by Regina Hart
After all, why would she need to keep secrets from him?
CHAPTER 21
Darius’s pulse jumped when he found Peyton waiting outside his apartment after work Friday evening. “I thought we were getting together later. Have you been waiting long?”
He crossed the upper-level landing with long, swift strides. Darius caught Peyton around her waist and lowered his head to hers. He’d intended to give her a quick kiss on her luscious mouth, but his lips wanted to linger. Peyton’s eyes opened slowly.
“I finished packing sooner than I’d expected.” She was breathless.
Darius waited a moment for his mind to clear. “I’m glad you came.”
“I can tell.” Her lips curved into a seductive smile that made his pulse jump again.
Darius unlocked his apartment door. As he stepped back to let Peyton enter first, he noticed the object on the ground beside her feet. “What’s that?”
“It’s my Christmas tree.” Peyton lifted the sad, little thing from the ground. “It’s my gift to you.”
She waited for Darius to lock his front door before thrusting the fake plant at him.
“Um, thank you?” Darius gave her a dubious look.
Peyton chuckled. “Stop holding my tree like a baby with a dirty diaper.” She took back the fake plant and looked around for a place to set it.
“Sorry.” Darius removed his coat, hanging it in his coat closet and waiting for Peyton to give him hers. What was he supposed to do with a fake plant?
“I realize you aren’t excited by the holiday season, which is a completely foreign concept to me.” Peyton crossed into Darius’s living room and positioned the plastic evergreen on his coffee table. “But my tree needs someone to watch it while I’m gone.”
“What’s to babysit?” Darius took her coat and hung it in the closet. “The tree’s not real.” Was this tree conversation a test or some sort of coded message? How do you care for a fake tree?
He watched as she smoothed the white cotton skirt across his table, then centered the plastic evergreen on top of the material.
“I don’t want you to babysit my tree.” Peyton straightened to observe her handiwork. “I want you to watch it so you can benefit from its Christmas spirit. I don’t want it going to waste in an empty apartment while I’m in New York.”
“I appreciate what you’re doing, but I’m never going to be the kind of person who makes a big deal about the holiday season.” Darius dragged a hand over his close-cropped hair. “I’ll say ‘Merry Christmas. ’ I’ll exchange gifts. But beyond that, what’s the point?”
“How can you say that?” She spread her arms. “That’s like saying, ‘I’m never going to fly to Paris.’”
“No, it’s not.” Darius arched a brow. “I can see myself going to Paris. It’s more like my saying, ‘I’m never going to the moon.’”
“Everyone enjoys the season, whatever holiday they observe.” She gave him the stubborn look that signified the demise of any argument he tried to put forward.
Darius tried anyway. “Apparently, everyone doesn’t.”
“I understand Christmas isn’t a joyous occasion with your family.” She crossed to him, placing her small hands on his forearms. “You may not have happy memories from your childhood. But you can change that by making better ones now.”
“How am I supposed to do that when you’re leaving for New York in the morning?” His words were husky.
Peyton offered him a soft smile. She raised her arms to his shoulders. “I’m here tonight. Let’s make a memory.”
Darius lowered his head to Peyton’s for a kiss that needed to satisfy them both for seven long days. He pressed his lips to hers, coaxing her to open for him. She did and his tongue swept inside. Her taste was as warm and sweet as hot chocolate on Christmas morning. Darius deepened the kiss, stroking her, caressing her, showing her what he wanted: him loving her and her loving him. Peyton drew his tongue deeper inside her mouth, giving him a taste of what she desired. Darius groaned.
He held her body closer to his. It was as though he’d waited forever just to hold her in his arms. He wanted her closer to him. Her soft curves pressing into his body filled the emptiness inside him with her warmth and light.
Darius slid his hands beneath Peyton’s pale purple sweater. Her supple skin was warm and inviting beneath his palms. He broke their kiss, pushing the garment up and over her head. Her copper curls bounced free as he pulled the sweater away from her and tossed it onto his sofa. His gaze dropped to her flesh-colored, silk demi-bra.
Darius swallowed, tracing the curve of her right breast. “I think I had a dream that started with you wearing that.”
Peyton’s full, pink lips curved in a seductive smile that made his knees shake. “Show me how it ends.”
He helped her strip off his dark brown sweater, tossing it on top of hers. Her eyes darkened as she stared at his torso. Her touch was gentle as she explored his pecs and abdomen.
Darius swept her off her feet and cradled her against his chest. “I’ll show you, but it may take a while.”
He strode into his bedroom and lowered her to the carpet at the foot of his bed. Together they discarded the remainder of their clothes. With Peyton naked in front of him, he was almost overcome with the desire to study her curves, lines, muscles, and secrets. He needed to wrap her in his arms and sink deep inside her. Darius lay next to Peyton on his king-sized mattress. He leaned over her and kissed her, losing himself in her scent, her touch, her taste. He drew his right hand from her shoulder over her left breast, pausing to mold, shape, and caress the firm mound. He rubbed his hand against her nipple. The sensation of her pebbled tip against his palm heated his blood.
Peyton shifted restlessly beneath his touch. Darius swallowed her moans, emboldened to move lower, explore farther. His right hand moved past her tight waist, over her flat stomach, and between her quivering thighs. He cupped her nest of curls, feeling Peyton tremble against him. Her breath grew fast and shallow, quickening his desire. He released her lips and sought her breast, ringing her puckering nipple with his tongue. He drew her tip into his mouth as he parted her curls with his middle finger.
She opened her mouth on a gasp, pressing her head back into his pillow and lifting her hips to meet his caress. He rubbed her spot as he suckled her breast. Her body grew warmer, her breath shorter. Darius released her breast and shifted down her body, inserting himself between her long legs.
Peyton almost cried out when he released her breast. Her body was on fire. She could hear her blood rushing in her head, feel her pulse beat between her legs. The sweet sensation of Darius’s mouth, tongue, and hands on her body was an experience she never wanted to end. She felt his breath above her curls. He separated her, spreading her folds.
Peyton’s eyes flew open. Was he going to . . . “Darius!”
Darius’s tongue stroked her deep. Peyton’s body was under his control. He licked her; she rose to meet him. He kissed her; she moved against his mouth. He nibbled her spot, and she spread her legs wider.
Peyton squeezed her eyes shut as her muscles screamed. “Darius, I can’t . . .”
“Yes, you can.”
She shivered as his words whispered against her. Peyton strained toward her highest pleasure point. She ached for her release even as she never wanted these feelings to end. Her muscles stiffened, the pressure building higher and higher, tighter and tighter. Her pulse thundered and roared in her ears . . . Then her body exploded, rocking in Darius’s hands, her hips twisting and turning. Peyton muffled her screams behind her forearm as her head pressed into the pillow.
Darius rolled away from her. Peyton opened her eyes to find him reaching into his nightstand. He pulled out a condom, then quickly sheathed his erection. Darius returned to her. Peyton looked up at him as he balanced his weight on his forearms above her. His angular sepia features were hard with desire. His muscles were bunched and shaking from self-restraint. Peyton lifted her legs and wrapped them aroun
d his hips, pulling him closer to her.
“Show me how it ends,” she repeated her earlier invitation.
Darius found a smile for her. “With pleasure.”
He lowered his hips, joining their bodies. His growl deepened her desire. Peyton gasped as he stretched her. She closed her eyes, loving the feel of him inside her. She rocked her hips, squeezing him. Darius lowered his lips to her for a kiss. Peyton opened her mouth, taking his tongue, sucking it the same way she worked his length. Darius pressed against her. Peyton rose to meet him, finding a pace and rhythm that made her body burn. Darius grabbed her hips with his hands, rubbing her against him. Peyton panted and gasped as her muscles tightened all over again. Her body stiffened, then shattered in his embrace. Darius’s hips moved faster, deeper, harder as he joined her. He pressed her hard against him, arched his back in his release. Peyton held on tight as they flew apart, then came back together.
“What are you doing here?” Darius blinked twice before he believed what he saw. Both of his parents were standing together outside his apartment door Saturday afternoon.
“What kind of welcome is that for the woman who birthed you?” Ethel crowded Darius, giving him no choice but to let his parents into his home.
“Or for the man whose DNA is in your blood.” Simon followed Ethel into the apartment.
“I wasn’t expecting you.” Darius locked his front door, then trailed his parents into his living room. His gaze dropped to the manila folder in his father’s right hand. Its presence stirred only mild curiosity.
Darius had just returned from taking Peyton to the airport. He missed her already. Facing his parents without the little professor’s presence depressed him even more.
Why were his parents at the same place at the same time? And why had they chosen his apartment? They’d never visited him before their separation. He’d always gone to their house. That’s the way he preferred it. More and more, it seemed as though this separation, which he’d been expecting for decades, had been a mistake for the entire family.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Darius shrugged on the coat of civility. It was a tight fit.
“No, thank you.” His mother handed him her coat.
“I’m fine.” Simon followed Darius to the closet.
Darius put away his parents’ coats, then returned to his living room. Ethel had settled onto the left corner of the black leather couch. Simon joined her at the opposite end. Darius took the matching armchair catty-corner to the sofa. How long would he have to wait for his parents to explain the reason for their visit?
“The suspense is killing you, isn’t it?” Ethel sent him a knowing look.
Darius’s eyes widened in surprise. Was his mother teasing him? “Yes, it is. We’ve been together in the same room for at least five minutes and you two haven’t snapped at each other once.” He straightened on the armchair. “Who are you and what have you done with my parents?”
“When we find them, we’ll let you know.” Ethel chuckled.
“We were embarrassed during the committee meeting Thursday.” Simon’s smile was crooked. “We didn’t complete our assignment.”
Ethel nodded. “We realized that if we didn’t cooperate, we were going to continue to embarrass ourselves.”
“We’ve been working together on entertainment ideas and the program draft since Thursday night.” Simon handed the manila folder to Ethel.
Ethel offered the folder to Darius. “Here’s the printout of the program. We’ve also e-mailed the file to you in case you want to make changes.”
Darius took the folder from his mother. His parents’ constant use of the pronoun we was disconcerting. He’d become used to their outbursts and self-centeredness. This spirit of unity was strange to him, but he was willing to get used to it.
He skimmed the draft of their program. “This looks good. Peyton and I will review it when she returns next Friday. We’ll give you our feedback, then send it to the rest of the committee for their input.”
“Sounds good.” Simon inclined his head.
“We found a printer who’ll publish the program for free.” Ethel shifted on her seat. “You were right about businesses being willing to donate equipment, services, and supplies. They’re probably happy for the tax deduction.”
Darius shook his head at his mother’s cynicism. The vast majority of these business owners were more dedicated to the community than his parents had ever been.
Three weeks out and, finally, everything was in place. All the committee had to do was print the program.
Darius closed the folder and leaned back on his chair. “We’ll list on the program the businesses that have given us donations for the fund-raiser.”
“I’m glad we’re on the fund-raising committee.” Simon exchanged a look with Ethel. “It’s forced us to start talking again.”
Ethel turned to Darius. “One of the things we talked about was celebrating Christmas together instead of asking you to spend it with us separately.”
Darius looked from Ethel to Simon. Who were these reasonable people? He tried to mask his shock.
Simon leaned forward. “We should definitely spend Christmas together. It’s a holiday for families.”
Darius gave Ethel and Simon a hard look. They seemed happier and more relaxed than he’d ever seen them. Certainly they seemed friendlier toward each other than they’d ever been.
“Are you two getting back together?” He dreaded the answer.
“Well, we’re—”
“No,” Ethel interrupted Simon. “It’ll be a cold day in hell when we reconcile. If I wanted to be married to a randy adolescent, I’d find a younger man rather than a boy in a middle-aged man’s body.”
“Do you think you’re some great catch?” Simon scowled.
“At least I listened to our wedding vows.” Ethel crossed her arms and legs.
Now he recognized his parents. But this was progress. Darius drew a deep breath, bracing himself. “We’ll spend Christmas together, if that’s what you want.”
Ms. Helen was right. His parents needed an opportunity to work toward forgiveness. Serving on the fund-raising committee was giving them that chance. Hopefully they’d continue to work on forgiving each other.
It was as cold as the day she’d buried her husband almost two years ago. Doreen stood before Paul’s final resting place, staring down at his headstone: PAUL FEVER, 1946 TO 2013, LOVING HUSBAND AND FATHER.
Her gaze lifted to a tree line in the distance. The bare branches moved in an icy breeze. Above them, gray clouds hung low and heavy in the sky.
This isn’t the way our story was supposed to end, my darling.
Doreen swiped away tears with the tips of her fingers. Back in her day, they hadn’t told little girls that happily-ever-after wasn’t forever. And she hadn’t been smart enough to figure it out on her own. Even when she and Paul had opened their retirement accounts and chosen a life insurance policy, she hadn’t realized the implications of their actions. One of them—she—would be left behind, left alone. Stranded.
Doreen dropped her gaze to Paul’s headstone again. “I’ve made the best of it.”
You’ve done better than that, Paul’s smooth, rich baritone whispered in her ear, full of pride. You’ve thrived. I knew you would.
“I’d never planned a life without you.” She snuggled deeper into her sapphire-blue woolen winter coat. “I wish you were still here to share these new experiences with me.”
Everything happens for a reason.
She’d always hated that expression. It was annoyingly vague. And why did it take forever to understand the reason something happens?
“I’d already planned my future.” Doreen shifted her stance. “I was supposed to spend it with you.”
Yes, you made plans—and God had a good laugh. Take it from me. He’s still laughing.
“Right. ‘We plan, God laughs.’” Doreen sighed. “I resented you for the longest time for leaving me. I resented God, too.”
>
He still loves you. We both do.
She could almost swear it was his voice in her head, his presence beside her. She wasn’t as cold anymore.
“But then the opportunity with Books and Bakery developed. Ean came home. And I was elected mayor. Those things probably wouldn’t have happened if you were still alive. Sometimes I feel guilty about that.”
Don’t! You were right to take those opportunities. You aren’t supposed to pack your life into a box and wait to die just because I did.
“I hadn’t planned on falling in love again, either. But marrying Alonzo feels like giving up the last little bit of our past, leaving only the memories.”
That happens. At least the memories are really good.
“Am I wrong to be in love with Alonzo?” Doreen rubbed her forehead, trying to relax the tension between her brows. “I’m not trying to replace you.”
Life is for the living, Doreen. You’re still living.
“If you were the one left behind, would you remarry?” She strained to hear his answer.
I don’t know. Maybe I would, if I found someone who made me as happy as you made me. Wouldn’t you want me to be happy, Doreen?
She scowled. “I wouldn’t want you to replace me.”
No one could replace you, sweetheart. But would you want me to spend the rest of my life mourning you?
She was so tempted to say yes, but that wasn’t the truth. “No, I’d want you to be happy.”
And I want the same for you. I like Alonzo. He was a good friend and I know he’ll be a great husband for you. Don’t pass up another chance to be in love and to be happy. That’s what I want for you.
Doreen couldn’t wipe away the tears fast enough. “Then why do I feel guilty?”
I don’t know. It’s silly, isn’t it?
Frustration overwhelmed her. Doreen squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her hands inside her black leather gloves. “Paul, Paul, tell me what I should do.”
Only you can do that, sweetheart. The decision to marry Alonzo—or not—is yours.