by Karen Booth
“You can’t help the way you feel, Andrew.”
“But I have to wonder if that’s maybe the real reason I came back to San Diego. I probably could’ve dealt with Victor from Seattle. I’m worried that part of me wanted a chance with you. And that’s not right. The guilt of that is squarely on my shoulders this morning.”
She sighed, looking up into his handsome face. Again, she felt like she could see shades of his past in his eyes. His history. The pain. “You came here with good intentions. And you’ve been nothing but wonderful to me. I’ve needed you this whole time and you haven’t hesitated to help.”
“That still doesn’t lighten the load on my conscience.”
“Then what will?”
“Honestly? I don’t know. It’s too wrapped up in my feelings about my brother and how everything went wrong between us. It makes me sad just to think about all the time we wasted being at each other’s throats and knowing that I can’t make any of it right. It’s too late.”
“From everything you’ve said, it was both of you. You can’t take all of the responsibility.”
“I know. But I do. I’m here. He isn’t.” He shook his head and looked off in the distance for a moment, his forehead crinkling with worry. She hated seeing the physical manifestation of this burden. “I think they call that survivor’s guilt. I probably need a therapist.”
“Well, I’m no psychiatrist, but I’m a good listener. We have the whole day ahead of us, and the weekend beyond that. If you feel like sharing, I’m all ears.”
“While we decorate, right?”
She scrunched up her nose, hoping he wouldn’t change his mind. She’d been looking forward to this since they’d talked about it in bed. “If that’s okay. It’s just one of my absolute favorite things in the whole world. When I was a kid, a big fancy Christmas was the one thing I always wanted, but never got. Now that I’m an adult, I don’t miss the chance to get everything I couldn’t have then.”
“Totally understandable.” He kissed her tenderly on the cheek. “It all sounds good to me.”
* * *
Andrew couldn’t help but question what he was doing, or more specifically, what he’d done when he’d gotten physically involved with Miranda. He felt a bit better after their conversation. At least they were on the same page, equally pulled between loyalty and love, attraction and desire, and, more than anything, the past and the future. If he had to continue to grapple with his history with Johnathon, at least he had a partner in all of this, one who understood for the most part where he was coming from.
After breakfast, he and Miranda got distracted from dishes yet again. He managed to say something that made her laugh, and the minute the happy sound hit his ears, he was overcome with his desire for her. He eased out of his chair and kneeled at her side, reaching for her face and pulling her lips to his. Their kiss was so soft and sexy he couldn’t wait another minute. He tugged at the tie on her robe and peeled it back to reveal a silky black nightgown. With both thumbs, he pulled down the straps, freeing her full breasts. He cupped them in his hands, licked her nipples, flicking at the tight buds with his tongue and tasting the sweetness of her skin.
He slipped one hand between her legs, finding her wet for him. He moved his fingers in steady circles against her apex and she gasped for air between fiery hot kisses.
“I’m going to come,” she blurted, breathless and frantic.
“I want you to,” he said.
She grasped his wrist and looked him right in the eye. “So do I. But I want you inside me when I do.”
She scrambled to her knees and he pulled off his pajama pants in a flash. With the silky nightgown around her waist, she straddled his hips, reached down for his erection and sank down onto his length. Her heat all around him, pulling him in, felt so good it boggled the mind. Meanwhile, the vision of her above him, the gentle bounce of her gorgeous breasts with every thrust, was nothing short of pure beauty on full display.
“I’m so close. Are you?” she asked. Her voice had a sexy rasp and he loved the fact that she’d been reduced to single-syllable words.
If only she knew that he nearly exploded as soon as he was inside her. “Yes. Just tell me and we’ll come together.”
She smiled and nodded, placing her hands flat on his chest and rolling her hips into his with determination, eyes closed and her raven hair splayed across the creamy skin of her bare shoulders. He nearly went blind as the pleasure circled and threatened to strike, but he focused on her face and the soft moans that came from her parted lips.
In one swift movement, she dropped her head forward. “Now.”
He was so thankful for the go-ahead, and within fractions of a second, he was giving in to his release just as she called out, arched her back and whipped her long hair to the side. The waves kept crashing over him as he felt her body tighten and relax around him, over and over again.
She collapsed against his chest and kissed him softly. “That was one heck of a breakfast.”
He laughed and pushed her hair back from her forehead, peering up at her stunning face. He wasn’t sure he’d ever felt more lucky or more torn. She was more than everything he’d ever dared to wish for—she was a dream come true. But that meant he was going where he’d sworn he never would. He was falling for his brother’s widow.
Eventually, they managed to peel themselves off the floor, and Miranda told him she’d take care of the kitchen if he wanted to shower. Andrew wanted to extend the invitation for her to join him, but he also knew he probably needed to slow things down at least a little. They had all weekend, after all. By the time he was dressed and headed back downstairs, she was on her way up.
“I’m going to throw on some clothes real quick, but if you want, you can bring out the boxes of decorations. Do you know where the storage area is? It’s the door at the back of the utility room.”
“Yeah. I got tools out of there when I put the crib together.”
“Perfect. There are several stacks of red and green plastic tubs. They should all be together. I’ll be back down in a minute to help.” She popped up onto her toes and kissed him softly. “I’m excited, just so you know.”
He laughed quietly to himself and proceeded with following orders, heading down the rest of the stairs and around to the utility room near the back of the house. The door to the storage space creaked when he opened it and he reached inside for the light switch on the wall. Several bare bulbs lit up the space, which thankfully had a full-height ceiling. The bins were immediately obvious, but there were a lot of them. A quick count told him more than twenty-five. He wasn’t about to complain. This would be an adventure and it gave him this time with Miranda.
He quickly went to work, running two or three bins at a time into the living room. There was more than enough space next to the soaring fireplace to stack everything. By the time Miranda arrived back downstairs, he was nearly done.
“Wow,” she said. “You work fast.”
He didn’t have quite so many words right now—she was breathtaking in a creamy white sweater, which showed off her collarbone, and jeans, with her hair pulled back in a high ponytail. Her cheeks were flushed with pink, a beautiful afterglow, and he took a certain amount of pride in knowing that he’d put that color there.
“I aim to please,” he said. “If you want to start digging through everything, I’ll get the last load.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
When he returned to the storage space, something caught his eye—several old cardboard boxes labeled Baseball Cards. Both Johnathon and Andrew had collected them for a while when they were young. Although their generation was well beyond the golden age of collecting, it made it a very cheap hobby, which was a good thing since there was very little money around the Sterling household. They had no problem scoring shoeboxes full of cards at yard sales, often hundreds for only a few bucks.
Andrew peeled
back the flaps of one of the boxes, spotting the cards in neat stacks. There was no telling how long they’d been sitting there, or whether Johnathon had even looked at them in recent years. But it was a potent reminder of the life they had once shared and one of the few endeavors they enjoyed together. Once again, the guilt wound its way into his consciousness, but he would not let it ruin today. He closed the box, gathered the final crates for Miranda and made his way back into the living room.
“Are you okay?” Miranda asked as he set down the bins. She’d already pulled out garland, lights and big boxes of ornaments. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Apparently, he hadn’t quite shaken off that moment in the storage space. “I spotted a few boxes of baseball cards. It made me think of Johnathon.”
“In a good way or a bad way?” The tone of her voice was so tentative it nearly broke his heart.
“I don’t want to talk about it if it’s going to upset you. This is supposed to be your day.”
“Are you kidding me? I’ve been dying to know more about what you were like as kids. I could never get Johnathon to tell me.” She put down a bundle of lights and stepped closer to him, looking up at him with her big brown eyes.
He surveyed the room, needing a break from that earnest expression on her face. It was a lot of pressure to have someone care that much about the countless memories he was holding on to so tightly. “Christmas was nothing in our house. Did Johnathon tell you that?” he asked, finally able to look at her again.
She shook her head. “No. He never said anything about it. Then again, we really only had two Christmases together between the year we were engaged and the year we were married.”
“Our dad worked construction and he was injured when we were young. He got some disability and benefits through his union, but it was never enough to make up for the loss of income. That meant our mom had two jobs just to put food on the table. Between working and having to deal with two boys who were constantly fighting and roughhousing, there was no way she had enough energy to think about Christmas.”
Miranda took his hand and led him to the couch. “Tell me more.”
He felt the hesitation inside him, but there was something deeper, urging him to keep going. Miranda deserved to know these things. She deserved to understand some of what had brought him to this moment, and Christmas was the perfect illustration. “Our dad was no help. He was horribly bitter after his accident and it only got worse over the years. He spent most of his days watching the news and yelling at the TV. I honestly don’t think he expressed any affection for our mom in the final years before he died.”
“When was that?”
“Johnathon and I were both in high school.”
“It’s so sad.”
“It is, but it’s just the way things were. Everyone has parts of their past they don’t like to think about.” He shrugged. “But you can probably imagine what the dynamic in our house was like. Johnathon and I spent every minute walking on eggshells. Our dad had an explosive temper and our mom was just worn-out. That’s how we ended up in such fierce competition. Johnathon was the oldest, so it was easy for him to manipulate me. I wanted his approval so desperately.”
“Manipulate you how?”
“If he did something wrong, he always blamed it on me. Even if it was something that was so obviously his fault, like failing a test at school. He’d make up some story about how I’d distracted him while he was trying to study. He could never stand to be at fault or have anyone look at him in a negative light.”
Miranda pressed her lips together tightly and nodded. “I saw that in him all the time. He always wanted to be the life of the party, and never the heavy.”
“Exactly. And I took it because he was nicer to me when I did. He’d even say thank you for taking the heat. Only if we were outside or in our room, of course. Never in front of our parents.”
“And that continued as you grew up?”
“Oh, no. It got worse. The older we got, the higher the stakes were. He got busted with pot, he drove our mom’s car into a light pole. You name it.”
“Wow. He really messed up a lot.”
“Well, I was no angel. I got into trouble, too. But from where our parents were sitting, especially our mom after our dad died, I was the bad one and Johnathon was good. He used that to his advantage. It was sort of hard to blame him. I let him do it.”
“Why?”
Andrew had asked himself this question countless times. He always came around to the same answer. “Because I loved him.” He heard the crack in his voice as clear as day. It was an unwelcome sound. He didn’t want to break. He never did.
“I’m so sorry.”
He shook his head—if nothing else, it helped to ward off the sadness. “Does that help you see how we ended up the way we did? How fighting against each other just became our only dynamic? And because he seemed to care more about me the more I fought, I never managed to find another way to be with him.”
“That’s why you went after the Seaport. It was another fight to pick.”
“Yes. Although I think it was Johnathon who started that. He knew exactly what he was doing when he went after that project. He knew it would hurt me.”
“Because it was your hometown?”
Andrew swallowed hard, still not ready to tell her this. Then again, he wasn’t sure how much time he and Miranda would have together and he was tired of living with regrets. “Because the wedding pavilion at the Seaport was where I was set to get married. And it didn’t happen. Johnathon knew that. The whole idea of wanting to beautify that space and make it new again just felt very personal. It felt like an attack.”
Miranda clasped her hand over her mouth. “I had no idea. What happened? With the wedding? With your fiancée?”
He took in a deep breath for strength. Rehashing this was not fun, but he did feel safe in sharing it with Miranda. “Oldest story in the book. She ran into an old boyfriend a few weeks before our wedding and she left me for him, but she didn’t make that decision until the morning of the ceremony. I had to call the whole thing off. I never went back to the Seaport after that. And Johnathon knew how painful it was for me.”
“That’s why you felt so betrayed when you found out he decided to pursue the project. That’s why you felt like you had to prevent it from happening.”
“Yes.” Now that he was admitting these things out loud, he wasn’t sure if he should feel relieved or ashamed. There was a very big part of him that could look back and admit that he’d made some stupid choices. He had no direct knowledge that Johnathon had gone after the project to be cruel. It had only seemed like something he might do.
“I’m so sorry.”
Andrew didn’t want to let his sad story ruin their day. It was a good thing that he’d shared this with her. At least she could better understand his thought process and the events that had brought him to this moment. “Don’t be sorry. It’s in the past. I’d rather think about today.” He got up and beelined for the mountain of storage boxes, opening one and pulling out a long strand of silvery garland. “I think it’s time to get going on your decorating project.”
Miranda hopped up from her seat. “We really don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“I wouldn’t miss this for the world. All I ever wanted at Christmastime was some cheer and happiness.”
Miranda lifted the lid from another bin and peered inside. “I don’t know how cheery you’ll be after we untangle all these Christmas lights.”
He laughed and put his arm around her shoulder, leaning in to kiss her cheek. “I get you and the holidays today. I don’t see how I end up being anything less than happy.”
Eight
The Monday after Thanksgiving should’ve been like any other start to Miranda’s workweek. She climbed into her car and headed to the office. The stereo was set to her favorite satelli
te radio station, playing a mix of pop and hits from her youth. The music was soft and in the background as she tried to focus on the day ahead. But today, she wasn’t thinking about paint colors or special-order designer sofas. She wasn’t ruminating over floor plans or deadlines. All she could think about was Andrew.
There was part of her that wondered if the events of the last few days had actually happened, even though she knew in her heart that they had. The echoes of his touch still warmed her skin, and the words he’d muttered into her ear still rang in her head. If I kiss you, Miranda, there’s no going back. It was more than what he’d said, but how he’d said it that had really taken her breath away. The subtext was heavy. He wasn’t about to make love to her then go back to simply being friends. But as for where that left them now, she wasn’t sure.
She had never imagined this could happen. When she’d lost Johnathon, she’d thought that there would never be another man in her life. She’d seen herself becoming a mom and finding a way to parent on her own, but there would be no more romantic love. She simply couldn’t have fathomed it in the aftermath of that tragedy. But with each passing day, things got a little better. She started to look ahead. Her grief changed from moment to moment, and it certainly wasn’t always a straight line. But for the most part, she’d found the strength to move forward, in part because of those around her who loved her—Clay, Astrid, Tara and Grant.
But then Andrew had turned up and changed everything yet again. He’d awakened something in her, a part of her that she’d put aside as no longer viable. He’d made her feel like a woman again—desired and needed. He likely didn’t understand the sheer scope of what he’d done, the switch that he had flipped, but it was no small thing. Right now, it meant the world to her.
She knew very well that she was playing a dangerous game with him, though. She needed him in her life. For her little girl, Andrew was more than an uncle. He was the only living extension of her father. Miranda would not deprive her child of knowing him. Which meant that she had to let Andrew know that she didn’t expect anything of him. She couldn’t saddle him with her feelings. What she had with Andrew was not a romance, even when her body believed it, her soul yearned for it, and there were tender and caring moments when she thought it was moving in that direction. It was...well, she struggled to put a label of any kind on it. And perhaps that was for the best. Labels came with expectations and that only led to disappointment.