by Day Leclaire
"You win, okay? I’ll make your damn ornaments.” Anything to stop her. He gritted his teeth to keep from howling. "Just end it. Now."
But she kept going, slashing toward that dark place, forcing light on a time that held nothing but shame and despair. "It was your turn to dip the snowflake. You can't remember clearly what happened next. You've always wondered whether it was an accident or deliberate. Your foster parents claimed it was intentional, that you were too methodical and precise to have spilled the wax by mistake. Whatever the truth, the pan flipped and their five-year-old son was burned."
"They took him to the emergency room. He had to spend Christmas in the hospital because of me. Because of me!"
"You paid for that, Alessandro. Dear heaven, how you paid. You were placed in a facility for juvenile delinquents until your poppa came for you." Tears welled up and trembled on the ends of her lashes. "You spent Christmas there. A ten-year-old child who'd just lost his momma was locked up like a criminal. Isn't that punishment enough?"
"It's in the past. I don't have to deal with it anymore."
The tears fell, sliding down her cheeks. "Don't you get it? You're still dealing with it. You've never stopped."
"So Christmas isn't my favorite time of year. So what?" That had to be the understatement of the century. "I told you that when you first arrived. That's why I come to the cabin. That's why you and Nick shouldn't be here."
"You come here to hide from the memories, because you lost your mother at Christmas. And twenty-some years later your wife walked out on you, also at Christmas."
Ever so carefully he unwrapped his fingers from around Lauren's wrist. His hold must have been crushing, yet she hadn't uttered a single murmur of protest. What if he'd left bruises? Her skin was so pale and delicate. He'd never forgive himself if he hurt her. "Rhonda said Christmas was a time for passion. And that she'd lost all passion for me. She said she couldn't live with such a cold, barren man."
"Rhonda was wrong.”
"No, bella mia," he gently corrected. "She was all too right."
"Why? Because you've bought into her viewpoint? Because everyone thinks you're the unemotional Salvatore? The calm, cool, logical one?"
"Yea."
"It's a popular opinion, but it's not true." She straddled him. Sitting on his lap, she covered his mouth with her fingertips before he could argue. "You know full well that ex-wife of yours fell in and out of love faster than a round-heeled woman with a string of sugar daddies. You also know that you've gone out of your way to maintain a facade of emotionless logic in order to protect yourself. You've encouraged that opinion in order to conceal the truth. Why, you're the most passionate of all the Salvatores."
He couldn't help it. He laughed, the sound rough and edgy. "Now I'm positive you're crazy."
She released her breath in a long sigh. "Rhonda's passion was fleeting. No doubt it always will be. But yours is forever. That's why the wounds slice deeper, because the emotions are so powerful. That's also why you've worked so hard at self-control. You're afraid of what might happen if you ever turned those emotions loose. You might hurt someone. You might send a small boy to the hospital again," She cupped his face. "But it wasn't your fault, Alessandro. Do you hear me? It was an accident. Those people had no business putting a grief-stricken boy in the vicinity of hot wax. It was disaster in the making. Nor do I believe for one little minute that it was deliberate. You had five brothers, most of them younger. Would you have ever done anything to harm them?"
“The boy wasn't my brother."
"I see. So you wouldn't have hurt Pietro or Rocco or the twins, but any other little fella was fair game?"
"You know that's not what I meant!"
"You can't have it both ways. Either you were a nasty little tyke who took joy in harming others. Or you were methodical and precise under normal circumstances, but careless this time because the circumstances were far from normal. Which is it?"
"Don't you get it? I don't know. I can't remember!"
"Yes, you do. It was an accident. You just won't admit it because it gives you the barrier you need to hold your emotions at bay. It's like the chain and ring you used to wear around your neck." She stabbed his chest with her index finger. "It was the keeper of your pain, the container for any feelings you didn't want to claim. It held the death of your mother and the injury of that little boy and a wife who didn't understand the depth or complexity of the man she married. That ring and chain protected you. Now that you don't have those circles of protection anymore you're forced to deal with feelings you've avoided for years."
He didn't want to hear any more. Couldn't bear to hear any more. Not when each word rang with such savage truth. He silenced her the only way possible. Thrusting his hands deep into her hair, he sealed her mouth with his.
"Does this feel like I'm avoiding anything?" He took her mouth again and again. "Or this? Or how about this one? Is that emotionless enough for you?"
"No." Lauren sounded decidedly breathless. "I think you're expressing your emotions just fine."
He reached down to cup her bottom and tug her closer. Her thighs wrapped around him, encasing him in warmth. He wanted her, even more than he had earlier. He fisted his hands in her sweater, about to rip it off. Behind them Nick pounded on his pots with renewed enthusiasm, startling them both. For a long moment, they sat frozen, sanity slow to return. Gradually the desire ebbed, leaving only regret in its wake.
"We can't do this," Alessandro muttered. "Not here. Not like this."
"Not with Nick looking on, you mean."
"No. But it's not just him." The air gusted from his lungs, his breath sounding as ragged as Lauren’s. "I shouldn't want you so badly. But I do."
She stared in confusion. "I don't understand. Why shouldn't you?"
"You know the answer to that. Think about it."
Her eyes widened with sudden comprehension and she wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his shoulder. "Meg," she said simply.
"Yeah," The specter of nine long months' worth of dreams played in an endless reel through his head. "Meg."
CHAPTER EIGHT
The night before Christmas…
SHE came to him again, all silk and sweetness and heady feminine perfume. She was quieter today than he'd ever seen her, the incandescence of her joy dimmed by some worry she refused to explain. He didn't press. They hadn't known each other very long and he suspected that had a lot to do with her reticence. Trust came with time. Unfortunately, they didn't have much to spare. In the few remaining days they had together she not only needed to trust him, but to learn that he was steady and dependable and above all, safe.
He grimaced. Maybe she'd have an easier time believing in him if he hadn't told her so many stories about his father and brothers and the legendary Salvatore charm, none of which tended to inspire a feeling of either trust or safety in women.
She spent the afternoon creating her latest "critter" while he helped by cutting lengths of wire and sorting through the various piles to find the choicest leaves and twigs and pine needles for her to use. He enjoyed working with her, sitting near her, exchanging the occasional look and touch and kiss. After a couple hours her creation took shape. It was a famous trio of monkeys, he realized, wryly amused. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil.
What had she said the other day? "Everything around here is whispering to you, tryin' to tell you their special secrets.” He didn't have to listen too hard to hear this particular secret.
"I gather they represent our relationship?" he asked.
She didn't look at him, her focus on the monkeys. Stubborn woman. "Maybe."
"Okay." Patience, he reminded himself. Patience was a virtue. A damned annoying one, but still a virtue. “Let's try this another way. What is it you don't want to hear?"
His tactic worked. The movement of her hands lost their graceful symmetry. "How long, Alessandro?"
"Until I leave?"
"Yes."
"Five more day
s." He asked the next question. "What is it you don't want to see, sweetheart?"
"Your car." He had to strain to catch the gruff words. "Vanishing down my drive."
"And what is it you don't want to say?" he continued tenderly.
"Goodbye." A teardrop splattered on her worktable. “I don't think I could hardly bear it if I heard that word come out of your mouth."
"Then it won't."
Her head jerked up and she glared indignantly. “You'd be rude enough to leave without so much as a 'see ya later, darlin’, it's been swell'?"
He buried a smile. "I have something a little better in mind than that.”
Suspicion darkened her eyes. "What?"
"How about this...." He leaned closer, his mouth against her ear. "I love you, sweetheart. I love you today. I'll love you tomorrow. And I'll keep loving you for the rest of our lives.”
His sincerity broke through her barriers, the fear and reticence and suspicion slipping from her gaze. She came to him with sweet generosity, laughing and crying and whispering all the words she'd kept from him that morning. Desire flared, as it always did between them, and he lifted her into his arms and carried her toward the bedroom.
He was helpless to resist what she so unstintingly offered. He wanted her. Needed Her.
Took her.
Alessandro glanced over at Lauren, his brows drawing together. Dammit all! After doing her level best to avoid him all day—not to mention the discussion he'd attempted to start on four separate occasions—she'd capped off the evening by curling up on the couch after dinner and falling sound asleep.
She still looked like a woman who'd been through hell and back, though the tension etching her features had eased significantly from when she'd first arrived. The past year must have been unbelievably difficult. Knowing that he'd contributed to her burden bothered him more than he cared to admit, and as soon as the paternity test confirmed that Nick was his son, he intended to redress that omission.
Nick played with his usual self-sufficient intensity on the floor between the couch and the fireplace and Alessandro used the opportunity to surreptitiously continue with his current project—one he found more difficult than he could have imagined. He'd almost finished the first stage and just needed a quick hour of privacy to complete the final details.
A small noise distracted him and he glanced casually toward the couch again, before coming out of his chair with a bellow. "Nicky! No!"
He hit his feet running, diving for his son at the last possible instant. Scooping up the boy, he rolled away from the fireplace and curled his body around Nick, protecting him from the crushing weight of the folding fireplace screen as it came smashing down on top of them. Intense heat burned through the glass-and-steel frame and Alessandro thrust it off him with a sharp blow of his elbow. Beneath him Nick howled in fear.
Lauren reached them before Alessandro could gain his feet, kicking the screen further out of the way before literally ripping the flannel shirt off his back. "Nicky?" she questioned tersely as she examined him.
"He's fine. Just scared." He stood gingerly, flexing his muscles, his son still clasped tight in his arms. Aside from a sore elbow and shoulder, both of which felt more muscular than burn-related, he didn't think he'd sustained any real damage. "That was close."
“Too close. Kitchen," Lauren ordered. Plugging the kitchen sink, she filled it with cold water, dropping in a handful of ice cubes. Pushing Alessandro into a chair she inspected his injuries. “They're not bad. You're a little red, but I think you got the screen off before it could give you a serious burn. We'll try some cold water compresses and put burn ointment on and see how it looks in an hour. If it starts to blister, we'd best get you to the hospital."
"The emergency room is the last place I want to be on Christmas Eve. I'm sure it'll be fine."
She didn't comment on his observation. For the next fifteen minutes, she tended to him while he comforted Nick. It wasn't until she'd finished and they'd returned to the living room that he got a good look at her. For all her calm efficiency, she appeared hollow-eyed and stricken, but she wasn't crying. Amazing. It took him an instant to realize why.
"You think this is your fault," he accused.
"It is." Her jaw set. "I fell asleep. If I'd been watching Nicky like I was supposed to, this never would have happened."
"Last time I checked, there were two adults in the room, remember? I knew you were asleep. The responsibility is mine. All mine," he emphasized.
"Nicky could have been—"
He cut her off without compunction. "Stop it, Lauren. We're not going there. It was an accident. He's safe. And I'll survive, too." He retrieved his shirt from in front of the hearth. The buttons had all popped when she'd ripped it off him rendering it useless and he tossed it aside. "It didn't occur to either of us that Nick would try and pull himself up using the fire screen. From now on, we'll be more careful. Right after Christmas I'll have the screen changed from a freestanding one to something attached directly to the hearth. Until that gets done, we'll ace out any more fires."
She started shaking then. Delayed reaction, no doubt. "I messed up," she insisted, clutching Nick close. "This time I really messed up."
Nick squirmed for release. Aside from the word, "Ma-ma," his gruff bass litany of complaint defied comprehension, but the tone came through loud and clear. Alessandro retrieved his son and put him on the floor well away from the fireplace. He didn't seem any the worse for their small crisis, though if his aunt didn't calm down, that could change.
"Use some common sense, honey.” He kept his tone low and reasonable, the way he did whenever his brothers overreacted. Inspecting the fire screen, he noticed that one of the glass panes had split from Lauren kicking it over. He set the folding panels carefully in front of the hearth, hoping the heat wouldn't shatter the cracked glass before the fire died and he could dispense with the screen altogether. “Try and put your emotions aside and examine the situation logically. We've both looked at this stupid thing any number of times and neither of us thought it posed a danger."
"I should have realized."
"Really?" He threw her a quick glance over his shoulder. "Why you and not me?"
"Because…" She took a deep breath. "Because I know he has a tendency to pull himself up on whatever's handy."
Alessandro shrugged. "I know that, too. I've seen him do it often enough. If either of us had thought the screen was a hazard, we'd have discussed it with each other and decided how best to baby-proof against a possible accident. On top of which, I noticed that you'd fallen asleep and had the choice of either watching Nick myself or waking you."
"But—"
"I took on the responsibility,” he argued. “That makes the fault mine. End of discussion."
"At least tell me what's going to happen when you find out Nick's your son."
He didn't have a clue what she was talking about. "I don't see the problem."
"What will you do?" she persisted.
“I’ll take responsibility for him. Did you think I wouldn't?" He crossed from the fireplace to confront her. "Dammit, Lauren. You know me well enough by now to realize I'd never desert—"
"Alone?" she interrupted. "Will you raise him alone?"
His brow furrowed. He still couldn't figure where she was going with this. "As you've pointed out several times, I have family who will be more than happy to help."
She swallowed visibly and presented him with her back. "Of course."
Her words were uttered with heartrending stoicism. He understood then and cursed himself for a fool. "Did you think I'd take him away from you?" He caught her by the arm and swung her around to face him. "Because of this?”
"It does happen. Children get taken away all the—” Her voice broke and she covered her face with her hands.
"You're the only mother he has," Alessandro soothed. He snatched up a tissue and pried her hands away. Cupping her chin, he dabbed at her eyes. "I'm not going to separate the two of you. I prom
ise. We'll work something out."
She took the tissue from him and scrubbed away the tears. "You don't understand," she insisted fiercely.
"There's nothing to understand. If there's one thing you should know about the Salvatores, it's that we believe family sticks together. That includes you." She didn't argue, but he had the distinct impression he hadn't convinced her, either. He let it go. There’d be plenty of time to reassure her over the next couple of weeks. "Come on. There's something I've been meaning to do all day.”
"What?"
He'd succeeded in distracting her. Lifting Nick in one arm, he wrapped his other around Lauren's shoulders. "I've been meaning to thank you for cutting my hair."
She regarded him with wary suspicion. "And how, exactly, were you plannin' to do that?"
"I have the perfect way."
She disengaged his arm and took a hasty step backward. "This is because of my itty-bitty mistake, isn't it?"
"Yup."
"What are you gonna do to me?"
He grinned. "I'm going to strip you naked."
"Oh, heaven be merciful," she breathed. He couldn't quite tell if the prayer was meant to protect her or if it was an endorsement of his plan.
"And then I was going to dump you in that swimming pool that passes for a bathtub and give you an hour of privacy to soak.”