The Christmas He Loved Her

by Juliana Stone

  “So, Maggie, either you’re a lightweight or pregnant.” Her words were dry, her gaze direct as Maggie blushed to just about the same shade of red as her hair. “Which one is it?”

  Maggie’s gaze darted around the table, and when Cain grabbed her hand and kissed it, she giggled. “Which do you think?”

  “Oh my God, lady! You never said anything,” Raine complained, leaning into Jake and threading her fingers through his.

  “Well”—her eyes rested on Lily—“I wanted to wait a few more weeks, but I guess there’s no point now.”

  Cain stole a kiss and would have gone in for another, but the squeal of a guitar sounded, and he was being called to the stage.

  Jake settled back, his arm around the woman he loved, while Cain and Shady Aces rocked the house something fierce. They performed a wide variety of music, from old blues standards to classic rock to a generous helping of BlackRock, Cain’s band.

  Cain was in his element, speaking through his guitar and vocals. They didn’t take a break—just kept on rocking—and when it was nearing midnight, Jake glanced up, surprised to see his father, his mother, and Lauren Black, Cain’s mom. The three of them stood near the dance floor, their eyes on the stage.

  His father turned, his warm eyes so much like Jesse’s, it was eerie. He smiled and nodded, his arm around Marnie, and Jake answered in kind. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this content and just…

  Happy.

  Cain ended the song and grabbed the mike. “Well, hell, folks, it’s nearly that time.”

  “Okay, I’m outta here.”

  They all turned to Lily, but she was scooting by Maggie as she grabbed her jacket and shoved her arms into it.

  “But it’s almost midnight,” Raine said.

  “I know.” Lily picked at her jacket collar and pulled it up under her chin. “It’s not really my thing.” She smiled and leaned toward Jake, her mouth grazing just near his ear. “You did good.”

  And then she was winding her way through the crowd, stopping briefly to say her good-byes to his parents.

  ***

  Outside the Coach House, the ever-steady fall of snow coated everything in glistening white. Lily wrapped her jacket around her, waiting for the cab Salvatore had called, and was very careful as she stepped forward. She was more than a little tipsy, and she blamed the cheap-ass tequila she’d switched to when the wine ran out.

  Ugh, she really needed to talk to Sal about his selection of spirits.

  They sucked.

  Headlights cut across the dark, and she started forward, her hand on the back door before the cab rolled to a stop. She yanked it open and would have slid inside, but there was a long, masculine leg in the way. It was attached to an equally masculine chest and—as the guy bent forward—the most attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on.

  His strong jaw was at odds with the generous mouth, and his cheekbones looked as if they’d been carved from granite. A high forehead, a thick, messy crop of dirty-blond hair, and striking eyes finished off a face that could grace the cover of any men’s magazine.

  Who the hell was he?

  “Are you headed somewhere?”

  The tone of his voice struck a chord inside her. And she would think later—much later—that it was the alcohol talking, because surely it couldn’t have been anything else.

  “That depends,” she heard herself say.

  What the hell am I doing?

  “On what?” He grinned, his smile devastating.

  “On you.”

  The stranger’s grin faded, his eyes glittering with something darker. Something hotter. Something a hell of a lot more interesting than anything inside the Coach House.

  “Get in,” he said.

  Lily paused for one second. Hell, she paused for two, because she really wasn’t going to listen to him, was she?

  “What are you afraid of?” he said dangerously. “I don’t bite.”

  “Promise?”

  He didn’t answer. Instead he moved over and made space, and before Lily could even process what she was doing, she slid inside.

  Lily, the woman who didn’t like to be touched.

  Lily, the woman who would never get into a taxi with a man who looked and sounded like this one.

  And yet she did. She settled into the warmth of the taxi.

  And they disappeared into the swirling snow.

  ***

  Back inside, Jake would have followed Lily, but Raine tugged on his hand and he finally glanced away.

  “Is she going to be all right?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered truthfully.

  Just then, the melodic strains of BlackRock’s last number one hit, “Never Say Good-bye,” rang out.

  “Where’s my wife?” Cain bellowed. “I need her up here now, or I’m gonna end up kissing one of these guys when the clock strikes midnight.”

  Maggie giggled and slid out, leaving just Jake and Raine.

  Jake gently ran his fingers across the back of her neck, loving the way she shivered beneath him. “Come on.”

  The two of them joined a large crowd on the dance floor, and as Cain sang his love song to his wife, Jake held Raine against his body, their bodies moving slowly, in perfect sync with each other.

  Sure, he’d caught a few looks, a few whispered words behind hands. Crystal Lake was a small town, and there was bound to be gossip. But he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He had everything he wanted and more than he deserved.

  And as the gentle strains of Cain’s guitar fed the soulful lyrics to the song, he and Raine found the perfect rhythm. The perfect dance.

  “I could stay like this all night,” she whispered into his neck, her breath hot, her hands locked around his waist.

  He bent low and whispered, “Babe, we can do this every single night, if you want.”

  “Promise?”

  His heart turned over as he pulled her in closer. He didn’t answer.

  He didn’t have to. Their love was that strong.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, writing a book is a solitary thing and I love that my cat, Gibby, and my gorgeous retriever, Shelby, kept me company while writing this book. Whether it was at four in the morning or nine in the evening, they were always there, watching, so thanks for that.

  I wrote most of this book in the summer, which was weird considering it was a Christmas book, but there was something cool about writing winter scenes while parked on the dock at a cottage in Muskoka. Thanks to my family and friends, for not forgetting about me even though I wasn’t there half the time. You guys know I love you!

  As always, a book doesn’t just happen on its own. Much thanks to Sourcebooks publicity team, their sales team, the art department, and to my editor Leah Hultenschmidt. You guys are wonderful and professional to work with!

  Lastly, thanks to my readers, especially the ones who take the time to write. I always love hearing from you, so please don’t stop!

  Look for the next book in Juliana Stone’s acclaimed Bad Boys of Crystal Lake series

  Coming April 2014

  Coming home is the only way to heal his heart

  Mackenzie Draper thought he had everything he ever wanted, but he knew he needed to head back home one last time to conquer the demons from his past. For Lily St. Clare, the charming small town she just moved to is a haven. Big cities only want to eat you up and spit you out. Neither Mac nor Lily was expecting to stay very long…until the day they found each other, and one amazingly red-hot night followed. But old wounds almost always leave a mark, and Mac’s scars run deeper than most. With her flirty charm, Lily could be exactly what he needs—if he’s willing to give love one more chance.

  And in case you missed it, read on for an excerpt from

  the first book in the Bad Boys of Crystal Lake series

  No
w available from Juliana Stone and

  Sourcebooks Casablanca

  Chapter 1

  Cain Black hadn’t been home in ten years.

  At the age of twenty he’d packed his guitar—a beat-up Gibson Les Paul—said his good-byes, and left. Always a rebel, he’d had no trouble disappointing half the town, and as for the other half? Hell, they’d expected it of him.

  Cain Black—the star quarterback who’d had the arrogance to turn his nose up at a full ride to Michigan State University. The nerve, some said, after everything the town had done to support him and his mother. He’d left for Los Angeles one hot summer night in July and hadn’t looked back until now, and—truthfully—he’d rather be anyplace other than Crystal Lake.

  He ran fingers through the thick waves atop his head and cracked his neck in an effort to relieve the tension that stretched across his shoulders. Damn, but his muscles were tight, his legs stiff. He placed a booted foot on the top step of the Edwardses’ porch and paused. He’d been traveling for hours and would just about kill for a bottle of Jack Daniel’s, except he was fairly certain it would knock him on his ass. He was dead tired and knew he’d either crash hard or catch his second wind.

  He smoothed his hair, trying to tame the waves a bit. It wasn’t as long as it used to be, barely touched his shoulders these days. With the earrings and the nose ring long gone, he was almost respectable.

  Or, at the very least, as close to some kind of respectability as he was ever going to get.

  He glanced at his forearm. The edge of an elaborate tattoo peeked out from under the hem of his sleeve. It was the only thing left over from his hell-raising days, and that was way before LA Ink and Kat Von D had brought tattoos into the mainstream.

  Now everyone and their mother had one.

  Cain blew out hot air, tugged his shirtsleeve down a bit more, and glanced around. It was surreal, standing here after all this time. How many nights had he and the boys hung out, shooting the shit and dreaming of a future that would rock their reality?

  He shook his head, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Too many nights to count.

  His thoughts darkened, and he clenched his teeth tightly as the reason for his return hit him in the gut. Not everyone’s future had turned out as planned. The unimaginable had happened, and it was a sobering reality check.

  One that had brought him full circle. Back to Crystal Lake.

  Back to this porch.

  He glanced up at a pristine blue sky and a plane caught his attention—its drone a melancholy sound that echoed into the stillness. A warm breeze caressed his cheek, bringing with it the smell of summer—of freshly mowed lawn, flowering bushes, and warm lake water. He closed his eyes and the scent took him back. Memories rushed through him: Fourth of July celebrations that lasted the week. The annual boating regatta that filled the lake with hundreds of revelers. Christmas out at Murphy’s sugar shack. Tailgate parties and football. Beach nights with the boys, a guitar, a couple of girls, and a case of beer.

  He saw the kid he’d been—the teen who’d dreamed large and let nothing stand in his way. Hell, none of them had. The twins, Jake and Jesse, had realized their dream to serve their country, while Mackenzie had fought his way out from beneath his father’s fists to make a life in the Big Apple.

  Ten years gone and it seemed like yesterday. Like nothing had changed.

  The Edwards family abode was a large, redbrick Georgian with a long rambling driveway lined with petunias in varying shades of violet. At the moment, every available space of blacktop was occupied. There were at least thirty cars parked in the driveway, and several had pulled onto the grass near the road.

  He’d left his rental on the street, because if memory served, Mr. Edwards was pretty anal when it came to his lush green lawn.

  Cain reached for the door, but something held him still. His fingers grazed the cool burnished-steel handle and he faltered. He hated hypocrisy, and at the moment it felt like his throat was clogged with its bitter taste. He was so far off the grid, he felt like he didn’t belong anymore.

  He took a step back instead. Christ, could he do this?

  Less than twenty-four hours ago he’d been on stage in Glasgow. BlackRock—the band he fronted—had snagged the opening slot on the Grind’s latest tour and had performed in venues all over Canada, the United States, and Europe. It had been the chance of a lifetime—one he’d been waiting years for—and the exposure had been more than a gift, it had been a godsend.

  The tour had been a grueling, eye-opening experience with more than its fair share of drama, yet every drop of blood had been worth it. The record label was happy, and the buzz was incredible. BlackRock was a band on the rise, and after years of sacrifice, his dream was within reach.

  It was a dream that had taken him from this town ten years ago, and sadly, it had taken a funeral to bring him back.

  The door opened suddenly, and a small boy ran out, yanking it closed behind him. He skidded to a halt, barely missing Cain, his shiny shoes sliding across the well-worn wooden planks. He looked to be about six or seven and had a mess of russet curls, and large blue eyes that dominated his face. The child was dressed for church—black dress pants, white button-down shirt—and he clutched a bright piece of fabric in his hand that was a shade darker than emerald green. The boy’s eyes widened as his gaze traveled the tall length of Cain.

  “Who are you?” His young voice wasn’t so much surly as defiant.

  Cain cracked a smile. The kid had spunk. “I’m Cain.”

  “Oh.” The boy’s brow furled. “I don’t know you.”

  “No, I suppose you don’t.”

  The kid angled his head, peered around him, and frowned. “Why are you standing out here by yourself?”

  Good question. “I just got in a few minutes ago.” He nodded to the boy’s hand. “What’s that?”

  The little guy’s mouth tightened as he unclenched his fist. His face screwed up in disgust. “It’s a tie. My mom made me wear it, but I hate ’em.” He glanced at the long settee off to the side. “Thought I’d hide it so I didn’t have to wear it the rest of the day.”

  Cain laughed out loud. “Good call. I’m not really a tie man myself.”

  “You won’t tell her?” The kid grinned and ran to the settee, where he promptly stuffed the offending piece under the seat. He carefully placed the cushion in the exact way he’d found it and stepped back. “Do you think she’ll know?”

  “I’m pretty sure she won’t.”

  Cain walked over to the boy and paused. They stood in front of a large bay window, and he heard voices—muffled of course, but he knew there was a good-sized crowd in the house.

  “Did you know him?”

  The child’s question hit a nerve, and Cain clenched his jaw tight, fighting the emotion that beat at him. Know him? He was like a brother.

  “What did you say your name was?” he asked the boy instead.

  His reflection in the window didn’t look promising. He’d been on a plane for hours, and then there’d been the long drive from Detroit. He hadn’t showered since before the show in Glasgow. His jaw was shadowed, his clothes rumpled—the black shirt, faded jeans, and heavy boots were not exactly appropriate either.

  He looked like shit and knew he’d hear it from his mother, but until now none of that had mattered. His only thought had been to get home in time for the funeral, which he’d failed to do. As it turned out, he’d been damn lucky to make the reception.

  “My name’s Michael.” The boy’s eyes were huge as he looked up at Cain. He shoved his small hands into the pockets of his pants and scuffed his shoes along the worn wooden floorboards. “Mom says he was a hero. I never met a hero before.” He squared his shoulders. “Did you know him?”

  Christ, but the kid looked earnest. His pale skin was dusted with light freckles, his round cheeks rosy.
>
  “Because I didn’t.”

  Cain looked inside but couldn’t see shit. The reflection of the sun didn’t allow it.

  “Yeah, I did.” A wistful smile crossed his face, and he glanced down at the kid. “Your mom’s a smart lady. He was a bona fide hero.” He nodded. “I was about your age the first time I met the Edwards twins.”

  The young boy smiled, but it faded as he glanced toward the door. “I should go. My mom is gonna wonder where I am.”

  They both turned when the front door opened and a slender woman stepped onto the porch. She wore a simple black skirt cut to just above her knee, a fitted blouse in a muted moss green, and low-heeled shoes. Her hair was held back in a ponytail—one that emphasized the delicate bone structure of her face—and was dark, a shade between crimson and brown, more like burnished amber shot through with bits of sun. Her skin was the color of cream, and when she turned toward them, Cain felt a jolt as their eyes connected.

  Hers were blue—like liquid navy—feathered by long, dark lashes and delicately arched eyebrows. She was, without a doubt, one hell of a looker. A little on the thin side for his tastes, but Cain’s interest was piqued.

  Her eyes widened for the briefest of moments, and then she turned to the boy, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “Michael John O’Rourke! What are you doing out here”—her voice lowered—“and where is your tie?”

  She had a slight Southern drawl that rolled beneath her words. It was melodic and soft.

  “It was tight and, uh, I took it off and I, um…” He tapped his foot nervously and shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure where I left it.”

  The boy shot a quick look his way, and it took some effort for Cain to keep a straight face.

  The woman sighed. “Michael, this is a serious occasion.” She walked over to them, ignored Cain, and bent forward to fix a stray curl that rested upon the boy’s forehead before fastening the top button of his shirt.