by Fiona West
“You start Monday. Again. Mom is very excited. So is Cindy, who wasn’t able to find someone to fill in for you on such short notice and had to do it herself.”
“Oh? Did she get the ballet flat treatment or the stiletto?”
“Stiletto. Also a flute, I think?”
“Oh boy. That’s a really bad day.”
“You can say that again.”
“Did your brother take much convincing? Was it weird to ask him?”
“Nah, he hates Harrison.” Carter stretched out on the couch, and Rajah jumped up onto his belly. “Well, hi there.” Martina’s mouth dropped open as Rajah pushed against Carter’s hand, demanding to be petted, and he obliged. “Who’s this?”
“If I say his name, he’ll hiss and take off. Are you enjoying this moment?”
“Well enough, I guess.” He scratched the calico behind his ears, and Rajah started to purr. “Hey there, No Name Cat. Merry Christmas.”
“And here I thought he hated everyone. Turns out, he just hates me. Rude, Rajah.”
He looked at her sharply, then seemed to decide she wasn’t worth the effort and rolled over onto his back for Carter to scratch his belly.
“Rude and shameless.”
His bowl empty, Carter stuck his spoon into hers, angling for a chocolate chunk, and she gasped in faux shock.
“Mr. Carpenter, this is my personal ice cream,” she said, but she didn't move the dish away from him. Crash ate the bite slowly, looking deeply into her eyes, his tongue darting out to lap at the spoon. Oh, how she wanted that tongue against hers again . . . she licked her lips just thinking about it, and her heart rate skyrocketed.
“Tease,” she breathed, and he grinned at her, unrepentant. Fine. Two could play at that game. She dipped her own spoon into the bowl, finding the drippiest bite she could. Tipping her head back, she let the minty liquid drip into her mouth, catching it on her tongue, and a little dribbled onto her chin and onto her chest. She laughed and swiped at it, then glanced at Crash.
Crash wasn't laughing. To call his gaze heated was like calling an active volcano a little warm. Never taking his eyes off her, he reached out with his spoon and caught the ice cream dripping down her face. Then he lifted the spoon and touched it gently to her bottom lip, his eyes still smoldering. Her mouth fell open automatically, like he'd discovered a secret button. His spoon felt warm in her mouth, but the ice cream was cold as she sucked it from the metal. Forget the ice cream; Martina was melting. And it only got worse when he went back for another bite in her bowl, then brought that one to her mouth, too.
She opened for that one, too. Why was this so hot? Was it because it was his spoon in her mouth? Was it because he was treating her like she was some princess who couldn't be bothered to bring her own spoon to her mouth? Her imagination began to run away from
her . . . Crash, her doting servant, her the spoiled royal, languishing on a cushion while he spoons sustenance into her waiting mouth . . . it was hypnotic, really, him just feeding her, getting closer to her with every bite. All her focus was trained on him. At any moment, she expected him to throw the spoon over his shoulder, push the bowl aside and lay her back onto the couch . . .
“I should go. It’s getting late.” Wait, what?
“No,” she said. “Stay. Please. I want you to.” Abandoning the game, she kissed him, and he groaned.
“I have to go. Really.”
She moved to kiss his neck, caressing his chest, and he grunted. His voice was shaky. “It’s very romantic and all, with the tree, and the dessert, and the cute pajamas, but I don’t want to screw this up the minute we get back together. We can’t do this.”
Martina sat up. “You’re serious?”
He nodded. “Can I see you tomorrow?”
She didn’t know what to say. This had been a weird day and an even weirder night. She suddenly thought sleep might be a really good idea. “I guess so.”
“It’s not that I don’t want you. Trust me.”
Trust me. He kept saying that, like it was easy. Like she wasn’t going to be measuring all their present interactions against the past. Like she wasn’t holding her breath, hoping he wouldn’t let her down this time.
“I’m trying,” she whispered. “Kind of hard when I don’t know what to expect.”
He nodded slowly. “Let’s talk that over soon, okay?” He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I’m really glad we’re back together. Believe me?”
She didn’t doubt that. She nodded, and he kissed her on the forehead. She watched him jog down the steps back to his car, concern and confusion and hope warring in her chest. Weirdest. Christmas. Ever.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
AT 7:59, MARTINA KNOCKED on Carter’s bedroom door.
“Come in,” he called, and she crept inside, closing the door behind her. She’d been back to work for two weeks, and this was becoming their nightly ritual.
“She’s asleep, and the night nurse is here...”
“Hang on . . .” He checked his watch. “Five . . . four . . . three . . .”
“You’re really going to count down the seconds before my shift is over every night?”
“It’s a rule your new boss made. I’m allowed to kiss you, but not to make out with you on work time.”
“I thought that was a joke!”
“No. Chase is all about boundaries now, apparently.” He pulled her down onto his bed, and she landed on top of him, giggling in spite of herself. She kissed him, putting all the pent-up energy she’d collected all day from all his flirty touches and glances into it.
“My last boss was better.”
He chuckled. “Speaking of which, is there anything I can do for you today?”
“I want to go flying.”
“I'm not night current.”
“It doesn't have to be today. Maybe Saturday?”
“Saturday,” he agreed with a happy sigh, nuzzling her neck, curling his body into hers. “Have I told you how much I missed you?”
“Just once or twice.”
“And how much I love you?”
“You might’ve mentioned it.” She kissed him. “What do you love about me?”
“Your eyes. Your smile. Your chest.”
Martina smacked him, and Carter put his arms up to protect his head.
“Hey! You asked! Ow!”
“You’re supposed to say something romantic!”
“I said the face stuff first!” he laughed. “That’s a little romantic!” He caught her wrists and rolled them so he was on top of her. “I love your intelligence. Your confidence. Your fanciful imagination.”
“Speaking of which, how do you feel about a Prince Charming costume for our wedding in Vegas?” She’d gone alone to Winnie’s gorgeous wedding last weekend since the weekend nurse had called in sick, and she still had their own potential ceremony on the brain.
He pressed slow, open-mouthed kisses down her chest. “Notice I didn’t put ‘patience’ on the list . . .” Pinned down on sheets that smelled like Carter, his weight pressing into her, his lips making desire spiral hurricane-like in her blood, she had to admit that she didn’t feel patient in the slightest. She bucked her hips under him, and he kissed her harder.
“I was thinking,” he said between kisses. “I don’t think we could get my mom to Vegas.”
“You’re considering it?”
He rolled onto his side, lying on the bed next to her. “Maybe, I just . . . I want her to be there. She and Chase are the only family members I really care about, even if she’s not going to remember . . .”
“She may. The brain is a funny thing.”
“I want her in the pictures, you know? I want her there for me.”
“Me too,” she said, brushing the hair off his forehead. “I wasn’t trying to exclude her.”
“Okay.” They talked about their days, touching and kissing in the dark room, until Martina couldn’t finish a sentence without yawning.
“I should go
home,” she said, rolling to sit up.
“If she thinks we’re married, doesn’t it strike her as odd that you don’t sleep here?” Carter pulled a sweatshirt on.
“Maybe she assumes I do. She goes to bed pretty early. Also, see my earlier comment about brains being weird.” Now he was putting on his shoes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m walking you out to your car.”
“Really?” Was that little gesture really making her heart beat faster?
“Of course. This was a date. How else am I going to get a good night kiss? Honestly, hon, you’re ridiculous sometimes.”
“You know,” she whispered, “there are other goodnight things I could give you, too.”
He paused. “I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but . . . no.” Carter gathered her into his arms. “I need you to trust me. Not this,” he said, waggling a finger between their two bodies. “That part was always easy for us.”
“I’ve learned lots of new things,” she whispered, and Carter’s arms tightened around her. “We won’t be two kids fumbling around, not knowing what they’re doing . . .”
“Still had plenty of fun,” he murmured, and she felt him shiver. Then he set her away from him gently. “No. I want you to trust me. I haven’t asked for a lot, but I’m asking for this. You’re trying to take shortcuts. We’re taking the long way, Tini. The scenic route.”
They’d been together for two weeks, and she’d suspected he felt this way. She expected to feel disappointment, so that part wasn’t a surprise. But the delight? That shocked the socks off her. Because it was true; he hadn’t asked for a lot. But the fact that he was refusing her because he thought it would make their relationship stronger? That meant something to her.
“You’re so sexy when you’re putting your foot down,” she whispered, trailing her fingers over his pecs.
Carter rolled his eyes. “Nice try.” He kissed her with a grin. “Shoes, lady. Let’s get you home. I hear that family you’re working for is very demanding, and you need to get your rest.”
Driving home in the dark was a good place to think. His words rang in her mind about trust and relationships . . . honestly, it wasn’t something she’d had to practice much. And when she’d tried, like with her family, she’d often end up shutting down. But avoidance wasn’t really getting her what she wanted. In a weird way, she thought, it was a bit a like a football team. When they weren’t communicating, the play broke down, and they couldn’t move the ball the needed yards. But when they worked together, it was a thing of beauty to watch; nothing could stand in their way.
“I will figure out how to trust him,” Martina said out loud into the quiet car. “I can be part of a team without sacrificing who I am. I’ll be someone he can trust, someone he knows will be there when he needs me. We’ll make our plays together. We’ll get our wins together.”
By the time she got home, it was past midnight, but she felt wide awake. She felt at peace. She felt real hope.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ON SATURDAY, HE PICKED her up and took her to the private air strip where the Carpenters’ airplanes were hangared. It was overcast, but not rainy, and the layer was high . . . or so he said.
“172 or Bonanza?” Carter asked, focusing on his flight plan.
“What’s the difference?”
“Smaller with a better view or bigger and faster?”
“Smaller, please.”
He smiled. “Good choice. Cheaper on the fuel, too.”
Martina snorted. “Like I care about that. You’re paying.”
She helped him push the small plane with a blue stripe out of the hangar, then climbed into the right seat. She felt that familiar thrill when he shouted for non-existent bystanders to stand clear of the propeller and the rumble of the small engine made her seat vibrate. There was just something about flying that she adored; despite the engine noise, it felt quiet up high. She watched Carter’s black SUV get smaller and smaller as they climbed, until it looked like an ant sitting next to the hangar.
“How far would it be to Vegas?”
“This again?”
“I didn’t bring an overnight bag, but I don’t think we’d be spending much time clothed, so . . .”
He didn’t laugh, and when she turned her head, his gaze was concerned.
“I’m just kidding. I know we already decided against it.”
“Martina. Talk to me. For real, this time. What’s this Vegas thing about?”
“I don’t know. I guess . . .” She paused, trying to formulate her thoughts as she watched the patchwork of fields and farms far below. “I guess sometimes I just envy Willow.”
“Why?” he asked softly.
“Because she doesn’t remember. In her mind, we’ve been married all this time, together all this time. I wish I didn’t remember what you did to my heart last time. I wish I didn’t remember how it felt to have to walk out on you. How it felt to ignore you, when all I wanted was to run back into your arms, self-respect be damned.”
He took her hand, intertwining their fingers. “But honey, don’t you know how much it means to me that you do remember? That you’re choosing to believe in me, despite my massive screw-up? That you’re giving me your forgiveness, day by day, for all my mistakes, old and new? If you had AD, I’d never win you back, because I’d never get the chance to show you I’ve changed.” He lifted her hand to his lips for a kiss. “I want you to know me. And I want to know you. And if that means a long list of things I love about you and a long list of things I’ve forgiven you for, I’m okay with it.”
“I did burn your clutch out that one time.”
“That’s at the top of the forgiveness list,” he agreed, grinning.
“Could you please kiss me?”
Carter closed the distance between them with a sweet, lingering kiss.
“Now could you please fly the plane?”
“It flies itself, look.” He took his left hand off the controls. “See?”
“Hands on the steering wheel, Carter!” she yelled. “We do not want to bring that nickname back.”
“It’s a yoke, not a steering wheel.”
“Yolk, egg white, whatever you want to call it, just keep your hands firmly on the part that guides the plane, please!”
He laughed so hard, the vein in his forehead popped a little, but he obeyed. Martina glared at him. “It’s not funny.”
“It’s kind of funny.” He snickered, then sobered. “So. No more Vegas talk?”
“No more Vegas talk,” she agreed.
“You want to fly it?”
“Stop.”
“I’m serious! Just put your hands on your yoke.”
“No!”
“I won’t let us crash, I promise.” He put her hands on the u-shaped controls in front of her. “Just keep it level, no sudden movements.”
“Do you remember how badly golf went? This could be waaay worse.”
Carter laughed. “Martina, you think I’m going to let anything happen to you when I just got you back? No way. Never.” She couldn’t look at him, because when flying an airplane, it didn’t seem wise to gaze into your boyfriend’s eyes, but she knew that tone: his pixie-dust sparkle was back.
“Can I stop now?”
He laughed again, and she realized he’d been doing that a lot lately. I made him happy. I fixed Carter. We fixed each other.
“Yes, beautiful. You’re so brave. Flying the plane for sixty whole seconds.”
“Shut up, Crash.”
“GOT PLANS TOMORROW?” she asked, as he pulled up in front of her apartment building. “I have a brunch thing in the morning, but my afternoon’s free.”
“I’ve got that bachelor auction in the afternoon, but I’ll be around all morning if you want to come over after your brunch. Mom would probably love—”
Martina felt like someone had dumped a bucket of cold water over her.
“I’m sorry, what?”
He cocked his head. “I said I’m fr
ee all morning?”
“Not that—the bachelor auction.”
“Right.”
“But you’re not a bachelor. You’re . . .” she gestured between them, “you know. Not single. Attached.”
“But I didn’t know that when I signed up.”
Hot anger flooded her senses. No way. This was just like before; he wanted to have his own way, and what she thought didn’t matter.
“Carter, you cannot go on a date with anyone else.”
He ran a hand through his hair. “I can’t back out on them now, Tini, the organizers would be furious. And it’s for a really good cause. Doernbecher is an amazing hospital. They help so many kids—”
She held up a hand. “I’m a nurse. Believe it or not, I am familiar with Doernbecher. But good cause or not, you cannot go on a date with anyone else,” she repeated firmly.
“Martina,” he said gently. “You can trust me. I promise. It’ll be completely platonic.”
“No.”
“It’s only one night,” he cajoled.
“I don’t care!” she yelled. She slapped a hand over her own mouth; she never lost her temper anymore, but if she said one more word, she was about to erupt like Mt. St. Helens.
“I’m sorry, honey,” he murmured, reaching for her hand, but she snatched it away. She stormed up the stairs to her apartment, startling the cats when she slammed the front door.
Unbelievable. She threw her purse on the couch. Not again. No. Not this time. She’d just have to convince him to quit, and that was the end of it. Martina was done sharing Carter Carpenter. She pulled out her phone.
Martina: You said I could trust you, but you’re not listening. This is important to me.
Carter: I am listening, Tini. But you don’t have to be worried; nothing’s going to happen.
Martina: I don’t want you to do this.
Carter: I’m sorry. I have to.
Carter: It wouldn’t be right to quit.
Martina: But it’s right to cheat on me?
Carter: I’m not cheating on you! I swear.
Martina: Well, that’s what it feels like.