Christmas Getaway (19 page)

“We could make another one tomorrow,” Charlie said. “To go on the other side.”

“But Uncle Joe and Molly decorated the tree,” Lily said, reproving. “It's finished.”

“See, that's where you're wrong,” Joe said, swinging Zoe down and setting her on her feet so she could join Charlie at the tree. “It's quite nice so far, but it's a work in progress. Charlie's right. It definitely needs another chain on the other side.”

“You mean, we can put stuff on it?” Lily whispered in quiet amazement.

“I mean, you have to put stuff on it,” Joe said. “It's our very own Christmas tree. Molly and I have started but you guys need to fill all the blank bits. If we run out of spaces, all we need to do is tie on another palm frond.”

“Cool,” Charlie breathed. And then he looked embarrassed, like he'd remembered he was eight years old and maybe too old for this sort of thing.

But Joe was grinning. He picked him up and hugged him, and Charlie let himself be hugged.

“It's definitely cool,” he said. “I think Christmas is here, starting tonight. It started the minute Molly walked in the door. I think Molly is our Christmas angel.”

“That's silly,” Molly said, but there was a little bit of her that thought it wasn't silly at all. She'd never been anyone's idea of a Christmas angel. She wiggled her shoulder blades tentatively.

“My wings are under here somewhere,” she said, and the kids giggled.

Great. It felt great. She was grinning like a fool and Joe was grinning with her. She felt…

Like something was opening up within her that had closed the night her baby died. She gasped and stepped back.

“What's wrong?” Joe asked, his expression changing to concern, but she shook her head.

“Nothing. I need to go to bed. It's way, way late.”

“It is,” Joe said, and he set Charlie down. “Christmas tree in the morning. I want you three back in bed straight away. You can go to sleep, planning what else we need to put on the tree. And what else we need to decorate the house. We only have four days 'til Christmas. We have to get moving.”

The kids were already moving, scuttling back to bed as if getting there fast would bring the morning sooner.

“You want to help tuck them in?” Joe asked, but Molly was backing toward the door. All of a sudden it seemed too intense. Too personal. Too emotional by far.

“I'll go to bed myself,” she whispered. “And I'll do my own tucking in.”

 

S
HE DIDN'T QUITE
. She was in bed, but she was fighting with the too-stiff sheets when there was a light knock on the door.

She froze. “What?”

“I wanted to say good-night.”

“Good night,” she said breathlessly, and then gasped as the door opened a crack, allowing a faint chink of light in. Joe was behind the chink of light.

Joe took her breath away.

“Good night,” she said again, and he chuckled and opened the door wider and came on in.

“I thought you'd be in bed. You want me to pull those sheets out?”

“No. I mean…”

“Whoever made up the beds has hospital corners down to a fine art. I found that out the first night and I knew your bed would be the same. You lie under the sheets like a corpse—
they don't move with you an inch. And they're tucked under so far it takes Superman to pull 'em out.”

“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.”

 

H
E 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.