Millionaire's Christmas Miracle

by Mary Anne Wilson

  “I brought in the cell phone,” he drawled, putting the lid back and laying the spoon on a plate on the counter.

  “And I was in the shower.”

  He turned to her, and she knew that he knew exactly what she meant. There was something in his eyes, a look that made her want to pull the robe even closer at her throat. “Seems you were.”

  She bit her lip. “You…I…” She exhaled, not about to say what she wanted to ask. Not from this man. “Never mind,” she muttered.

  He studied her intently, then came closer to her. His still-damp hair was curling slightly, and the planes and angles of his face seemed sharper. The mustache definitely hid a lot of his expression, and she wished it didn’t. “Lady,” he said softly. “I told you before, I don’t play games. And I’m no Peeping Tom or lascivious voyeur.” His eyes flicked over her, down to her hands clutching the robe at her throat, then back to her lips, lingering there long enough to make her tremble slightly. Then he was meeting her gaze with his. “I went in, heard you singing, started to put the phone on the dresser for you, then heard the water stop, the shower open, and the next thing I knew you were in your robe, in front of the mirrors. Is that what you wanted to know?”

  “More or less,” she whispered.

  “Less, much less,” he murmured.

  “Thank you.”

  He exhaled, rocking slightly on the balls of his feet, bringing himself even closer to her. “You should thank me,” he said, his voice touched with a subtle roughness now.

  “Why?”

  He was silent for a long moment, then his hand lifted and the tip of his forefinger brushed a feathery line along her jaw. “I’m going to be honest with you. Honesty is what you want, isn’t it?”

  She wasn’t sure at all that she wanted honesty from him at that moment, because she didn’t want to reciprocate. She didn’t want to tell him that she could literally feel his heat around her, or that the feathery touch on her skin was as compelling as anything had been in her life. She didn’t want to tell him that there was a scent about him, something beyond that freshness of soap and water, and she didn’t want to tell him that he scrambled her thought processes just by being there.

  She was thankful that he didn’t wait for her answer. His finger traced the sweep of her jaw to her chin and stilled on her skin there. “Since I’ve met you, you’ve made me crazy, partly because you never stop, you never let me catch my breath before something else happens that literally takes away what breath I have left. You’ve challenged all of my rational thinking.”

  He could have been talking about her, about what he did to her, and she stayed very still.

  “The thing is, if things were different, if I was a lot younger, if I had any desire to start all over with kids, you’d be right at the top of my list of places to start.” He drew back, breaking the contact with her as he spoke. “But things are what they are. I’m going to be fifty tomorrow. I’m too old to start changing diapers and heating bottles again, and my life’s been this way for far too long.” His eyes narrowed and his voice dropped to a rough whisper. “You don’t want any sort of relationship, and, once you do, you want six kids to go with it.” He lifted her left hand, and, never looking away from her eyes, he found her wedding ring. “If you ever stop being married, that is.”

  While he talked, something in her had been tightening. The truth. That’s what he was saying. But when he touched her wedding ring, the truth turned to bewilderment. She’d forgotten the ring, for the first time in what seemed forever. And she hated herself for that. She hated him for making her forget for even a fleeting moment, and she jerked her hand back from him.

  “You’re crazy,” she whispered hoarsely, but she felt crazy. Disturbed. Irrational. Hurting in a place that she couldn’t even look at. Deep in her being.

  “Crazy, maybe. But it’s the truth,” he said.

  She looked away from him, but succeeded only in lowering her gaze to his bare chest, exposed by the open shirt. She thought for a minute that she saw his heart beating, but maybe it was hers. Maybe it was that thudding in her chest that she felt. She dragged her eyes away, daring to meet his gaze again, but that only made her heart bounce more. His expression was so intense that it startled her, catching her breath in her lungs. “You…you don’t know what I really want or what I…what I’m going to do with my life.”

  “I can make a pretty good guess.” He glanced down at her hands and she realized that she was nervously twisting her wedding ring.

  She made herself stop, pressing her palms together, then laced her fingers.

  He shook his head. “I never had a good marriage, I told you that. When it was over, I was relieved. I was left with Mike and that was fine with me. I wish I could tell you how to get past yours and get on with your life. I wish I could do that for you.”

  Her eyes burned, and she was horrified that his image was blurring in front of her. “I don’t need…” she started, but lost her voice as her throat tightened. She swallowed, but couldn’t make anything work. No words. Nothing. Not even tears. Everything seemed gone. And it was because of this man in front of her.

  “Oh yes, you do,” he whispered.

  She felt an explosion in her, something snapping, something she’d tried desperately to keep in check for the past two years. But it was free, and it hurt like hell, and he’d done it, and she struck out in a fury. The next thing she knew, he had her by her wrists, and she didn’t have a clue what she’d done until she saw the perfect imprint of her hand on his cheek as it deepened to an ugly red. She’d struck him. She’d hurt him. But he wasn’t touching his face. He held her fast.

  As suddenly as the rage had come, it was gone, and she could feel herself literally collapsing. Then the tears came. A blur of life was around her, and she was in Quint’s arms, holding on to him for dear life.

  “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rumbling around her. “I’m so sorry.”

  She felt his heart now, really felt it, the heavy thudding, strong and sure. And she had the crazy thought that if she got close enough, his heart would beat for her, too. That she’d feel alive again. That the pain would go away. She looked up at Quint, and the feelings only grew. If she held to him tightly enough, it could work. He groaned softly and lifted his hands to frame her face. His thumbs gently brushed at her cheeks, and she trembled.

  The next thing she knew, his lips found hers and the world fell away. The pain eased and dissolved, and, as his tongue teased and tasted her, she slipped into a safe place, a good place, and she eagerly went there. She went to him, holding to him, trying to be closer than was humanly possible. The connection was alive and compelling, a lifeline, a line that gave her life.

  And there were tears threatening again, but this time they were tears of relief and tears of need. She felt him lifting her, raising her in his arms, never stopping the kiss, but carrying her, moving with her. And she felt as if all connections to the world were gone, leaving only the two of them, and this place that she wanted to crawl into and never leave. She felt as if she could fly, as if he held her up, and she wasn’t startled when they were lying together. Softness. Coolness at her back, the heat of Quint on her front.

  Shadows, heat, need, touch. She answered kiss for kiss, found the bareness of his chest with her hands, then felt skin against skin. His hands on her skin, his hands touching her bare breast, making her whole body ache and arch, yearning toward him, then his lips moved, finding the spot his hands had just discovered and she moaned, shaking from the intensity of the feelings that flowed through her and around her.

  Arching back, lifting to his touch, not caring that the robe was parted, that she was naked to him. Needing his contact, feeling his touch, sensing him moving, pressing the hardness of his desire barely contained by his jeans against her thigh. Her hands skimmed lower, finding the snap at his waistband, and she tugged awkwardly, trying to take away the barrier.

  But before she could manage it, there was a noise, a shattering
sound that seemed to cut through the fantasy they were fashioning, a sharp, shrill noise that she couldn’t place. Then she knew. The phone. Quint’s cell phone. It was ringing. And reality crashed in around her. Whatever fantasy she’d willed to happen was dissolving, and she twisted, realizing she was on a couch of some sort in the shadows, and that the storm was beating on glass close by.

  Quint was moving back, taking his heat, and she scrambled away, finally sitting on leather, tugging her robe around her, ignoring the ache in her that made her breasts hurt and her being throb. She fumbled in the pocket of the robe, found the phone and took it out. Her hands were shaking, but she managed to push the key to answer it, and she put it up to her ear.

  “Hello?” she said, her voice almost unrecognizable in her own ears.

  There was a hesitation, then it seemed as if Quint was talking to her on the phone, “Ma’am, I’m trying to call Mr. Gallagher?”

  No, not Quint, a younger-sounding version of his voice. “Excuse me?”

  “This is Mike, his son. Is my dad there?”

  His son. Michael. “Yes,” she whispered and turned, finding Quint standing, and making no effort to hide his physical response to what had almost happened between them. She held up the phone, not caring that her hand was shaking. “It’s…for you,” she managed, and almost dropped the phone when he reached for it. “Your son.”

  She turned from him, closing her eyes for a long moment, then stood, thankful that her legs could hold her. She’d gone crazy. He wasn’t crazy; she was. She couldn’t even make sense out of what had happened. She barely saw the room Quint had carried her into, a den or a living area, with a series of French windows on one wall, the only barrier between them and the driving storm.

  She heard Quint talking, but couldn’t take in the words as she made her way through the shadows to an archway where light spilled into the room. She went through and back into the kitchen, and stopped, with no idea what to do or where to go. She could check on the babies, but she was in no condition to try and cope with them at the moment. She could barely cope with herself. She crossed the cold tiles to the far wall and the windows being assaulted by the storm.

  Hugging her arms around herself, she stared out at her expression overlying the night and the fury of the storm. Her hair was tangled around her face, and her eyes were dark and fathomless. Crazy. She couldn’t even think about what might have happened if Mike hadn’t called. And she’d hit Quint. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d struck anyone. Yes, total craziness. And it was all hers.

  QUINT WISHED he could joke with Mike, but humor wasn’t what he was feeling at the moment. Besides a body that couldn’t forget the feeling or sight of Amy, he was filled with anger at himself. He’d never been a user of women, ever, and he wasn’t going to start, no matter how much he physically wanted the woman in the next room.

  “So, you took my suggestion and found a woman?” Mike was saying.

  “No, we got in trouble with the storm, and that’s all there is to it.” He’d never lied to Mike, but, if any time was right for lies, now was the time. “We’re waiting it out at Grandma and Granddad’s place.”

  “You took her home to the ranch?”

  “I didn’t have a choice.” He wasn’t going to talk about this anymore with his son. “What’s going on?”

  “I know how you hate birthdays and holidays, so I figured I’d call early to wish you a happy birthday and a happy New Year.”

  “Thanks,” Quint said, staring at the night through the windows. “How’re you doing?”

  “Just great. Great skiing. Lots of powder and packed snow. Wish you were here.”

  “Me, too,” he said.

  “I won’t keep you from your…rescue mission any longer. Have fun and be safe,” his son said, then hung up.

  Quint pushed the End button, then stood still for a long moment while his body began to ease. That tension had started when he’d walked into the bedroom, seen the sleeping children, heard Amy singing, stumbling over the reindeers’ names, and had then moved farther into the room. He’d told her the truth, as far as it went. He’d heard the shower door open, and that moment before she’d spotted him, he’d seen her.

  The high breasts, tiny waist, the swell of her hips, smooth ivory-toned skin, and his body had started to tense. Then she’d pulled the robe around herself, and looked into the mirror and spotted him. He’d tried to get out of there, and now he wished he’d never gone to give her the phone in the first place. Maybe that would have stopped him saying what he’d said and doing what he’d done when she’d started to cry. Maybe none of this would have happened.

  He stepped into the kitchen and spotted her at the windows. No, that wouldn’t have stopped anything. The woman literally made him stop thinking. Made him ignore reason. Everything he’d said to her was the truth. There was no way they could be together, but that didn’t stop his response to her. He went toward her, and cleared his throat to let her know he was there. No more sneaking up on her.

  But one glance at her reflection in the rain-streaked windows and he knew that she’d spotted him as soon as he came into the room. She watched him, then he saw her straighten and push her hands into the pockets of the robe before turning to face him.

  Her expression startled him. There was a sense of distance in her. Two patches of bright color dotted her cheeks, but the rest of her skin seemed oddly pale, especially emphasized by an ebony cloud of wild curls. She was biting her bottom lip so hard that he was certain she’d make it bleed. Then she took a breath that seemed to echo in the room.

  “I want you to know that I am not some sex-starved widow,” she said in a tight voice.

  He would have laughed at that, if there wasn’t such desperate seriousness in her with each word she uttered. “Amy, don’t do this.”

  But his words didn’t stop her. “I can’t believe that I let that…” She bit her lip again, then took another breath that seemed to make her whole body shake. “You had no right to say what you said, and I had no right to…to hit you. And I apologize for that. And I was so far out of line, but you were too, and we both—”

  “Stop.” He’d had it. He couldn’t take this self-flagellation she seemed bent on dishing out. “Just stop,” he said, crossing to her at the windows. “You’re sorry. I’m sorry. That’s it. Let it go.”

  Her eyes were huge, overly bright, but she didn’t cry. In fact, she looked angry. Whatever was going on inside her was hurting her, and he had to kill that overwhelming need he seemed to feel to make things right for her. He couldn’t. He couldn’t even make them right for himself.

  She exhaled and suddenly buried her head in her hands, the wedding band catching the overhead light. She took several deep breaths, then she slowly lowered her hands. “That’s it,” she whispered as she hugged her arms around herself.

  “Yes, it is,” he said, ignoring the fact that a man who told the truth to a fault was lying with every other word tonight. That wasn’t it, and he couldn’t forget what had happened, but he wouldn’t repeat it. That was the bottom line. “And I’m starved. The soup is more than ready. How about some?”

  She hesitated, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said so softly he almost didn’t hear her.

  “And take this,” he said, holding the phone out to her. She stared at it as if it was a snake about to bite her, then reached for it, all but snatching it out of his hand. She put it back in the pocket of her robe as he asked, “Coffee or wine?”

  “Coffee,” she said, moving away from him as she spoke. “I’ll check on the kids and be right back,” then left the room, leaving the space as achingly empty as he felt at that moment. He turned to set the table and serve up the food, but all the while that he worked, he literally had to make himself not remember. Maybe later. Maybe after she was gone. Maybe then he could let himself remember their moment of weakness. But not now.

  Incredibly, the two of them ate in amiable silence as if nothing had happened. They sat at the end of t
he huge table, eating a hearty vegetable soup along with crusty French bread and sipping a decent red wine and strong coffee. “More?” he asked when Amy finished her bowl of soup.

  “No, thanks,” she said, picking up what was left of her bread and taking a nibble.

  “I checked and there’s plenty of canned goods, some stuff in the freezer and a well-stocked wine cellar.” He glanced at the storm that wasn’t letting up. “I hope you brought enough diapers.”

  “Plenty. We had a stock at the center, and I took all the smallest ones we had, and plenty for Taylor.” That was the most she’d said since coming back from checking on the children. “We’ll probably be leaving in the morning, anyway.”

  She sounded anxious, and he couldn’t blame her. “Probably.” He tore a chunk off the loaf of bread, then realized he didn’t want it. Instead, he put it down, poured himself some more wine and looked at her. “Sure you won’t have any wine?”

  She shook her head. “I don’t drink well,” she said.

  “It’s good on a night like this,” he murmured as he put the bottle down, then sipped the wine, welcoming the warmth as it spread through him. He watched her scanning the room. “What do you think?” he asked, and could see that he’d startled her slightly when she looked back at him.

  “Excuse me?”

  “You’re looking all over the place. What are you looking for?”

  He was thankful that didn’t bring more tension. She didn’t say an escape, any escape. Instead, she said, “I was just thinking that this room is as big as my apartment.” She pointed overhead at the heavy beams crisscrossing above them. “That the ceiling took a tiny forest to make.” Then she motioned to the stone walls and heavy counters. “And that you probably had plenty of money as a kid.”

  He sat forward, putting the glass on the table, fingering it while he debated about filling it again. “It’s a ranch, and I was indeed brought up here as a kid. And we didn’t have a lot of money. We had a working ranch, and this room was the center of it, sometimes feeding twenty hands at once, so it had to be big.” He motioned with his head, indicating the rest of the house. “My dad built most of this out of material that was already on the land to begin with, and they’ve added to it, but it’s basically what it always was, a sprawling ranch house.”