His Christmas Miracle

by Dani Collins

  She seemed to melt in his arms.

  He was a goner.

  *

  He made her feel like she was the only woman he’d ever seen in his life as they took their time undressing each other, kissing, lightly caressing, following the contour of a collarbone, a bicep, the indent of waist or the flex of a shoulder blade.

  He drew the straps of her bra down, and his hand shook as he very gently cupped her breast. “So beautiful,” he murmured, thumb grazing across her nipple. He pressed his mouth to her bare shoulder. “I can’t believe how beautiful you are.”

  She could feel the hunger in him, his strain as he struggled to hold back, making him hard everywhere. He wanted to take his time, give them time. It was seductive and enthralling and she grew more and more aroused, quivering with desire by the time they stood naked, skin against skin.

  “You’re shaking. Scared?”

  “No,” she said on a gasp as he massaged her breast again. “I mean, I’m nervous, but I feel like I’m going to fall down.” She touched his beard, filling her palm with the thick silk. He was so handsome he stole her breath.

  They flowed onto the bed, not bothering to get under the covers, just lying atop the blankets, limbs entangled as they kissed and nuzzled and caressed. He ran his lips down her neck. This time, he went all the way to her breast, taking her nipple so she gasped at the flood of heat. Sweet sensations ran into her loins, making her ache at the fork of her thighs.

  “Quincy.” His nipples were sharp where her palms stroked across them. He was so hard against her thigh. So hot. She touched him, feeling the jerk that went through his whole body.

  He lifted his head and covered her hand, showing her what he liked as he kissed her, then he touched her, too, gently parting where she was slippery and yearning. As his fingers drew lazily back and forth, she tightened her fist on him, only realizing she was biting his lip when he gave a soft grunt of pleasure-pain and pulled back, then took control of their kiss in a hungry way that was so exciting she started to lose herself in the pleasure he was giving her.

  “I’m sorry,” she gasped, drawing back a little so she could look at his bottom lip. “Did I hurt you?”

  “It was sexy. I thought you were almost there.”

  “I was.” Am. She’d never been so turned on in her life. “I want you with me.”

  He reached back. Seconds later, he had himself covered. He gathered her close again, making a gruff noise as he ironed her onto his front with firm hands, like he wanted to absorb her right through his skin.

  She couldn’t help the greedy sobs that escaped her throat. She arched for maximum contact, few thoughts drifting in her head save for this being the most singularly exquisite experience of her life. When he kissed her again and rolled onto her, she made a noise of deep approval.

  Then he was there, sliding deep into her, the sensation so sharp and strong she moaned into his mouth and wrapped her legs around his, holding him there so she could savor the connection.

  They barely moved for a few minutes, just kissing and enjoying the union, looking into each other’s eyes at one point to see the other’s gaze was just as clouded with pleasure. More long, drugging kisses. Then, as if he knew something she didn’t, he began to move.

  “Oh.” Sensations ebbed and flowed with his lovemaking, filling her with pleasure, drawing her tight with loss as he pulled away, then basking in the joy of his return. “Oh, Quincy.” She couldn’t hold back. Crisis rose inexorably and she was suddenly flying apart, shuddering in the arms that cradled her.

  He slowed as her climax faded into soft pulses and rolled so they were side by side, still joined. He was still hard inside her.

  “I wanted to do that together,” she pouted, not really in a position to complain when she felt so danged good.

  “I’m not ready for it to be over. Do you mind?” He rolled further, so he was on his back, pulling her atop him to stroke her back.

  She made another satisfied noise as the movement stimulated where he still possessed her. With a luxurious movement on him, she admitted, “I don’t mind one bit.”

  She felt like a femme fatale, a woman with the power to test a man’s control. For the next few minutes, she controlled their lovemaking. She kissed him, had him at her mercy, and loved the way he watched her through slitted eyes, the way he reacted with tight noises of tested restraint.

  It was an illusion, of course. The bolder she grew, the more aroused he became. He ran his hands over her with purpose, as deliberate in his attempts to provoke desire as she was. And when he was ready, he rolled her beneath him again.

  “This time,” he said through gritted teeth. “Together.”

  He moved with that powerful rhythm that had been her undoing the first time. This time, he was less reserved. She lost the last of her inhibitions and encouraged him. They bordered on aggressive so determined were they to meld into one being, but they were lost to the act, to each other.

  When the peak arrived, they crested it with identical cries of joy and loss.

  *

  Quincy wished he’d thought to pick up something for dinner while he’d been out.

  He wished he’d stayed with Nicki. Or talked her into staying here. Not to cook, although Quincy very much feared that, left to their own devices, this house of bachelors would rely on a steady diet of packaged foods.

  No, he just wanted her to be here.

  Where was she by now? He didn’t know what time she finally drove away. He had left while she slept, leaving a note that had taken him way too long to draft. He’d wound up a few minutes late picking up his father and son after dithering over what to say. He still thought he’d revealed too much. Or not enough.

  Wasn’t sure I could leave if I woke you. Call me when you get to your dad’s so I know you arrived safely. You’re amazing. Q.

  Had she been okay with waking to a note? Angry he hadn’t said a proper goodbye? He really had struggled to force himself away from her after holding her for an hour while she slept.

  Should he have asked her to stay? He kept thinking of her calling herself a failure. He couldn’t stand between her and her dream. She deserved this chance to prove to herself she could succeed at acting. At anything.

  They were very different personalities, too. They couldn’t work as a couple in the long run. Could they?

  They had fit well in bed. She fit in his life, damn it. The house felt empty without her.

  He bit back a curse, grabbed a lasagna from the freezer, and wanted to shove his head in the oven as he flicked it on. He wanted to cook out all these clashing thoughts.

  Atlas came into the kitchen, a thankful distraction.

  “Finished reading with Pops?” Quincy asked.

  Atlas nodded.

  “Can I do dis one now?” He held up a round piece of paper with crayon scribbles across it. It was the last paper ornament from the Advent calendar.

  How did something so innocuous have the power to deliver such a heart punch?

  “What does it says?” Atlas asked.

  “What does it say,” Quincy gently corrected, then read aloud, “Light a candle and say a prayer for all the moms in heaven.” He stifled a sigh, thinking his emotions were a little too close to the surface for that one. He wanted to refuse out of self-preservation, but managed to find a compromise. “We’ll get everything ready, but we’ll do it later, after dinner, when it’s time for bed.”

  Quincy moved one of the kitchen chairs to the sink and fetched the bag he had left in the pantry. Nicki always involved Atlas in the simplest of chores, and Quincy had begun to follow her example. His initial thought had been that it was quicker and easier to do things himself, but he was starting to see the value in keeping a kid busy and letting him learn how to turn on taps or hold a broom or pick up a towel and hang it on a rail.

  Half the time it was a disaster, but Atlas had an inquisitive mind and an eagerness to learn. Quincy found it entertaining to watch his son experiment and try to maste
r something.

  In gathering the items for this activity, Quincy had to settle for a goldfish bowl from the pet store. He vaguely thought a fish might be a good starter pet, to see how they fared with one. Something to think about when Atlas’s birthday rolled around.

  Quincy gave the bowl a rinse, then set it in the sink, pointing to a random spot halfway up the side. “Fill it to here, but only use this tap. See the letter C? That means the water is cold.” He pointed. “This one is hot. You could burn yourself. Don’t touch that one.”

  “H. Hot.” Atlas held his hands in the air like he was being robbed. “Don’t touch.”

  “Nicki teach you that?” Quincy guessed with a private chuckle and a fresh pang of loss.

  Atlas nodded and proceeded to test the different pressures of the cold tap while watching the bowl fill.

  Tell him you love him.

  He did love his son, Quincy recognized. Somehow, this wiry little bundle of curiosity had wormed into him in a way he didn’t even understand, but what he felt was everything he understood love to be—loyalty and affection, trust and a desire to spend time with the little guy.

  “When is Nicki comin’ back?” Atlas asked with a swish-stop, swish-stop of the knob.

  Quincy’s thoughts stuttered with the run of water. “She had to go see her father for Christmas, remember? Then she’s going away to work. You remember she told you that?”

  Atlas nodded. Swish-stopped. Swish-stopped.

  “But when is she comin’ back? How many sweeps?”

  “How many sleeps? Son—” A sense of foreboding came over him, making the words stick in his throat. He had to force them out. “She’s not coming back. I thought you understood that.”

  Atlas stared up at him, water pouring in a steady stream. His face fell into anxious lines. His eyes filled to brimming pools. In a small voice, he asked, “Like Momma?”

  Oh, hell. “No. Not like that—”

  The bowl was overflowing. Quincy snapped off the water, but there was no stopping Atlas’s breakdown. His chin crinkled, then his whole face screwed up. He clenched his eyes shut and tears squeezed out. As they began to roll down his face, his arms went straight. His mouth turned down before it opened in a wail of anguish loud enough to hurt Quincy’s ears.

  His cry penetrated like a knife all the way to Quincy’s soul.

  Quincy managed to bite back the curse that came to his tongue, but he didn’t know what to do. He started to reach for the boy, hesitated, then told himself not to be so damned scared of loving someone. It was hard for him, yes. He was out of practice, and he didn’t know how to love this person.

  But Atlas was broken. Inconsolable. And he was the boy’s father.

  He supposed he had expected rejection, but as he picked up the boy, Atlas wrapped his arms around Quincy’s neck, buried his face in his throat, and cried so hard it scared him.

  Atlas cried and cried.

  Quincy’s eyes stung. His heart cracked and expanded past its confines, wishing futilely that he could reach into the boy and fix his broken little heart. His arms ached where he held the boy’s weight. His shoulders ached where he tried to hold back the world of hurt crushing his boy.

  “It’s okay, son. You have me. I love you.” The first stammer of the statement felt awkward. Too honest. It was the realness that made it scary and hard. After that, though, it was easier. He set his cheek against the boy’s hair and rocked him back and forth. “I know you miss her.” It wasn’t just Nicki he was missing. Quincy knew that. “I’m so sorry your momma is gone. But you have Pops and me. We both love you. So much.”

  He didn’t try to tell Atlas to stop crying. It was long past time he let this out.

  Hooking his foot on the chair leg, Quincy pulled it away from the sink, then sat and settled his son in his lap, keeping a tight hold on him, rubbing his back, hating this feeling of helplessness, but giving the boy’s grief its due.

  Eventually, Atlas wound down into small, shuddering breaths, arms still clinging around Quincy’s neck. The fingers of one little hand flicked against his beard in a way that was odd and endearing. He kept up the movement like it was a comfort action, petting the corner of his father’s jaw while he grew heavier and quieter until he stilled. Quincy realized the boy had fallen asleep.

  He started to carry him upstairs, but Pops saw them and frowned with concern. “Sick?”

  “No, just—” Quincy looked into his son’s tearstained face. “I’ve screwed up, Pops. Big time. Having Nicki here… He fell in love with her.” The weight of that was so much heavier than the boy’s slight weight in his arms. “Now he’s not just missing Karen. He’s going to grow up thinking all women leave.”

  Pops set a heavy hand on his shoulder and gave him the man-to-man stare, even though he was a good half a foot shorter than Quincy.

  “Son, if I gave you a list of all the times I felt like I failed you, you’d wonder why social services hadn’t been a regular part of our lives. Having Nicki here was the best thing that could have happened for you and Atlas.” He smiled indulgently at the way Quincy cradled the boy so lovingly. “The only mistake you’re making is letting her go.”

  “She’s gone,” he said helplessly, turning away to start up the stairs.

  He had failed to tell her he loved her, so she left.

  The words had been too big, too close to the bone. Of course she wouldn’t stay if he only wanted to see if they could fall in love. She might have stayed, though, if he had told her he was already there.

  With a shaken breath, he sat down on Atlas’s bed, tucked his stuffed dog against the boy’s chest, then snugged his son closer into his own chest, like a teddy bear from which he could find comfort for his own loss.

  *

  So much for an early start. It was almost five o’clock before Nicki got away after waking alone. That had stung, but at least Quincy left a note. Not a love note, but one that said she was amazing. He had asked her to call when she got to her dad’s.

  She was fighting tears as she made her way out of Marietta. Had she really expected more after they made love? A grand gesture? A declaration that he couldn’t live without her? She understood enough about Quincy to know he didn’t do things like that. Talking wasn’t his forte.

  Meanwhile, her forte was being rejected, so she got pretty much what she expected. Good thing she was going back to acting because she was as much a failure as a nursing aide, falling in love with her boss, then crashing and burning at that—

  Oh, damn, she couldn’t see the road. She pulled over and dug through her mess of stuff for the crumpled box of tissue buried on the floor of the passenger side. Her foot slipped off the clutch. Her car lurched and stalled.

  Par for the course. She snapped off the radio, not in the mood for Pentatonix, even though “Mary Did You Know” was one of her favorites. She blew her nose and mopped up her cheeks, but the tears kept leaking out.

  Failure, failure, sniff, failure. Outside, a few tiny flakes drifted down while she sat on that lonely stretch of road and threw the biggest pity party no one was around to see.

  She didn’t want to leave Marietta. Nothing about what awaited her in Texas made her excited. She did want to see her dad, she allowed. Spending time with the Ryans had reminded her that her time with her own father was finite. His health was good, but no one lived forever. She should stop taking him for granted.

  Sniff.

  But what about the acting job? Yes, it was a good one, but it was one job. One that would last a few years if she was very lucky, then she would be back to auditioning. She had said, “Yes,” to salvage her tattered ego. Maybe she was still trying to say, “See?” to Gloria.

  For heaven’s sake, why? Because she had never forgiven the woman for not being her mother? For trying to keep her from leaving Glacier Creek? For trying to protect her from battering herself nearly to death against a high, hard wall? What a crime! How dare she?

  Sniff.

  Nicki didn’t want to go to Texas
and pretend to be someone’s wife and mother. She didn’t want to chase some old ambition that had been motivated by a need to escape deep sadness. She was sad now, and she was doing it to herself, inflicting loss on herself because she was afraid Quincy didn’t really want her to be his wife and the mother of his child.

  Children?

  Sob.

  Being a stepmom used to be her idea of hell. Now she thought it would be such an honor if he would let her have a place in Atlas’s life.

  So why was she leaving? Because he hadn’t begged her to stay?

  She pulled out his note from where she had tucked it in her bra, against her skin. You’re amazing.

  She’d spent years being told she was too dark, but couldn’t carry off blond. She was pretty, but not as pretty as her headshot. Her brown eyes made her look ethnic, but not ethnic enough. She was too tall, too heavy, not chesty enough, maybe if she could sing… Did she want to do nude scenes? Because that opened doors…

  Quincy didn’t criticize her. The only thing he had ever tried to change about her was telling her not to call herself a failure.

  The words he had written, the way he had made love to her, even the way he came to say a private goodbye… Those were his version of a grand gesture.

  And his actions? She was a student of human behavior. The way he had acted toward her, most especially today when he refused to make her choose between her career and him, that told her louder than words he genuinely cared for her well-being. In the same way he wanted what was best for his son, he wanted the best for her.

  She was so used to being rejected, she’d seen Quincy as another broken dream waiting to happen. He hadn’t told her to go. In fact, he had said he would like her to stay, but that he wouldn’t ask her to.

  He didn’t want to make her choose.

  Holding the steering wheel, she tipped her head back and groaned at the ceiling.

  Quincy understood that walking away from acting had to be her choice, but she had made that choice last year, when she went back to school. Yes, she’d done it with a certain wistfulness, wishing she had at least landed one really great role before she gave up, but guess what? She had landed that role.