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

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Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas GiftThe Soldier's Holiday HomecomingSanta's Playbook Page 59

by Allison Leigh


  Then silence, save for their breathing, the incongruous sound of Barney licking himself on the other side of the room. Moonlight splashed across them, cold and unforgiving, such a contrast to Ethan’s solidity against her back, his hand warm and tender on her breast as he teased her nipple.

  “Ho, ho, ho?” he said, and she laughed, even as the recrimination came so hard and fast Claire nearly lost her breath. Because for all her knowing, accepting, that this was only for now—and that her gift had been without conditions—at that moment her intellect and her heart were on opposite teams.

  Then he gently rolled her over to gather her in his arms, and she thought, Not making this any better, bub.

  Another long stretch of silence followed, punctuated by the steady beating of his heart against her ear, his fingers rhythmically stroking her bare shoulder. Then, at last, a long, shuddering breath. Claire shifted to prop her hand on his chest and whisper, “How’re you doing? And yes, I want an honest answer.”

  “I’m not sure. This all feels a little...surreal.”

  “Bad surreal or good surreal?”

  His chest rumbled. “Definitely not bad. But...” A small smile on his lips, he angled his head to look into her eyes. “How honest are we talking?”

  “For heaven’s sake, Ethan—I’m not some delicate little flower.” Anymore. “Just spit it out, already.”

  His brows drawn, he slowly swept her hair off her shoulder. “Merri was my first and only. Obviously. So I guess I’d always assumed that...doing this with anyone else would feel...weird. Like I was cheating on her.” He gave his head a slight shake. “But it didn’t. At all. Which is why it felt so surreal. Hell,” he said on another breath, stuffing his hand behind his head again as he looked up at the ceiling. “I didn’t even think about her. Not once.”

  “And now you’re feeling guilty about that.”

  He blew a soft laugh through his nose. “A little. Yeah.” His gaze shifted to hers again. “Sounds pretty messed up, huh—?”

  On the nightstand next to him, Ethan’s phone rang. Muttering a curse word, he fumbled for it, frowning at it in the dark before putting it to his ear.

  “What’s up?” he said, concern in his voice, as Claire took advantage of the distraction to haul herself to a sitting position, gathering the rumpled covers to her chin. “No, of course not....Carmela. Stop. Of course you can bring the kids home, I’m sorry John’s not feeling well.... At least you guys got to see the show and the tree, right? Yeah, yeah....I’ll see you all soon.”

  He cut off the call, then sighed. “It’s my father-in-law. Guess he caught the girls’ cold. Carmela says he was fine when they left, but it came on right as they got out of the show.” He looked so apologetic Claire ached for him. “They’ll be home in an hour. Um...you want to stay for dinner?”

  “And wouldn’t that be awkward?” Claire said as lightly as she could manage. “Although if you don’t mind I think I’ll take a quick shower before I go.”

  “Uh...sure. Here,” he said, getting out of bed and walking naked to his closet to pull out a robe, which he handed to her.

  “Thanks,” she muttered, suddenly self-conscious as she wriggled into it before leaving the warm bed, saturated with the scent of their lovemaking, of Ethan, of her perfume.

  “I’m sorry,” he said as she pulled the robe closed, and she laughed. Sort of.

  “For what? Having kids? Being who you are? And anyway,” she said before he could respond, “it’s not as if we’d planned this or anything.” She tried another laugh. “I’m only glad I didn’t get here any later.”

  “So...you’re okay?”

  “And you can stop with the foolish talk right now.... What are you doing?”

  “Remembering,” he said, sliding the robe open to pull her close again, hard against his nakedness as he joined their mouths in one last, heated, crazy-making kiss before letting her go, his expression every bit as tortured as she would have expected. Because now that reality—his reality, in any case—had once more reared its head... Oh, man. She could only imagine what was going through his head.

  Claire lowered her eyes, grateful for the dark. That he couldn’t see her tears, mostly in frustration with herself, for her own stupidity. For thinking she could do this without repercussions. Her words to Juliette echoed in her head...only Claire had done a lot more than let a boy kiss her in the janitor’s closet.

  So much for owning her decision, for feeling like an adult as well as acting like one. Especially when she realized Ethan was stripping the bed—still naked, heaven help her—dumping the pillows onto the floor, yanking off the sheets. Not that she didn’t understand the prudence behind his action, but neither did she miss the symbolism that what they’d just done? Never happened.

  “Use whatever you want in the bathroom,” he said. “And there’s clean towels in the linen closet.”

  “Got it, thanks.”

  A few minutes later, she was showered and dressed, as purged of any evidence of their lovemaking as his bed, her hair a mass of tiny wet snakes around her face when Ethan—now dressed—caught her in the hall.

  “You shouldn’t go out like that, you’ll catch cold,” he said, his expression so conflicted Claire almost flinched.

  “Old wives’ tale,” she said with a tight smile, one hand already on the doorknob. The dog at his heels, Ethan slowly closed the space between them to cup her cheek in his warm palm, kiss her mouth, her forehead.

  “Drive safe,” he said, and she nodded, then finally made her escape, coming as close to the walk of shame as she ever had. Or ever wanted to. Although at least she could get her own damn Chinese food, if she so desired.

  Because autonomy was a beautiful thing.

  * * *

  Wally soundly scolded her when she opened her door, in all likelihood because there was a quarter-size bare spot in the bottom of his food dish.

  “Yeah, yeah, you’re in no danger of starving,” Claire said, hefting the burgeoning plastic bag onto the two-seater bistro table wedged in her kitchen corner. Catching a whiff of the rich ginger-and-garlic aroma emanating from the bag, the cat immediately jumped up on one of the chairs, wiggling his pink nose.

  “Git,” Claire said, lightly swatting the beast off the chair, then sighed. She’d forgotten how hungry she got after sex, a thought that made her feel as if she’d been impaled by a chopstick.

  As did the thought of eating alone. And no, the cat did not count.

  Virgil answered on the first ring. “What’s up, sweet thing?”

  “You eat yet?”

  “Oh, honey, ages ago. As befits a gentleman of my advanced years.”

  “Oh. Too bad. Because I kinda went nuts at China Garden.”

  “Oh?” A pause. Then, “Any spring rolls?”

  “Six.”

  “I’ll be right up.”

  She’d no sooner set her iPhone to play Christmas music—because she was nothing if not masochistic—than her bell rang, and there was Virgil, dapper as always in an argyle sweater vest and bow tie...and his house shoes. “My goodness, it smells heavenly in here,” he said, then stopped with his hand on his heart when he saw her puny tree. “And isn’t that the most precious thing?”

  “There’s one word for it,” Claire muttered, arranging the open foam containers on her counter. “The spring rolls are in that bag, help yourself—”

  “Oh, honey...what’s wrong?”

  Claire’s eyes shot to his. “Why do you—?”

  “Because I’ve seen that look on too many faces far too many times not to recognize a broken heart when I see it. And I’d love a cup of tea with this,” he said, plucking one of the rolls out of the bag, “if you have it.”

  She grabbed the box of tea bags from the cabinet. “Then you need to have your eyes checked.”

 
“That may well be. But my ears are fine. And you’re a terrible liar.”

  A cup of water clunked into the microwave, Claire turned, her arms crossed. “Nobody broke my heart, Virgil.” When he lowered his chin again, chewing, she sighed. “Fine, so maybe I got myself into something I shouldn’t have, but I knew going in that...”

  “That what?”

  The microwave beeped. She retrieved the steaming cup, plopped a tea bag into it. “Okay, here’s the thing... After my father died, it killed me, watching my mother grieve. Sure, I was sad, too, but she was...lost. So I decided I’d never let myself be that emotionally vulnerable.”

  Now seated at the table, the purring cat in his lap, Virgil rolled his eyes. “Well, hell. No wonder your marriage failed.”

  “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  “So why did you get married in the first place?”

  “Because that’s what twenty-six-year-old women do? And I did love my ex—”

  “But with half your heart.”

  “Ouch. But...yeah.”

  “You do realize how stupid that is. Not to mention impossible.”

  “Now? Sure.”

  “Which I assume brings us to tonight.”

  Claire yanked a pair of paper plates from another cabinet, silverware from the drawer underneath, and began scooping out Szechuan beef, pork fried rice, lemon chicken. “I honestly thought I’d made myself impervious to that whole heart-on-sleeve thing. That I was immune to the...messiness.”

  “Again. Stupid.”

  Butt now in chair, Claire shoveled in a chunk of chicken. “Again, tell me about it. And it suuucks.”

  “Sweetie, being in love doesn’t suck—”

  “It does when the other person is still in mourning for his dead wife.”

  “Oh.” Dumping the cat so he could fill his own plate, Virgil frowned. “That could present a problem.” Claire stabbed a chopstick in his direction. Virgil dropped a piece of chicken on the floor, where the cat pounced on it before it could fly away, then glanced over. “Does he know how you feel?”

  She snorted. “Like he doesn’t have enough to worry about without dealing with...that.”

  “As in, being loved?” Virgil gently said, and the food in Claire’s mouth jammed in her throat.

  She took a swig from her water bottle, then said, “Remember what I said about my mother? That’s where he is. And he’s got kids.”

  “Kids?” His plate piled high, Virgil sat back down across from her. “How many are we talking?”

  “Four,” she said, and Virgil let out a low whistle. “One of whom is my student.” Her eyes filled. “All of whom I...I love to bits. Or could, if I let myself. Words I never, ever thought I’d hear come out of my mouth. But damned if those little stinkers didn’t breach every one of my defenses....” She shook her head again, hard. “And Ethan... He’s a terrific dad. Stubborn, sometimes. And crazy overprotective. But kind, and funny—in his own way—and...and just—” she sucked in a shaky breath “—g-good.”

  “Oh, honey—”

  “But the point is, they’ve made a new life for themselves. A nice, safe life. A life I do not fit into.”

  “And why would you assume that?”

  For the first time, doubt of another kind wriggled into her consciousness, even as she said, “Because the children... They don’t need any more upheaval. Even...even if Ethan were up for giving this a shot...what if it didn’t work out? The littlest one, especially—she’s only six....” Claire shook her head, her chest aching.

  Virgil chewed for a moment, then said, “So tell me something—when you audition for a part, do you hold back, afraid of looking like an idiot?”

  She almost laughed. “No, of course not.”

  “What about in class? Do you dumb down the material, afraid the kids won’t get it otherwise?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “Then let me get this straight—you’ve fallen for with a man with four children, children you’ve admitted you love, as well. But you’re willing to potentially deprive those children of a mother, not to mention their grieving father of a second chance at happiness—uh-huh, let that sink in for a minute—because you’re afraid of what might happen? That does not sound like the Claire Jacobs I know. Because that woman couldn’t be that selfish if her life depended on it.”

  Claire’s mouth fell open. “But I’m only thinking of them—”

  “Really? Because it sounds more to me like you’re trying to save your own posterior.”

  “Virgil!”

  “Yes, I get that you want to avoid the pain you saw your mother go through. I also remember your telling me about your childhood, how insecure you were. Especially around boys. Trust me, sweet thing, you want to talk terrified?” He raised his hand, then dropped it again, sighing. “Try growing up gay in the South in the fifties. However, we’re not talking about me, we’re talking about you. And you’re one of the most generous people I’ve ever known. And that’s a lot of people, sweetie.”

  “But—”

  “And something else occurs to me. This Ethan... Do you think he’d give up those years he had with his wife—the children they had together—in exchange for not hurting now?”

  After a moment, Claire shook her head. “No.”

  Virgil sneaked another tidbit to Wally. “Then doesn’t he have the right to know how you feel? So he at least has the option to act on that or not?”

  Claire met the old man’s gaze for a moment before looking away. Outside, sparkling snowflakes lazily drifted to the yard below, like thousands of tiny angels. Like magic.

  “Yes,” Virgil said, his voice as soft as the falling snow, “there’s always a risk, when you love, that your heart will get broken. But the rewards? More than worth the pain.”

  She looked back to see tears in her landlord’s eyes. Behind the tears, though, happiness glinted. As well as a deep-seated peace that comes from knowing you’ve done your best.

  That you’ve given all of yourself. Not only what you think you can spare.

  A fitting revelation, she realized, for a season that was all about giving.

  Nearly knocking her plate to the floor, Claire lunged across the table to hug him. “Merry Christmas, Virgil,” she said, and he grinned. Then he reared back, frowning slightly.

  “Are you aware you’re wearing only one earring?”

  “What?” Her hand flew to one ear, then the other. And sure enough, one of the tiny diamond studs her father had given her when she’d graduated from middle school was missing.

  And since she knew she’d had them both when she’d arrived at Ethan’s, obviously that was where it had fallen out.

  Damn.

  * * *

  “Dad?” Staring at the glowing Christmas tree in the otherwise dark living room, Ethan looked up at Juliette’s voice. The other kids had been in bed for an hour already. Apparently Jules had not followed their example.

  “Yeah, honey?”

  She sank onto the sofa beside him, Claire’s earring glittering in her open palm. “I was putting your sheets in the dryer and found this on the floor. And I know it’s Claire’s because she wears this pair all the time.”

  And if there was a bigger “oh, crap” moment on the face of the planet, Ethan didn’t know what that could be. She must’ve lost it in his bed, and it’d gotten tangled up in the sheets when he’d yanked them off. Bad enough he’d barely been able to focus on the kids all evening for feeling like his head would explode. Because he couldn’t deny he ached for Claire in a way he only had for one other woman...a woman whose memory, despite that momentary lapse, had returned to haunt him immediately afterward. But even if he had been able to disentangle himself from the past, there was the small issue of Claire’s insistence that their getting cozy had been a one-
off. So the last thing he needed right now was his way-too-smart daughter’s scrutiny.

  Yet he somehow smiled and said, “Must’ve come out when Claire was here earlier. To deliver the presents for you guys?”

  “Then how’d it get into the laundry room?”

  “I have no idea,” Ethan said mildly. “She was playing with Barney a lot—” Hearing his name, the dog lifted then cocked his head. “Maybe it got caught in his fur and he carried it in there?” He opened his hand, and Jules dropped the twinkly little stud into his palm. “I bet she’ll be looking for it, though.”

  “Yeah, probably.”

  Jules pushed herself off the sofa to kneel in front of the tree, shoving her wild, blessedly streakless hair behind her ear. “Part of me can’t believe she got us stuff. Except then I think—she’s like the most giving person ever, you know?”

  The ache intensified. “She really is.”

  His daughter plopped cross-legged on the floor, pulling the present to her into her lap. “She tell you what it is?”

  “Nope. Good thing, right?”

  That got a smile, sweet in the lights’ glow. “You invite her to PopPop’s for Christmas Eve?”

  “What? No. I mean, it never occurred to me, since it’s only family—”

  “She gave us gifts, Dad. I think that qualifies. And no, I’m not still trying to fix you two up, I’ve accepted that’s not in the cards. But...she feels like family. Doesn’t she?”

  “She does,” Ethan said over the knot in his chest. “You want me to ask her if she’d like to come?”

  “Please—”

  Ethan’s phone buzzed. Did u find my earring?

  He angled the phone toward his daughter. “Guess who?”

  “Good. Ask her,” she said, then got up to give Ethan a good-night buss on his cheek before calling the dog to follow her upstairs, leaving Ethan to frown at the screen.

  He could simply text back yes, as well as the invitation, and be done with it. But one, between his big fingers and the tiny keyboard, he hated texting. And two, after what they’d shared, texting seemed so...wrong. Although she had texted him....

 

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