Holiday in Your Heart

by Susan Fox

  “You sure about that?”

  It was a relationship gesture, she realized. More significant, really, than inviting a man to leave a toothbrush and razor in her bathroom, because it meant a physical change to her house. But it wasn’t a major change. “Of course. It’s not a big deal.” It would be easy enough to buy a new back door and have it installed, if Mo . . . whatever. Left town; broke up with her; ditched the dog—which was, she figured, less likely than either of the first two possibilities.

  Caruso’s tail was actually wagging when Maribeth and Mo stepped out of the car in the garage. He even voluntarily brushed against Maribeth’s leg. And when she opened the door to the house, he barely paused before coming inside.

  “I bet you’re hungry,” she said, heading for the kitchen. “And it just happens that I bought some dog food. I’m not sure it’s the kind Ms. Haldenby recommends, but I’m guessing you’re not picky.”

  She and Mo got Caruso set up in the sunroom with his blanket, food and water, and the outside door open a crack. It felt comfortable, doing these simple tasks with Mo. He was easy to be around, and it seemed as if the two of them were attuned to each other. That surprised her, given what he’d said about his inexperience with relationships.

  After she closed the door to the sunroom, Mo caught her hand and tugged her close, putting his arms around her. “You look really sexy in leopard skin.”

  She leaned back against the wall of the hallway. “I did notice you leering at my cleavage a time or two.”

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Why d’you think I wore this top?”

  His grin flashed. “You don’t mind being seen as an object of lust?”

  She laughed. “If that was all it was, I wouldn’t be impressed. But I know you like me and you’re interested in more than just my body.”

  “You sound pretty confident about that.”

  “I am. I’ve dated a lot of guys, and I’ve turned down a lot, too. I’m good at reading men.”

  “If I thought too hard about that, I’d probably be terrified.”

  No doubt he would. But rather than say so, she joked, “Then don’t think, just act.”

  “I’m way better at that.”

  He ran a finger over her chest, following the neckline of her top, his deliberate, rough-skinned touch creating shivers of arousal. He went all the way around the neckline and then returned to center front, dipping deep into her cleavage. “Is it warm in your house?” he asked innocently. “You’re dewy. But no, it can’t be warm.” He brushed the back of his other hand across her budded nipple. “Your nipples say it’s cold.”

  Of course cold was the last thing she was feeling, but she could play this game, too. Gazing at him seductively, she asked, “You know the best cure for being cold?”

  His irresistible grin flashed. “I have a mighty good idea.”

  “Then you’ll join me?”

  “Wouldn’t be much fun alone, would it?”

  “Oh, I’ve been known to have a fine time on my own.”

  When a flush tinted his cheekbones, she knew he was imagining her masturbating.

  “But you’re definitely welcome to join in,” she said. “Fortunately, mine’s big enough.”

  He gaped, and she had to hold back a laugh before delivering her punch line. “My bathtub, that is.”

  He blinked. “A bath? You were talking about taking a bath?”

  With faux innocence, she said, “What on earth else would I have been talking about?” Then, laughing, she captured his hand and led him upstairs.

  Maribeth firmly believed that a woman was entitled to the bathroom of her dreams. In her twenties, she’d had the master bath completely redone, treating herself to green-marbled Italian tile, gold and silver taps, a gorgeous vanity, and heated towel rails. The bathroom had a large window that no one could look in, and the combination of light and humidity was ideal for the couple of orchid plants on the vanity.

  She reached down to turn on the bathtub taps.

  “Wow,” Mo said. “This room suits you, but I have to admit, I feel out of place.”

  It was funny, but until that moment she hadn’t realized that her perfect bathroom had been missing something. “No, you’re exactly what it needs.”

  She tugged the hem of her top upward and with slow, seductive motions, peeled off the garment. Her ivory trousers and her knee-high stockings went next, leaving her in a bra and panties. Her lingerie was peach silk with lace trimming, the bra cut low to showcase her breasts and the thong barely covering the essentials.

  Mo had watched without moving, so now she urged, “Come on. You’re not going to climb into the bathtub with your clothes on.”

  He shook himself like he was coming out of a trance and quickly undid his shirt buttons, yanking the tail of his shirt out of his pants along the way, and then pulled off the shirt. His pants and socks followed, leaving him in slim-fitting black boxers.

  Maribeth was constitutionally incapable of having a bath without tossing some sort of bath salts or bubble bath into the water. The tub’s wide marble-tiled surround held an assortment of bottles, jars, and bars of soap, and when she reached among them, Mo said, “I’m not a flowers kind of guy.”

  “Trust me.” She sprinkled bath salts into the water. “This is sandalwood, and it smells the way you look.” Steam and a woodsy, slightly spicy scent drifted through the air. That aroma fit him so much better than the scent of the basic brands of soap and shampoo he favored.

  He sniffed warily, and then smiled. “I like it.”

  Of course he did. And so did she.

  The mirror was fogging at the edges as Maribeth faced it and said, “Look at us. Such perfect opposites.”

  He came to stand beside her. “Yeah, we kind of are, aren’t we? You’re, like, the ideal female and I’m definitely a guy.”

  She was all curves while he was lean muscles. Her skin was pale and creamy, accented by the peach silk and her red hair. His skin was a blend of coffee, cream, and cinnamon, dramatic against the black of his hair and boxers. “The ideal male,” she corrected him. She couldn’t help but think what beautiful babies the two of them would make.

  While she stayed facing the mirror, he stepped away to turn off the taps. Then he returned, putting his arms around her to palm her breasts. Through her bra, he teased her nipples to tight buds as she watched, the view providing extra titillation. He fingered the front clasp, it slipped open, and he eased her bra away from her body.

  “The most beautiful breasts I’ve ever seen,” he said, his rough-edged voice caressing her senses. “The most beautiful body. I swear you’re like a fantasy come true, Maribeth.”

  “I know the feeling.” She pushed backward to mold the bare cheeks of her butt to his pelvis. His erection pressed against her through his underwear, and her sex moistened with the desire to have him fill her.

  He pumped his hips, thrusting against her, and then to her surprise stepped away. Ah, he was peeling off his boxers. She started to turn, but he caught her by the hips and held her in place, and then her thong was sliding down her legs.

  Bending forward, he pressed his lips to the spot where neck met shoulder and, to her surprise, bit her. It was only a gentle nip, but she’d anticipated a kiss, so it startled her. He sucked the tender spot, and she shuddered at the delicious sensation. “Mo, why don’t we—” She was about to suggest they climb into the bath, but he interrupted.

  “Action. I promised I’d act, not think.” He caught her hips again, tugging her backward. “Brace yourself on the counter.”

  Oh, so that’s what he was up to! She could definitely get into that. She leaned forward with her forearms on the vanity, her legs spread, and her butt cocked in his direction.

  His finger followed the crease between her buttocks, all the way down to where she was hot and damp. He slicked moisture over her, sliding his finger back and forth but never quite touching her clit. Another finger joined in, and then he thrust both fingers inside her,
making her gasp with pleasure.

  He pumped and circled, exploring her secret places, dragging whimpers of need from her.

  She stared into the mirror at her hectically flushed cheeks and dazzle-bright eyes. “Now,” she told him. “Please, Mo, I want you inside me.”

  His fingers withdrew and she waited, aching with anticipation.

  She heard a rustle; knew he was opening a condom and sheathing himself. Her body tensed and she quivered with the waiting.

  And then he caught her waist in one hand, urging her to tilt her hips a bit more, and then—

  “Oh God,” she cried as he thrust deep and hard, all the way into her core. Her body, so primed and on edge, convulsed and a sharp orgasm ripped through her.

  She was so caught up in it that Mo’s voice barely registered and she didn’t catch his words.

  “Open your eyes, Maribeth,” he said more sharply.

  She hadn’t realized she’d closed them, but now she obeyed his command and saw their reflections, the creamy-skinned woman and the coffee-brown man, joined together as sultry sandalwood steam drifted around them. One of his arms circled her waist, holding her firmly as he pumped in and out. His head rose above her left shoulder, color riding his cheekbones. As his gaze met and held hers, his eyes, too, were glittery with passion.

  This man. He was everything she wanted.

  Or at least he could be if he managed to move beyond the shackles of his past and let himself dream of a full, rich future. If he could let himself be the man who she was positive dwelt deep inside him.

  Chapter Ten

  The next Monday evening, Mo forced down a few bites of a ham sandwich. He had worked at the garage that day. Though it was supposed to be his day off, Hank had been feeling under the weather and Mo’d been happy to fill in. It kept him busy and took his mind off worrying about that night. He’d closed up late after having to tow in a minivan that had broken down as the owner drove home from work. Still, he’d made it back to his apartment with enough time to shower and fix a snack.

  He crumbled the rest of his sandwich into Caruso’s bowl. “Yeah, I’m nervous,” he told the dog. “If Evan’s wife doesn’t like me, I don’t think there’s a hope in hell that he will agree to see me.” Maribeth had arranged for Jess and Brooke to come over to her place tonight and talk to Mo.

  For a man who had, over the past ten years, reduced his life to the basic elements, things sure had become complicated.

  After checking his watch for the dozenth time, he pulled his denim jacket on over the good shirt and pants he’d worn when he went out with Maribeth. “However this goes, it’ll be a relief to get it over with.” He wrapped the red scarf around his neck and stepped outside.

  Caruso came with him, falling in step at his left heel. Having taken Maribeth’s suggestion, Mo pulled a leash from his pocket and dangled it. Caruso ignored it.

  At a brisk pace, they set out for Maribeth’s house. Mo went over it all again in his head, the details Maribeth had conveyed to him. Tonight, Evan was scheduled to give a talk on financial management at the community center. Brooke’s husband, the RCMP officer, was on duty. Jess’s daughter from her first marriage, Robin, was staying with her father and his wife, Dave and Cassidy. Jess and Evan’s little boy, who’d be two in December, was there, too, being babysat, as was Brooke and Jake’s slightly younger daughter. Brooke and Jess would pick up the toddlers after they left Maribeth’s.

  All these people were, to varying degrees, related to Mo. How was that possible, from one teenage screwup with birth control?

  “I am so out of my depth,” he muttered to Caruso.

  The dog nudged his gloved hand as if he understood and was offering support.

  Mo stroked the animal’s head. “Life would be a whole lot simpler if it was just us guys.” Now how had that happened, that he’d not only accepted Caruso into his life, but saw the two of them as a team?

  When they reached Maribeth’s, an SUV was parked in her driveway. It had a logo with riding boots and the words “Riders Boot Camp.” Maribeth and Brooke had both mentioned that Jess and Evan owned a residential riding school.

  Mo’s son, the boy who’d been a klutz when it came to any physical activity, the kid who’d refused to even consider mounting a horse, was now helping his horse-crazy wife run a riding school. It boggled the mind.

  At Maribeth’s door, Mo took a deep breath, then rang the bell. A moment later she opened the door, looking soft and feminine in a pink sweater and, for the first time, a skirt. A skirt patterned in bright pink and charcoal gray that brushed the tops of her feet. Instead of her usual puppy-dog slippers, she wore pink flats with sparkly stones. They emphasized how small and cute her feet were.

  “Hi, Mo,” she said, and then raised up to brush a kiss across his lips.

  “Hey, Maribeth. You sure look nice.”

  “Thanks. Jess and Brooke are both here.”

  He nodded. Maribeth had suggested that they time things so the women arrived first and got settled and comfortable. Before going inside, he squatted and said to Caruso, “If you want to be inside where it’s warm and dry, you can go around back. Okay?” Over the weekend, Mo had installed a pet door, and Caruso had quickly become comfortable with it.

  Caruso gave a short warble and then ran off to chase a robin.

  Mo stuck the leash in his jacket pocket, squared his shoulders, and stepped through the front door.

  “You look nice, too,” Maribeth said, taking his coat and scarf. “It’s good that you dressed up. It shows this is important to you.”

  He followed her into the living room. A fire was burning, instrumental music played quietly in the background, and Brooke and a younger woman sat side by side on the sofa.

  Evan’s wife. Mo’s daughter-in-law. He’d met her before, but only a couple of times, and that was decades back. Though Jess Bly had been Evan’s best and only friend when they were kids, Evan—smart boy that he was—had avoided bringing her to his dysfunctional home. The friendship hadn’t made sense to Mo. Evan had been all about schoolwork and Jess was totally into horses. But something had drawn them together as kids and, according to Brooke, when Evan had returned to Caribou Crossing as an adult, their paths had crossed again and friendship had bloomed into romance.

  As Mo seated himself in one of the chairs, Brooke said unnecessarily, “Mo, this is Jess.”

  Jess was the slimmest of the three women, and her jeans and flannel shirt made a statement that she wasn’t dressing up for him. She was attractive in a natural way, and there was one thing about her that he recognized. “You still have a ponytail.”

  “And I still look out for the people I care about,” she said, chin lifted and a challenge in her voice.

  “That’s a good quality,” he responded.

  Her brown eyes, a shade darker than her chestnut hair, narrowed, and he could sense a host of snide comments hovering in her mind.

  Before she could decide which one to utter, Maribeth intervened. “What can I get everyone to drink? I have a pot of decaf coffee brewing, and the kettle’s on so I can make tea. There’s also fruit drinks and soda in the fridge. And beer, Jess, if you’d like one.”

  “Coffee’s good,” Jess said. Brooke asked for herbal tea. Mo, feeling a little sweaty from anxiety, asked for a cold drink.

  When Maribeth had gone to the kitchen, Mo said, “Jess, thank you for coming and giving me a chance.”

  “I’m here because I respect Brooke’s and Maribeth’s judgment.” Her expression was troubled. “And because I think that if you’ve actually turned into a decent guy, it would be good for Evan to know you. But that’s a big if.”

  “I understand. Like I’ve told Brooke and Maribeth, I was a total shit back then. And I had no excuse, not like Brooke with her bipolar disorder and alcoholism.”

  “We were both, uh, shits,” Brooke said firmly. Clad in a pretty blue blouse and navy pants, she sat upright with her hands folded in her lap and a solemn expression on her face. “My il
lnesses are no excuse. I should have acknowledged that I had problems and sought help. I just thank God that Evan was so smart and independent, and that he had Jess and her parents to support him.”

  Mo recalled how, more often than not, Evan had been over at Bly Ranch, doing homework with Jess and staying for dinner. One of her parents would pick the kids up from school and drop Evan back home near bedtime. “Yes, Jess, that was a good thing you and your folks did. And, Brooke, don’t be too hard on yourself. At least you stuck by Evan rather than abandoning him.”

  She gave him a wobbly smile.

  “Mo, you should know—” Jess started, then she stopped as Maribeth returned carrying a tray.

  They were all silent as Maribeth organized everything. A mug of coffee for Jess; a teapot and mugs of tea for Brooke and herself; a glass of sparkling orange drink for Mo; a plate of chocolate chip cookies on the coffee table. She seated herself in a chair.

  Mo took a long swallow of the orange beverage. “What were you going to say, Jess?”

  Her chin was up again. “It was my parents who reported you to the RCMP.”

  He absorbed that information. “I always wondered. I thought it might have been a teacher.” He swallowed. “I’m grateful to them.”

  “What?” she said, clearly taken by surprise. Then she carried on. “You mean because it gave you an excuse to skip town, right?”

  He thought back. “To be honest, yeah, I guess partly so. But it also brought it home to me, what I was doing to Evan. And to Brooke. A slap, a shove, those things didn’t seem so bad to me when I was drinking and pissed off with them and the world.”

  “I did the same things,” Brooke said quickly. “It wasn’t all Mo.”

  He gave her a grateful nod. “But when the police officer said I’d been reported for suspected child abuse, I realized that’s exactly what it was: abuse. A criminal act and a, well, an immoral, inexcusable act.”

  “But you didn’t face the consequences, admit it, and take your punishment,” Jess said. “You didn’t change.”

  “No, I didn’t stay and take my punishment. And for years after, I still drank and got riled up sometimes, but I swear, I never again hit a woman or a child.”