Christmas Getaway

by Anne Stuart, Tina Leonard

  “So you came down to pull them out for me. Like Superman.”

  “That’s me,” he said. “You want to hop up and I’ll pull?”

  “No. I…”

  “You can’t sleep with them like that, you know. I tried the first night. I was so tired I slept, but when I woke up, I was wider and flatter.”

  “I don’t mind….”

  “Wider and flatter? I bet you do. Hop up.”

  “No.”

  “I’m not going to jump you,” he said, exasperated. “I meant to do it before you came to bed but I sort of forgot.”

  “You’ve had lots on your mind.” This was dumb. She was lying rigid in the straitjacket sheets, staring at him.

  “One minute,” he said gently. “Hop up. That is, unless you’re naked under there.”

  He said it with a glimmer of hope and she gasped her indignation and shoved the sheets back. Only of course they wouldn’t budge.

  He grabbed the edge of the sheet and wrenched.

  It still didn’t move. She had sort of slithered under them from the top, too tired and too confused to care. But they really were impossible.

  “No sweat, ma’am,” he said, and grinned, and before she knew what he was about to do he’d simply picked up the corner of the mattress at the end of the bed and tugged it up a couple of feet. She lurched sideways and he was able to haul the sheet out.

  He dropped the mattress. She lurched back onto her pillows.

  “I don’t need…” She gasped.

  “You do need. Now you’re free you can hop up while I do the other side.”

  He was clearly deranged. There was no sense arguing. She rolled out of the loose side too fast. Where there’d been rigid resistance there was now nothing.

  She ended up on the floor.

  “Hey!” He stooped in concern. “Are you okay?”

  There was three inches of shag pile carpet. Why wouldn’t she be okay? “Just haul the other side out, wonderboy,” she snapped. “And then leave me alone.”

  “You don’t sound very appreciative.” He was still smiling, but obligingly he moved around to the other side of the bed and wrenched the covers free. Then, as she got to her feet, he smoothed down the covers and laid them back, ready for her to hop in again. Loosely.

  “There,” he said soothingly. “All done. Does madam require anything else before she goes to sleep?”

  “No.” Then, accepting the fact that she’d been less than gracious, she managed a half smile. “Thank you.”

  “That’s better,” he said approvingly. “Always be nice to the staff. You never know when we might come in useful again.”

  “Joe…”

  “I know. You need to go to sleep.” He smiled at her in the half light cast from the hallway. “That’s a gorgeous nightgown.”

  It was. It was her wedding nightgown. Swiss cotton with exquisite embroidery.

  She’d bought it thinking…well, she ought to have something special for her wedding night. She’d bought it for Connor.

  That this man was seeing it instead of Connor… Strangely enough that didn’t feel wrong.

  But it ought to feel wrong. Her life was upside down. Her world was upside down. She was on the other side of the world but not where she was supposed to be.

  “Thank you,” she said again, awkwardly.

  “My pleasure,” he said softly, and then before she could guess what he intended, he took a couple of steps toward her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Lightly. Not holding her so she couldn’t move away. Just…holding her.

  “Hey, Molly, I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I… Don’t be. Connor…”

  “I’m not just sorry about Connor,” he said. “I’m sorry for everything life’s thrown at you. I’m sorry that schmuck made you pregnant. I’m sorry as hell you lost your baby daughter. And I’m really, really sorry that you’re going to bed alone in a strange place when it should be your honeymoon and life should be giving you everything you deserve. The kids think you’re special and I can see why.”

  And then, as she gazed up at him speechless, his grip tightened.

  “Do you mind if I kiss you?” he asked.

  What sort of question was that? The guy had come into her bedroom unasked. This was scream-and-run territory. Only just as she was gathering her scream-and-run reflexes, he went and asked a question like that.

  Do you mind if I kiss you?

  Her confused mind tried to work out a response. No? No, that was wrong. That’d mean she didn’t mind. Yes? But that’d mean she wanted him to kiss her. No. Yes.

  It was all just too hard. The feel of his hands on her shoulders was doing strange things to her. The night was doing strange things to her.

  This man…

  He was looking down into her eyes with a strange expression. There was compassion there, but something else. There were questions she had no hope of answering. Questions she had no intention of even thinking about.

  But the biggie remained the question asked.

  Do you mind if I kiss you?

  Of course she minded. Of course she did. She just couldn’t get her mind and lips to coordinate to frame the response. It was too late. She was too tired.

  He was too near and he was too…Joe.

  Too Joe to refuse? That shouldn’t make sense but it did. She made a tiny noncommittal sound, just so he didn’t get the idea she was enthusiastic. And then, just in case he got the idea she was unenthusiastic, she lifted her hands and ran her fingers through that crop of burned-red hair and tugged his head down to her.

  He kissed her. Of course he kissed her. It was what she wanted—wasn’t it?

  Actually it was. If she was going to have an out-of-body experience—if she was going to feel like her world was upside down—it needed to be like this. Strong arms crushing her against his hard, muscled chest. Lovely hands caressing her face. His mouth taking hers against his, kissing her deeply, strongly, but with a strange tenderness that was her undoing.

  For she hadn’t expected tenderness. Connor’s kisses were possessive, harsh, always a prelude. Not Joe’s. This was a gentle exploration that said she could stop whenever she wanted; she could pull away whenever she wanted. But why would she? How could she?

  For it was magic. She felt her whole body respond in a languor of delicious desire. Somewhere in that tiny murmur of assent she’d thrown away her reservations. She’d thrown away the control she’d nurtured carefully for all these years.

  He was kissing her with tenderness, but her hands were pulling him into her with a fierceness that left her astonished.

  She wanted him. Ever fiber of her being wanted him. The shock of the last few days had left her limp and numb and suddenly here was life again. Here was warmth and comfort and more. Here was desire. Here was life itself.

  She tugged him closer, closer. His hands wrapped round her waist, hauling her in so her breasts were flattened against his chest. He was lifting her so her feet barely touched the floor. Their lips were locked, and it was her tongue that started the delicious exploration that left her thankful he was holding her upright for her knees would surely give way.

  Joe. Joe. It was like a mantra in her head. The horror had disappeared and there was only Joe.

  How far she would have gone she didn’t know—she’d never know. Or maybe she did, for the terms of her surrender had been ripped and shredded and she was as exposed as she’d ever been.

  And maybe he knew that. For just as she felt the night disappear into a haze of white-hot heat she felt him put her away, break the contact of their lips, hold her at arm’s length.

  “Molly, do you want this?”

  What sort of question was that? Yes. Yes and yes and yes.

  But it wasn’t a light question. His voice was husky with passion but his face was suddenly grave. His gaze locked to hers.

  “It’s less than a week since your wedding,” he said softly. “We need to spend Christmas together. Will you wake up in the morning
hating yourself—hating me—if we go further?”

  It woke her up. The delicious, wondrous fantasy she’d dissolved into dissipated just like that. She stared at him, speechless, not knowing where to go to from here.

  Lost. Empty.

  “Dammit, I shouldn’t have come in,” he said ruefully, and the dream went even further.

  “I…I’m so…”

  “Hush.” He put his finger on her lips. “Don’t say it. Don’t even think it, for I’m sure as hell not. As kisses go, that packed quite a punch.” His voice was unsteady but he was trying hard to keep his words light. “I didn’t think…” He shook his head. “No. Maybe neither of us thought. But we need to keep this Christmas together for the kids. We need to keep this light.”

  Right. Of course.

  “And you need to go to sleep,” he said, and smiled at her with that sexy, crooked smile that was her undoing. “You know you do. I’ve done what I came to.”

  “Kiss me, you mean?”

  “I’ve loosened your sheets.”

  He could loosen her sheets some more. A voice was screaming at the back of her head to say it out loud. Yell it out loud.

  But he’d given her space and in that space she’d caught a fleeting glimpse of the woman she once was. The woman she needed to be again. Molly Broadbent. Corporate lawyer. Woman in charge of her world.

  “Thank you,” she managed to say, and even succeeded in summoning a quavering smile. “The kiss was a bonus. I’m jet-lagged,” she added, and she knew she sounded vulnerable but she couldn’t help herself.

  “You’re not yourself,” he said ruefully. “Of course not. So into bed you hop and we’ll see you sometime tomorrow. Lunchtime or after.” And then, when she didn’t move, as she stood feeling foolish and dumb and worried, he simply swept her up in his arms and set her down onto the bed. He tugged the covers up and over her, kissed her lightly—a feather kiss—on the forehead and then backed away quickly to the door.

  She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t want to stay in this big bed alone.

  But he was smiling at her from the doorway, and then he was stepping back and closing the door.

  “Good night, Molly,” he said gently. “Let’s hope you’re yourself in the morning. For both our sakes.”

  HE CLOSED THE DOOR and then he stood leaning heavily against it, as if to bar the way back in.

  What had he done?

  Put simply, the most beautiful woman he’d ever set eyes on had offered herself to him and he’d refused.

  Why?

  Because she was beautiful, he acknowledged wryly. Only it was more than that.

  He’d never met anyone like her in his life.

  He remembered her anger back in the rose garden at the wedding chapel. Angry, she’d been beautiful.

  Cajoling the kids, bossy and bouncy in the supermarket this afternoon, she’d been beautiful.

  Intent on decorating the Christmas tree, she’d been gorgeous.

  Telling him about her daughter, she’d been…stunning.

  He felt winded. He felt…

  Like Ruby had told him he’d feel one day.

  Ruby, his sometime foster mother. He’d stayed with her all one summer when he was a kid, and then the social workers had found a place he and Erica could stay together so he’d been moved on. When that placement had fallen through, all the places at Ruby’s had been taken.

  But Ruby had kept in touch. He’d spent a couple of Christmases with her, and she’d kept on saying, “One day you’ll fall in love.”

  It was happening to Ruby’s boys. Two of her permanent foster sons had fallen in love. He’d been invited to Pierce’s wedding.

  “It’ll happen to you, too,” Ruby had said warmly to him then, and he’d grinned down at the dumpy little ball of energy who was the only person in the world he’d walk on fire for.

  “Only if you want to take me on,” he’d said, and she’d smiled her delight and tucked her arm possessively into his.

  “That’s lovely but I’ve had the love of my life,” she’d said. Ruby’s husband had died young—there were photographs all over her house and she talked of him all the time. “Yours is still waiting,” she’d told him. “Let me know when it happens.”

  And now it had. Just like Ruby had said it would. He’d looked down into Molly’s confused eyes and he’d felt his world shift.

  So when she’d offered herself to him tonight, he hadn’t accepted. For he didn’t want her on the terms she was offering. No one-night stand this.

  But what was it? What sort of relationship could this ever be? An Australian stuck with three kids. An independent career lawyer who lived in the States; a woman with more baggage than he had.

  Where the hell did he start?

  Not by taking advantage of her. That was all he’d been able to figure so far.

  She’d need time. How long to get over a jilting bridegroom? And she wasn’t close to being over the death of her tiny daughter.

  Where to start? He didn’t have a clue. All he knew was that he’d started.

  Maybe it was just the cocktails, he thought hopelessly.

  Nope. He’d had the virgins. Plus light beer.

  It was definitely Molly.

  So what did he have here? He leaned against the door and he stared incredulously into his future. Three kids. Molly. Three kids. Molly.

  Impossible. How to ask Molly to take on not only him, but also three kids?

  She never would.

  “But it won’t be for want of asking,” he said, and then he realized he was talking aloud and Molly could hear and she probably already thought he had a kangaroo loose in the top paddock.

  He summoned a smile. Sort of a smile.

  He touched the door with the flat of his hand—a dumb gesture of a blessing to the woman inside.

  And then he went upstairs to bed.

  Alone.

  AND ON THE OTHER side of the door?

  Maybe Molly should be examining the kiss in just as much detail, but events of the last few days had caught up with her. Joe had laid her on her pillows, he’d tucked her covers around her and he’d kissed her good-night.

  It was enough.

  She slept. Smiling.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE SLEPT ROUND the clock and then some. She woke and looked at her watch. It was 1:00 p.m. and she almost yelped.

  She’d hardly slept since the wedding. She needed the sleep. But this morning she’d intended to be up and chirpy, stepping into Christmas organization and in charge of her world.

  The events of the night before had altered things.

  There were sounds from outside. Splashing. Kids’ laughter. They were in the pool. Joe’s deep voice, offering watermelon. Whooping and more splashing.

  She smiled.

  But then her smile faded. She lay and stared blindly up at the ceiling and thought about the kiss. About how it had made her feel.

  The first cold shards of fear flickered through her.

  Last night she’d been too exhausted to feel them. She’d simply let herself get sucked into the sweetness of the moment and it had turned into something else with frightening speed. That it hadn’t gone further was thanks to Joe.

  Not her.

  The realization hit her with shattering force.

  She started shaking. Not a faint tremble but a full-blown, teeth-chattering tremor that came of terror.

  She was a mature woman, a lawyer, and she was shaking because of one kiss?

  It wasn’t that. She’d let her guard down. Once she’d let it down and she’d ended up with her daughter, with tragedy, with a loss that could never leave her. Twice she’d let it down and she’d ended up jilted at a schmaltzy wedding where her friends and business partners had been left staring at her with a mixture of sympathy and incredulity.

  And last night? She hardly knew Joe and she’d just thrown herself at him. Had she learned nothing?

  Nothing.

  That’s what it had to be. She felt col
d and sick and exhausted. Somehow she got her dumb, shaking body out of bed and into the shower. She turned the water on hot and stood under it until the heat seeped into her and the shaking stopped. And she had herself together. Almost.

  She dressed with care, in a sundress that had tiny capped sleeves, the most demure item of her honeymoon wardrobe. She’d buy a couple of plain shirts and long pants in town today. That’d make things better.

  She dried her hair and tied it carefully into her corporate style. Smooth. Controlled.

  She’d told the kids she’d spend Christmas with them. She couldn’t go back on that. Okay, she would, but she sure as hell wasn’t having any more of Joe’s martinis. And she was staying her side of control.

  IT WAS LIKE A SWITCH had been flicked.

  With the kids she was laughing, happy, bossy, steering them into a full-blown Christmas with an energy that left him stunned.

  With him she was cool, polite, even friendly. But she was on one side of a line and he was on the other, and if he so much as put a toe over he knew it.

  They made plum pudding. The kids stirred the pudding while Molly held the bowl. He went to have his turn and she placed the pudding bowl on the bench and stepped back.

  They hung paper chains from the ceiling. She was sticking chains up and she overbalanced on the ladder. He caught her as she fell, but she whisked herself out of his arms so fast he barely had time to register the feel of her. And then she glared.

  “Hey, you could at least say thank you,” he protested.

  “Thank you,” she said stiffly, and moved on.

  He knew why she was doing it. She’d let enough of herself out in those first few hours for him to realize how terrified relationships must make her feel. A one-night stand might be okay, but the way he felt… This was no one-night stand. He knew by the fear in her eyes that she felt the same.

  That was a good sign—wasn’t it? That she was fearful must mean she felt something like he did?

  But how to break down the barriers?

  He couldn’t push. He knew it. He’d stepped back last night out of instinctive knowledge that here was something infinitely precious that could be smashed.

  But to see it and let it go…