all I could think about was all the things I wanted to say that I can never say now. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “It isn’t about the things I didn’t say. It’s about the time we spent together. Like every ordinary minute of that conversation. That’s the stuff that is life. That’s the stuff that makes up love. And if you send me away, that’s the stuff you and I will never have.”

  “I love you, Marie. How can I not protect you?”

  “You can’t protect me from everything.”

  He shook his head slowly, as if he could hardly summon the energy. “I can’t accept that.”

  Tears clogged her throat, choked her words. “Everyone will die. It’s just the way things are. We don’t get t
o decide. But, Brandon, we do get to decide how we live. Who we share our days and nights with. Who we love.”

  He paused in front of the mantel, clutching his cane in both hands, leaning on it as if he couldn’t stand on his own. “I’ll book you a flight for tomorrow morning. That should give you enough time to finish packing your father’s things.”

  MARIE TAPED THE LAST BOX of her father’s papers and wrote her address on the label. Shelley would mail the papers, a few family heirlooms and a handful of photo albums to her address in Michigan. His clothing, shoes and most of his furniture would go to charity. And the rooms themselves would finally belong to Shelley.

  Marie didn’t cry as she looked around the space. She didn’t have tears left. Not anymore. Ten years ago, when she’d left this place, she’d thought her heart was permanently broken. Now Brandon had mended it this morning only to shatter it again.

  This time she knew it was unfixable.

  Her father had been right. Brandon would never open himself to love. If it wasn’t his engagement to Charlotte keeping them apart, he’d find something else. And he had. The real issue. Fear.

  Marie walked into the bedroom. It had taken her all day, but the room was bare. Only her mostly packed suitcase remained in the corner. The bedsheets and spread were still tucked in neatly on the bed. Her flight to Michigan left in the morning, which meant she’d be sleeping at Drake House one last time.

  Sleep. She almost laughed. There wasn’t a chance she’d be able to sleep. She might not have any cry left in her, but her heart squeezed with each beat. Her ears kept hearing Brandon’s words over and over. Her mind searched for things she could have said or done to make this turn out differently.

  Too bad those perfect words and deeds didn’t exist.

  Shaking her head, she sat on the edge of the bed. Even if she couldn’t doze off, she might as well go through the motions. She had nothing else to do. Nothing else to pack. And she could stomach no more goodbyes.

  She slipped off one boot, then the other and dropped them on the floor. One hit something, producing a metallic clink. What was that? Had she missed something? She shoved off the bed and peered under the white spread. A watch lay on the rug. One of her father’s old pocket watches.