The Christmas Wedding Ring (Hqn)

by Susan Mallery

  She’d been terrified that he would run when he learned the truth. That he would consider her deformed or a monster. Instead he’d pulled her close and offered comfort. She would never be able to find the words to thank him. No matter what happened between them or when she finally heard from her doctor, she would always have that memory to carry with her. It was a precious gift.

  “Why aren’t you asleep?” he asked, his voice low and husky.

  The intimacy of the moment made her shiver—but not with concern. Desire flooded her, a liquid need that dampened the secret place between her thighs.

  “I could ask you the same question.”

  “I was asleep,” he said. “You woke me up.”

  “Sorry. I won’t be so noisy next time.”

  He chuckled. The sound vibrated in his chest. She loved being here with him like this. She never wanted to move.

  He murmured her name, then wrapped his arms around her. “Thanks for not making me sleep alone,” he said.

  “What are you talking about? You’re doing this for me.”

  “I’m not that altruistic. I confess to completely selfish motives.”

  “Like I believe that.”

  He raised his head and looked at her. Stubble darkened his jaw, giving him a slightly sinister appearance. Yet she wasn’t afraid. She saw the affection lurking in his eyes.

  “If you’re going to nag me about that pity thing again, I’ll be forced to take stern measures with you,” he said.

  That confused her. “What are you saying?”

  “That our conversation was upsetting to me. I care about you. I don’t want anything happening to you. I appreciate the fact that we’re together tonight. If I can hold you, I can sleep. Otherwise I’d just be lying awake, staring at the ceiling.”

  “Really?” Oh, how she wanted to believe him. She wanted to think that she mattered that much to him.

  “Guys don’t lie about anything that makes them look weak. Trust me on this. We love to be heroes, not wimps.”

  She had to smile at that one. “You could never be wimpy.”

  “I have my moments.”

  She liked this, talking in the dark. She could make out some of his features, but not clearly. He was all colors of black and gray, blending with the night, making her think of some mysterious creature who only appears after sundown.

  He relaxed back on the bed and drew her up so her head rested on his chest. “Is this okay?” he asked. “I mean, is the position comfortable? You’re not putting weight on your incision are you?”

  “I’m fine.” She raised herself up on one elbow. “Look, Dylan, you promised me you’d treat me like nothing had changed. That means you can’t go around asking how I feel every fifteen minutes. It will make me crazy.”

  “Okay. I’ll try. If it will help, you can start doing all the cooking.”

  She grinned. “I think that’s taking it a little too far. I like that we share that particular chore.”

  “If you insist. You can wash the bike tomorrow.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He tucked one hand behind his head. “I do what I can.”

  She rested her chin on his shoulder. They were quiet for a while. Because of the silence and darkness outside, there was the illusion that they were the only two people around. If only that were true. Then she might have a chance with him.

  Otherwise Dylan was off-limits to her. It didn’t matter that he liked her or even that he was worried about her. In his eyes they were friends, nothing more. She knew better than to wish for what she could never have. But it was hard to not think about being with him. About him touching her. She’d liked his kissing and the way he held her so close.

  She’d liked the feel of his hands on her. Even when he’d touched her breast, she’d been so incredibly aroused. She raised her head. He had touched her breast. On his own.

  Which meant what, exactly?

  “Why did you touch my breast?” she blurted out without thinking. The words seem to echo in the silence of the room. Color flamed on her cheeks, burning clear down to the bone. She wanted to die.

  She had to clear her throat before she could speak again. “What I meant is—” Her voice trailed off. What did she mean?

  “I’m waiting,” he said.

  She knew he was looking at her. She could feel his interested gaze. Why had she blurted that out? “Nothing,” she managed at last.

  “Don’t say that. The conversation was just getting interesting. That was quite a question. Why did I touch your breast? I suppose the simple answer is that I wanted to. I thought it would feel good to both of us.”

  She let that one drift in her mind for a little while. “Because we were kissing?” she asked cautiously.

  “Yes.”

  She remembered feeling his hardness. So he’d been aroused by the situation. Did that mean he’d wanted to make love with her? It was an amazing thought. Making love meant being naked together. She didn’t think she could handle that. Before it would have been difficult enough, what with the extra twenty pounds she carried, but now, with the still-healing incision on her breast, it was impossible. He would be disgusted.

  If only Dylan were someone else. Someone less perfect. But then she wouldn’t want him as much. Not that his perfection mattered, but she admired all of him. Changing one or two things would make him a different person and then her feelings would change.

  “What are you thinking?” he asked.

  “That you’re too perfect.”

  He laughed. “Now I know you’re sleep deprived. I’m so far from perfect I wouldn’t know which way to go to get close. Go back to sleep, Molly. Unless you want to explore the whole breast-touching issue some more.”

  She knew he was teasing her about that, and it was very nice. She did as he requested, resting her head back on his shoulder and listening to the steady beat of his heart. Slow and strong. That’s what she needed in her life—a little strength. She would bet that he wouldn’t mind if she borrowed some of his. Just to get her through all this.

  He tightened his arms around her and the last thing she remembered was heat of his body surrounding her like a warm, sensual blanket.

  Chapter Ten

  The next time Molly woke up it was morning. Sunlight poured in through open blinds. She rolled onto her side and found herself alone in the bed. The only indication that Dylan had been there were the rumpled covers and pillow and the warm feeling that lingered in her stomach.

  The fear was still there, she thought, probing her emotions. She still desperately wanted the doctor to call and say that she was all right. But she was also stronger than she’d been. Telling Dylan everything had helped her determination to get through this, no matter what.

  She heard him moving around in the other room. She supposed she should get up and start her day, but she didn’t want to. She enjoyed lying here, remembering what it had been like when he’d held her in his arms. She couldn’t remember ever falling asleep that way before. She and Grant had rarely spent the night together, and even when they had, they hadn’t cuddled while falling asleep.

  In addition to recalling all that had happened the previous night, she felt safe. Probably for the first time in a couple of weeks. It didn’t matter that there wasn’t any reason for her change of heart. Dylan couldn’t actually protect her from what the lab would find. Yet some part of her thought that he could. She smiled. If only that were true.

  “You’re looking cheerful about something,” he said. She glanced up and saw Dylan standing in the doorway.

  He held a mug of coffee in each hand. She pushed her hair out of her face, suddenly a little self-conscious about her rumpled appearance, then shifted so that she was sitting up against the headboard.

  “Morning,” she said. “How’d you sleep?”


  “Great. And you?”

  “The same.”

  He walked into the room and sank down on the mattress. He’d obviously already showered and shaved. His jaw was smooth, his dark hair damp. He wore a short-sleeved polo shirt tucked into jeans. As usual, he was too good-looking for comfort.

  “Before you say it,” he began, handing her a mug, “I didn’t do this because of what you told me last night. I generally get up first to make coffee the morning after I spend the night in a woman’s bed.”

  She wasn’t sure how to take that. “But we didn’t...” Her voice trailed off.

  “A mere technicality. We have slept together and that’s what matters.”

  She smiled. “Hey, if it gets the coffee delivered to my bedside, I’m not going to complain.”

  “You might after you taste it.”

  She took a cautious sip, but the steaming liquid was great. “Not to worry. I like it.”

  His gaze was steady, his body language open. Yet something had fundamentally shifted between them. She sensed it. “It’s not going to be the same as it was, is it?”

  “No. It can’t be. I know too much. Guess you’re gonna have to kill me now.”

  His teasing brightened her spirits. “Oh, I think you can be trusted.”

  His humor faded. “I hope so, Molly. That’s important to me. I want you to trust me and depend on me. I want—” He shrugged. “I don’t know what I want. To fix it, I guess, and I can’t. I need to know what I can talk about and what I can’t. What questions are going to bother you? Should I really try to pretend nothing is different? Would you rather not even have this conversation?”

  “I don’t mind talking about it,” she said slowly. “As for what you can ask, ask anything. I don’t have very many secrets left.”

  “I don’t want to pry.”

  “I know.” His concern touched her. “I have a lot of questions, too. Unfortunately until they’ve figured out what it is, there aren’t going to be many answers.”

  “I think you’re very brave.”

  That made her laugh. “I’m not. I’m scared almost all the time.”

  “You don’t act like it.”

  “I’m good at faking it.”

  Dylan took her free hand in his. “Sometimes that’s enough. What’s the expression? ‘Fake it until you make it.’”

  “That’s how I get through the day. I feel like I’m on an emotional roller coaster. Sometimes I’m strong and I know I’m going to be fine. Other times I worry about dying. I think about what I’ll do if they find that the lump is malignant. I worry about losing my breast, and then I tell myself I’m stupid to be concerned about something that insignificant.”

  “Molly, don’t,” he said, and set his coffee on the nightstand. He shifted so he was holding her hand in both of his. “You feel how you feel. There’s no right or wrong. You’re under tremendous stress. Give yourself a break. If you end up having surgery to remove the breast, you’ll need to mourn the loss, but please believe it’s not going to change who you are.”

  She wanted to believe him. She could see that he was being sincere. But they were from different worlds. “What is it like being so physically perfect?” she asked.

  “What?”

  “Look at you. You’re like my sister. Tall, good-looking, physically fit. What is that like?”

  His mouth pulled into a straight line. “Why are you asking me that? You’re a very attractive woman.”

  “I’m not perfect.”

  “Neither am I.”

  “Let’s just say you’re within whispering distance of the goal and I don’t know where they keep the playing field.”

  “Stop it,” he commanded. “You’re smart, fun and pretty. Any man would be lucky to have you.”

  She wished she could believe what he was saying, but he was being kind. “Grant managed not to feel particularly blessed.”

  “Grant is a jerk and he doesn’t get a vote.”

  “You’re very sweet,” she said. “I appreciate that. I suppose the good news about Grant is that he ran off before I found the lump. I would have foolishly expected him to give me a little emotional support and hand-holding. The situation would have been even more difficult if he’d disappeared after that.”

  “If he’d taken off after you’d told him about the lump, I would now be hunting him down like a rabid dog.”

  She didn’t think Dylan would actually head to Mexico to protect and defend her, but she liked that he’d said he would. No one had ever done that before. She also liked how he was touching her. His fingers were warm and strong against her own. While she knew he meant the contact as comfort, a part of her was responding at a very physical level. Arousal was actually a nice way to start the day.

  She leaned toward him. “You’re very special to me. I want you to know how much I appreciate all this.”

  “Don’t get any ideas,” he said. “I’m not being altruistic. I’m here because I want to be here.”

  She actually believed him, which made it even nicer. “Thanks.”

  He released her hand and picked up his coffee. “Ready for a subject change?”

  “Sure.”

  “What would you like to do today?”

  She thought about that for a second and then laughed.

  “Why do I feel like I’m about to be asked to spend the day at an outlet mall?” he asked.

  “Don’t worry,” she told him. “It’s not that at all. Actually, I laughed for two reasons. First, it’s been what, ten days? I thought we were going to be moving on.”

  “Do you want to leave?”

  “No. I like it here. I just think it’s funny that we ran less than a hundred miles from Los Angeles. If I’d known it was going to be so easy to escape, I would have done it a lot sooner.”

  “What’s the second thing that made you laugh?”

  “Where I would like to go. Don’t get all weird on me. I’m suggesting it because it’s beautiful, not because it’s morbid.”

  He frowned. “Where?”

  “The Santa Barbara Mission. They decorate it for Christmas during December, and I’ve never taken the time to visit during the holidays.”

  He tapped the tip of her nose. “Your wish is my command.”

  “Really? Then I want to go to Paris for lunch.”

  * * *

  “At one time I think people could walk from one end of California to the other, staying at missions,” Molly said as they left the main church building. “They’re supposed to be only a day’s ride apart. Or is it a day’s walk? No, that would put them too close together. I guess my point is that there are a bunch of them.”

  She paused on the steps and looked up at the old building. Dylan followed her gaze. The stone and wood structure had lasted for more than a hundred years.

  “It’s beautiful,” he said. “Just like you promised.”

  “Did you know that I used to hate poinsettias? I don’t know why. That display around the altar took my breath away. And the garland draped on the rafters—stunning.”

  “It was pretty.”

  “We don’t have many old things still standing. Between the earthquakes, the Santa Ana winds, the fires and some not-so-natural disasters, our style seems to be to make way for the new. If you liked the sanctuary, wait until you see the grounds. They’re lovely, too.”

  Dylan followed her toward a rough three-walled wood structure with a loosely thatched roof. The structure was circled with a flimsy wood and metal fence. Two goats lay in a bed of hay, lazily chewing their “mattress,” and a small donkey walked around the perimeter. As they rounded toward the front of it, Dylan realized it was a Nativity. Big, though not quite life-sized. Except for the animals, of course, which were not only life-sized, but actually alive. The f
igures of the three kings were dressed in vibrant robes of red, blue and purple, while Mary and Joseph’s clothes were far more simple.

  Beside him, Molly’s face lit up. He was suddenly very glad they’d come. He wanted her to have this time away from her worries.

  After a few moments, they wandered toward the side of the church. Here there were old, gnarled trees and neatly trimmed bushes. Sections of the graveyard had been walled off from each other, creating smaller areas used by large families. Southern California winters were mild, so most plants kept their leaves. Come spring they would burst into bloom, but even now, in December, the area was lush and green.

  She led the way into an older section. There were ornate statues of small angels, large tombstones, many decorated with flowers of white and red, and benches scattered around. Molly sank onto a stone seat, then patted the space next to her.

  “I like this part,” she said. “There are graves dating back to the early 1800s. I think a few of the original Spanish families are buried here.” She glanced at him and smiled. “What do you think?”

  “I’ve never been to the mission before.”

  “I already figured that out. Do you hate it?”

  “Not at all.” He took a seat next to her.

  The afternoon was warm. They were both in short sleeves. Molly’s T-shirt did nothing to disguise her curves. Dylan found himself trying not to notice her breasts, as if it wasn’t right to look at them now. That confused him. They were the same size and shape they’d been this time yesterday. But then it had been safe to think about touching them and tasting them. He wasn’t sure how those rules had changed. Molly had told him he could ask her whatever he liked, but he didn’t think that was one of those questions. After all, how was she supposed to answer him?

  The truth was, knowing about her lump had changed everything, even though it wasn’t supposed to. He was worried about her in ways he hadn’t been before. However, one thing was still the same—he still wanted her. Even as he told himself he had no right to be thinking that way, he kept picturing her in his bed, naked, her hair spread across the pillow, her thighs open and welcoming. He could probably be arrested for his thoughts.