A Christmas Proposition

by Jessica Lemmon

  “I was...six years old.” He palmed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable sharing this story. “My dad and I went out. I can’t remember why. The grocery store, maybe? Gas station? Whatever was open at 6:00 a.m. on Christmas morning.”

  His throat bobbed as he swallowed, his gaze unfocused on a spot across the room.

  “We returned to our street and fire engines were lining both sides of it. Police cars wouldn’t let us close, so my dad climbed out of the truck and busted through the cops to see what happened.”

  He sighed and paused as if gathering the strength to continue.

  “The house was a total loss. My mom and my baby brother, Michael, didn’t survive the fire. They said later it was caused by faulty wiring.” The tilt of his lips was dark, humorless. “Half my family...gone, thanks to a shoddy electrician.”

  She let out a sound between a whimper and a gasp. What a horrible tragedy.

  “I don’t remember a lot from that day. More what happened in the years that followed. Sadness hovered in our apartment like a gas leak. There was no escaping. Until I did.”

  “Oh, Emmett.” She gave in and sat, grabbing his hand, holding it with both of hers. He stiffened next to her, his arm going taut, his expression unreadable.

  He shrugged one shoulder as if to assure her it was okay, but it wasn’t okay, was it? Losing a parent and a brother in a house fire when you were six years old could never be okay.

  She stroked her hand up his arm in an attempt to warm him, or maybe warm herself. Since he’d spoken it was as if a chill had come over the room. Like a ghost had passed by them both.

  Or two ghosts.

  She shivered.

  “Like I said, it was a long time ago.”

  Still. It wasn’t like losing half your family was easily forgotten. And he’d been a little boy.

  “Anyway.” He straightened his back, pushing the conversation aside. “Dad never was much of a Christmas guy, and I followed suit. And I’m not big on strings of cheap lights in my house decorating a highly flammable dead tree.”

  His hand was still in hers and she squeezed his palm.

  “It was an awful tragedy, Emmett. I’m so sorry.”

  He faced her, his expression younger somehow, or maybe lighter. Like unburdening that story had taken years off him.

  “I don’t normally share that.”

  “I understand why.” Who would want to relive that pain?

  His eyes dipped briefly to her lips, igniting a sizzle in the air that had no place being there after he’d shared the sad story of his past. Even so, her answering reaction was to study his firm mouth in contemplation. The barely-there scruff lining his angled jaw. His dominating presence made her feel fragile yet safe at the same time.

  The urge to comfort him—to comfort herself—lingered. This time she didn’t deny it.

  With her free hand, she reached up and cupped the thick column of his neck, tugging him down. He resisted, but only barely, stopping short a brief distance from her mouth to mutter one word.

  “Hey...”

  She didn’t know if he’d meant to follow it with “This is a bad idea” or “We shouldn’t get carried away,” but she didn’t wait to find out.

  Her lips touched his gently and his mouth answered by puckering to return the kiss. Her eyes sank closed and his hand flinched against her palm.

  He tasted...amazing. Like spiced cider and a capable, strong, heartbroken man who kept his hurts hidden from the outside world.

  Eyes closed, she gripped the back of his neck tighter, angling her head to get more of his mouth. And when he pulled his hand from hers to come to rest on her shoulder, she swore she might melt from that casual touch. His tongue came out to play, tangling with hers in a sensual, forbidden dance.

  She fisted his undershirt, tugging it up and brushing against the plane of his firm abs, and Emmett’s response was to lift the hem of her sweater, where his rough fingertips touched the exposed skin of her torso.

  A tight, needy sound escaped her throat, and his lips abruptly stopped moving against hers.

  He pulled back, blinking at her with lust-heavy lids. She touched her mouth and looked away, the heady spell broken.

  She’d just kissed her brother’s best friend—a man who until today she might have jokingly described as her mortal enemy.

  Worse, Emmett had kissed her back.

  It was okay for this to be pretend—for their wedding to be an arrangement, but there was nothing black-and-white between them any longer. There was real attraction—as volatile as a live wire and as dangerous as a downed electric pole.

  Whatever line they’d drawn by agreeing to marry, she’d stepped way, way over it.

  He sobered quickly, recovering faster than she did. When he spoke, he echoed the words in her mind.

  “That was a mistake.”

  Nine

  The following two days passed in a flurry of activity.

  Stefanie didn’t take the time to sit around and wonder what motivation lurked beneath her kissing Emmett, and she certainly didn’t give any brain space as to why he’d kissed her back.

  Until this morning.

  She’d slipped into the bathroom and showered, replaying the kiss and Emmett’s reaction to it. He wasn’t wrong. It had been a mistake to kiss him. And yet she’d wanted to kiss him again ever since. She had the tendency to lean in whenever she felt the urge, and that night she’d literally leaned in.

  After climbing out of the shower she blow-dried her hair, her mind a tangle of confusion. Mostly because kissing Emmett had felt undeniably right when it shouldn’t have felt anything less than...wrong.

  With no resolution in sight, she tabled the thoughts and set out from the B and B with a list and Emmett in tow. She had plans to finalize not only for the charity Christmas dinner but also for the wedding in which she was one of the main participants.

  She could hardly believe she was going to be married tonight.

  “May I help you?” a pretty dark-haired woman at the counter of the bridal boutique asked.

  “Yes, I purchased a Vera Wang wedding dress yesterday and paid extra to have it taken in by today.”

  The small boutique in San Antonio had displayed the Vera Wang on a mannequin in a glass case under lock and key. It was one of a kind, and exactly the type of wedding dress she would’ve picked out for a real wedding. Not that this wasn’t real, but she wasn’t in love, so that made it less real.

  “Tonight’s my wedding night.”

  “Congratulations!”

  But announcing it hadn’t made it any less surreal.

  “Sandy Phillips.” An older woman emerged from the back and greeted Stefanie using her alias. The last thing Stef needed was word leaking to the media that she was buying a wedding gown. “Danielle, could you please pull the vintage Vera Wang for Ms. Phillips?”

  “Of course.” Danielle vanished behind a curtain and Nancy, who was also the owner of the store, patted Stef’s hand.

  “Are you excited? It’s the big day!”

  If by excited she meant nauseous and ready to get it over with, then yes. Yes, she was.

  “Very.”

  “Is that your beau out front?”

  Stefanie turned to the wide plate glass window. Emmett’s SUV idled at the curb, the passenger-side window cracked, probably to release some of the warmth from the cab. He’d accused her of “cooking him” by turning up the heat on the passenger side, but she couldn’t help it that San Antonio was suffering a cold spell.

  “That’s him.”

  “Yum.” Nancy gave her a conspiratorial wink.

  After Stef had slipped into her dress to ensure the alterations were perfect—they were—she carried her dress to the car and draped the opaque black bag over the back seat.

  “Need help?” Emmett asked ov
er his shoulder.

  “No. I have it.” She closed the back door, then opened her own, climbing inside and buckling up. At least the sun was out today. The snow had turned into rain and what white stuff was decorating the ground and windowsills had melted away. “That’s the last item on my to-do list.”

  As he pulled onto the highway, she spotted a Starbucks sign on the horizon, and her mouth watered for a cinnamony, nutmeggy, sugary concoction.

  “Coffee!” she exclaimed. “Coffee and then I’m done with my to-do list.”

  “Here?” He pointed at a fast-food place as they passed by. At her aghast reaction, he chuckled, the sound low and comforting. “Kidding.”

  The thirty-minute drive back to the B and B was quiet, mostly because she was cocooning a toasted-marshmallow white-chocolate mocha. Seriously. So good.

  “Is this how you imagined your wedding day?” Emmett broke the silence, glanced in the rearview and changed lanes smoothly.

  “Every detail. Right down to the mocha and a fiancé I had to beg to enter with me into holy matrimony.” She smiled and he returned it, holding her gaze for a beat before he put his eyes on the road again.

  An odd ripple of comfort spilled down her spine. How was it that he made this outrageous situation seem normal?

  And how strange was it that she was proud to have chosen him as her groom, and relieved that he’d said yes to her proposal?

  * * *

  Emmett had experienced many catered charity dinners as a kid. Up close and way too personal. More than a few times his father had dragged him to a local church that hosted Christmas dinners for the “needy.” Emmett had always hated that word. To him, it implied that he was taking what he hadn’t earned, even though the parishioners never made them feel anything less than welcome.

  He remembered wearing his coat to fend off a draft in a dusty gymnasium and squeezing in with strangers and no elbow room at a battered plywood banquet table. Not that he hadn’t appreciated the efforts of the volunteers serving those dinners—he had. But the food had always been accompanied by a hefty dose of shame. He’d kept his ball cap pulled low and his head down, fearing he’d run into someone he knew.

  He’d vowed, while eating many meals of oversalted vegetables and tough meat, that the very second he was old enough to find a job, he would. And he’d make enough money to eat Christmas dinner at his own table in his own house. He’d never liked being served, and it took him several years to warm to the idea of going out to restaurants.

  But setting foot inside the venue Stefanie had prepared for her charity dinner didn’t bring back memories of those days. Mainly because the venue was nothing like the dusty gym packed with wobbly tables.

  The former banquet hall and restaurant had been maintained by a private owner in Harlington for rental during special occasions. Unlike a YMCA or gymnasium, the room was outfitted with wide round tables covered with shimmery gold tablecloths. The entire setup—from the elegant white plates to the stemware and the regal centerpieces of pinecones and white flowers—reminded him of a fancy Ferguson affair.

  “What do you think?” Stefanie looked up at him, her grin proud.

  He nodded, and then figured that after her hard work she deserved an actual compliment. “I’m impressed.”

  “Thanks!” She skipped off to the catering staff and another gaggle of people he assumed to be volunteers.

  Hosting a party. Yeah, she was in her element all right.

  The families had yet to arrive, but everyone else was in place. Volunteers dressed in T-shirts emblazoned with the words HARLINGTON CARES waited at the mouth of what Emmett assumed was the kitchen—no buffet setup here. Stefanie directed a few of the volunteers toward different points around the room. Three enormous trees dripped with ornaments and were surrounded by teetering stacks of wrapped gifts.

  The air smelled of roasted meat and underlying scents of herbs and butter. Emmett’s stomach rumbled. Lunch had happened too long ago, especially now that his nose had caught a hint of what awaited him.

  “Hey, this is where we’re sitting.” Stef grabbed his hand and tugged him to a table in the rear of the room, near one of the trees. A metal sign in the center read VOLUNTEERS.

  “I’m here as your security guy, not a guest,” he said as his stomach clenched in protest.

  “Hank and Albert over there are police officers, so you may stand down. Besides, what better way to protect me than sitting by my side?” She leaned in, her hand still warming his. “And it’s your last chance to eat and gather your strength before our wedding.”

  At the reminder of what was to come tonight, his stomach clenched for an entirely different reason. Her beautiful blue eyes, flaxen hair and indelible smile hadn’t changed, but since he’d allowed himself to taste those lips, the way he saw her had changed. No longer was she the untouchable sister of the mayor. Not since she’d touched him and he’d touched her back. The idea of having her as his had taken root and, without his permission, had outgrown Jack’s bean stalk.

  He’d felt the burn of lust for her since that unexpected kiss, and after they exchanged vows, he’d be damned if he’d back off.

  There was only one way to go with this woman, and that was forward.

  “You’re the one who’d better gather your strength.” He leaned in, his breath warming her ear. “Tonight I’m not sleeping on the cold floor alone.”

  Her mouth dropped open but no words came out.

  “What we do in bed is your call.” This close to her he could watch as her pupils darkened. “But we’re sharing the covers tonight.”

  “I thought—” she blinked a few times until she found the rest of that sentence “—the kiss was a mistake.”

  Yeah, well. He’d thought it was, too.

  And then they spent the next two days together and all he could think about was taking her lips captive again. Running his fingers into her soft hair this time, tilting her head and stroking her tongue with his...

  Easy.

  Last thing he needed was to get hard at a charity dinner.

  “There’s no taking it back now.” There wasn’t any forgetting it, either. Last night he’d lain awake in the chilled room wondering if Stef was awake, too, eyes on the ceiling, her mind on him. “You’ll have to kiss me one more time before we return to our room. Together. On our wedding night.”

  “Your wedding night!” A plump, smiling, dark-skinned woman approached and wrapped Stefanie in a hug. “Sandy, you didn’t tell me you were engaged! Introduce me!”

  “Emmett, this is Lakesha. Lakesha, Emmett.” Evidently there was no need for him to have a fake name.

  “I’ve worked with Sandy for two years in a row and I love her to bits and pieces. Probably as much as you do.” Lakesha shoved his chest and then squeezed one of his pecs. “Oh, and he’s solid as a rock. Nicely done.”

  She high-fived Stef and Emmett snapped a look from one to the other. Never before had he been high-fived over. A reluctant smile itched the corner of his mouth.

  Not only had Stef proposed to him, she’d initiated a kiss and now claimed him. He straightened his shoulders, forcing his posture into a stance that he hoped made him look like he belonged with her. A bizarrely heady thought since he knew he didn’t.

  Stef lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “Do me a favor and keep it under wraps. My family doesn’t know yet.”

  Lakesha visibly bristled and peeked around to make sure no one had overheard. Then pulled an invisible zipper over her lips and winked up at Emmett. “My lips are sealed.”

  Emmett watched his fiancée from the edge of the party, choosing to sandwich roasted turkey breast on a roll rather than sit down for dinner. The police officers who were working the event deserved to enjoy their meals.

  Stef didn’t sit much, either, hopping up to give a waiter direction or hustle off to the kitchen. He watched her stop at
least six times in front of one of the Christmas trees to rearrange the donated presents, or fuss over bow or ribbon placement. She was ridiculously adorable. It was the first time he was able to watch her with unabashed admiration, no other eyes on him caring that he did, so he watched. Watched her with equal parts pride and wonder.

  He’d known Stefanie in relation to Chase. He knew she was wild, quick-witted, sharp—and from observing her cry happy tears at Zach and Penelope’s wedding, a romantic sap.

  He smiled to himself at the thought. She was tender and open alongside headstrong and determined, and those combined traits made her even more attractive to him.

  He could do a lot worse in the wife department. She could do a hell of a lot better in the husband one.

  Even dressed down in black pants and a white sweater with sparkling gold thread woven into it, Stefanie Ferguson looked like royalty. Or at the very least a celebrity.

  He couldn’t believe no one had recognized her, but then he guessed she was mostly of interest to the city’s elite. The good people of Harlington, Texas, had bigger priorities than a Dallas it girl. Working hard to provide for their families, putting food on the table and shopping for school clothes for their kids took a lot of focus and effort. He could relate.

  After his mother and brother died, Emmett had taken on the role of parent. Van stopped caring, damn near stopped breathing. He mostly sat in front of the television, oxygen tank at his side and a glazed expression on his face courtesy of the prescription medication.

  At age ten, Emmett had been as responsible as an adult. He’d mowed lawns, picked up groceries for his elderly neighbors and had let some of the smaller kids in school pay him to play bodyguard. Anything to bring in cash so he could put food in his belly and his father’s.

  A little girl approached Stefanie, a battered stuffed teddy bear in her arms, and Stef knelt to give her a hug. Her face was so genuine and her touch so light, his chest give a tug. She wasn’t doing this for the publicity but for the people. He was beginning to see why she’d kept her secret, too. Chase talked to her as if he were in charge of her. As if she were a princess locked in a tower. Emmett could understand her desire to escape home and make her own way. He’d felt like that a lot growing up.