“Hey, Aimee, what brings you here?”
“Oh, just stuff.” She took off her hot pink coat trimmed with white faux fur and tossed it onto his couch. “Man, it looks grim in here. Blech. How come you haven’t decorated or anything?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Hey, Scrooge, it’s Christmas.” She punched his arm playfully, which he hated. “You should deck your halls or whatever.”
He gritted his teeth. “What’s the news, Aimee?”
“Well, jeez, Seth, I can’t just jump into it. I mean, aren’t you going to offer me a drink?”
He started to object before it hit him she was old enough. “Okay. What’ll you have?”
“Cranberry juice?” She wrinkled her nose hopefully.
He grinned and softened, reached to mess up her hair, which she hated, and went into his kitchen to find the juice.
She followed him, chattering about her latest purchases and the decorating she’d done in her Beacon Hill apartment, upstairs from his father’s on Joy Street.
“Ice?” He interrupted, filling her glass with ice without waiting for her answer.
“Sure.” She trailed her hand on his scratchless stove and unmarred countertops. “What, you don’t ever eat here? Do you even live in this place?”
“I’m not much of a cook.”
“Well, duh.” She watched him pour cranberry juice. “So?”
“So what, Aimee?” He handed her the glass and put his hands on his hips, watching her, feeling the same combination of urges he usually got. To throttle her, hug her or put her in a shower and scrub her into a little girl again. “You’re the one with the news.”
“Oh, yeah, right. Yeah, well…Dad said he’s going to go back to work a year from now, did he tell you that?”
He took in a breath. One more year, then he was free. Was that still what he wanted? So much was changing. “No, he didn’t tell me.”
“Oops. Well, I’m sure he will soon. He only just kind of mentioned it last night, when we were eating at this fabulous—”
“Is that your news?”
“Um…no.” She became suddenly intent on spinning the ice in her drink.
“Spit it out, Aimee.” He did not have a good feeling about this. If she was backing out of her contract with Wellington Stores…
“Okay. Well, guess what?” She saw his expression and nodded hastily. “Right. Get to it. Okay, well…I’m getting married!”
Seth groaned silently and sank onto one of his tall kitchen stools, preparing himself to sound happy for her. “Wow. You are? Who’s the lucky man?”
“Juice.”
“Juice?” Surprise shot him to his feet again. What the hell was this? He wouldn’t have pegged Juice for a gold digger. “What is a bodyguard doing proposing to—”
“Oh, well, he didn’t really propose to me.”
Seth sat again, heavily. “He didn’t.”
“No.” She waved the silly thought away and grinned at him, but warily. “I’m going to propose to him. But I’m sure he’s going to say yes, I just know he loves me. And then we’ll probably—”
“Aimee.”
Her grin faded slowly. “Um, yeah?”
He put a hand up to his forehead, closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Twice. Okay. She wanted to get married. That was her business. She was of legal age. He couldn’t stand in her way.
But damn it. Married? This went beyond CDs or stage shows or novel writing.
“How long have you been dating?”
“Well dating dating, twenty-eight days. That’s if you count the first kiss as the official start of the dating period, which I guess you would. But I’ve known him much longer.”
He got off the stool again and started pacing. “What kind of bodyguard gets involved with—”
“Well, that part was sort of my idea, too. Not that he objected or anything.”
He narrowed his eyes at her low-cut top and tiny skirt. “I’ll bet.”
“I know it seems quick, but this is forever love, Seth.”
Forever? This from Miss Twenty-First Century Short Attention Span? “And how do you know that?”
She scowled at him as if he was the class dunce. “Well, duh, I just do. That’s what everyone says it’s like—you just know.”
“Like you knew you wanted to be a teacher, a rock star, an astronaut, a—”
“I was a kid then.”
“You’re a kid now.”
“I’m twenty-one.”
He took a deep breath. She was right. No point arguing. He should back off and let her make her own messes, learn from her own mistakes.
Except Sheila Bradstone’s voice sounded in his head, telling him his sister’s actions were a cry for attention. Aimee had come to him before she’d asked Juice. Did she want him to talk her out of it?
For God’s sake, that was ridiculous. If she knew it was a bad idea, she could damn well admit it to herself and act accordingly.
His father got in line behind Sheila, telling him he’d always been an observer, afraid of getting his feet dirty.
Then, most painfully, Krista, pointing out that he moved on whenever someplace started to feel like home.
He sighed, poured himself a glass of juice to stall. He could hear Aimee fidgeting behind him. She never could sit still.
No, he wasn’t very good at this big-brother stuff. But maybe he needed to try. “You’re too young for marriage, Aimee.”
“Lots of people get married when they’re twenty-one.”
“And lots get divorced.”
“I know what I’m doing.” Her voice was the same pouty brat voice he knew all too well from her phone calls.
Right. His brain yelled at him to back off, stay uninvolved, let her sink her own ship. Then he turned around, caught the tiny plea in her dark young eyes and knew he couldn’t, not this time. She’d come all the way here to get help. He wasn’t going to let her down again.
He put the glass down, strode out into the living room and back to his foyer, grabbing her coat from the couch and his from his closet, pressed the elevator button and turned to make sure she’d followed him. “Aimee.”
“Yeah?” She’d gone sullen, defensive, arms crossed tightly over her chest. “What?”
“It’s Christmas Eve.” He grinned and threw her the ghastly pink coat. “Let’s go shopping.”
“Shopping?” Her mouth dropped open. “You want to go shopping? With me?”
“Sure. I have some presents to get. What do you want for Christmas?”
“I thought your secretary did that.” She eyed him suspiciously, but he thought he caught a gleam of genuine pleasure.
“Not this year. I also want to talk to you about this marriage thing. I don’t think it’s a good idea yet. Wait until you know yourself better. And while we’re at it, you need to think about college, studying English or Creative Writing so you can write a really good book you can be proud of.”
She stood frozen, her lower lip pushed out in a pout. Seth sighed. Maybe he wasn’t up for this job.
Tears gathered in her eyes, proving the pout to be the genuine article.
“What’s the matter?” He braced himself for another hissy fit, though this felt different and he wasn’t sure why.
“I don’t know.” She wiped the tears, smudging all the god-awful gunk she had around her eyes, making her look younger and vulnerable, like a girl who’d been experimenting with her mom’s makeup. “When you talk that way, you sound like a father.”
“Like Dad?”
“No, like a TV father. You know, like you give a flying freak. Whatever.” She shrugged, the pout turning who-cares again, and pretended fascination with getting her ugly coat zipped.
“I do care.” And no one was more surprised than he was by that pronouncement turning out to be true. “You’re my sister.”
“Aw, jeez, Seth.” More tears. She looked in horror at her black smudgy fingertips. “You’re making me run my mascara.”
�
�No!” He clutched his throat and made a gargling sound. “A fate worse than death.”
She rolled her eyes at him and flounced to the elevator.
He followed, grinning, mind whirling. Instead of backing off, he’d gotten involved, and tentative as it was, Aimee had responded.
Interesting. He followed her extreme pinkness onto his elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. “All aboard for Wellington’s.”
A plan started forming for after his shopping trip with Aimee—if he survived. Once he’d talked more to her about applying to college and putting off her marriage proposal, he was going to make a phone call and see if he could talk himself into getting even more involved.
This time with Krista.
LINK POKED HIS HEAD into their kitchen, dressed in his holiday outfit of dark pants and necktie and the red sweater Lucy bought him a few years back, jingling his keys impatiently. “Ready?”
Lucy looked around at the table covered with cookies she had yet to pack into tins and bit back the obvious reply, Does it look like I’m ready? “Not yet.”
Christmas Eve afternoon and the whole day so far had been horrible. Link was edgy and irritable and her nerves were shot. Obviously once he’d admitted he didn’t want to go to her parents’, he’d stopped bothering to pretend he did.
“Want some help?” He jingled the keys again until she wanted to rip them out of his hand and throw them out the window.
“No, thanks, I can handle it.”
He glanced at the kitchen clock. “I thought you wanted to leave at one.”
She stiffened. Okay, so she was late, why not rub it in a little more? “I did want to leave at one, I got behind, okay?”
“Well, if you’re behind, Lucy Marlow, why the hell don’t you let me help?” He strode to the table and picked up a frosted gingerbread Santa, brandished it in the air between them as if he was giving her the finger. “I’m so useless I can’t even pack cookies? All I’m good for is an occasional fuck in a hotel room, is that it? This is bullshit, Lucy.”
She stepped back from the table as if he’d slapped her. Oh my God. Oh my God. “I can’t believe you said that.”
He closed his eyes wearily, tossed the cookie back on the table, where it broke in half. “I can’t either. I’m sorry. I just wish we were staying home and it made me grumpy.”
“No. I mean…” She swallowed, feeling herself starting to shake. She made him feel useless? “Link, I didn’t realize you felt that way. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t feel that way.” He glanced at her balefully. “Much. I tried to tell you. Maybe it wasn’t the right way. I’m no good with that stuff, you know that. I need to try harder.”
She dragged a chair out from the table and sank into it. “I rearranged your furniture. That’s what you were trying to tell me. That’s why you brought that up.”
“Luce.” He dragged his fingers through his carefully combed hair and messed it up into looking like him again. “Look, I’m sorry. Why don’t I help you pack the cookies and we can go to your parents’ and forget it.”
“No.” She shook her head, got to her feet, walked over to where he stood and gazed up at him, feeling as if she was in the middle of a surreal dream. How many times had she done this? Taken over, refused his help and then resented him for it? “We can’t forget this.”
“What do you mean?” His jaw set; fear invaded his eyes. “Lucy…”
“Watch.” She turned from him, went over to the phone and dialed her parents. Their problems weren’t going to be fixed by sex in a hotel. The solution had to come from inside their home, inside them. And now by the grace of God—or Link—she thought she finally understood her share of messing up this relationship. And this was her first symbolic step in the right direction.
Her mom answered in the cheerful hello that always sounded like the opening notes to a song.
“It’s Lucy.”
“Hey, Lucy.” Her mom’s voice turned wary. She knew her daughter inside out. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
“Mom.” Lucy turned away from Link, who stood as if he were waiting for the executioner’s blade. “I’m sorry this is so last-minute. Link and I want to spend Christmas Eve here at home this year.”
“Is there a problem? Are you two all right? You’re not pregnant, are you?”
“No.” She glanced back at Link, still in the doorway, clearly stunned. “We’re fine. I’m not pregnant. We need…time for us this year.”
“Oh. Well…I understand.” Her mother still sounded anxious. “If you’re sure nothing’s wrong.”
“Nothing’s wrong.” Lucy closed her eyes, smiling. In fact, everything was about to be right. “I’m sorry it’s so last-minute.”
“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” Mom’s voice was back to cheerful. “Link comes first. You tell him I know he loves us, but he’s a darn good actor and he put up with us superbly for the last six years. It’s about time you let him off the hook.”
Lucy blinked. Her mom knew Link didn’t enjoy going? And she didn’t? How long had the obvious been whapping her on the head while she’d been off in her own world?
“Thanks, Mom. We’ll be there tomorrow. After lunch?” She looked questioningly at Link, who nodded, gazing at her as if she was someone brand-new and wonderful, and oh please, she hoped she could be.
“Okay, darling girl, Merry Christmas. We’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lucy moved closer to the wall and lowered her voice. “You sure this is okay, Mom? I feel like a rat for—”
“What, you don’t think we can survive without you? Did I raise you to be that self-centered?”
Lucy started, then laughed uncomfortably. “Of course not, Mom. And thanks.”
“Think nothing of it. If Krista has friends she’d rather see, maybe I’ll take your father out somewhere and give myself the night off. Change of tradition for all of us.”
Lucy’s matchmaker brain kicked into gear. “Mom, she’ll kill me if she knows I blabbed, but I think there’s someone she’d really like to spend tonight with.”
“Really?” Her mom sighed. “Mothers are always last to know. Have fun, sweetheart.”
“I will.” She hung up the phone and turned back to Link, smiling hopefully, desperately wanting this to be the best Christmas Eve they’d ever spent together.
“Luce, it’s your family, the traditions—you’ve gone every year.” His protests were no doubt genuine, but his eyes were thanking her from the bottom of his heart.
“Well, I’m not going this year. We can start our own traditions. Like…” She threw out her hands to him. “Well, tell me what you’d like to do.”
“Watch TV?” He gave a sexy grin to show he was teasing and she giggled.
“We have almost nothing to eat…peanut butter, hot dogs…cookies by the million.” She opened the refrigerator, bent forward to check the lower shelves and frowned. “Is the Stop & Shop open? We can get a tiny roast or maybe a Cornish hen, some brussels sprouts—you like those. Or—”
Hands landed on her hips, pulled her back until she was in contact with a very male pelvis that turned her thoughts far away from food. How long had it been since they’d made love here in their own home? And her first impulse had been to organize the same type of feast she’d have at her parents’ house?
“Lucy.”
She let the refrigerator door swing shut. “I’m thinking peanut butter, hot dogs and cookies will make a great Christmas Eve dinner.”
He turned her, lifted her into his arms and strode down the hall. “I agree.”
In their bedroom, he fell with her onto the bed and laid his hand on her stomach, eyes searching hers, blue and serious, dearer than her own life. “I have something I want to tell you.”
She swallowed, praying it was something good. “What is it?”
“Lucy.” His brows drew down, face went tense. “I’ve been cheating on you.”
Relief poured through her. She put on a horrified face. “No! It can’t b
e! Say it’s not so!”
He kept back a smile. “This hot babe propositioned me online. I’ve been meeting her at the Cambridge Motel for wild, incredible, amazing sex.”
“Oh my God!” Lucy choked back a giggle. “How could you?”
“I’m sorry. But it’s over.” He bent and kissed her gently. “It was a big mistake.”
Her giggles died. “Why do you say that?”
“She wasn’t what I wanted. You are. She was a fantasy. A damn good one. But what I want is you in this bed, right here, for the rest of my life.”
Lucy took in a long breath and closed her eyes. There was not a single other combination of words that could have been more perfect to hear. His lips touched hers, he kissed her again and again, until kisses weren’t enough and she felt his impatience for her rising.
“Link. I have something to confess, too.”
“Mmm?” He went to work on her neck, slow, sensual kisses, then started unbuttoning her red silk blouse. “Make it quick.”
“I was cheating, too. I—” Link nipped her and she squealed. “Okay, never mind.”
He chuckled and helped her out of her clothes before she helped him out of his. They made slow, passionate love, indulging each other’s bodies, whispering all of Lucy’s favorite gooey words, together as they should be, as they hadn’t been in far too long.
Afterward she lay sated, content, relaxed, welcoming the warm weight of him on top of her, welcoming this chance to change traditions, to make their own and move on together.
“Link.”
“Mmm.”
“I think this beats the hell out of caroling and tree trimming.”
“Seriously? I dunno…I really miss that sherry.” He laughed when she smacked him. “It’s a fine time, Lucy. I just wanted you here with me this year…and speaking of which, you want to do presents now?”
“Now? Before din—” She caught herself and clapped her hand over her mouth. “God, have I always been this bad?”
“Yup.” He kissed her and moved to the edge of the bed. “But I love you anyway, Lucy Marlow.”
All I Want… Page 19
