by Ami Weaver
Darcy felt her back go up. “Of course he is.”
“But so are you,” she said quietly. Darcy could only blink at her as she went on, “I don’t know what went wrong, but he sure looks at you like you matter to him.”
Like you matter to him. Those words echoed in her brain as they got through the evening, as she sold trees and decorations and poured hot chocolate and made sure the Christmas station was playing at the proper volume.
He hadn’t said anything to her about the tree. She had a trunkful of lights at the ready, thinking he might need them. Since it’d been her idea and all and she’d practically forced him to get the tree.
He looked up then, across the cold barn, and his gaze locked right on hers. As if he’d known she was looking at him. The corner of his mouth quirked up in an almost smile. Then someone said something to him and he turned around and disappeared from her vision.
They closed the place down at seven. It didn’t take long. Darcy locked the money in the safe and waved to the departing workers.
Except Mack, of course. He was at his truck. Waiting for her.
“So,” he said as she approached. “I’ve got this tree. It needs some love.” He arched an eyebrow at her and she suppressed a smile.
“Does it, now?” she said. “I need to eat first and give Uncle Joe a report. I can be at your place in—” she looked at her phone “—less than an hour.”
“Sounds good,” he said.
She didn’t watch him leave. She walked back to the house and it took more willpower than it should have to not look back.
* * *
She was at his house, as she’d said, in less than an hour. As she did every night now, she’d delivered her report, her handwritten notes, all the receipts to Uncle Joe so he could pore over them. It made him happy and helped him feel as though he was still a part of everything. She ate a quick dinner, showered and changed, then drove into town.
She pulled the bags with the lights out of her trunk. Their first tree had had multicolor lights on it. She’d bought the same for him.
He opened the door almost as soon as she knocked. “Hey,” he said, stepping out of the way.
“Hey,” she echoed, surprised to realize she was a little shy. She brushed past him, smelling his soap or shampoo. He smelled yummy enough to make the heat begin to rise in her, just a little.
Even a little was too much.
She gave him her coat when he reached for it and toed off her boots. She saw bags on the coffee table, too. He’d been shopping. Or maybe his mom had.
She mentally winced. What did Mack’s mom think of Darcy now? Of her being back in town and even remotely in Mack’s life? His mom hadn’t been thrilled with the marriage—that had been clear from the start.
It didn’t matter. Darcy wasn’t staying.
She pushed aside the thoughts and stepped into the living room. He’d lit a fire, she noted. She looked at the tree and then at him, a small smile tugging at her mouth.
“Not too bad for being dark,” she said cheerfully, walking over to inspect it. “And you didn’t—” She turned around and found him right behind her.
“Didn’t what?” His voice was low.
“Trust me,” she whispered, and almost closed her eyes, the fragrant tree at her back, the man at her front.
But he stepped back and the moment shattered at her feet like a glass ornament handled carelessly. She swallowed hard and turned back toward the tree.
“It’s got a big hole,” he said, and his voice was a little rough. So she hadn’t imagined the charged moment they’d just shared. “But not too bad for being in the dark.”
She smiled and fingered the tip of a branch. If you smoothed the needles right on a spruce tree, they wouldn’t draw blood. “I brought lights.”
“I got some ornaments.” He paused for a moment, a faraway expression on his face. “Nothing fancy.”
She shrugged. “It’s your tree, Mack.”
Not theirs. His. Her observation wasn’t lost on her, and she tried to ignore the little stab of pain it brought.
He didn’t correct her and she started unloading the boxes of lights while he put on the leather gloves and started winding them, tucking them in the branches. The radio played softly in the background from somewhere—the kitchen, maybe—and she found it soothing to work with him like this, companionable. The past seemed to have receded somewhat as she realized she liked Mack. Not as the man she remembered, but as the man he was now.
That was every bit as dangerous as the memories.
She handed him the last string and he hooked it up, then wrapped it around the tree. He stepped back and she leaned over to click off the light on the end table. He peeled the gloves off and nodded as they both took it in. Transformed, it glowed bight and Darcy sighed. “It’s beautiful. You did a good job.”
“Thanks.” He tossed the gloves on the floor and reached for a bag. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”
He’d bought a mishmash of brightly colored ornaments. Nothing real personal. She didn’t ask where their stuff was. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing it, even after all this time.
“Plastic,” he explained as the smaller dog—Lilly—demonstrated the reason why glass would have been bad. Her tail slapped several on the floor and as they rolled away a calico cat leaped out from under a chair to chase them.
Darcy had to laugh. “Maybe they should go up. Out of tail range,” she added doubtfully. “I’ve seen parents with little kids do that.”
Then she froze at her own stupid, thoughtless words. The past came roaring back and sat right down in the living room with them, making itself comfortable in the sharpness of the silence. She opened her mouth again, but for the life of her couldn’t think of anything to say that would make it better, so she clamped it shut again.
“Yes,” he agreed quietly, and she heard the threads of pain in his tone, even in that one word. “They do. So should pet owners.” When she turned to look at him—Is he really going to let me off that easy?—he gave her a small smile.
He was.
“Want something to drink?” he asked, heading for the kitchen. “I’ve got beer. No wine, I’m afraid,” he said, “but there’s some diet Mountain Dew in here, too.”
She should go. Before all this became too much and something happened. Something that even now she could feel tugging at her. “Beer’s fine.”
He held up two different kinds, and she pointed at her choice. He poured them each a glass and handed her one before going back in the living room. Which was far too cozy with the fire crackling, and the lights from the tree sending out a soft light. The dogs were asleep on the hearth, and a wave of longing hit her hard. This was all she’d ever wanted. And someday he’d share it with someone else. She took a drink of her beer and sat down on the couch. He did, too, and she sent him a sideways look as he turned on the TV.
What she should do was go home. There was no reason not to. The night was clear as a bell, if cold. No snow, no ice, no excuses to stay.
He put on a movie, a recent action flick. “Did you see this one?”
She shook her head. She hadn’t been to see a movie in ages. “Nope. Missed it.”
“Me, too. We can watch it while we decorate.”
He got up and went to make popcorn and she tried really hard to make herself leave. Listing all the reasons this was a bad idea. Why it was always a bad idea to get attached.
But when he came back, set the bowl on the table and handed her a paper towel for her fingers, she knew she wasn’t fooling even herself anymore. They shared the bowl, sipped beer, hung ornaments and laughed at the antics on-screen.
And Darcy found herself tipping toward him a little more.
Chapter Eleven
This was how it’d always been wit
h them, and there was a time Mack would have given anything for one more night like this.
Be careful what you wish for. He could hear his mother’s voice in his head, same as when he was a kid. There was always a price. No doubt. But Darcy was here now, her fingers bumping his in the popcorn bowl, her knee touching his thigh when she tucked her feet under her on the couch after they’d finished the tree. He didn’t look at her, or pull away, and neither did she.
Finally, he’d had as much as he could take. The next time their fingers brushed, he twined hers in his. Her head snapped around, her eyes wide and luminous in the soft light of the tree and the TV. He pulled her in and kissed her. Her mouth was a little slick from the butter. He tasted the beer, the saltiness of the popcorn and the sweetness of the butter. She opened to him right away, as though maybe she’d been waiting for this, too.
It felt like a first kiss.
He sank deeper and pulled her in. She turned her body so she folded right into him, her arms around his neck. When he lowered her to the couch, his mouth still on hers, she didn’t protest.
He pressed a kiss into her neck, feeling the flutter of her pulse there. It kept pace with his own. She ran her hands down his back and turned her face back to his when he slid a hand under her sweater. Her skin was so soft, so smooth, and he felt her inhale sharply at his touch. He lifted his head and looked her in the eye, seeing the desire and heat there, and the uncertainty, too. “You okay?” he asked, his voice a rasp in his throat. He didn’t bother to shift away from her, so he knew she felt the hard length of him pressed into her thigh. Her eyes were molten, and he held still, wanting this so badly.
She lifted up and nipped his bottom lip, but he didn’t lower back down. “Darce. I need to hear you say it.” He was about to lose his mind, but he’d walk away if he had to, if it was what she needed.
“Yes,” she whispered, and there was a small wobble in her voice. She lifted her eyes and met his and he saw the uncertainty was gone. “Yes,” she repeated. “I’m okay, Mack.” Then she smiled that smile, the one that always made his blood go hot, and he dropped his forehead to hers, relief flooding him, along with something much hotter, and much more intense.
Since he knew where this was heading, he stood up and held out a hand. They’d be better off in his bed than on this slippery leather couch. She took it and walked with him the short steps to his room. There was a slight tremor in her fingers, and when he drew her over to the bed, she laid a hand on his chest. In the faint moonlight that came through the window, he saw the intensity on her face. “What is it, Darce?”
She pleated his shirt in her fingers, then looked back up. “It’s been a long time for me, Mack.”
“Yeah?” He tugged her sweater up and she lifted her arms for him to slide it off. Her skin was creamy in the pale light. “Me, too, honey.”
She seemed to relax then, and reached for the hem of his shirt, which he stripped off and tossed, then pulled her in, feeling the heat of her skin and the raspy lace of her bra on his skin. He closed his eyes, buried his face in her hair and groaned. “Darcy.” There were no more words, and yet too many to say. She ran her hands up his arms to his face, which she pulled down to hers, and kissed him. Heat, passion, sweetness, all in one kiss.
He was a goner.
He reached behind her and unhooked the bra, which she shrugged off her shoulders and let it fall. She let out a laughing little “Eep!” when he bent and took those rosy, luscious nipples in his mouth. They were already peaked for him and he played with them both, with his tongue and his fingers, until she was gasping.
He kissed her throat, that sweet little pulse jumping even more now, and reached for the snap of her jeans as she reached for his. It took a little fumbling to get things down—her leg got stuck and she was hopping around trying to kick her pants off until he finally grabbed it and yanked and she went back on the bed with a giggle and a bounce of those glorious breasts. He landed beside her, his own grin so wide he was pretty sure his face was going to split in two. No matter. He’d be a damn happy man.
“Hey,” she said softly, and he traced a line with one finger down her chest—a slight detour each way for her nipples—over her smooth belly and the scar there. He stopped there, running his fingers over the roughness of the scar. She reached for his hand and he shook his head.
“Mack—don’t—”
“It’s part of you, Darcy.” It was part of him, too, but he didn’t say that. He did lean down and kiss it before slipping farther to the curls at the juncture of her thighs, into the damp heat he found there. She gave a little gasp and he shifted his body. “While I’m here...”
Her legs fell open and he settled in. She grasped his head as he rolled his tongue and fingers around in the sweetness that had always been Darcy.
Darcy was losing her mind. Oh, Mack had always been good at this, so good, so very good. She bucked and he threaded his arms through her legs, resting his hands on her belly, a gentle pressure to hold her in place as he worked his magic. The pressure built like a wave and crashed over her just as fast as she gasped his name. Then his big body was covering hers as he held her through the tremors. She heard the crinkle of the condom package and he was inside her. A shudder racked his body as he held himself still, and pushed up on his forearms.
“Darcy—I’m not going to last long—” he gritted out, and she smiled and started moving against him. Turnabout was fair play and if he was going to make her lose her mind, well, she was going to return the favor.
The joke was on her. She matched him stroke for stroke and held on as he loved her, as the sweet pressure built, and he threw his head back as his whole body strained and shuddered. She followed him right over, the shock and pleasure of the second orgasm floating her gently to the ground.
He lay on her for a minute, breathing hard. “Wow.”
She laughed and ran her hands up his sweaty back. “Yeah. Wow.” But under all the sweetness was a bit of panic. Nothing had changed. Or rather, it’d gotten better, and it had been fantastic all those years ago. If it had been because they were so in love the first time around, what did that mean now?
She pushed the thoughts away. This might be her only chance to be like this with Mack, when she’d thought it was over for good. This was a gift, even if she’d pay for it later.
He rolled off her, onto his back, and his fingers found hers. They lay in the dark, and Darcy felt the dampness of tears leaking from her eyes.
“Stay,” he said quietly, and she wasn’t sure if he meant forever, or just tonight.
She wanted to, but her aunt and uncle— “I’m not sure, Mack.”
He turned his head to look at her, then shifted and ran his thumb over the moisture at her eyes. “Please.” Then, in a lighter tone, he added, “We never actually made it into the bed. We’re on the covers.” In the dark she saw his grin, and she was lost.
She sat up and scooted back toward the pillows, peeling the covers back, a wicked smile on her gorgeous face. “Well. Can’t have that, can we?”
He followed her.
* * *
Darcy cracked one eye the next morning. The sky was barely light and Mack was still sleeping, one arm thrown over her like the way he used to sleep. The way they’d slipped into this so easily scared her. She knew why it could never be casual with them, and it made her heart hurt. He didn’t stir as she slipped out from under his arm and tiptoed around and gathered up her clothes. She dressed quickly and quietly and let herself out into the cold predawn stillness. She shivered the whole drive home, not so much from the freezing temps but from the loss of the heat she’d shared with Mack. He wouldn’t be happy she’d left. But she knew it was for the best. They’d crossed too many lines, and while she couldn’t undo that, she could try to draw new ones.
She parked at the house and saw the kitchen light was on. Left on? Or was Marla up
?
Darcy rested her head on the steering wheel. She was an adult. No one was going to say anything to her.
She let herself in the side door and saw that it had been left on. It wasn’t quite time for Marla to be up yet. Darcy crawled back under the cold blankets of her childhood bed and stared at the ceiling, trying not to relive the night before and finding it impossible.
* * *
Marla gave her a knowing smile when she walked in the kitchen a couple of hours later. “So. Did you and Mack have a nice time?”
Darcy’s face heated in spite of herself. “Yes. The tree looks nice.”
“Mmm-hmm. Took all night to decorate, huh?” There was no censorship in her tone, but Darcy felt slapped down anyway.
“Something like that,” she murmured, and grabbed a mug. Thank God there was coffee. She’d had very little sleep, thanks to what had turned out to be a very active night. As if they’d been making up for lost time. But Darcy knew better. There was no way to make it up, to recover what they’d lost. Or to start over and make something new.
Marla laid her hand on Darcy’s arm. “Darcy. Be careful. If you’re going to leave again, don’t set yourself up for heartbreak.”
She gave Marla a smile that was more a curving of her lips than a real smile. “I know. I’ll be careful. I don’t want to go through that again.” That was God’s honest truth.
As her aunt walked away, Darcy tried to ignore the little voice that told her it was already too late, that she was going to hurt like crazy when she left. That all her hard work, all her careful defenses had been for nothing when the man could strip her bare with just a look. She’d destroyed the last of them herself when she’d fallen apart in his arms last night.
Seemed she’d never learn.
* * *
Despite Darcy’s predawn exit, Mack was in a good mood the next morning. Oh, he knew this didn’t really change anything—no way it really could—but damn. Having her in his bed again was like an early Christmas gift to himself. To both of them.
