Scott disappears into the kitchen after tugging off his own jacket and throwing it onto one of the dining room chairs. I don’t know if I should sit or what, so I linger in the entrance, my body still humming from the kiss.
I glance at the door, wondering if now is the time to leave before I make a complete fool of myself again, but I can't seem to make myself do it. Now that I've had a taste, all I can think about is having another.
He comes around the corner with two beers in his hands and gestures to the sectional. “Make yourself at home,” he says.
I take a beer and sip it, hoping it will cool me down. After a hearty swallow, I lean into the cushions, trying to relax. “You have a nice place.”
“Thanks, my parents left it to me.”
I nearly wince, remembering they were killed when he was overseas.
Before I can say anything, he cuts me off, “You don’t have to apologize.”
“I wasn’t going to, but talk about putting your foot in your mouth.” I start to stand, but he crosses the room faster than I could have imagined.
“No,” he says, cupping my cheek. “Stay.”
Scott
“Are you sure?”
I move to the fireplace, throw some kindling and logs in, and light it. The truth is, I don’t know if I’m entirely sure, but I know I want a few more minutes with her before I’m left with nothing but an empty house full of ghosts.
I settle on the couch next to her and take a deep swallow from my beer.
Faith holds hers up with a small smile. “Merry Christmas?”
I find my own lips tilting up again as I return the gesture. “Merry Christmas.”
She settles back, draining the rest of her beer. “I needed this after today, thank you.”
“Anytime.”
“I think I was over here once when I was little.” She says, and I search my brain, trying to remember. I don’t.
“You were? I’m sure I would have remembered you.”
A pretty blush stains her cheeks. “Well, you were years older than me. Doubt you paid much attention.”
I rest an arm along the back of the couch and angle toward her. “I’m paying attention now,” I say and am rewarded when her blush deepens. “What are you doing now? School?”
Her fingers worry at the sticker on the bottle and she shrugs. “Finishing my junior year of undergrad at State.”
“Lemme guess, you’re one of those wild college girls.”
She rolls her eyes. “More like one of the nerds who haunts the library. I don’t have time for wild right now.”
“No?”
Her shoulders lift. “Not really. I never saw the point of it, anyway. I have a scholarship, but my parents are essentially paying for my tuition. I wouldn’t want to disappoint them. My courses are pretty intense.”
I lift my beer for another deep swallow to satiate the dry spot in my throat. I remember all too well what it feels like to disappoint the people who believe in you the most.
Nodding to her now mangled beer, I say, “Want another one of those?”
She looks down, surprised to find the mess she’s made with the torn label. “Uh, yeah, sure.”
I know, even as I return to the living room with her beer in hand, that I should tell her to go. That I shouldn’t be such a selfish bastard, but I don’t. I want her to stay, so I hand her the beer and sit next to her again.
“What about you? What are you doing now that you’re out of the military?”
A whole hell of a lot of nothing, but I don’t tell her that. “Still getting adjusted.” I tap my prosthetic, already assuming she, like everyone else in this town, knows what brought me home.
“Believe it or not, I can relate.” My brows furrow, and I ask what she means, but she interrupts me with a wave of her hand, “But let’s not talk about that.”
I make a mental note to bring the line of questioning back around to her evasion, but let it go for now. “Are you staying here for long?”
She shakes her head. “No, I have to get back to campus day after tomorrow.”
Probably better for both of us, because the way I’m drawn to her won’t end well. Even knowing that, I can’t seem to make an excuse for her to leave.
The fire crackles and casts soft yellow light over her skin. Warmth cocoons us and the words I’d planned to say dry up in my throat, turned to dust by the consuming need to kiss her again.
When I don’t say anything, she takes matters into her own hands and leans forward to press her lips to mine. My bottle clatters to the floor, and I don’t care if its contents spill all over kingdom come as long as she doesn’t pull away.
And she doesn’t.
Her arms loop around my shoulders and pull me off balance. To right myself, I balance a hand on the couch next to her waist until I’m braced over her.
She’s leaving. She knows nothing can happen between us in such a short time. We’re both adults. We can handle whatever happens next. Or at least that’s what I tell myself when I lean down for another kiss.
I groan the moment our lips touch, and she opens her mouth for more. At first, I thought my reaction to her could be explained by simple surprise. She caught me off-guard the first time, I tried to tell myself. I haven’t been with a woman in more than two years; anyone could turn me on at this point. But the more I get to taste her, the more I’m sure it’s not just because she’s an available woman, it’s her.
I can’t remember a woman ever coming alive beneath me the way she does from just the contact of our lips. She arches against me, stealing the breath from my chest, and I use a free hand to angle her legs so I can fit between them.
There isn’t much room to maneuver on the couch, but it only serves to amplify the sensations. She twines her arms around my neck and slants her head to take the kiss deeper.
I forget about the empty house waiting for me as soon as she leaves, the dark torment of a night of horrors, and all the long days ahead of me. I lose myself in her soft skin and addictive flavor. Even knowing this moment will haunt me when she’s gone, I can’t help going back for more.
She shifts under me until we’re both on our sides and her back presses against the back of the couch. This allows her to hook a leg around my hip. Her head rests against my bicep, and I cup her hair as I nip at her mouth, moving slowly to draw open-mouthed kisses along her jaw and neck.
Her nails bite into my shoulders as I move to her ear. The little sounds she makes in the back of her throat are driving me crazy.
“Yes,” she whispers when my hand finds the hem of her dress and moves up her smooth skin.
“Christ,” is all I can respond when I tug down the cup of her bra and her softness fills my hand.
She throws her head back against the pillows as my fingers go to work, carefully shaping her fullness and then teasing the hardened tips. Her hips buck against me, and I turn my head away to get a clear breath.
I don’t get more than a couple strangled inhales before she takes my face in her hands and attacks me with her lips. There’s no finesse in this kiss. There’s no seduction game. There’s no plan, no stalking of the prey like there used to be when I got physical with a woman. It’s more like a conquering . . . and she’s the aggressor. She lays waste to all my objections, all my excuses, and something inside me snaps. I attack back without fear or hesitation or self-doubt.
The parts of me that had been holding back surrender once she lifts my own shirt to draw lines on my stomach. I forego breathing completely when they trace the top of my jeans.
And here I thought I would be the one testing her boundaries.
I stop her with a hand on hers when her fingers dip teasingly low. “Wait,” I say before things get abso-fucking-lutely out of control.
Her lips go to my throat, and my hands tighten on hers when her breath slips over my skin. “What’s wrong?”
“Need to slow down,” I manage.
She looks up at me, eyes shining and cheeks flushed. “And i
f I don’t want to?”
Though it pains me, I pull her hands up between us. “You’re leaving in two days.”
“All the more reason,” she says with a laugh and tries to break out of my hold. The sharp movement causes her to brush up against my prosthetic, which sends a spear of awareness through my clouded brain.
When I don’t smile back at her, her own smile fades. “Hey, I’m sorry. Did I do something wrong?”
I force myself to give her a casual grin. Running a knuckle down her cheek, I say, “No, you did nothing wrong.”
Carefully, I turn and swing my legs back down to steadier ground. I run a hand through my hair and glance back at her reclined form. I want nothing more than to sink back into her, but she deserves better than what I can offer her.
“It’s getting late,” I tell her. “Your family’s probably wondering where you are.”
She sits up halfway, a frown teasing her lips down. “I’m an adult, Scott. What’s really going on?”
I get to my feet. The rational explanation is one that still makes my own skin crawl, so how am I supposed to say it to a woman I’ve only just met? How do I tell her I don’t know if I can handle her eyes on all the worst parts of me?
I can’t.
So instead, I help her to her feet and kiss her on the lips. One last memory before I should say goodbye. “I respect the hell out of your dad, Faith, and I respect you. Much as I want to take you to bed, I’m not going to.”
She sighs as she pushes her hair out of her face and puts some much-needed room between us. The vulnerable look on her face has me feeling like an asshole, so I pull her close for another kiss.
This time, she’s the one to break away, and when she does, she can’t seem to meet my eyes.
Not for the first time, anger rises. At myself, for screwing shit up. At the circumstances that led to my losing a leg. At the world.
We reach the door, and she looks up at me. The growing frustration must show in my eyes because her gaze flits between the exit and me.
Good job, Green.
“You’ll tell your family thanks for me, right?” I say as she pauses in the open door.
“Of course. Do you want to meet us at our house tomorrow for dinner?”
No.
“Yeah, I can do that.”
“So, I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks with a hopeful glance at me.
I answer her with a kiss since I’m not sure my words would be truth.
“Merry Christmas, Faith,” I tell her, tipping her face up to mine.
“Merry Christmas, Scott.”
“Whoo-hoo!”
We both turn toward the shout and find her grandpa, a man in his early seventies, by the looks of it, strutting across the lawn with a cup sloshing over his bare chest. He hasn’t stripped down, thank God, but his white button up somehow made its way on top of a tree.
“Oh, no,” Faith groans. “I have to go.”
I give her hand another squeeze, and she pulls away. When she turns to go down the steps, we both find her whole family standing on the porch. I don’t know if it was us or her drunken grandfather that drew them outside, but either way, I have a feeling Faith will get the third degree.
One Year Later
Faith
I didn’t think the holidays could be worse than last year. Nothing can quite compare to having the best night of your life and then being rejected in front of your entire family. Mom keeps trying to tell me Scott's changed. About how he visits them all the time to talk G.I. Joe with Dad or help her around the house, but I try to change the subject whenever she brings him up. Even Grandpa brought him up on our last phone call. It's as if the whole lot of them are plotting against me.
With that in mind, I answer the incoming call with, “I’m not coming.”
Lila snorts. “Mom and Dad will kill you if you don’t.”
“I’ve already laid the groundwork for them. Besides, if they wanted me to come back for Christmas, they shouldn’t have invited Scott.”
For the past week, every time my mom calls to “check up on me”, AKA butt in, to see if I’m coming down for Christmas, I’ve been setting the stage for an “illness” that will keep me from traveling home for the annual get-together. On the first day, I pretended to sneeze. On the second and third, I developed a cough. On the fourth, I adopted a gravelly voice. If all goes to plan, I’ll be in full-blown fake flu during the Christmas party.
I don’t know if it’s the stress from finals or my own mind playing tricks on me, but I almost believe the act I’m putting on. My eyelids droop, and if it weren’t for the threat that Lila will rope me into going home, I’d pass out sitting up.
“C’mon, Faith,” Lila says, bringing my attention back to our conversation. “He's our neighbor and Dad's friend. They can't ignore him.”
I wince and contemplate smothering myself with my own pillow. “So they'd choose a neighbor over their own daughter.”
Lila makes a disapproving noise in her throat. “Don't be melodramatic.”
“C’mon, Liles, what’s one Christmas?”
She sighs. “Our grandparents aren’t getting any younger, you know.”
I sit up straight in my bed, crossing my legs underneath me. “They were fine last year. Besides, I remember Grandpa took down three cousins trying to get to the eggnog and then stripping down, again, in the front yard for the whole neighborhood to see.”
“A lot can happen in a year,” she says.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I’m just saying, do you really want one bad day to take away one of the few times a year we all get to spend together? It’s not like he’s going to be here anyway.”
“Did Mom teach you to lay on the guilt trip?”
The triumph is plain in her voice. “I may have learned a thing or two. Not all of us have had the luxury of moving out, yet.”
I think of my hectic schedule of classes and demanding boss and say, “Enjoy it while you have it. Soon enough you’ll have to pay bills and make your own food.”
“Sounds like heaven.”
“You’d think that until Mom isn’t there to take care of you when you’re really sick or listen to you when you have a bad day.”
“Says the person who is adamant about not coming home.” She pauses but then says, “Look, it would mean a lot to everyone if you came. Do it for me?”
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh, “you definitely learned how to give guilt trips just like Mom. I fear for your future children.”
I lean back against my pillows and press a hand to my head, feeling a swarm of intense emotion pass over me, making me lightheaded.
“Don’t worry. Everything will be fine.”
Famous last words.
On the drive back home, I have a lot of time to think about how I will handle the holiday madness. I have a plan just in case I run into Scott and another in case my family brings up the kiss from last year.
I’ll be nice. Cool, aloof . . . nice. Like he doesn’t deserve a moment’s thought, aside from a simple Merry Christmas.
Even if I’ve thought of nothing but seeing him again since last Christmas.
Above all, I plan to avoid every trace of mistletoe.
My careful plans go to hell the second I step inside.
Scott, who looks even better than he did last year, looks up from the ground where he’s playing with my cousin’s toddler. A mirroring look of surprise crosses his face before he clambers to his feet. The toddler, Leanne, if I remember correctly, starts squawking in protest at his abandonment.
“Faith,” he says as he lifts Leanne into his arms. “Didn’t think you would be here.”
I will murder Lila when I see her.
I lift a brow, silently asking why he would think I wouldn’t be at my own parents’ house for Christmas.
“I mean . . .” he stumbles over his words, and I’m surprised to find him actually flustered. “Your parents said you weren’t going to come home this Christmas
.”
“Change of plans. I’m surprised to see you here, too. I didn’t think you were coming.”
“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, but Leanne interrupts him by placing her hands on his face and babbling. “Sorry, give me just a sec and I’ll find her mom.”
I don’t have a chance to answer before he’s toting a gurgling Leanne back down the dim hall toward most of the commotion in the dining room. It works out, since I need a second to jump-start my heart and then another to hunt down my sister and murder her.
If Scott is determined to talk then he’ll find me. With that in mind, I head in the opposite direction to the living room where I find my grandparents snuggled together on the couch with the grandkids at their feet.
My grandma has an elbow propped on the arm of the couch and a small smile teasing at her lips as she listens to grandpa read a Christmas story to the kids. I lean a shoulder on the wall just inside the living room and listen, an identical smile turning up my own mouth. Leanne toddles in from the other room and takes a seat, rapt at Grandpa’s enthusiastic storytelling.
The apprehension I had about coming home melts away. Nothing is worth missing these memories, not even my own pride.
When the story comes to an end, I look up and find Scott standing on the opposite side of the room, his position mirroring mine. Except his eyes aren’t on my grandparents or the book, they’re on me.
My feet cement to the floor, and my lips part. All I want for Christmas is for this thing between us to go away. One evening with him, and it’s as if he altered my chemical makeup. Frankly, it pisses me off.
Over the past year, I’ve tried to forget the way he tasted, the scent of his skin, how he felt, but no matter how many blind dates I threw myself into, none of them have erased the memory of him.
Crossing my arms in front of me wards off the sudden urge to go to his side and contains the rise of need. I won’t do this again.
I turn away and stride down the hall, following the sound of raucous laughter to the kitchen where most of the adults gather at the kitchen table. I cast a cursory glance around the room to make sure there aren’t any errant sprigs of mistletoe dangling around before I actually walk in.
First to Fight Box Set: Books 1-5 Page 79