by Terri Garey
“Here,” he murmured, wrapping me more securely in the afghan and tucking the ends around me. “You’re shaking. I’ll start a fire.”
I didn’t answer, finding it hard to look at him. He got up and busied himself by opening the fireplace screen and tossing a few logs in from the basket I kept beside the hearth. There was kindling there, too, and a lighter. I heard the flick as he set the kindling alight, blowing gently as it caught. The growing flames illuminated the planes of his face, but I saw only his profile; his eyes were still in shadow. He closed the screen, and coming back to the couch, wrapped both arms around me and pulled me close.
“You’ll be warm in a minute.”
I buried my face against his chest. He smelled like sleepy male and clean cotton, his T-shirt soft against my cheek, muscles hard beneath the fabric.
With a sigh, he rested his chin on the top of my head, holding me tight. The fire crackled, burning higher, but other than that, the house was quiet.
“You said his name,” he finally said, “and more. That’s what woke me.”
I stiffened, tried to sit up, but he tightened his hold. “No,” he murmured. “Stay here.”
There was no reason to ask whose name, or whatever else he’d heard. Horrified with myself, I tried to apologize. “Joe, I—”
“Shh,” he said again. “Let me talk.”
Raising a shaking hand to my face, I subsided.
“I owe you an apology,” he murmured, surprising me. “I never realized how hard it must’ve been for you, knowing I was dreaming of someone else.”
I went still. We hadn’t delved too deeply into the topic of what had happened between Selene and him yet, though I’d told him all about Josh Rayburn and Selene’s role in Angie’s death. I hadn’t wanted to talk about the things she’d done to him, or with him, in the dark of night, but with a sigh of my own, I realized that now was as good a time as any.
“I told myself that dreams were only dreams, and that they meant nothing in the big scheme of things,” he went on. “I blamed you for making me feel guilty about it, when secretly I didn’t want the dreams to end.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” I said, still tense. “She had you under a spell. Mary’s breath, her tears…you were a victim, a pawn in something much bigger than either of us ever imagined.”
He shook his head, denying my words. “You tried to tell me, more than once, that there was something supernatural at work, and I wouldn’t listen. I was a willing victim—I know that now. There was…” He hesitated. “There was a part of me that knew, all along, but I didn’t care.”
My breath caught. I stared into the flames, and let it out slowly.
“So now you know,” he murmured against my hair. “My own dark, dirty little secret.”
This time, when I pulled away enough to sit up, he let me. “Why are you telling me this?” To be honest, I wished he hadn’t told me; it was a lot easier to believe otherwise.
“Because I don’t want any more secrets between us, Nicki. We’ve been through too much together, and I love you too much to lie to you, even in my heart.”
I could see his face clearly now. His beautiful, beloved face, wearing an expression of guilt and worry that I never wanted to see there again. Blinking back tears, I whispered, “You’re a much better person than I am.”
He made a noise of disgust. “Hardly. You were willing to risk everything, including our relationship, to help a troubled kid through a very tough time, while I was thinking only of myself.”
“You didn’t know,” I said again, but he wasn’t having it.
“I should’ve known. I would’ve known if I’d just paid attention.” He looked away, into the fire. “I let myself be seduced, thinking I was somehow special because she’d chosen me over all the other men in the world.” Giving a short laugh, he shook his head. “It wasn’t until I heard you say his name tonight, and knew you were with him in your dream, that I truly understood how hard it is to resist that teeny, tiny voice inside our minds that says, No one will ever know. I never realized, until now, that we all have a piece of our soul where darkness hides, sometimes even from ourselves.”
I was silent for a moment. “I’m so sorry about tonight, Joe.” Here he was, confessing his secrets, while I’d so far been unable to confess mine. “I know what you mean about feeling special because you’ve been singled out, even when it’s for something you didn’t think you ever wanted.” Uncomfortable, I stared into the flames along with him, finding it easier to admit my own guilt if I didn’t look at him. “I love you, not Sammy, but whenever he’s around it’s as though my body has a mind of its own. He’s made it clear that he wants me, and I guess there’s a secret part of me that was flattered by his attention. I’ve always resisted him, always, but tonight…this dream…I feel like I’ve been unfaithful to you.”
Joe sighed, rubbing my shoulder. “No more than I, baby.”
“What are we going to do?”
He looked at me, and pulled me close again, lips against my hair. “We’re going to do what we’ve always done, and work through it. Right now, though, we’re going to sit here a few more minutes and enjoy the fire, and then we’re going to go into the bedroom and light an entirely different one.”
I smiled, snuggling against his chest with an overwhelming sense of relief.
“And if I ever see that guy again, I’m going to punch first, and ask questions later,” he said firmly. “Prince of Darkness, my ass.”
“Does that mean I’m allowed to scratch Selene’s eyes out if she shows up again?”
He didn’t hesitate. “Only if I get to watch. Every man in America enjoys a good catfight.”
“Rowrr,” I murmured, contentedly.
CHAPTER 25
“No fair,” protested Evan, “it’s my turn to open a present!”
“What a baby,” I said good-naturedly. “Butch has his already, so you’ll just have to wait.”
Butch held up the box in his hand and shook it, deliberately prolonging the moment. “Hmm,” he said, “what could it be?”
“Open it,” Evan cried, never one for patience. “Rip it open!”
“Bloodthirsty, isn’t he?” Joe laughed, leaning back on the couch next to me, and putting his stockinged feet up on the coffee table. Not that there was much room between the torn wrapping paper, bits of ribbon, cinnamon rolls, and coffee cups that littered it. “It’s like watching my sister’s two-year-old at Christmas.” He looked happy and relaxed in his sweats and T-shirt, wearing the brand-new blue robe I’d gotten him. The maroon one held bad memories for me now, and it would find a great home at the homeless shelter.
“I think it’s a book,” Butch teased, knowing full well that it was too big to be a book.
Evan, knowing he was being tormented, tossed his head and took another sip of his mimosa. He was wearing flannel pajamas and a silk robe, with fur-lined slippers. “Why must we take turns, anyway?” he asked. “We should all just open everything at one time.”
“He says that every year,” I murmured sotto voce to Joe, knowing Evan could hear me perfectly well. And then I said to him, “Because this way is much more fun, and you know it. Lasts longer, too.”
“Well.” Evan sniffed, taking another sip and reaching for another cinnamon roll. “I’m all for anything that lasts longer.”
“Hey!” Butch swatted at him and Evan pretended to flinch, smiling. “That’s what you get,” he said sweetly. “Now open the present!”
Butch’s “book” revealed itself to be a pair of slippers, the perfect match to Evan’s own, only bigger. I’d gotten a pair, too, although mine were black with teeny pink skulls on them.
“Okay, your turn,” I said, after Butch had put on his slippers and pronounced them fabulous. I tossed Evan his gift from me, and we all watched as he gleefully put aside his breakfast to make short work of it. “A cashmere sweater!” he exclaimed, as if the idea had never occurred to him. “Just the right color, too.”
“Ame
thyst,” I said dryly. “I hear jewel tones are in this year.”
“It’s Joe’s turn to be Santa,” Evan cried gaily. “Let him hand out the next round of presents.” He leaned back in his seat, stroking his new sweater like a pet as he and Butch exchanged a smiling glance.
“Okay,” Joe said, readily enough. He got up to rummage beneath the tree, which was on my side of the couch. “Let’s see, Butch just opened one, Evan opened one, that means it’s Nicki’s turn…”
Right then the phone rang. Since it was sitting on the coffee table right in front of me, I could see from the caller ID that it was Kelly’s cell phone.
“Wait just a second,” I said to Joe. “Let me tell Kelly and Grandma Bijou Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas to you, too,” Kelly said, when I answered. She was cheerful, buoyant. “I have some great news!”
“Yeah?”
I was watching Evan, wondering why he and Joe were looking at each other so strangely, when she said, “Spider proposed! We’re engaged!”
“Kelly and Spider are engaged,” I announced excitedly to the guys. “That’s wonderful!” I said to Kelly, and meant it. “You two are meant for each other.” Besides, it was what she wanted. “What’s the ring look like?”
Both Evan’s and Butch’s expressions went slack, which surprised me. I would’ve thought they’d have been happier for her.
“A round solitaire in a gold band,” she said, with a sigh. “Simple. Perfect.”
I smiled at the image of Kelly standing there, admiring her ring, and vaguely wondered why Joe, Evan, and Butch were so quiet.
“Grandma Bijou wants to talk to you, and you have to say hello to Odessa—”
“No, I don’t,” I said automatically, though I would. Odessa was more than just Grandma Bijou’s housekeeper, and for all her gruffness, I knew there was a softie underneath. Somewhere. Buried under mountains of soul food and mournful disapproval.
“Spider wants to ask you about getting him a vintage tux for the ceremony.”
“A vintage tux? I knew the man had great taste,” I said, laughing. “I’ll put Evan right on it!”
Evan, however, didn’t look too thrilled at the assignment. He and Butch exchanged another look, and I could no longer ignore that something was up.
“Listen,” I said to Kelly, “let me call you back, okay? I’ve, ah, I’ve got to get the turkey in the oven or it won’t be ready on time.” Which was a total lie because it was already in the oven. Evan had helped me with it before we sat down to open presents. “It’ll just be a few minutes.”
“Okay,” she said cheerfully. “When you call back I’ll tell you all the details,” she went on, obviously still excited. “Spider got down on one knee right in front of the Christmas tree, while Bijou and Odessa were watching. They knew all about it beforehand, of course…it was so romantic!”
“I want to hear all about it,” I said. “Talk to you in a few minutes.” As soon as I broke the connection, I looked around the room at three of the most unhappy faces I’d seen in a long time. “What’s the problem here?” I asked. “What’s going on?”
Joe cleared his throat, and I looked at him—really looked at him. He was on one knee, right in front of the Christmas tree, next to where I sat. He was holding a small red box.
“It appears that Spider has stolen my thunder,” he said softly, “but Nicki Styx”—he opened the box and held it toward me, offering it, along with his heart—“will you marry me?”
Evan made a faint noise of suppressed excitement, but I was barely aware of it.
I got the faint impression of sparkles—lots of sparkles—but I was looking at something far more important. All I saw were those deep green eyes, and that dark hair that would one day belong to our children—even if we only had one child, a girl with a quick laugh who would, in turn, give us three grandchildren.
“Yes,” I said, without hesitation. “I will.”
“Yay,” squealed Evan, as I fell into Joe’s arms and kissed him, right there on the floor, nearly knocking him over.
“The ring,” Evan urged, once the kiss was over, nearly beside himself with impatience, “look at the ring!” He was beaming from ear to ear, as were Joe and I.
He didn’t need to say it a second time. Joe still had the box, and he held it toward me, one more time.
It was vintage, I could tell at a glance. Square-cut diamond, framed by smaller diamonds, in an ornate silver setting. Edwardian, maybe.
Not simple, nothing like Kelly’s.
Perfect.
I reached for it, fascinated, but he pulled it back.
“Uh-uh,” he said, grinning at me. He took it from the velvet himself, and reached for my hand. “Let me.”
It slid onto the third finger of my left hand like it had been made for me.
“Oh my God,” I breathed. Joe leaned in and kissed me again, while I, for some reason, just couldn’t stop smiling.
“Wow,” breathed Butch, leaning back in his chair. He took a sip of his mimosa and then clinked glasses with a bouncy, jubilant Evan. “That was intense.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” Evan beamed. “Like a fairy tale. A Christmas fairy tale.”
“A Christmas carol,” Butch corrected him happily, “where everyone lives happily ever after.” He raised his glass, and offered a toast to the room at large. “This has been the best Christmas ever,” he said, holding his glass high, “and here’s to happily ever after.”
Joe and I picked up our mimosas, and we all four clinked on it.
“Now,” said Evan, ever the busy little busybody. “How soon do we get some babies in this house? I saw the most adorable little blue T-shirts the other day that said, ‘Spit Happens.’”
I shook my head, laughing. “Pink, Uncle Evan. You’re going to need to buy pink.”
Joe arched an eyebrow at me. “You sound pretty sure of that, babe. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
She will have dark hair and a quick laugh, and she will love you dearly, as you will her, the woman at the Christmas bazaar had said.
Reaching out to ruffle his dark hair with the fingers of one hand, I looked into his eyes, smiling. “Some things are just meant to be, my love. After all, who are we to question the ways of fate?”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank all those people who helped bring the character of Nicki Styx to life: the wonderful women of Rotrosen (Meg, Annelise, and Christina), my talented editor Erika, Tom Egner for his fabulous covers, Esi and Amanda for being so incredibly easy to work with, and everyone in the marketing department at Avon Books who helped me share Nicki’s books with the world.
But most of all, I’d like to thank my readers. There’s no greater compliment to a storyteller than being told you’ve made someone laugh, made someone sigh, or caused someone to leave a light on while they sleep. Your enjoyment of my stories is what makes writing them worthwhile. I hope you enjoy this one.
About the Author
A Southern girl with an overactive imagination, RITA® Award winner TERRI GAREY grew up in Florida, always wondering why tropical prints and socks with sandals were considered a fashion statement. A former computer analyst, she now spends her time writing demented tales from the dark side. Please visit her on the web at: www.tgarey.com or www.harpercollins.com/terrigarey .
Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins author.
By Terri Garey
SILENT NIGHT, HAUNTED NIGHT
YOU’RE THE ONE THAT I HAUNT
A MATCH MADE IN HELL
DEAD GIRLS ARE EASY
Copyright
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
SILENT NIGHT, HAUNTED NIGHT. Copyright © 2009 by Terri Garey. All rights reserved under International and Pan-Amer
ican Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
Adobe Digital Edition September 2009 ISBN 978-0-06-195989-9
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
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Table of Contents
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3