A Bravo for Christmas

by Christine Rimmer

  It didn’t last long enough.

  Much too soon, he was lifting away from her, taking her shoulders and pulling her up to sit on the edge of the desk. She blinked at him owlishly as he straightened her bra for her and buttoned up her white silk shirt.

  “There,” he said at last. “No one would guess what you’ve just been doing.”

  She didn’t need a mirror to know that she looked as aroused as she felt. “Liar.”

  He kissed her again. And then he said with real feeling, “You drive me out of my mind, Ava.”

  “I don’t have a lot of sympathy for your suffering, being as how we both know there’s an obvious solution to your problem. How much longer are you going to make me—make both of us—wait?”

  He kissed the tips of his fingers and pressed them to her swollen lips. “Not much longer.” The hot blue light in his eyes told her otherwise.

  “You’re a cruel man, Darius Bravo.” And she was loving every minute of this torture, so what did that say about her?

  He gently combed his fingers through her hair. “When it’s over, I want you to remember me.”

  “As if I could ever forget you.” She sounded desperate and adoring even to her own ears—so she added much more coolly, “I mean, I work with your family, I’m friends with your sisters and you’re the king of my daughter’s Blueberry troop.”

  He lifted her wrist and checked her watch. “Twenty minutes until you’re supposed to be showing that condo.”

  She jerked her hand away to check for herself. “You’re right. Go.”

  He caught her face between his hands and kissed her one last time, quick and hard. “Soon.”

  She gripped the top of her desk to keep from grabbing him and pulling that mouth of his back down to hers. “Get out of here.”

  With a low, knowing laugh, he turned for the door.

  * * *

  The Blueberry troop had its weekly meeting that afternoon.

  When Ava came to get Sylvie, Darius was there supervising the ongoing work on the dollhouses. Janice announced that it was time to clean up. Ava pitched in. Gathering up art supplies, she headed for the storage closet.

  She was stacking construction paper neatly back on a shelf when the closet door closed behind her. Simultaneously, the light went out, pitching the cramped, narrow space into total darkness.

  She knew it was Darius. She could feel him there, so close. Moving in closer. She smelled leather and cedar shavings. His big, warm hands clasped her shoulders.

  “Seriously? In the Blueberry clubhouse?” she whispered disapprovingly, though deep inside, she melted. “Have you no shame?”

  “None whatsoever.” He turned her around, pulled her against him and brought his mouth down on hers.

  She kissed him back. It felt too good not to.

  But only for a few seconds. Then she flattened her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “Enough. We’ve got to be out of this closet before the cleanup is finished and Janice starts talking again.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why. Because when Janice starts talking, everyone stands still, and there’s no way we can get out that door without somebody spotting us.”

  “Whatever you say, Ava.” And then he kissed her again. And she kissed him back with way more hunger and yearning than he deserved. He was the one who stopped it that time. He caught her hand, and she felt his soft lips brushing her knuckles. “Soon.”

  “That tells me nothing. When, exactly, is ‘soon’?”

  But, of course, he didn’t answer. He stepped back. A split second later, the light popped on, the door opened and he was gone. Shaking only a little with nerves and unsatisfied desire, she turned and went back to shelving art supplies.

  The next night, Tuesday, he called her at quarter after ten. “Miss me today?”

  She couldn’t help it. She grinned like an idiot. Luckily, it wasn’t a video call and he couldn’t see how happy she was just to hear his voice. “What have you been up to?”

  “Working. We finished a copper backsplash for a new Fort Collins bar. It’s a beauty if I do say so myself. And we’re filling a lot of orders for our stainless steel toolboxes. They come in three sizes—and how about pizza? Tomorrow night. I’ll bring the pies. I’m guessing Sylvie’s a pepperoni girl.”

  Ava said nothing. Because the fizzy, bubbly feeling inside her had gone flat. He wasn’t supposed to come to her house and hang out with Sylvie. And he knew that. Didn’t he?

  “Ava?”

  “I’m still here.”

  “Great then. Tomorrow night. Is six good?”

  “Darius...”

  A silence. Then he asked too quietly, “What do you think’s going to happen after New Year’s?”

  “What kind of question is that? We both know what’s going to happen. It’s over at New Year’s.” That is, if it ever actually even begins. “Darius, how many times have we been through this?”

  “I’m not talking about you and me. I’m talking about Sylvie and me.”

  “Sylvie and you? There is no—”

  “Yes there is, Ava.” His voice was suddenly as cold as the wintry night outside. “I like helping out with the Blueberries, and Janice has already asked me to help with another project next year. I like your daughter, and she’s my niece’s best friend. I’m not going to treat her like I don’t know her anymore starting January 1—and haven’t we already been through all this Saturday night when I asked you to bring her out to my place?”

  “Yes. So why are we talking about it again?”

  “Because you said you’d think about it, but you never planned to think about it, did you? You’d already made up your mind.”

  “Well, I...” She realized she felt guilty, which made zero sense. Why should she feel guilty for wanting to protect her child from heartache?

  “Loosen up a little, will you, Ava?”

  Why wouldn’t he understand? “I don’t want my daughter hurt.”

  “And how, exactly, am I going to hurt her?”

  “She really likes you, and I don’t want her thinking that you and I are together. That will only confuse her and possibly cause her pain.”

  Another aching silence from his end of the line. Finally, he spoke again. “You can’t control everything, Ava.”

  “I know. You’re right. I just...”

  “Is Sylvie in bed now?”

  “I don’t—”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “Yes. Sylvie’s in bed.”

  “I’m coming over.”

  “Wait. What? You can’t...”

  But he’d already hung up.

  Chapter Six

  She tried to call him back twice to tell him not to come.

  He didn’t pick up.

  Twenty-five minutes after he hung up on her, he was at her front door. And she was right there waiting in the entry hall, ready to answer before he could ring the bell and possibly wake Sylvie.

  She heard his boots on the steps and pulled open the door. And then she just stood there, staring at him, feeling lost and awful and full of impossible yearning. “What are we doing?”

  “Let me in, Ava.” His voice wrapped around her, warming her all over in spite of how he wouldn’t stop breaking all her rules.

  “Where’s your truck?”

  His mouth was so soft, his eyes as dark as the night behind him. “Down the street so no one will see it parked in front of your house.” He said it with resignation, playing her silly game because she’d asked him to.

  She stepped back. He came in. She shut the door. “Go ahead. Hang up your coat.”

  He took it off and hooked it on the hall tree by the stairs.

  She glanced down at the thick red socks on her fee
t. “Sylvie and I mostly wear socks in the house. So if you don’t mind...” He sat on the bottom step and pulled off his boots, setting them at the foot of the coat tree. “This way,” she said, when he stood again.

  She led him through the living room and dining room to the kitchen in back. Somehow, the kitchen seemed safer—farther from the stairs that led up to Sylvie’s room. And it had straight-back chairs, harder to get comfortable in. She gestured toward the table. He sat down. “A beer or something?”

  He shook his head. “Sit with me. Come on.” She took the chair opposite him. “Pretty house,” he said.

  “Thank you.” She rested her hands on the table and then didn’t know what to do with them, so she pulled them down into her lap. And then, for no reason she could understand, she started talking about her first home, the one she’d loved so much and lived in until she was nine.

  “When I was little we had a house a lot like this. It’s a few blocks away from here, actually, over on Primrose Lane. It was a little run-down, that house. But still, cozy and nice. A good house to grow up in, you know?” Dare made a low sound of confirmation and she added, “My parents owned it.”

  And really, why was she telling him this? She had no idea, and she ought to stop.

  But she didn’t stop. “It had been my dad’s parents’ house. I loved that house. I felt safe there. I was a happy little kid. But I didn’t get to grow up there. Mom got sick for a while, and Dad lost his job. Money was short. They had to sell the house. We moved to a rental. Dad still couldn’t find a job. Frankly, he didn’t look all that hard. He was worried for Mom and wanted to be with her. We got evicted. My brothers and I spent two years in foster care.”

  He regarded her so steadily. “I didn’t know that.”

  “Yeah. Well, it was a long time ago, and it’s not something I talk about much. Not something I really want to keep fresh in my mind. And at least it wasn’t forever. I was twelve when my uncle Evan, who owns a used car dealership in Coeur d’Alene, gave my dad a loan to buy the double-wide at Seven Pines. My dad finally found a job, and they let us kids go back to living at home, which was now at Seven Pines.

  “Somehow, we always managed to keep hold of that trailer. We all worked, doing whatever we could do—babysitting, yard work, house cleaning. I even did ironing for this lady whose husband wore white cotton shirts to work—the wrinkliest shirts I ever saw. I mean, honestly, who even has an iron anymore?” A tight laugh escaped her, one with way too much pain in it.

  But still, she kept on. “Every spare cent we got our hands on went to keeping the trailer and keeping food on the table. None of us wanted to get thrown back in foster care.” The story ran out on her. Again, she wanted to kick herself for telling it. At least she’d left out the worst part. He didn’t even need to know about all that. Lamely, she concluded, “So that’s why I always wanted my own house. A pretty house.”

  “Like this one,” he said gently. And then he reached out.

  She couldn’t deny him. She didn’t want to deny him. She put a hand on the table again and then slid it across to link her fingers with his. “Yeah. Like this one.”

  His hand engulfed hers, so warm, the skin a little bit rough in a way that seemed to her so manly, his grip confident. Strong. His thumb moved, stroking the heart of her palm, a caress that excited her at the same time as it soothed all the snarled and jumbled fears she could hardly put a name to.

  “It will be all right, Ava,” he said. “It is all right. I mean, look at you.”

  She glanced down at her baggy tan sweatshirt and leggings. “What?”

  He gave her one of those smiles that could light up the darkest room. “It’s only that you’re so pretty it almost hurts to look at you.”

  “Oh, yeah. Right.”

  He put on a stern expression. “Take a compliment, Ava. It’s not going to kill you.”

  She bit her lip to keep from grinning. “Ahem. Thank you.”

  “Better. And besides being smoking hot, you’re smart and determined and you’ve made a success of your life against some tough odds. I get that you’ve had hard times. But things are good for you now. You have a beautiful, smart daughter, a job you seem to love and the house you’ve always wanted.”

  She thought about Christmas, suddenly. About how pretty her house looked once she had all the decorations up, with a big wreath on the door and her Christmas tree in the front window, the branches thick with lights and treasures she’d been collecting since before Sylvie was born.

  And more than the tree and the wreath on her door, she thought about the light of the world, about hope in the darkness. About the glow on Sylvie’s adorable face when she came downstairs last Christmas morning. About everything that she, Ava, had to be thankful for.

  “I know,” she said. “I’ve definitely had my fair share of good fortune. And I’m grateful, for my little girl, for my family and friends, for my prosperity.”

  “So what are you guarding? What are you afraid of? What bad thing do you think I’m going to do that you can’t let me bring over a pizza and spend an evening with you and your daughter?”

  She pulled her hand back to her side of the table. “Of course I don’t think you’ll do anything bad.”

  The way he looked at her said he could be bad. Deliciously so. And she already knew from personal experience exactly how good his badness could be. “So give it up then,” he said in that voice with a growl in it, the one that rubbed along her nerves, striking off sparks. “Say ‘Yes, Dare. Come over tomorrow and have pizza with me and my daughter.’”

  “I...honestly, it’s what I said on the phone.” She lowered her voice to barely a whisper. “I just don’t want Sylvie to start having expectations that won’t be fulfilled.”

  “Even a seven-year-old can understand that her mother has friends.”

  “Well, of course.”

  “Why can’t you tell her that? Just say that I’m your friend.”

  Ava folded her arms across her chest, realized how defensive that looked, and unfolded them again. “Why can’t you just give up?”

  He arched a sable eyebrow at her. “Say no one more time and I just might.”

  What did he mean by that? That he would give up trying to bring a pizza over? Or that he would give up everything, this magic between them, their secret Christmas fling?

  She almost blurted out, Fine, then. Go. Have a nice life. But that would only be her past speaking, the scared voice of the girl she’d once been, the girl who’d lost her home for a while, had her family shattered, the girl who’d felt so very alone, so completely unprotected.

  No. She didn’t want him to go. He made her heart beat faster and her body ache with yearning. He was also patient and sweet and understanding.

  And he was right. Sylvie already adored him. And when Christmas was over, Sylvie would still see him, at Blueberry meetings, at Bravo family gatherings. He wouldn’t just vanish from Sylvie’s life.

  “All right,” she said. “Tomorrow night.”

  He gazed at her across the table, a steady look that still managed to have her thinking of tangled sheets and secret nights. “That wasn’t so hard was it?”

  She answered honestly. “Actually, it was.” Then she slid back her chair and stood. “We usually eat early. Five thirty?”

  He got up, too, and came around the table to stand right in front of her. “Five thirty’s good.”

  “No PDAs in front of my daughter.”

  “Ava.” He made a tsking sound. “I am the soul of discretion.” He tipped up her chin with a finger and kissed her, slow and oh, so sweet.

  And then he turned and headed back through the dining room and living room to the front door.

  * * *

  Sylvie yanked the door wide. “Darius! Mom said you were coming—and with pizza. I love pizza!” She glanced
down at the red-and-white pizza boxes in his hands. “You got Romano’s! They have the best pizza.” The landmark Italian place on the south end of Marmot Drive had been serving great food for as long as Ava could remember.

  Dare frowned down at the boxes. “One supreme and one with pepperoni. Do you think that will work?”

  “I’ll take pepperoni!”

  “I had a feeling you might.”

  Ava, behind her daughter in the doorway, shivered at the cold. “Sylvie, let Darius in before we all freeze to death.”

  Sylvie chose that moment to show off her good manners. “Please come in.”

  “Thank you.” He stepped over the threshold. Ava caught the door handle and pushed it shut.

  “Coat goes there.” Sylvie pointed at the coatrack. “And if you don’t mind, we wear socks in our house.”

  “I don’t mind at all.”

  “Here,” Ava said. “Let me have those pies.” He passed the warm, pizza-scented boxes to her. “I’ll just take these on into the kitchen...”

  “Don’t worry, Darius.” Sylvie beamed up at him. “I’ll stay here with you.”

  “Terrific.” He was shrugging out of his heavy jacket as Ava turned for the kitchen.

  She could hear Sylvie behind her babbling away. “The powder room’s right here, so you can wash your hands before dinner. And then, when you’re finished, I’ll wash mine, too...”

  In the kitchen, Ava set the pies on the table side by side and got the salad from the fridge. Sylvie had already set places for three and put out the salad dressings.

  “And after dinner, I can show you my room and we can play ‘Super Mario Kart’ even though it’s a school night—” Sylvie was still talking as she led Darius into the kitchen “—because I already did all my homework and when I do all my homework early, I get to play a game or watch a show.”

  “It all works for me.” Dare was looking at Ava. She tried not to get lost in those gorgeous blue eyes.

  Sylvie trotted over and pulled back the chair at the extra place. “Darius, you can sit here. Would you like some milk?”