Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook

by Allison Leigh

  “So...everything was on the up-and-up?”

  “Aside from the kegs set up in the dining room? Sure thing. For God’s sake, Ethan,” she said, laughing when the frown deepened. “I’m kidding. And you are way too much fun to tease.”

  “Sorry. It’s just...”

  “She’s your baby girl, got it. And if it makes you feel any better, I did not let her out of my sight for a second. Not that she knew that, of course. Swearsies,” she said, and he finally blew out a breath. Maybe even smiled.

  “Thank you,” he murmured, his gaze locked in hers, and, oh, dear God, did she ache to skim her fingers over that tight jaw, those shoulders so tense with responsibility.

  “You’re very welcome. Well—”

  “Um...you want to come inside...?”

  And heaven help her, she actually hesitated. “No, it’s late. And I’m about to crash. But...you guys gonna be around tomorrow? I’ve got some presents for the kids.”

  There went the frown. “You didn’t have to—”

  “Know that. Not the point. So...I’ll swing by tomorrow afternoon?”

  “Uh...yeah. Sure. I think their grandparents are taking them shopping tomorrow morning, but they should be back by two or so?”

  “Then I’ll be by sometime after that,” she said, then turned to go.

  “Claire?”

  Halfway to her car, she swiveled back. “Yeah?”

  “Text me when you get home. Let me know you got there okay.”

  She couldn’t help the laugh. Or the thump in the pit of her stomach. Since when did he care whether she got home safely? Since when did anybody? “I’m a big girl, Ethan.”

  “And it’s late, and the roads look like they might be getting icy. So humor me, okay?”

  “Fine, fine,” Claire said, giving him a backward wave as she returned to her car. Where she and her still-thumping stomach sat behind the wheel for a moment, trying to decide whether that sound in her head was more aww...or argh!

  Either way, she thought as she put her car in Reverse and backed into the street, it was freaking her the hell out.

  Like, seriously, dude.

  Chapter Eleven

  If the dog hadn’t gone into his frenzied barking routine late the next afternoon, Ethan—in the office wrapping presents—would’ve never realized the doorbell had rung. Or—when he opened the door to find Claire with a shopping bag brimming with Santafied goodies—that he’d completely spaced about her coming over.

  “You look surprised,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes as she removed her sunglasses, then rammed the earpieces into her curls, and Ethan felt he’d been sucker punched. In, oh, so many ways. For, oh, so many, many reasons.

  “I’m—” he blew out a breath “—an idiot. Please...come in. The kids aren’t here, though,” he said behind her as she did, and he caught a whiff of that damned perfume, tangled up with the crisp scent of the cold, and more sucker punching ensued. Also, stirrings. Of the damn-it-all-to-hell kind.

  “Oh?” She turned, setting down the bag on a bench by the door, then facing him again, fidgeting with her long scarf. Bright purple. Fuzzy. Soft. Probably smelled like her perfume. “Not home yet?”

  He forced his eyes to her face. Crossed his arms over the rattiest sweatshirt he owned. Wondering how he’d forgotten about her when he’d barely slept for thinking of her all damn night. “Not coming home. Tonight, I mean. Which is why I’m an idiot, because if I’d remembered, I would’ve called you. Their grandparents decided to take them into the city to see the show at Radio City, do the whole Christmas in New York thing. Stay overnight at the Plaza—”

  “Wow.” She pressed her lips together. No lipstick, he noticed. This was not a turnoff. “They got rooms at the last minute like that?”

  “No, they’d apparently had it planned for months, but didn’t tell me because they didn’t trust me not to let it slip to the kids.”

  Her eyes twinkled. “Bad at keeping secrets, are you?”

  “Notoriously so. So I didn’t know any of this until they picked the kids up this morning. And then I thought of the five million things I could get done without them here, and...” He felt his face warm. “I totally forgot about you. Not about you,” he said when she laughed. Then he puffed out a breath. “You know what I mean.”

  “And I even texted you last night.”

  Yeah. A single word: Home.

  Of course, his response had been equally succinct: OK.

  “I know. Like I said. Idiot.”

  “So...” She looked around. “You’re all by yourself?”

  “Just me and the beast.” Who’d planted his fuzzy butt on the toe of Ethan’s sneaker. Smiling, Claire glanced at the dog, then back at Ethan, and the ramifications of their being alone slammed into him, knocking all those years of being a responsible adult clear into next week. Especially when she said, “Wow. You could do anything you want, huh? Anything at all.”

  “I know. The freedom... It’s heady,” he said, and she snorted a light laugh. “So I’ve been wrapping presents. Speaking of which... You can put yours under the tree, if you want.”

  “Okay. Sure,” she said, picking up the bag again and walking into the living room, slowly unwrapping the scarf with one hand. Then she stuffed a curl behind her ear, dislodging the sunglasses, which she caught before they got past her shoulder. She was only wearing the tiny diamond studs today, more flash than substance. The exact opposite, he mused, of the woman wearing them. “Wow. I see they’ve been working on it.”

  “Not they. Jules. A trait she inherited from her mother,” Ethan said, watching Claire as she carefully set the packages among the others. From the hall behind them, the grandmother clock chimed. One...two...three...four... “The tree was never really done, as far as she was concerned. She’d keep adding things, moving stuff around...even after Christmas.” He pushed out a quiet laugh. “It was nuts.”

  Standing again, Claire gave him much the same look he’d seen her give Merri’s parents the night before. In that situation, it had worked. Now, for some unknown reason, it irked the hell out of him. “She sounds—”

  “Don’t you dare say perfect.”

  “I was going to say...fun.”

  “Okay, yeah. In her own way.”

  Chuckling, she came closer, the sunglasses hooked into the front of her vest. God, he hated that vest. Almost more than those hideous patterned leggings. And the clunky boots.

  “What does that mean?”

  “Mer wasn’t crazy fun—” Like you are, Ethan almost said. “Not...roller-coaster, jack-in-the-box fun. But she enjoyed the little things, you know? She made ordinary things special. Like baking cookies.” His gaze returned to the tree. “Decorating Christmas trees.”

  “And you’ll always miss her.”

  The kindness lacing her words sliced right through him. So much so it took a moment to get out the simple “Yeah.” At her silence, he cupped the back of his neck. “Everybody keeps telling me I need to get over it.”

  “Right. Like you’re just supposed to forget someone you loved for more than twenty years? What a load of B.S.”

  Ethan almost smiled. “The pain, I think they mean. Not her.” He paused, then said, “Jules was telling me about your mother, how she never really got past your father’s death?”

  “Not really, no,” she said, and sighed. “I don’t mean she did a Miss Havisham or anything, getting stuck in a time warp after he died. She functioned. Kept up with what was going on in the world. But she wasn’t any too keen to stick around, either. In some ways I think she almost welcomed her illness.”

  Ethan looked back at the tree. “That’s so sad.”

  “You would think. Except she honestly believed she’d accomplished everything she needed to here, so why stay? And it certainly was
n’t my place to convince her otherwise.” She looked over at him, a tiny smile on her lips. “It’s nobody’s business how anyone else handles their grief. Especially when they haven’t been in the other person’s shoes.”

  Ethan felt something knock in his chest. “Too bad more people don’t share your philosophy.”

  “I’ve always thought so,” she said, smiling as Barney picked that moment to abandon his spot on Ethan’s sneaker and shuffle over to sniff Claire’s boot. Squatting to pet him, she laughed when he flopped on his back so she’d rub his belly.

  “Damn dog has no shame,” Ethan muttered, wondering why she was still there, wondering why he was glad she was, as Claire chuckled again. Then Ethan heard himself say, “You looked good last night,” and her head jerked up. “In that dress. And that thing,” he said, indicating his neck.

  “Necklace?”

  “Yeah. Necklace. And those shoes.”

  Another laugh. “What on earth brought that on?”

  “No idea.” He rammed his fingers into his jeans’ pockets, remembering. “But you should dress like that more often.”

  “Like a grown-up, you mean?”

  “Like...a woman.”

  “Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”

  “I said you looked good, didn’t I? And if that sounded sexist, I’m sorry—”

  Grinning, she got to her feet. “It does, a little. Except I know you didn’t really mean it that way. So thank you.” She paused, then said, “I only have two dresses. Both black. One for winter, one for summer—”

  “I should hook you up with my sister.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Sabrina. She works with fashion. In New York.”

  “I think that’s called digging yourself in deeper.”

  “Yeah, I’m good at that.” As if she were magnetized, Ethan came closer, fingering the edge of her scarf. To keep from touching her hair. Her cheek. “See this color? It looks real good on you.”

  Silence thrummed between them for a long moment before his eyes lifted to her face, where he saw her pupils dilate, her lips slightly part, her pulse hammer at the base of her neck.

  “It looks better off,” Claire said, her voice barely above a whisper. He yanked his hand away.

  “What?”

  She lowered her eyes for a moment, then lifted them to his, her cheeks ruddier than usual. “I didn’t come over here to seduce you. Obviously. Since for one thing, I expected the kids to be here. And for another, that’s not something I do. But...I am a big believer in making the most of unexpected opportunities.”

  He stilled. Then bristled. “So, what? You’re offering me a pity—”

  “I would never do that. Mainly because, for one thing, I don’t pity you.” She smirked. “Big difference between not being able to get any and choosing not to.” Then she sobered. “I also know you’re not ready to move on. That—emotionally at least—you might never be ready. And I accept that. But...” Her cheeks turning pink again, she nodded toward the tree, even as her lips curved. “But since I didn’t get you anything for under the tree...” Her shoulders bumped.

  He stared at her for a long, long time, then said, “I thought I was the one who owed you.”

  She finally unwound the scarf, only to slowly lift it over his head and around his neck, tugging him closer. But not too close. “Then this is what I’d call a win-win situation, don’t you think? Giving, receiving... It’s all good, right?”

  He barely heard her gasp as his mouth crashed down on hers, as he released himself to the beast that’d been gnawing at his gut for weeks. He felt her hands tighten around the scarf, pulling him closer as her lips parted, and every scrap of control he’d clung to so fiercely fled screaming into the night. Dropping onto the couch before his bum knee gave out, he pulled her onto his lap, and she laughed, deep in her throat, as she straddled him, then kissed him again, a fearless, hungry kiss that shot straight to his groin.

  Deeper, where the demons lived.

  The skin under her sweater was sleek, smooth, hot as his hands roamed. Hell, it was almost painful, how much he wanted her...and guilt flashed, paralyzing him. Her breathing already ragged, Claire cupped his face in her hands, then touched her forehead to his.

  “Second thoughts?”

  “I haven’t... Since Merri...”

  “I know,” she whispered. “Which is why this is your call. I’m only along for the ride.”

  “That doesn’t seem fair somehow.”

  She sat back, her hands lowering to his shoulders, humor sparkling in her eyes. “Judging from what’s pressing against me right now? Something tells me I’m not gonna have any complaints. Hey,” she said softly when he looked away. “I don’t expect you to ask me to go steady when this is over. This is only about now. About two people enjoying each other. Being with each other. Maybe working out a little stress. And the best part? Nobody will know but us.”

  “And Barney.”

  “Yeah, well, unless he’s suddenly learned people-speak, I’m not worried.”

  “Except...dammit, Claire—we work together—”

  “And I repeat—this goes no further than right here. Right now. I swear. I do not kiss—or anything else—and tell. We do this, we go on with our lives exactly as before. So. What’s it gonna be?” Then she sucked in a breath, as though suddenly realizing something. “Oh. Wait. If you have issues with, um, me in your bed...”

  Where you used to have sex with your wife, was the rest of that sentence, he guessed.

  Ethan lifted a shaking hand and finally, finally sifted his fingers through those satiny, springy curls. “I bought a new bed six months...after. Couldn’t sleep worth crap in the old one. But I’m not exactly...prepared.”

  “Didn’t figure you would be. Lucky for you, I’m on the Pill. So we’re good.”

  Speak for yourself, he wanted to say. “You’re really sure about this?”

  “You want me to smack you or what? And I do not mean as foreplay.”

  Even though fear still coiled inside him, he laughed.

  And slipped that hellacious vest off her shoulders.

  “Good choice,” she said, smiling, and bent to kiss him again.

  * * *

  The first time was pretty much what you’d expect between two people who’d gone without for a while—hot, fast, a little awkward. Clumsy, even. And Claire had fully expected not only the clumsiness but that, once...relieved, Ethan would roll out of bed, either mortified or trying to act all cool, and suggest they order in Chinese or pizza or something. Or politely thank her, with a broad hint that she could go home now.

  Not so, she thought as they lay all entwined and sticky and panting in his bed, and he whispered against her temple, “Was that as bad for you as it was for me?”

  She laughed. “No, bad is when there’s no fireworks at all.”

  “As opposed to their going off prematurely?”

  “Hey. At least they went off.”

  He hesitated. “For you, too?”

  She twisted to face him. “You seriously couldn’t tell?”

  “I was a little...preoccupied.”

  “Not to mention deaf. Jeez.” When he didn’t say anything, she hiked herself up on her elbow. “Please don’t tell me you thought I faked it.”

  “Hey. You’re the actress.”

  “And this isn’t a damn stage. I don’t pretend in real life.”

  One arm behind his head, he looked up at her. “So if you don’t pretend,” he murmured, lifting his other hand to lift her curls off her neck, which made her shiver and her nipples respond accordingly, “what’s this all about?”

  Something close to pain shot through her, that despite what she’d just said she couldn’t answer as honestly as she would have if the situation were differe
nt. But the man was conflicted enough without her telling him she hadn’t gotten naked with him simply because they were both needy and the timing seemed serendipitous, or that she’d never had sex with someone she didn’t love, and that this time was no exception.

  “It’s about...friendship, I suppose. Caring. Giving,” she said with a shrug. Then, trickling her fingers across his jaw, she grinned. “Having a little grown-up fun.”

  “You’re really that much of a free spirit?”

  Somehow, she kept the smile in place. “I really am.”

  “A free spirit who’s been celibate for how long?”

  “There’s freedom in celibacy, too, you know. I’m not a slave to my body. Or its whinings. And you sure think a lot for a dude.”

  He almost smiled. “It passes the time while I work up to round two.”

  “Oh?”

  Chuckling, he handily flipped her on her back so their fun bits could get reacquainted, and his weight was so welcome and warm and good she nearly passed out. “You didn’t seriously think I was going to let you out of here with that initial travesty imprinted on your brain, do you?”

  “So...you’re saying you can do better?”

  “Hey. Reputation to uphold here,” he said, and dipped his head to demonstrate. Or, more accurately, begin to demonstrate. Because this time, no one was in any hurry. This time was about control and patience and sweet, sweet buildup...of exploration and experimentation and getting really intimately acquainted, of whiskers rasping against sensitive skin, a talented mouth sending sparks of startled pleasure swirling deep, deep inside her...of a blissful pulsing that seemed to go on forever.

  Then he was inside her from behind, in some clever position that apparently took pressure off his knee, his breath hot on the back of her neck as he filled her, stroked her, and, oh, my word, was he good at this...and then she was floating, flying, crying out a second time—or third, if one were being technical—over Ethan’s own guttural release.