For This Christmas Only

by Caro Carson

  “They’re twins, so they’re extra close. I told myself they didn’t need me, so it wasn’t that bad if I didn’t go home and spend time with them during college. Those visits got more rare as I began being the businessman instead of the person. It’s hard to suddenly say, ‘Changed my mind. Let’s be family again.’ I’m making progress, though. Thank you for that.”

  “What did I do?”

  “You cried on me. You made me feel like I had some potential to be... I don’t know. To be there, if somebody needed me. After Eli had a perfect night with Mallory, he knew that even if the twins no longer needed him, he still needed them to know he was around, in case they ever did. So I texted them. She answered. He didn’t.”

  Mallory put her head back on his shoulder. His definition of progress was so paltry. This poor man, so grim. “What else did your therapist tell you?”

  “If I stare at enough fires, they won’t make me feel sick anymore. And I should be very careful to not fall in love with you.”

  She closed her eyes, one moment of pure emotion, not good, not bad, just an intense pulse, the inseparable blend of hope and fear, love and grief.

  Then she picked up her head and picked up the bottle of tequila. “That’s enough for now. I don’t know about you, but if I’m going to spend the rest of the night watching a fire until it burns itself out, if I’m going to do that while someone I care about talks to me like a lover, even though we’re not supposed to become lovers, I definitely am going to need a shot of tequila first.”

  She poured one glass and picked up a lime slice. Eli—because he’d always been Eli, deeply buried but abruptly freed by a terrible crash—pushed the second shot glass toward her with a smile that was at least two-tenths of a full smile.

  “Hit me up, bartender.”

  She poured while he made his way through the dark to the stove, coming back with a shaker of salt. He kissed the back of her hand, then sprinkled salt where he’d kissed. He licked the side of his finger with a wink that brought back all of that buzzy, aroused feeling she’d gotten accustomed to on her twenty-ninth birthday, then he salted that spot, too.

  Eli began the traditional toast. “Remember, life is always easier when you take it with a grain of salt.”

  They licked the salt.

  “And a shot of tequila.”

  They threw back the shots.

  Mallory finished the toast as fast as she could. “And-a-slice-of-lime.” She shoved the lime in her mouth to ease the tequila’s burn.

  Then she and Eli sat on the floor in front of the couch and stared down the fire, together.

  * * *

  Taylor woke up on the floor.

  He could tell it was daylight because the sun was trying to come in through his eyelids, but he wouldn’t let it. He kept his eyes shut, and drifted back to sleep.

  He drifted awake a minute or an hour later. With his eyes shut, his brain cataloged all the spots on his body that had been in contact with the hard floor for too long. In every house he owned, every interior designer scattered luxury pillows on a carpet in front of a fireplace for comfort. Taylor knew from hard experience that pillows were never that damned luxurious after an hour on a floor, let alone a whole night. He preferred a bed, always, with or without a bed partner.

  Speaking of which...there was a woman, breathing softly, using his chest as a pillow.

  He cracked open one eye and saw pink bunnies.

  Mallory. Holy smoke. Mallory. It all came back to him. She’d spent the entire night with him. How had he gotten so damned lucky?

  There’d been no sex, of that he was certain. His body would be flying from the endorphins, still. His heart would be—well, he didn’t know how his heart would feel once it got its heart’s desire, because that had never happened before. And it hadn’t happened last night, because when it came to Mallory, he hadn’t found the names for the emotions he felt toward her.

  He opened both eyes and looked up at the Christmas decorations peeking over the edge of the mantel. There’d been a shot of tequila. Before that, the dream. He hated that dream. Hated it every time. But this time, it had ended with Mallory to hold on to. Talking. Tequila. A fire that hadn’t transformed itself into anything except a couple of small logs in a modest fireplace. A woman falling asleep with her head in his lap while he wrapped a strand of her hair around the finger he’d used for the tequila salt. He’d unwrapped the strand, wrapped a different strand, over and over, until he’d fallen asleep, too. All in all, a damned good night.

  Would have been better on a bed. This floor was hard.

  Mallory was soft. In her flannel, she felt like the ultimate teddy bear, so wholesome, even with her thigh thrown over his. He reached down to move her leg and encountered her bare knee. He lifted his head an inch—a reflex—and saw Mallory’s very bare, very sexy thigh draped over him. Her nun’s habit of a nightgown was completely bunched up around her waist. If he picked his head up higher, he’d probably see what she wore below the waist, under her clothes—so hell, yes, he lifted his head.

  Nothing. She wore nothing, unless one counted a scrap of black lace that didn’t begin to cover the round curve of her backside, the very last thing he would have guessed lay under pink bunnies, a pink coat, a blue ski cap, a thong, good God, he’d never been so hard in his life.

  “Yoo-hoo. Anybody home?”

  What the hell? A female voice. Was it Wednesday? Had they come to restock the kitchen?

  “Eli, are you here?”

  Eli. The only woman who called him Eli was sound asleep in his arms. Except for his mother, who was in Monte Carlo. Or his sister, who lived hours from here, but sounded like she was in the hallway.

  “This house goes on forever. Have we been down this hallway yet? This must be the last of the bedrooms.”

  His brother’s voice. He hadn’t even texted back.

  Eli couldn’t believe they were here, his brother and sister. He couldn’t believe they were about to walk in on him—him and Mallory, sleeping together. At least he was dressed a T-shirt and pants, and Mallory’s nightgown was modest—oh, crap.

  It was instinct to try to cover her up as his siblings burst into the room, which was how he was caught with his hand spread over Mallory’s bare backside as his sister jumped off the bottom stair and threw her arms open wide. “Ta-da! Merry Chrisss...oops!”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Learning Objective: Define the term “rapid-growth firm.”

  —Senior Year Project by Mallory Ames

  “I was shielding you from their view.”

  “By putting your hand on my butt?”

  “Yes. Your underwear is too small.”

  Mallory rolled her eyes. This was absolutely, positively, the worst possible way to wake up, ever. She was never going to recover from this, ever. She was going to be beet red from now until the day she died.

  Eli had taken her aside to give her a quick update on just who these people were, but it had quickly become a hissing match between the two of them. His brother and sister were pretending to ignore them while sitting at the breakfast bar with their backs to the cold fireplace.

  “I thought you’d only just exchanged your first text message in a too small eternity. How did you not know they’d stop by? Do they live in Masterson?”

  “We live in Dallas,” his sister said cheerfully, turning around in her seat to address her older brother. “We came in your jet. You said we could use it in your text, so we’re using it.”

  Mallory was startled. His sister had heard their angry whispers from across the room.

  Eli cursed softly.

  “Heard that,” his sister said. “Oh, look what’s for breakfast. A bottle of tequila. Good thing I turned twenty-one. In Vegas. You should have been there.”

  Eli grimaced. “I forget how good her hearing is. It’s freaky.”

  �
��So, you have freaky wide-angle vision or whatever, and she has freaky hearing.” Mallory addressed his little brother, who was also six feet tall. “What freaky sense do you have?”

  “None at all. I’m just normal.” He said it with a smile, but it was subdued. Perhaps he felt like the odd man out in this trio of siblings.

  “Good. Then I like you best.” Mallory marched her bare-footed self over to the bar stool next to him and sat down. “I’m Mallory Ames, by the way, and I am never going to recover from this first impression. I’m very sorry for...it.”

  “I’m TJ,” he said. “You were asleep. He’s the one who should be very sorry for...it.”

  “I didn’t let you onto the property unannounced,” Eli said drily. “The security guard is the one who’ll be very sorry for...it.”

  TJ scowled, which made him look more like Eli. “He’s the guy you sent to Vegas to keep an eye on us. He knew who we were. Don’t fire him.”

  “I’m Eli,” his sister said. “My name is really Eleanor Elizabeth. You can call me Eliza. But Eli is pretty close, and when I was little, I wanted to be just like my brother.” She made a face at TJ. “My cool brother, so I made everyone call me Eli, too.”

  “That’s so cute.” Mallory turned to check on Eli—her Eli. He looked baffled, as if he had never seen any of the three people who were sitting at the breakfast bar before. She had to make a get over here motion with her hand behind TJ’s back.

  Eliza was perfectly capable of carrying the conversation if everyone else was too embarrassed, subdued or baffled to do it. “I got named after two great queens. Eleanor Elizabeth. Lucky me.”

  TJ sighed. “You do this every time.”

  “TJ got named after Roman emperors. Tell us what TJ stands for, TJ.”

  “Tacitus Jovian.”

  “Wow,” Mallory said. “I’ve never met a Tacitus Jovian before. What does E.L. stand for?”

  “He wouldn’t tell you?”

  Everyone looked at Eli.

  “She never asked. It’s Erasmus Leonardo. I got the Renaissance geniuses.”

  Everyone looked at Mallory, who tried valiantly to nod as if that was a perfectly ordinary baby name. “Well. Now that we’ve all been introduced, I’m going to slink away in humiliation and find something to wear that might be a little more dignified in case our paths cross again. It was nice to meet you. I’m sorry the power’s still out. I hope you three have a good time together.” She headed for the half staircase.

  Mallory’s hearing wasn’t amazing, but Eliza wasn’t trying to whisper, either. “She’s not leaving, is she? Your date ends first thing in the morning after a fun night of tequila? I like her. You should try talking to her when you’re not in bed.”

  “I do talk to her. She’s staying here for the holidays.”

  Eliza sucked in a happy-sounding breath. “Oh, that’s exciting. Go get dressed, too, so you can both show us around. Hurry up. No hanky-panky. We’re only here until seven tonight. Then TJ and I are taking your jet to Monte Carlo. We’re not as good as you are at getting out of Christmas with the parents.”

  * * *

  Eli knew he was doomed the moment the twins spotted the two-person kayak.

  “You have to race us. Rowboat versus kayak.” Eliza turned to Mallory to keep her in the loop. “If there are Taylors and boats, there must be a race.”

  TJ picked up one of the oars and gave it a spin. “If we’re not competing, we’re not a family.”

  Eli wasn’t imagining a touch of bitterness there. Or was he? He turned to Mallory.

  She only smiled at him as if they were a happy little couple, because they were faking it once again. They’d discussed it out of Eliza’s earshot, which meant they’d had to go to another room and shut the door.

  Mallory had objected: You only have one day. I’ll be in the way.

  He’d begged. I need you to hit me upside the head with that oilcan if I screw this up. I don’t want to screw this up.

  The oilcan reminder had softened her up a little. We’ll just behave like friends, right? I mean, we are just friends. Not lovers.

  Mallory, they’re going to think it’s weird if we’re all stiff and formal with each other, old buddy, old pal, considering how the day began.

  I can’t do fake kisses with you.

  How about real hand-holding?

  Deal.

  Since the power was still out, they’d all eaten Mallory’s granola bars for breakfast. Nobody had washed theirs down with tequila. Then they’d all started their tour of the house, worked their way outside, skipped past the empty stable, and zeroed in on the dock.

  “Do you need to do some warmups?” Eliza asked him. “Given your advanced age?”

  “Athletes always warm up.” Eli swung his arms, big swings to loosen up the shoulders, as Eliza stood still. “The smart athletes do, at any rate. If you capsize, it’s not my fault that you have to fly to Monte Carlo tonight in wet clothes.”

  TJ handed his sister a life vest. “Mallory has to get in the rowboat.”

  Mallory didn’t think so. “There are oars only for one person. I’d just be deadweight. A rowboat is slower than a kayak, already.”

  Eliza snapped her life vest shut. “Exactly.”

  They agreed to row and paddle out to a buoy, which gave everyone a warm-up. They’d race from the buoy back to the dock.

  Eli made sure Mallory was situated, then he pushed off, put the oars in the oarlocks and set his feet. It was like riding the proverbial bicycle, although he hadn’t been on the water in years. Easy as pie.

  Until he took the first real stroke. Catch—put the oar in the water at just the right angle. Stroke—pull the oar through the water. Release—lift the oar out of the water, bring it back to the start position. Catch, stroke, release.

  This was not his first time on the water in years. He’d been on the water, in the dark, in September. Catch, stroke, release. Dragging a pilot whom he’d thought was dead. If he’d released his hold on what he’d thought was a corpse, the pilot would have drowned. Eli would have murdered him without knowing it. Catch, stroke—

  He let go of an oar. It started to slip out of the oarlock. He caught it. Too many years of training didn’t abandon him, even now, while he was out on the water where explosions made him deaf, where he couldn’t hear the voice of the woman in the canoe.

  “I can row us back to the dock,” said a different voice.

  Mallory.

  “You don’t have to be out here if you don’t want to be out here. I’m on your side, whatever you want to do.”

  It was the voice of the woman he loved. Eli could hear her, and thank God, he could hear her, because he loved her.

  Can you name that emotion, Mr. Taylor?

  He was so done with that. The emotion was love, as obvious to him now as the oars in his hands, but naming it, knowing it, wasn’t enough. He wanted to act on that emotion. He needed to get over the traumatic event before he could do so, or else he might drag Mallory under, too. He was sick, literally sick, and very tired of waiting to recover.

  His therapist had been good, setting him on the path, pointing him in the right direction, but that pace wasn’t going to work any longer.

  He was E.L. Taylor, damn it, and he gave advice to people, too. He advised those who were ready for change to determine their core question and use that to make their plans. For Mallory, it had been Are you going to finish your degree? Eli knew his core question now. Are you ready to recover?

  The answer was yes.

  He looked into Mallory’s eyes, and he started rowing.

  The rowboat was nothing like a racing shell, clunky instead of sleek, but the basic motion was the same. The resistance of the water against the blade, even the sense of creating speed were there. It felt good. Then it felt great. Then Eli won the race.

  His sister poute
d while he gave her a hand to pull her up onto the dock. “You are such a show-off.”

  “Show-off? Show-off? You forced me to row.”

  Eliza smirked at him. “Oh, I read this great book. It says ‘Never say someone made you do it. You and only you control your actions.’”

  Eli trapped her arms in a bear hug from behind and picked her up before she could react. “It does not say that. You lost the race. You’re going in.”

  She put up a good fight, he’d give her that, and when he held her over the freezing water, she got in a really good kick on his left shin, which hurt like the devil and also made him proud. She was still as feisty as she’d been in third grade.

  But a lot bigger. He set her down on the dock. “If it wasn’t December, you’d be going in. Watch out when the weather gets warmer. When you least expect it, I’ll be collecting this debt.”

  Her face lit up. “This summer? I can come and live with you here this summer? My master’s degree is a year-round program, but I get almost the whole month of June off. I could bring my horse. That stable’s just sitting empty. I’ll bring two. We could ride.”

  Eli felt terrible—and honestly, a little claustrophobic at the thought of having his family moving in with him, bringing their animals, consuming his time. “No. That won’t work. I’m just renting this house for a few months.”

  There was a terrible moment of silence.

  Eliza shrugged. “It was just a thought.”

  But she looked like a six-year-old whose Barbie had just lost an arm. Eli knew that, because she’d once brought him her Barbie and its arm to fix. He’d laughed at the sight, and she’d immediately pretended she didn’t care if it ever got fixed, because it was just a dumb doll. He’d fixed it, but she’d never brought him another broken toy. It was shocking, how much damage one could do in a thoughtless moment.

  Eliza started to leave the dock. He’d told her no, that he wouldn’t spend the summer with her. He hadn’t meant it that way, just like he hadn’t meant to laugh at a plastic doll with one arm.