by Beth Ciotta
Weird.
“Sorry,” he said. “I thought you were… Never mind.” He nabbed her arm and pulled her in out of the cold. “You’re not going to believe the night I’ve had.”
“Nothing compared to what’s ahead.” Before she lost her nerve, she shrugged out of her coat, shivering as it slid down her goose-pimply skin and dropped to her ankles.
“Whoa. What the…” Smiling and palming his forehead, Mason backed into the living room as Chrissy advanced in her knee-high leather boots with the three-inch heels. “Uh, go lie down, Rush.”
The dopey-eyed dog curled back in his bed and Chrissy stopped and posed, hands on hips. “Decided to give you your Christmas present a little early.”
“You? Naked?
“Naked me is a bonus. The scarf is the gift.” The only thing she was wearing aside from the boots. “Made it myself,” she said as she seductively slid the long, red cable-knit scarf from her shoulders then hooked it around his neck and reeled him in.
“Beautiful,” he said, though his eyes were on her breasts, not the scarf. He cleared his throat, met her gaze. “Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” She smiled a little, unbuttoning his shirt. “Speaking of my pleasure…”
“Chrissy?”
She pressed seductive kisses to his chest while pushing his shirt off his shoulders.
“What are you doing?”
“If I have to tell you then I’m doing it wrong.”
“Let me rephrase.”
“You talk too much.” She grasped the ends of the scarf and yanked him into a deep kiss, her bare breasts skimming his warm torso. Skin-on-skin.
His hands smoothed down her back and cupped her bottom while she made quick work of his belt.
She slid her hand in his briefs, wrapping her fingers around his…
“Cold. Damn.”
“Sorry.” Of course her fingers were icy. Sexy had meant no mittens. Self-conscious now, she dropped her forehead to his chest. “Are we ever going to make love?”
Mason threaded his fingers through her hair, cradled the back of her neck. “Please tell me you know I’ve been dying to be inside you. I was trying to hold out, to move slower, to do things differently than before.”
She struck his chest with a half-hearted punch. “Screw that. Nothing was wrong with before. Before was wonderful. Magical. Just not the perfect time. Now’s the perfect time. Timing is everything. Timing and attitude.”
Mason kissed the top of her head. “You have me there, babe.”
He swept her off her feet. Scooped her into his arms and strode toward the stairway.
Now it was her turn to ask, “What are you doing?”
“Taking you to bed. Where’s Mel?”
“With Mom and Dad. All night.”
“Good.” He swept her up the stairs, into the master bedroom. “Ah, dammit.”
“What?” She lifted her head from his shoulder and immediately saw the trouble. A multitude of toys and little clothes crowding up his bed. “Please tell me that’s not all for Mel.”
“Can we argue about it tomorrow?” he asked as he set her to her feet.
Her lip twitched. “Sure.” So this was sex with a kid in the mix, she thought as they both cleared the bed. Different, but just as exciting.
She activated the electric fireplace as he shucked his jeans. They jumped into bed at the same time. “I love you, Mason Rivers.”
He froze. “Did you have to tell me that right this instant?”
She smiled. “Yeah. I kind of did.”
“Happy to hear it,” he said, gaze soft with emotion. “But it muddles the balls-out sex thing with the heart-pounding romantic thing.”
“Mason.”
“Yeah?”
“Right this minute? Go with the balls-out sex.”
“Right. Thanks. In that case, leave on your boots.”
“Only if you wear your scarf.”
Grinning, he pushed her back on bed and crawled up her body, all predator-like. The hand-knitted scarf hung from his neck, tickling her skin as he kissed a racy path up her torso then lingered at her breasts.
She moaned with rapture, combing her fingers through his shaggy hair, relishing the weight of his body, the feel of his mouth.
“You taste even better than you smell,” he said while nuzzling his neck.
“I’m all for foreplay,” she said, throat tight, body tense. “But I’m dying here, Mason. It’s been so long. Since you.”
He stilled. Pushed up to his elbows and gazed down at her face. “I thought you didn’t do sappy.”
“Was that sappy?”
“Yeah. It kind of was. And hot. I’m hard as a rock.”
“I wouldn’t know. That’s code, by the way, for: I want you inside me. Now.”
He rolled away and she closed her eyes in frustration. But then she heard a drawer open, a package tearing.
Protection.
Before she could blink, he was on top of her, filling her, and, oh… “So good.”
“Just like before.” He worshiped her body with his hands while rocking against her, and kissing her into a sensual stupor.
“Only better.” Her stomach coiled and her heart pounded as she absorbed the intensity of Mason’s love. Body trembling with a fast and fierce orgasm, she held tight as he followed her lead. “Heaven.”
* * *
She hurried him through foreplay, so he indulged in after-play. Which led to a second round of lovemaking. A little intense and a lot wild. Mason was spent. He was also inspired.
He offered her one of his t-shirts, pajama bottoms, and a pair of thick socks. He dressed in kind then led her downstairs and made them spiked hot cider. She looked damned adorable wearing his gear, curled up on the sofa, drinking holiday cheer.
Rush snored in his bed.
Fire flickered in the hearth.
Lights twinkled on the tree.
Miracle on 34th Street, one of his favorites, showed on the plasma.
Everything was damn near perfect.
Just do it, Slick.
“I really do love my scarf.”
She looked from the TV to him and smiled. “I’m glad. It’s not much but—”
“You made it, so it’s special.”
“Don’t hate me but your other scarf was kind of hideous.”
“You mean festive.”
She raised a brow.
He smiled. “Since you gave me my gift early, I’m inspired to do the same.”
“You only got me one, right? We agreed and I saw how you buckled with Mel.”
“One gift.” He pushed off the sofa and plucked her present from beneath the tree. “I hope you like it.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.” She opened the slightly oversized box and tore through crumpled tissue to get to the smaller jeweler’s box. “Oh.”
Mason’s lungs squeezed as she flipped open the velvety lid. “It’s not much. That is, I tried not to go overboard.”
She stared at the ring—a modest heart-shaped diamond on a platinum band. “It’s beautiful, Mason. It’s…” She met his anxious gaze. “Yes.”
He laughed, thrilled and relieved. “I didn’t even ask yet.”
“Oh. Sorry. I—”
He smoothed her hair from her face. “Will you marry me Christmas Joy Mooney? Will you let me love and care for you and our daughter?”
“Yes. Yes, yes, and yes.” She rubbed her chest while admiring the ring. “Mel will be so happy.”
Mason wasn’t sure why, but her words, her body language gave him pause. “What about you, hon? Are you happy?”
“What? Yes. Yes, of course. I…I’m just a little rattled. I…”
Mason took the jeweler’s box from her trembling hands and set it aside. “Talk to me.”
And still she rubbed her chest.
“Full disclosure,” he reminded her.
“Right. Okay. Just know I don’t expect you to understand. It’s…nonsensical.”
Mason pulled
her into his side, offering encouragement. “I’m all ears.”
She took a deep breath then spewed. “Last month Mel wrote a letter to Santa. She didn’t ask for a toy for herself. She asked for a present for her mommy. Quote: She’s always sad even when she’s smiling. Instead of making her a toy, can your elves make her happy?”
“Whoa.”
“Yeah. My mom called it a tear jerker then pointed out the obvious. It’s up to me, not Santa, to connect with that feeling of pure joy. I don’t know how to describe it. The sensation. The state.”
“I’m guessing it’s close to euphoric. Feeling content and inspired. Happy on steroids.”
She angled her head. “Something like that, yes. Mom said I used to sparkle with it.”
Mason reflected on the Chrissy he’d known five years back. Focused, fun, carefree. Her edgy effervescence had been unique. On the other hand, when he met her in Denver she radiated with subdued frustration. She’d lightened up since then, but he wouldn’t call her carefree. He also remembered something she’d said when they’d touched on moving forward as couple. “I want to try. I want to sparkle.”
A concern burrowed into his brain. One he tried to ignore.
“I hated knowing that my daughter was picking up on my inner struggle,” Chrissy hurried on. “I thought I’d adjusted pretty well to my life as a single mom. My life as a baker and knitter. It’s not like I don’t enjoy both. At the very least, I thought I was a positive force in Mel’s life. Reading her letter, I felt a little desperate, so I applied to an Internet site that grants impossible dreams. I applied for happy. How crazy is that?”
Mason shifted. “Wait. What?”
“I told you it was nonsensical. In reply, ID-dot-com sent me four tickets to the Mile High Christmas Extravaganza which led me to you and thereafter several random zaps of happy.”
Mason listened as Chrissy rambled at breakneck speed, citing specific moments where she’d sparkled for a fleeting moment. He juggled knowing that he’d had his own brush with Impossible Dream and learning how desperate Chrissy was to reconnect with “pure joy”.
Two things became clear.
One: She was in deep denial regarding the impact the lack of music had on her life.
Two: She’d do anything to create the illusion of happy for Melody. Including snapping up his marriage proposal without due thought.
The latter was a particular blow to his heart.
“Every time I think I’ve achieved pure joy, it fades. I wanted forever, Mason. I wanted what I had before… Before…”
“What?”
“Oh, God.” She buried her face in her hands.
“Before Melody?”
She spoke over heart-wrenching sobs. “I don’t regret her for a minute. Not one second. I just wish…”
Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, Mason scrambled to voice her thoughts. Something associated with guilt. Something massive. “You wish having her hadn’t meant giving up your musical aspirations?”
“I wish she hadn’t…hadn’t been born deaf.”
His heart hammered against his ribs as he hugged her, affording what little comfort he could. Forfeiting her musical career wasn’t at the root of her misery. No, it was something far deeper.
Mason thought hard before speaking. He knew Chrissy well enough to know she didn’t love Mel any less just because she couldn’t hear. “You blame yourself. Or is it me? Do you blame me?”
She didn’t answer and his mind raced, mentally reviewing some of the research he’d done over the last couple of weeks. “Is it genetic?” This isn’t something they’d talked about in depth yet. She’d said the doctors had been unclear regarding the cause of Mel’s birth defect. Mason had been wary about pressing too hard, too fast for more information. He’d been taking everything slow, trying not to scare Chrissy off. He’d wondered though.
“There’s no history of deafness in my family,” he said carefully. “What about yours?”
“No. No history,” she croaked. “And I don’t blame you, Mason.”
“Yourself then. Were there complications during pregnancy? Were you ill? Taking medication?”
“No. Nothing like that, but I… Oh, God. It’s too awful to say.”
Chest tight, Mason shifted so they were facing each other. He pulled her hands from her red and tear-soaked face. “Whatever it is, it’s been festering inside you for almost five years, poisoning your soul. Spit it out.”
She nodded and hiccupped over a sob. “There were times during the pregnancy, moments of depression, when I felt lost and scared. I no longer had a grip on my dream or my future. I resented the uncertainty. I felt guilty knowing I’d skipped school for that week. Because of our affair, I’d flushed away all the hard-earned money my parents had invested in my education and training. And, yes, at times I felt bitter knowing I’d pretty much botched any hope of ever being a professional concert violinist. Once my baby was born, things would never be the same. And then she was born and…”
“The doctors pronounced her deaf. And you thought, what? That that was your punishment for resenting uncertainty? For having bitter thoughts? Oh, honey.”
“It could have been anything, Mason. Any one of a hundred defects. Why deafness? Why—”
“I don’t know. But I do know that it wasn’t some sort of Karmic payback for being human. I don’t believe for one moment that God punished you, or Mel, for having what you perceive as selfish, bitter thoughts.”
He dragged a hand down his face, grappling for calm and concise thoughts. “You need to accept and acknowledge that Mel isn’t suffering. She’s unique. She’s unbelievably happy and loved.”
He thought about the LED tambourine in the bag under the tree. “She’ll march to the beat of her own drum and she’ll be, she is, awesome. You need to believe in Mel’s ability to shine in this world exactly as she is,” he said while framing Chrissy’s sweet, tortured face. “You need to let go of what’s dampening your own sparkle. If you can’t do that, promise me you’ll be open to speaking with a professional who can help.”
She swiped at her tears, nodded.
“One last thing,” Mason said as his heart bled.” I need you to think hard on why you want to marry me. I can’t make you sparkle, Christmas. And you can’t count on Santa or his elves or some whimsical matchmaking site. Pure joy? That’s on you, babe.”
Chapter Thirteen
Once upon a Christmas Birthday
Chrissy slept on Mason’s question for two nights. Mostly because he suggested they wait until after the holiday to revisit the topic of marriage. Partly because she needed the time to acclimate to the lightening of her soul.
She hadn’t realized how severely she’d twisted up and stuffed down a cesspool of toxic emotions until she’d gutted herself for Mason. She’d spent the majority of the last five years directing that internal ugliness toward him and his family.
When she learned Mason hadn’t truly turned his back on her and their baby, when he assured her she had nothing to fear from his family, all that negative energy swirled and settled within.
Sharing her deepest, darkest thoughts with Mason had been cathartic. She wasn’t dancing on air, but she wasn’t drowning in that cesspool anymore either. Just now a playlist of holiday classics blasted from the iPod Zeke had bought for their parents and Chrissy didn’t wince once. She even found herself humming along to Silver Bells as her dad and Mason cleaned up the last of the wrinkled and discarded wrapping paper—evidence of a very merry Christmas morning at the Mooneys’.
Later today, she’d enjoy a quiet birthday celebration at Mason’s house while Mel opened the gazillion gifts still waiting for her under Mason’s tree. So far he’d only gifted his daughter with three things. A stuffed dog from Rush. Pink fuzzy boots from him. And a tambourine that lit up from his dad. He’d only given Mel that gift after he’d told Chrissy the story about Boyd’s visit and she’d given her approval. Of course she approved. At this point, and especially knowing Maso
n’s level of angst regarding his mom, Chrissy actually felt sorry for the highly dysfunctional Rivers family.
As for Mel, she swore she was going to wear her fuzzy pink boots every day, even in the summer. She named her stuffed blue dog, Rush 2. And she loved that tambourine. The way the colorful lights flashed and twinkled. The way it felt when she shook and thwacked it. It made Chrissy smile. It made everyone smile. Including Mason who hadn’t been fully himself since the night he’d proposed.
He’d gone all out on Christmas Eve, decking the halls with her family. He’d taken a million pictures. He’d kept conversation light and hadn’t withheld a smidgeon of affection from Chrissy, even though she knew he was hurting.
He’d once told her most women were more interested in his wallet than him. He knew Chrissy wasn’t seduced by his fortune, but he did wonder about her motivations. Just as she worried he expected her and Mel to fill a void, he worried she expected him to free her chained and tarnished “happy”.
“You’re awfully deep in thought.”
Chrissy looked up from the cookie tray she was replenishing and locked eyes with her mom. “Thinking about how lucky I am.”
Eva glanced toward the active living room, noted Mason tussling with Mel and Rush, and smiled. “A few minutes ago, Melody cornered me in the kitchen and asked me to write another letter for her.” She pulled the noted from her cardigan pocket. “Want a peek?”
Swallowing hard, Chrissy opened the note and read.
“Dear Santa. Mason is the best present ever! Thank you for making mommy smile. And thank you for Rush. We love them. Your forever friend, Melody.”
It took a second to catch her breath, but then Chrissy passed the note back to her mom. “I need to run over to my place for a sec,” she said, skirting the dining room table and heading toward the kitchen. “I’ll use the back door. Be right back.”
“But you’re not wearing a coat!”
Chrissy barely heard her mom as she rushed through the kitchen and barreled outside. She barely felt the bite of the freezing air as she tramped through snow then down the shoveled walk that led to her small cabin. The only home she and Mel had ever known until they’d started making a new home with Mason on Eagle Butte Road.