“Oh, wow.” I run my hand along the soft wood of the footboard.
“See that, Lizbeth? She’s admiring how sturdy it looks. And guess what?” He turns to Gage. “I had the girls come in last night and do a bunch of jumping jacks on the mattress, and we didn’t hear a darn thing!” He hammers his fist into the fuzzy tan wall. “Not only that, but we soundproofed the damn thing. You can belt out an entire opera, and we wouldn’t hear it.” He pats Gage on the shoulder. “You’re good to go, big guy.”
Gross.
A tiny pang of grief shoots through me at the thought of everything changing so quickly.
“Skyla would you look at this?” Mom pets the pot-bellied dresser. “It’s twice as big as your old one, and it’s Bombay! Isn’t it cute? Doesn’t it look like it’s about to pop out another dresser in just a few months?”
“It is darling.” Why doesn’t it surprise me that my mother felt inspired to purchase gestating furniture?
“So where’s my old set? Did you give it to one of the girls?” I’m hoping its Mia. I’ve had enough of Melissa’s shit quackery. The thought of her bouncing on my bed with her boy toy makes the eggnog I inhaled for breakfast want to reprise itself.
“Heaven’s no.” Mom fans the residual tears from her eyes. “I sold that old ratty set at a garage sale last week.”
“What?” Gage and I cry in unison. A sad smile trembles on my lips as I offer him a spontaneous kiss. It’s nice to know he misses the old set as much as I do. We did make some great memories with it.
“Don’t you worry. It went to a very good home,” Mom scolds. “Now get.” She shoos Gage and I toward the mattress. “Let’s really put this big boy to the test.”
Dear God, I don’t know if she’s talking about the bed or Gage.
Tad steps out of the bathroom. “Just installed a new fart fan for you, too. The shower was full of hairballs. I went ahead and sucked those out.”
Every word I never wanted to hear from his mouth all at once. He never ceases to amaze me.
“Thank you.” Gage and I answer in unison again although far less enthusiastically.
“I’m taking off in the morning.” He bounces on his heels with pride. “Got another very important business meeting with agents from some la-di-da human interest agency.”
“Sounds important,” I say, lying back on the mattress and moaning with approval. “I’ve never felt a bed this soft!”
“It is important.” Tad wheels right over my insightful comment. “In fact, Gage—”
Gage and I both exchange glances because it’s the first time Tad has actually said his name that we can remember.
“I’d feel better with you here looking after Lizbeth and the girls.” It’s amusing to hear him leave his own two sons out of the equation, Beau Geste, too, for that matter. “Make sure all the doors and windows are locked at night, and see if you can’t get everyone to bed at a decent hour. And make sure the little woman here”—he gives Mom’s rear end a tap—“is up early making the entire lot of you breakfast!”
Gage opens his mouth and closes it. Wisely.
“Come on, Tad.” Mom pulls him toward the door. “I’m sure these kids are exhausted after staying up all night waiting for Santa.” She gives a little wink. “Have fun testing those mattress springs! There’s plenty of room. It’s a queen!” She marvels as they close the door behind them.
“You’re my queen.” Gage tucks a kiss behind my ear. He glances over his shoulder, and the dresser inches toward the entry. “It’s a bit heavier than the last,” he muses as it seals us inside the room. I’m secretly happy that his powers came back after I bound him even though I probably shouldn’t be.
“So what do you think? Can we be happy here for a while?” I’m practically begging with my eyes. Every cell in my body is crying out for an Emma-free environment. I take his hand and plunge his finger into my mouth, nice and slow, sucking the hell out of it on the way out.
Gage moans. “A part of me wants to say there aren’t enough blow-jobs in the world.”
“I can prove you wrong.” My hand floats down his jeans.
“I beg you to.” Gage rolls me over his rock hard body. “And I think we should definitely test these mattress springs.”
I pull him up until we’re both on our knees.
“Merry Christmas, Gage.” I pull off his shirt and run my hands over his steel cut abs. Gage may not be playing football, but he’s been working out like his life depends on it.
“Merry Christmas, Skyla.” He peppers my neck with his kisses, soft at first then with an intensity that rivals anything we shared last night. It was more grief counseling sex, something therapeutic in nature since we both loved Charlie so much.
“Tell me again how much you love me.” His arms lock over my body, tight like a seatbelt.
I run my fingers through his smooth hair, touching my cheek to his rough stubble. So much has happened, and, yet, I can’t help but feel like the sickle is yet to strike.
“I love you more than there are words to describe.” The words whistle from my lips lower than a whisper, weighted down with a question mark at the end.
He buries a hot kiss in my neck and kneads my bare hips with his hands.
“Show me.”
I undo his jeans and dip my hands into his boxers. I plan to show him exactly how much I love him.
A seam of moonlight tickles my lids as I reach over to grab onto Gage and come up empty. We made love luxuriously today and well into the night, but now he’s nowhere to be found.
“Gage?” I whisper, trying to adjust my vision to the dark. I pull my phone over. It’s just ten o’clock. It feels like three in the morning, but that’s what making love to Gage all day and night will do to you—wear you out until you pass out good and satisfied. Swear to God, I feel like I just ran a marathon. I spread my limbs out on the bed. I can’t remember the last time I did that. I fan my arms and legs as if I’m trying to make a snow angel. Speaking of which, I have a mother to visit. I get dressed and snatch the keys to Gage’s truck off the entry table. The downstairs is dark and quiet which is unusual for any other night, but Christmas at the Landon’s typically ends this way. It may start out with a bang, but it most definitely ends with an exhausted whimper.
I pull my coat on and bear the rain until I jump into the truck. The drive over to Marshall’s is uneventful, and the simplicity of it all brings a smile to my face. I remember the days when I wouldn’t know what to expect. A clown Fem? A hatchet through the windshield? In some small way my life feels gloriously normal.
The lights are all on at the estate. The twenty-foot noble Marshall stuffed into his cavernous living room peeks through the octagon shaped window that faces the street. It looks stately and yet oddly homey at the same time. I pull in as close to the entry as possible and make a run for the house.
A bout of laughter comes from inside, and I can hear the most glorious music known to man pulsating through the double mahogany doors. I touch my hand to the doorknob, and that glorious feeling Marshall emits strums through me, light and orgasmically exciting.
“Hello?” I say softly as I enter the house. The aroma of perfectly browned turkey hits me, and I take in a deep lungful of the heavenly scent. There’s a kick of pumpkin pie in there, too. God I really missed a good one. Not that I was invited to this shindig.
I hear Marshall say something about the Transfer, and more riotous laughter ensues. I head over to the step down living room and find Ezrina and Nev—Wesley of all people, and that Marlena chick. Wait. Holy heck. If that’s Wes, odds are that’s Bishop.
“Skyla?” Chloe stands tugging down her silver micro mini. “Here’s the little witch now!” A small chortle circles the room, and I glare at Marshall a moment for participating.
“We’d better get going.” Wesley stands and shakes Ezrina and Nev’s hands before slapping Marshall on the back. “That was great. We’ll have to do it again.”
Chloe pulls Marshall into a hug and gives
him a peck on both cheeks. “Thank you for thinking of us.”
Kisses? Thank you for thinking of us? I’m horrified at what I’m witnessing. And I thought the Oliver’s had strange traditions.
“Merry Christmas, Skyla,” Wes says as he nods his way past me, and I can’t help thinking that we just made love for the last twelve hours, damn straight it was a merry Christmas.
“Wait.” I follow Wes to the porch as Chloe drones on about something in Nevermore’s ear. Wes turns, looking eerily like Gage. In this dim light, I can’t quite tell what color his eyes are. “I want you to know that I’m going to shut down the tunnels before New Year’s.”
“Is this a fair warning?” His dimples ignite. “Skyla. It’s practically a ghost town. Be happy that the kids have been set free.”
“You have no purpose for anyone down there. The war is over. You personally don’t need their blood.”
“Others do.”
“I’ll donate once a month. I’ll give an oath in front of my mother. One sip from me is worth pints from someone else. You of all people should know that.” I’ll drag Brody into this, too. He already has a binding agreement with the Counts as far as anteing up at the blood bank.
My heart drums into the night, so loud, it’s giving that wonderful music Marshall has streaming from inside a run for its heavenly money.
“Laken wants this more than anything,” I say. Really we both do, but I’m well aware that my most effective currency with Wes will always be Laken. “You’ll be a hero to her if you comply.”
“Just like Brody was a hero?” His brows rise just the way they do with Gage.
“That was an accident.”
“They always are.” He pats me on the back as he descends the stairs.
Chloe saunters out, looking every inch her vexing, witchy self. How is it that she wins in so many ways?
“My brother was a moron for ever trusting you.” She spits it in my face.
“He takes after his sister. Tell me something new.” I head inside not interested in whatever lunacy Chloe is trying to sell. It’s Christmas not Halloween. And where the hell is that damn bird? Him I’d like to roast.
“You’ll pay for that!” She howls as I slam the door behind me.
“So nice to see you, my dear,” Nevermore offers a quick peck on the cheek. “I’m afraid we’re up well past our bedtime. I hope you had a wonderful holiday.”
“Same to the two of you.” I wave them off as they head out the door. “Glorious music,” I say as I peel off my jacket.
“It’s the Cherubs’ latest offering. Nothing says the holidays quite like a heavenly choir.”
“Nice! So what’s the deal? Why were you entertaining the demon who wears my husband’s face? And let’s not forget Skank a Claus! She should be off limits to planet Earth in general.”
He dips his gaze, disgruntled a moment and sends off a slow burn deep inside me. Damn all those erotic dreams he claims to have no part in. What is it about my inner psyche that insists on having my way with Marshall night after night? I’m half tempted to take a peek into his boxers and affirm that birth mark that resembles a butterfly right next to his— Never mind, Gage is enough to keep me satisfied, and his are the only boxers I should ever be inspecting. I give a private smile at exactly how satisfying this particular day has been. A lifetime with Gage could never be enough.
“Is that what you’ve come to do? Wax poetic regarding the use of your husband’s impotent instrument?” He gives the underbelly of my arm a quick rub with his thumb.
“He’s not impotent. We’re simply not having children by design.” I plop on the couch. “Merry Christmas.” It comes out flat.
“Come, dear.” He bounces me right back to my feet and sits me close to the fire. It’s so hot it scalds the side of my face, but I don’t say a word because I know this is Marshall’s version of being romantic.
“It’s time for the exchanging of gifts. But first”—he pulls me close until I’m right by his side with his arm draped over my shoulder—“Merry Christmas, love.” Marshall gently pecks his lips to my cheek before pressing in harder with a lust-filled exchange albeit one sided at the moment, and I’m half afraid he’s going to start tonguing my face. “And you.” He taps his finger over his lightly stubbled cheek, and I oblige, lingering a few extra seconds to show him I care far more than Chloe ever could. Where in the hell does she get off kissing both his cheeks? Too bad for her, Chloe will never get a chance to morph into the faux European socialite she’s apparently aspiring to be.
Marshall laughs at the idea before offering me the other side of his perfect chiseled face.
“Thank you.” I offer another sweet kiss, and his entire body hums like a motor. “Now, why were they here?”
“It was a motley crew, wasn’t it?” His hand strums up and down my shoulder, soothing as a harp. “Since Rina and I weren’t invited to any of your holiday gatherings, we thought we’d have our own.”
“And Wesley made the cut? We need to find you better social circles to run in. As soon as I get my own place, you’re on the guest list each and every time. That goes without saying for Ezrina and Nevermore. We can eat Holden for dinner. He’s pretty useless on a regular basis. I bet he tastes like chicken. And why was Bishop here? You say you loved my father, and, yet, you broke bread with the one who ordered his head on a platter.”
“Ezrina requested their presence. She prefers to know the enemy. She and Wesley have quite a lot in common.”
“Outside of their unconventional appreciation of the Bunsen burner, I don’t think they have a lot in common.”
“That may be true, but the flame of the Bunsen burner can lead to a larger fire. They compared notes this evening.”
“What? Why? Does she really think he’s willing to put it all on the line? It’s obvious Wes just wants to know what we’re up to.”
“I’m afraid Ezrina’s latest botch-up alerted the enemy himself. So what do you propose to do now that you don’t have a Celestra leg to stand on, oh great overseer of the factions?”
I take an incredulous breath. “Well, didn’t you just relish smearing my hard-won moniker with sarcasm?” I poke him hard in the chest. “I’ll have you know, I have a great plan—a damn good one in fact.”
A tiny comma-like dimple goes off in his cheek when the expletive rolls off my tongue.
“What is this plan, Ms. Messenger?”
“I’ll tell you, but first answer me this, are you ever going to call me, Mrs. Oliver?” I’ll never tell him, but I secretly love it when he says my maiden name. It makes me think of my father, and I warm from head to toe. And now, heartbreakingly enough, there’s not a Messenger left on the planet.
“No.” He holds up a finger. “Until, of course, you become Mrs. Dudley.” A slow spreading grin spans his well-chiseled features. Marshall is a God. He should be gracing billboards with those gorgeous looks. He’s an underwear model that accidently dropped from heaven and pointed that divining rod in his pants in my direction. I never said I wasn’t lucky. “Right about now I’d demand you head upstairs to the master chambers and disrobe immediately. I prefer to find you waiting and willing, lounging on the mattress.”
“Demand?” I’m amused and alarmingly more than a little aroused. “Naked and waiting in your bed? My, my, this is going to be an interesting arrangement. And where will you be while I’m making snow angels over your comforter in the nude?”
He looks perplexed and lustfully entertained at the same time. Figures.
“I, my sweet love, will be on my way up with chilled champagne and our finest crystal. The Master’s birthday will conclude with a consummation of our union as will every other night of the year. I have a few carnal pleasures to catch up with.” He growls that last part out as if he were going to catch up on them now.
“Yeah, well”— I brush my fingers over his strong jawline—“I hate to break it to you, but I’m still gunning for Gage to make it to the finish line.”
�
�Are you so afraid of death you’re willing to curl up with the enemy for the rest of your days?”
“Yes. Death equals a horrific separation. Besides, I still have you and Logan—as friends. I feel like I’ve won the lottery.”
“Considering the other two options, I can safely say you haven’t.”
Marshall buries his face in my neck a moment and inhales deeply.
“But with you I have?”
“With me you’ve struck celestial gold.”
We watch the fire a moment before he reaches under the tree and pulls out a gift.
“Those branches are precariously close to the flames,” I point out. “I suppose a house fire isn’t out of the equation.”
Marshall nods at the beautifully decorated masterpiece, and it glides clear across the room to the piano.
“This is why I need a woman in my life, Skyla.” He holds out the small, gold box. “For you—the only woman I’ll ever want or need.”
My heart melts, and a swell of tears blurs my vision. Marshall’s love for me, his verbal expression of it, tenders me to the bone.
“You are very important to me.” I pull his hand over my heart. “You will always live here. I swear it to you. Our lives are already like one. Our bond is stronger than concrete.”
“Than steel.” His serious gaze, his crimson eyes burn a hole right through my soul. A smile bounces on his lips. “But one day you will become Mrs. Dudley. Delphinious doesn’t dabble in half-truths. Enjoy Jock Strap while you have him. His death just might be the answer that you’re seeking.”
I shake my head at his half-cocked philosophy. Gage’s death will never be the answer.
His gaze shifts to the box in my hand. “Please, do the honors.”
The box unfolds itself in my hands as if it too were begging to be opened. A lavender velvet bag waits patiently inside, and I hide the burgeoning smile. Take that, Emma. I’m sure this is a million times better than anything she could have picked up on sale—on Earth for that matter.
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