A Madrona Island Christmas

by Jami Davenport

  Sniffling, she shook her head to clear it. She’d always prided herself on being logical and predictable. This man wasn’t her destiny. Being alone on Christmas Eve had simply screwed with her head. Big time.

  “Are you okay?”

  He reached out a hand to touch her arm, and though he was ever so gentle her armor was brittle. It splintered, breaking open to reveal her soul. The ache started in her belly and spread like a glass of water spilled across a hardwood floor, drenching everything in its immediate vicinity. The pain crawled up her throat and wedged there, preventing oxygen from entering her lungs. She gasped. Several times. Then clutched at her throat. Tears filled her eyes until she felt as if she swam underwater. She fumbled to set the hot buttered rum on a table, not wanting to drop it.

  Not here. Not now. These feelings of profound grief increased the closer Christmas came, which was another reason she’d planned to stay home alone tonight. Not that her friends wouldn’t understand, but she didn’t want to ruin their celebrations or make a fool out of herself. Now, here she was with a stranger—

  Blake stepped forward and took her in strong arms. She clung to him as if he were the only person in the world, as if he could save her from herself. Burying her head in his shoulder, she felt her sobs choking her with their dizzying intensity. Her knees gave out. Blake held her upright, however, pressed her tight against his strong chest. His big hands stroked her back.

  “It’s okay, have a good cry. Get it all out. You’ll feel better afterward. It’s not good to hold it all inside.”

  She had a sudden sense that these were words he should follow himself, but she couldn’t go there. Not right now. She let loose like she hadn’t in two years. Blake Daniels understood. How she knew he understood, she hadn’t a clue, but she knew. And that made this okay. The grief rumbled through her like a bulldozer with no brakes rolling down a hill. Her entire body shook with grief, tears flushing the pain from her body, purging those repressed emotions and leaving her spent—and incredible relieved.

  She gazed up at him through blurry eyes and blinked. He smiled and wiped her tears away with a tissue. Those hands were so incredibly gentle, those pale gray eyes sympathetic yet showing no pity. Thank god. She didn’t want pity.

  Sarah hiccupped and moved from the security of his arms, suddenly embarrassed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.” Needing something to do with her hands, she picked up the hot buttered rum she’d set down and took good long swallow, letting the warm alcoholic mixture numb the raw parts of her.

  “You don’t need to apologize. The holidays are extra hard when you’ve lost people close to you.”

  Again, that slightly evasive gesture: He looked away, swallowed, and visibly gathered his wits. Which led her to the conviction that Blake Daniels’s pain was submerged as deep as her own.

  Sarah wasn’t leaving until she knew his story.

  Chapter 4—Let it Snow

  Blake’s heart was breaking. Sarah was so strong, so brave. He saw how she tried to master herself, but she was broken inside like he was. Those pieces were so shattered that they might never be repaired. And they were all alone on Christmas. Both of them. Her family clearly meant as much to her as his own had.

  He wanted to lift her into his arms and carry her off to bed, feel her silky, warm skin against his and make the hurt go away for both of them, if even for a moment. Could it be so simple to soothe their pain? Was it something she might consider?

  “I should check on the kitten.” She walked—a little wobbly, truth be told—over to the box he’d arranged in front of the fire. The little cat slept soundly, one tiny paw over its face as if to block out the Christmas lights. Ribs rose and fell in a steady rhythm, and the beast seemed content.

  Sarah peered down at the cat. “He looks better already. He ate?”

  Blake nodded, noting the empty food dish. “Yeah, it appears he did. Unless your dog ate it.” He glanced over at the big St. Bernard who was flopped in a corner.

  Sarah shook her head. “Cyrus only eats his own. You only fed this kitten a small amount, though, correct? He needs to be fed several times a day, but small amounts so that his stomach can handle it.”

  “Yes, doctor.” Blake smiled, liking her no-nonsense attitude. After the manipulative and catty women he’d seemed to attract the last few years, her straightforward command was a breath of fresh air. He also liked her vulnerability. What red-blooded alpha male didn’t want to play the protector once in a while? He sure as hell did. It had been years since he’d done anything as enjoyable as holding her soft body in his arms and letting her sob away the pain.

  She rewarded him with a genuine smile, which warmed his heart. And even though her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, he again thought about taking her to bed. Did it make him a bad person to have the hots for a woman grieving like she was? Maybe so. Maybe he really was a bad person, and bad things happened to bad people. But maybe he’d just enjoy the moment, because for once he had someone and something to focus on besides himself and his own problems.

  She scratched the kitten under the chin, and it started purring. Damn, if she scratched him under the chin, he’d purr like that, too. Then she looked up and caught him eyeing him like her dog would likely eye a slab of ham, and her face reddened slightly.

  “Did you eat?” he blurted.

  She started to shake her head then met his gaze. Damn, he loved those eyes. Brown didn’t describe them. He’d never been much of a romantic or a poet, but these were a rich brown color with a ring of gold. He got lost in them whenever he looked at her. For a weird moment, time seemed to stand still and the world was flipped on its head.

  Blake yanked his gaze away. “I was just about to make dinner,” he said. “Would you like to stay?” He sounded desperate, but he really didn’t want her to go. Even though he’d been prepared to spend Christmas Eve alone, just as he had for the last four years, he needed someone tonight. She needed him, too. Of that he was certain. They were two lost souls thrown together by an injured kitten.

  She hesitated. He feared she’d say no, so he rushed to convince her. “I make a really mean pasta fettuccini.”

  “I love fettuccini,” she admitted.

  “Me, too.” It was another thing they had in common, and the points were stacking up on the plus side. For the first time since he’d been cut from his team, things were starting to look up. “Homemade noodles. Everything from scratch.”

  “You cook?” she said. “Really?”

  He grinned, unable to hold back his pleasure at her look of awe. “My mom insisted all her kids learn to cook regardless of gender. She loved to cook, and she instilled that love in all of us. I also cooked a homemade rum cake.” He’d been cooking up a storm as soon as he’d stepped foot in the house early this morning. Something about being elbows deep in a batch of dough gave him comfort.

  “Rum cake?” She licked her lips, and he bit back a groan. “I’m a sucker for a man who can cook. I’ll stay.”

  “You won’t be sorry,” he promised.

  He motioned for her to follow him to the kitchen, and there he sat her at the counter with a fresh hot buttered rum and proceeded to finish his dinner preparations.

  “Could I help with something? Though, I warn you…I can boil water, but that’s about it.”

  Blake chuckled and shook his head. He didn’t need any help. Plus, he liked her where she was. He stole several looks at her as he made the sauce, prepared the salad, and cooked the noodles. He couldn’t recall ever being so instantly attracted to a woman on so many different levels. He loved talking to her, trying to figure out what made her tick, what went along with a mind smart enough to become a doctor. He’d already seen quite a bit. In fact, he knew more about her than his last four girlfriends—probably because talking had never entered into those relationships. Not serious talking. It had been all about getting horizontal. Not that he didn’t want to get horizontal with Sarah, because he did, but he also liked just being around her
.

  His dick liked being around her, too. Sometime between her crying in his arms and her watching him prepare the meal, it had gone rock hard.

  Back off, buddy. No one’s promising you any action tonight.

  No, he didn’t want this to be a quick hookup. They’d been two strangers almost immediately comfortable as old friends, and he didn’t want to ruin something so special without taking the time for it to develop.

  God, though, he did want her. Painfully so. But he’d be a good boy. For the first time in ages he was truly enjoying himself, and that enjoyment had nothing to do with sex or hockey.

  * * * * *

  Sarah cleaned her plate and helped herself to seconds. “This is some of the best fettuccini I’ve ever tasted. You used real cream in the sauce!”

  “Thanks. And can’t you feel those arteries clogging?”

  “What a way to die.”

  “Save room for the rum cake.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” she admitted. A few more of his drinks topped off with the aforementioned rum cake and she’d be passed out before Santa even managed to slide down the chimney. Oh, Lord, her mind conjured up a different image of a naughtier Santa sliding down her chimney, with a very special gift just for her. A very naked, very buff Santa wearing nothing but his Santa hat and looking quite a bit like Blake. It had to be the rum making her mind a little woozy. Or horny. Or both.

  She’d just cried her eyes out in this man’s arms, now she wanted to screw his brains out? Such thoughts weren’t like her. Not at all. She’d done just fine for years without a man in her life. Vet school and the practice took up all her time. Sure, she’d dated casually, but every decent man on this island got snapped up before she even managed time for a date. Most men hadn’t cared to wait around for a break in the schedule. Besides, Sarah hadn’t had the energy to put into a relationship. Not lately.

  Yet, here she was lusting after a soul more damaged than her own. A man she believed had more baggage than she had animal hair on her couch.

  Blake placed a plate of cake in front of her. After one bite she knew she’d died and gone to that place all bad girls without willpower went. She gobbled down the entire thing, despite how full she was.

  “Oh my God, this is pure sin.” Okay, the sexy man relaxing across the table from her was truly pure sin, but the cake scored a close second.

  Blake leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Honey, that’s not sin….” His eyes darkened like the clouds on a stormy beach, and her body was all in. Only her head maintained a smidgen of restraint. But then Blake frowned, as if realizing he’d overstepped his boundaries. He stood and pulled out her chair for her, and together they walked to the two-story wall of windows and gazed outside. Neither said a word.

  The snowfall had slowed. The neighbors’ Christmas lights lit the white-covered trees and reflected off the water in the channel like hundreds of gems glittering along the shoreline.

  “It’s so beautiful,” Sarah said. Then, eased by alcohol, she asked the question sitting on the tip of her tongue all night. “So, what brings you to the San Juans for Christmas all by yourself?”

  That sexy mouth tightened once more into its thin, grim line. Blake ground his teeth, heaved a deep breath. At last, an answer tumbled out like puppies escaping a dog crate: “Tradition. My family has been coming to the San Juans for Christmas every year since I was born.”

  His stormy eyes were cooler when he glanced at her. Despite that warning, Sarah pushed on. She had to know. “Where’s your family now?”

  He stared out the window, looking as if she’d cut an artery and all the blood was flowing out of him. “Gone.”

  “Gone? As in gone gone? Like gone to Heaven?”

  He nodded, not meeting her eyes.

  “I don’t understand.” The rum was muddling her mind and she couldn’t staunch the flow of questions. Most important was that she knew he needed to tell someone, to tell her. He needed to talk about it.

  “I’m all that’s left,” he said.

  “All that’s left?” His entire family couldn’t possibly be gone. All those people in those pictures? All of them?

  “Yeah.” His words were strangled, like he struggled to hold back but his emotions were winning.

  “What happened?”

  At first she didn’t think he’d answer. He stared out the window into the night, a profound sadness lining his face. Then he heaved a huge sigh and started talking. “Christmas Eve four years ago. My game went into overtime, and I missed the floatplane my family chartered from Lake Union.” He paused, swallowed, and scrubbed his hands over his face. Turning his head, he let his hands fall limply to his sides and met her gaze. Those stormy gray eyes drowned in unspeakable sorrow. “The plane went down in the Straits in the storm. My entire family was on it. My sister-in-law was pregnant with my parents’ first grandchild. I was looking forward to being an uncle. No one survived.”

  “Oh my God.” Sarah’s hands flew to her mouth. She remembered the incident. News like that traveled all over the island at warp speed. At the time, she’d felt sorry for the lone survivor and even said a prayer for him—an unusual thing for her to do.

  Their eyes stayed locked. Blake didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. His face was mask, but he didn’t fool her. He was on the edge of a breakdown.

  “Blake, I’m so sorry.” She didn’t know how to comfort him, how to tell him it was okay to show his grief, so she put her hand on his shoulder. That was all, and it seemed as if it were enough. His iron will melted away. Tears filled his eyes.

  He blinked furiously, so Sarah moved to him, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders and showing him it would be okay. She wasn’t a small person, but hugging him was like hugging the trunk of a large cedar tree. For a second he stiffened; then he wrapped his arms around her, buried his face in her hair, and fell apart.

  His body shook with silent sobs. She ran her hands up his back, guessing he rarely broke down. She could even believe this was the first time in four years. It’d be bad enough for a macho guy like him to cry, let alone cry out loud like an emotional female. His tears didn’t matter to her, though, didn’t make him any less of a man. He’d given her peace and strength earlier; now she gladly returned the favor. She even felt humbled that he trusted her enough to do this.

  He held her tightly, almost painfully, but she didn’t mind. Eventually, the spasms wracking his body slowed. Her hair, wet from his tears, stuck to her head where his face pressed against hers. He sniffled several times, and finally, with an embarrassed groan, he lifted his head and met her gaze. “I’ve never done that before in front of anyone.”

  “It was time.” She stared up and him and dabbed his eyes. “I’m just glad you trusted me enough to let go. It feels better, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. Surprisingly, it does.” He almost smiled.

  She glanced around his beautifully decorated home. “You said your family did all this?”

  “Yeah, my mom and dad came up here the week before Christmas four years ago and decorated. I haven’t had the heart to take any of it down.”

  He’d left the house like this for four years? Just like she’d left her father’s office untouched at the vet clinic. “Good thing it’s an artificial tree.”

  “Sure is.” He almost smiled. “My mom hated the thought of cutting a new one down every year.” His voice cracked slightly.

  “We’re a sad pair, aren’t we?” she whispered.

  His voice was stronger. “I don’t think we’re so sad. We found each other.”

  They were a pair. Their mutual pain had forged an unusual bond, melding them together in an impossibly short period of time. She couldn’t believe they’d only met a few hours ago. Hadn’t she known him forever? He filled all the empty places in her heart.

  Was this how love at first sight felt? She’d always been too practical to believe in such. But now?

  She traced a finger along his strong jaw to the cleft in his sq
uare chin. He could’ve easily modeled hunting clothes or anything equally manly, but he was also down to earth. And he cooked and loved animals.

  His steel-blue eyes radiated hunger as she touched his lips with her index finger. Hands on his shoulders, she stood on tiptoe. Then, driven by hot buttered rums, mutual confessions, and their closeness, both physical and emotional, she touched her lips to his.

  She expected his mouth to be hard and demanding, but his lips were soft and pliant. He tasted of salt and rum. “Merry Christmas,” she whispered against them.

  “Merry Christmas to you.”

  The song playing on the stereo system was one of her favorites. “White Christmas.” Blake started moving in time to it.

  “I love this song,” she admitted.

  “So do I. Dance with me.”

  “I haven’t danced in years.”

  “Then you’re long overdue.”

  He led her slowly to an open expanse of hardwood floor near the entryway. Holding her close, he smiled down at her. The smile reached his eyes and made him seem younger, much younger, and she glimpsed the fun-loving man he used to be. She suddenly wanted to be the woman who restored more than a glimpse.

  He lowered his head. This time he kissed her, gentle and easy, yet the kiss was full of so much promise. It was a sweet kiss, lips only, but the most powerful she’d ever experienced. It radiated reined-in passion.

  He lifted his head just a fraction. “You taste good.”

  “So do you.”

  Their eyes met and held as they swayed to the classical Christmas music playing on the stereo. Behind Blake the lights on the tree blinked happily, and she saw that outside the snow had started to fall again. Inside the house, a warmth embraced Sarah and she felt as if, for the first time in two years, she’d finally come home for Christmas.