Holiday Confessions

by Anne Marie Winston

  “Make love to me,” she said. She had to think about how to explain why she’d kept such a secret, before she just blurted it out. Deliberately she raised her knee where it was snuggled between his legs and rubbed it lightly back and forth, feeling him shudder as his sensitive flesh was stimulated, and when he moved to cradle himself between her legs, she immediately began to rock against him. His shaft was growing steadily, filling, throbbing and hot against her, and when he arched back and she felt the smooth head probing her tender opening, a spear of arousal went through her. She placed her feet flat on the bed and pushed up and he sucked in a startled breath as her action pushed him deeply within her.

  He cupped her bottom in his big hands, tilting her up to receive his steady strokes, and as she felt the sweet surge of desire preparing to break over her head, she clutched at him, crossing her ankles behind his back to hold him deep and tight. I love you, too, she thought, but she couldn’t say it aloud until she’d been honest with him. I love you, too.

  They put up a Christmas tree in her apartment one Friday evening. Brendan couldn’t be bothered with decorating his own apartment.

  “It’s not that I don’t like Christmas,” he told her. “But I can’t see any of it, and it’s a hassle to get out a bunch of stuff and then have to put it all away again. I’ll be happy to help you, though.”

  “All right,” she said, “but you at least have to let me put a wreath on your door. And help me decorate my place.”

  “I’ll play Christmas CDs and eat cookies.”

  “Such a selfless volunteer.”

  He laughed, pleased that she wanted him to share preparations for the season. “It’s a deal.”

  They took her SUV out to a local fast food place that had set up a Christmas tree lot. Wandering through the rows of trees, Brendan squeezed her hand through the mittens she wore. It had gotten steadily colder since they’d run the previous week, and snow was predicted for the weekend. “This is great,” he said, inhaling deeply of the frosty air redolent with the scent of pine. “Brings back good memories from my childhood. My family always used to go out and cut down our tree together.”

  “That sounds nice.” She was a little wistful. “We always had an artificial tree. My mother said it was too difficult for a single woman and two little girls to put up a real tree.”

  “So now you put up a real tree of your own,” he said.

  “So does my sister. I do it just because it’s fun. She also does it because she’s determined to give her children a real Christmas holiday.”

  “You didn’t feel like you had a real one as a child?”

  She shook her head. “Mother never spent much time doing anything beyond what was necessary for CeCe and me. Don’t get me wrong—she’s not a bad person. But she was too absorbed in her hurt and anger at my father to focus on us.”

  “Do you remember them ever being together?”

  “Not really. I have a few vague memories of him playing with us, but no specific ones of my whole family together. He came back for about a year after he divorced the second wife, but by the time I was nine he had left again. Then he had three more wives during my teens and early twenties, and now there’s number six, the one he’s just about to marry.”

  He was a little stunned to think of what her childhood must have been like. “He must really like alimony.”

  That startled a laugh out of her, and she leaned her head against him for a sweet moment before they told the sales attendant which tree they’d selected.

  Back at the apartment, he helped her carry the tree upstairs and set it up in her living room. Since she had him to help, she told him, she could get a bigger tree than she normally did. He liked the way she assumed he could do most things unless he told her differently. He hadn’t helped with this particular part of the Christmas ritual since he’d lost his sight, and he found it deeply satisfying to be more than just a bystander. And he was even happier to get the damned tree up the steps without breaking either of their necks.

  She had delicate wooden snowflakes from Germany that felt fragile beneath his hands, a variety of balls and other ornaments that she told him were mostly red, silver and green, fluffy-feeling garland and a collection of Waterford crystal ornaments from Ireland. “My father has given CeCe and me one each year since we were born,” she said, putting a smooth, cool piece of glass into his hand.

  Exploring it, he realized that it was an angel, and it felt as if there was writing etched into one side. “What does this say?”

  “Baby’s first Christmas, with my name and birth-date. They all have my initials and the year on them.”

  “A nice tradition,” he pronounced. “We all have Christmas stockings made by my mother. And a lot of the tree ornaments were made by her at one time or another. If there’s a kind of needlework she can’t do, I don’t know what it is.”

  “I think it would be lovely to have things like that.”

  “Sorry, but I don’t do needlework,” he said, making her laugh.

  When they were done, he reached for her and drew her close, feeling the rush of pleasure he always got when her long, slim curves settled against him. “Thank you for making me do this. It feels like we’re creating some traditions.”

  She kissed his jaw. “I like the sound of that. Traditions.”

  “Things we’ll do every year,” he clarified, wanting to be sure she understood how important she was to his life. Funny, but in just under two months, she’d become as necessary to him as…as breathing.

  He felt her take a deep breath. “My sister has invited me to spend Christmas with her,” she said, “but I haven’t answered her yet.”

  Hearing the question she hadn’t voiced, he said, “I guess we’d better talk about how to handle the holiday. I want to meet your family—”

  “And I want you to meet them. Actually, CeCe has threatened to withhold my presents unless I bring you along for Christmas dinner.”

  He chuckled. “I want to introduce you to my family, too, but why don’t we make our plans first and then I can explain to my mother when we’ll be there.”

  “It would be nice to spend Christmas Eve here,” she said. “And attend my own church for the first time.”

  “That would be nice,” he said. “Church should be over by nine or so. Would you want to drive to your sister’s after that?”

  She shook her head. “I’d rather spend Christmas Eve right here with just the dogs and us. We can get up early in the morning and drive to CeCe’s.”

  “And then head for my family’s house sometime in the afternoon?”

  “Sounds like a plan.” He could hear amusement in her voice. “Although we might not fit into our clothing if we eat Christmas dinner at both places.”

  “I’ll risk it if you will.” He dropped his head, kissing a line down the sensitive column of her neck until he could nuzzle the hollow above her collarbone. “Are we done with the tree? Because I have a present I want to give you.”

  She laughed, sliding her hand down the front of his body to explore the growing shape of his arousal. “I can’t wait. Can I have it right now?”

  Brendan’s office Christmas party was held on the third Saturday of December at a local country club. Lynne was thrilled that Brendan wanted her to attend with him and meet his friends and co-workers. He’d already been to church with her twice and they’d met a number of people there. It was an intimate feeling to know that others regarded them as a couple.

  Still, this party made her horribly nervous. She wanted to look good for Brendan, even though he couldn’t visually appreciate it. The fact that those who knew him would be examining her was reason enough for her to want to do her best for Brendan.

  But dressing up, wearing makeup and doing her hair, brought nerves and fear back to the surface. She felt like she had in the first weeks after she’d quit modeling. She’d come home to live for a while until she could find a place of her own. Every time she left the house, she had felt like a field mouse ve
nturing out of hiding, exposing itself to predators. She’d been certain someone would figure out that she’d been a sort of celebrity, terrified someone would recognize her face.

  But as time wore on, she was struck by one utterly astonishing fact. Most people were far too wrapped up in their own lives and concerns to think much about the new face they’d just met. Every once in a while, someone would look puzzled, as Brendan’s friend Brink had, and ask if they’d met before. Not a single person had ever made the connection.

  She would tell Brendan soon, she promised herself. Before Christmas. Then they could start the new year with nothing hidden, nothing standing unspoken between them. Although, really, she was beginning to wonder if she was being paranoid, assuming someone was going to recognize her.

  It was the coloring, she had concluded months ago. Without makeup, her eyes were unremarkable and the facial emphasis was on her bone structure and porcelain skin. But with makeup…with the right makeup her eyes became dark, sultry pools. When she painted her lips in the bold colors that the red hair she’d had demanded, her mouth became pouty and eye catching. And then there had been that hair, a bright, curly explosion of attention-grabbing proportions. Without the hair, she was a whole new person.

  It had just taken her a while to relax and realize it.

  But now she had a quandary. She needed to dress up for the party. Dressing up meant wearing some makeup, making some effort. And taking the chance that her face might trigger someone’s memory.

  Still, she didn’t feel she had a choice. She couldn’t dress down. Brendan had told her that after Brink’s father retired in another year, Brink had offered him partnership in the firm. It was a wonderful opportunity for him, and she needed to support that.

  So she did what she could to camouflage herself. As A’Lynne, no last name needed, she’d nearly always worn the red hair loose and flowing to show off the curl. For the party, she pulled it up into a smooth, severe French twist.

  She’d usually worn black, as well, since the hair precluded a number of other colors. Brendan was wearing a tux so she needed to wear something long. She still had some striking gowns, but instead she drove an hour to her sister’s house one day and borrowed a deceptively simple pine-green velvet gown. It was sleeveless and fitted, with a draped cowl neckline, but it plunged to the waist in the back. She knew the texture and the cut would appeal to Brendan’s sense of touch, and it certainly drew attention away from her face.

  Her face. There was little she could do except go light with the application of color. She chose subdued earth tones rather than the brassy pinks and plums they’d used on her for photo shoots, did the best she could to make herself look attractive and classy without making her face unforgettable and promised herself she was not going to agonize about it all night. Not much, anyway.

  When he crossed the hall and knocked on her door, Brendan looked handsome and imposing in a severe black tux with a black shirt and tie. He didn’t have Cedar with him. He’d debated about bringing him, he told her, but had finally decided to let his guide relax at home, since they would largely be sitting at a dining table.

  Brink and his date picked them up. The party would be attended by several law firms in the area. Each firm’s dinners were small affairs, held either in private rooms at the country club or elsewhere around town. But after dinner, there was a dance in the club’s elegant ballroom, to which all the guests had tickets regardless of where their dinner party had been held.

  As Brink pulled into their parking lot, Brendan said to her, “You do realize it will be your job to let me know if I drop food on my lapels.”

  “Oooh,” she said as he helped her into the back seat of Brink’s Mercedes, “I guess that gives you some incentive to be nice to me.”

  He walked around the car, folded his cane, took his place beside her and slammed the door. While Brink was seating Amanda, Brendan leaned over and growled, “I intend to be very, very nice to you later, sweetheart.”

  “I can’t wait,” she purred, sliding one finger upward from his knee along his muscled thigh.

  “Ah-ah-ah.” He grabbed her hand and linked their fingers. “Unless you want to embarrass us both, that’s a really bad idea. It’s only a short ride to the country club.”

  Dinner itself was pleasant. They were seated at a table with Brink and Amanda, and the two men’s office assistants and their husbands.

  The other two women gave them a run-down of who was who in the room, with commentary from Brink, who seemed to be a one-man talk show. She was glad, actually, since it meant she didn’t have to talk much and people’s attention was focused elsewhere.

  After dessert, the tables were cleared and the live band began to play. It was an excellent group and as the notes of the first slow song began, he rose and took her hand. “Dance with me.”

  It was heaven. She hadn’t known him long enough to take being in his arms for granted. And she loved to dance. Brendan was a strong partner and with a minimum of direction from her to keep them from plowing into other couples, they moved extremely well together.

  During one break from the music, he asked Brink a low question, and when his friend answered, Brendan’s head swiveled to the left. After a brief nod, Brendan turned to her and said, “I want to introduce you to Mr. Brinkmen, Sr. His own father opened this firm and he took it over when Brink’s grandfather retired. Now he’s looking at Brink to do the same thing.”

  “And then you will become a partner?”

  Brendan nodded. “Brinkmen & Reilly, Attorneys-at-Law. Has a pleasant ring, don’t you think?”

  She laughed. “I do.”

  His voice deepened. “Sort of like Mr. & Mrs. Brendan Reilly also has a nice ring to it. Even better, Lynne Reilly. I like that particularly well.”

  Was he asking her to marry him? Completely thrown, she said the first thing that came into her head. “I love it, but since no one named Reilly has asked me to marry him, this is all hypothetical.”

  Brendan laughed so hard people around them turned to look. “Trust you to cut straight to the heart of the matter.” He slid his hands up her arms to cup her elbows. “Lynne, I didn’t intend to do this tonight. I haven’t bought a ring yet. But since we seem to be standing here tiptoeing around the most important topic we might ever discuss together…will you marry me?”

  Her head was reeling. She had to remind herself to breathe. “Brendan—are you sure? Wait! I didn’t mean that.”

  He laughed again. “I’d take a one-word answer right about now.”

  “Yes,” she said hastily. “Oh, yes!”

  Unaware, and probably uncaring of the curious stares of those around them who sensed something was up, Brendan slid his arms around her and kissed her, bending her backward so that she was clinging to his strong neck, depending on him to support her.

  When he raised his head, he said, “Hey, everybody, this beautiful lady has just agreed to marry me.”

  Around them, clapping, whistles and cheers erupted.

  “Way to go, buddy!” Brink was there slapping Brendan on the back, while one of the office assistants threw her arms around Lynne.

  “Congratulations, dear. Brendan is one of the finest young men I know.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but her mobile phone, in her small evening bag on the table, began to play its distinctive tune. Startled, she said, “Oh! That’s my phone. Excuse me.”

  Concern filled her even before she flipped open the top and spoke. She really kept the phone with her only for family emergencies, or so that her mother could reach her if needed. She honestly couldn’t even remember the last time it had rung since she’d moved to Gettysburg.

  “Hello?”

  “Lynnie?” It was CeCe, and Lynne immediately realized she was crying.

  “Cees, what’s wrong?” She felt her stomach drop as if she were in a plane that had just hit an air pocket. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” CeCe said, “but Lynnie, Daddy’s in the hospital. Can y
ou come?”

  “Of course.” Immediately she reached for a napkin and began to scribble down directions. “What happened?”

  CeCe cried harder. “He went jogging with the new wife-to-be. Apparently she’s a serious marathoner and they ran ten miles—and Daddy collapsed. They think he might have had a heart attack.”

  “Ten miles!” Their father was in excellent shape, but— “Didn’t he tell her he’s never run more than three or four in his life?”

  “You know Daddy,” CeCe said, her voice slightly calmer. “He’d die before he’d admit he wasn’t as strong and fit as a younger man.”

  There was a sudden silence as she realized what she’d just said, and then she began to cry again. “Can you come right away, Lynne?”

  “Of course.”

  Without hesitation, Lynne agreed and went to tell Brendan what had happened, disappointed and distressed at the dramatic turn of events. How could the best moment of her life suddenly become the worst?

  Nine

  On Monday morning Lynne called Brendan at the office. She’d kept in close touch since she’d rushed out of town Saturday evening to be with her father. As it turned out, he had, indeed, had a mild heart attack.

  Lynne had been overwhelmed with concern after speaking with her sister, frantic to get on the road, and Brink had driven them home immediately. There was no question of Brendan going; he needed to care for the dogs.

  She’d been a whirlwind back at the building. He was pretty sure she’d changed, packed and rushed out the door in under five minutes.

  “Good morning,” he said in response to her greeting. “How’s your dad today?”

  “Doing much better.” There was a wry note in her voice. “He’s getting boatloads of loving attention from Alison, the newest attraction. He might have faked getting sick before if he’d realized how much attention he’d get. Kidding,” she added with a laugh, “I think.”

  They talked for a few more minutes about her family, and Brendan reassured her that the dogs were well.