He sucked in a long-suffering breath. “Owen asked me for help.”
“I knew I couldn’t get it done in one night by myself.”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I know. Now get out of here so we can finish. We’re almost done.”
Rachel put her hands in the air, laughing. “Okay, okay.”
She bumped up the thermostat and removed her boots.
Less than thirty minutes later, Owen ran down the stairs to retrieve a large plastic bag from the garage before disappearing back upstairs. When he came back down again, the tarp had been bundled up and shoved in the sack. He opened the front door and placed it on the porch. “Okay, you can see it now.”
With her hand through the crook of Owen’s arm, Rachel walked with him up the stairs and back into her bedroom. The furniture was still pulled away, but everything was back on the ground. The painter’s tape had been stripped from the molding, and the window was still open a crack.
Jason stood in the center of the room, smiling.
“Wow, guys. This is wonderful.”
“You might want to sleep on the couch tonight,” Jason suggested.
The smell of the room would drive her out. “Good idea.”
“Consider it an early Christmas present,” Owen said.
She hugged him hard. “I never expected this.” The home improvement projects had been hers. Owen had helped when he could, but she hadn’t expected him to do any of it on his own.
Owen yawned. “We wanted to have it finished before you got home.”
“I didn’t think you’d get out of Manhattan before ten,” Jason said.
“I’d still be there if Julie had her way.”
“I’m gonna shower,” Owen announced. “Thanks again for helping,” he told Jason.
“Anytime.”
The two bumped fists, and then Owen left them alone.
“I don’t know what to say,” Rachel admitted. Replacing the olive green with this lighter shade brought the space into the current century.
Jason took a few steps toward her, looked above her head. “Thank you works.”
She turned her back to him, looked at the ceiling. “This is one of the nicest things anyone could have done for me.”
“It’s paint.”
“It’s more than just paint. It’s a project. A ton of work.” She turned back around to find him right beside her. A spot of paint dotted his cheek, and she lifted her thumb to brush it off without thinking. It smeared. “Oops.”
“Better?” he asked, grinning.
“The Early American look works well for you.”
“Is that right?”
She laughed.
He glanced down. “The sexy black dress works well for you.”
“Is that right?” She bounced his words back his way.
He leaned closer.
She didn’t back up. Didn’t want to.
“Rachel?”
She watched her name on his lips.
“Yes.”
Jason slid the backs of his fingertips on her collarbone and onto her neck.
She shivered.
“You didn’t say thank you,” he whispered.
Rachel licked her lips. “Thank you, Jason.”
His eyes found hers, briefly, and his lips moved closer. “You’re welcome.”
Her chest lifted with short, unsteady breaths, the heat of his lips only a hair away from hers.
“Oh, God,” she said before taking the last step and reaching his kiss. His lips were soft, his touch tender. How did he smell so damn good?
This was stupid, on so many levels, but she couldn’t stop from touching him any more than she could avoid the smell of fresh paint in the room.
Jason folded her into his arms and arched her back. Everything tingled when his open-mouth kiss deepened and explored. She could drown in his kiss alone, but when his fingers fanned over the small of her back, she melted. When was the last time she’d been held this close, or felt this wanted?
There was no doubt Jason wanted her, and she’d be foolish to think she didn’t want more of him. Her fingers clawed at his chest through his shirt, his lips never left hers. She should come up for air but was afraid to break the spell.
Logic would seep in, and she wanted nothing to do with it.
Jason’s hand slid past her hip and squeezed.
There were stars . . . hot, desirable stars shooting in her stomach and warming her body for the man touching her. She lifted her leg, her hips pushed forward. She didn’t realize her move until she felt him react with a groan.
He pulled back, smoky eyes staring down.
Logic marched forward.
Not yet.
She pulled him back to her lips, didn’t stop him when he filled his hand with her breast. Nipples hardened and her body strained for more.
“Hey, Jason . . . I put your keys by the—”
Owen’s voice stopped them cold.
“Oops, sorry.”
Jason’s hand dropped.
Rachel squeezed her eyes closed. When she opened them, Owen had already backed out of the room.
She dropped her forehead on Jason’s chest and started to laugh.
“That’s a first,” Jason said in her hair.
She took stock of how she was holding him, where his hands were on her. Thank God they hadn’t removed any clothing.
“Oh, boy.”
Jason pulled far away enough to lift her chin with one finger so he could look at her. “Don’t overanalyze this,” he told her.
“How can I not?”
“Just don’t.” He had a goofy smile, and the paint smear on his face had her grinning.
“But you’re my—”
He shook his head, stopped her words with a finger to her lips. “I’m just a guy, falling for a girl.”
“Jason.” How could he say that?
“And you’re just a girl, falling for a guy.”
“You make it sound so easy.”
“It doesn’t have to be complicated.”
But it was, and they both knew it.
He pulled out of her arms and held her hands. “I’m going home. Going to take a very long, cold shower, and try to get some sleep.”
She could use the cold shower herself.
At the front door, he kissed her again.
She let him.
“I’ll buy you a new dress,” he said, looking down.
Rachel followed his gaze.
Splatters of paint dotted her outfit. “Oh no.”
He placed a hand on the side of her face. “It was worth it.”
Much as she hated to admit it, it was.
Chapter Fourteen
Many corporate businesses housed in the heart of Manhattan all but closed down for the last couple of weeks of the year. Not Fairchild Charters. The private charter business hopped this time of year. Affluent people couldn’t always get the commercial flights they wanted, so they sucked up the cost, booked a charter. The other, more frequent flyers booked their planes months in advance to avoid the hassle of busy holiday traffic and delays.
Much like retail worked the day after Thanksgiving to put their businesses in the black, Fairchild did the same, booking more in the month of December than any other two months combined.
Jason made a point not to visit Rachel at work. The weather stayed surprisingly warm, not allowing for the excuse to carpool to the train station. He didn’t remember the last time he prayed for snow until that year.
Just because he didn’t physically see her at work didn’t mean they weren’t talking.
He would send a flirty text, much of which centered around the type of dress he wanted to buy her to replace her green-paint-spattered polka-dotted black dress she now had. She’d pretend he wasn’t being too personal, and he’d ask her if she always tasted like honey.
The company Christmas party was on a Saturday. As much as he wanted to have Rachel come as his date, he knew she’d never allow it. Instead,
he greeted the employees and invited guests and customers. A band played holiday music while the cocktail party progressed. The venue they rented filled quickly, making it hard for him to spot her.
When he did, he forgot to breathe.
“Wow.” She wore red, with spiky black heels showing off her legs.
“What?” Glen stood beside him. “Oh, wow indeed.”
“You’re married,” Jason reminded him before walking away from his brother.
Jason mingled with a few guests before making his way to her side.
“Merry Christmas,” Julie said when he walked up to the both of them.
“Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“The place looks lovely,” Rachel told him.
“You’d never guess I had a hand in picking the decorations,” he teased.
“Really?” Julie asked. “Most of the guys I know are color-blind.”
“I might have had a little help.”
Rachel laughed.
He wasn’t sure if Julie caught on or was simply thirsty. “I’m grabbing a glass of wine, want one, Rachel?”
“I’m good, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
Jason leaned close, whispered in her ear, “You’re killing me in that dress.”
She smiled. “I had a black one, but someone painted it green.”
He kept a respectful three feet away and wished they’d picked a smaller venue as an excuse to move closer. “Where is Owen tonight?”
“Staying with Ford.”
“Any news on Daddy coming to visit?”
She frowned. “Christmas Eve. We’re invited to the Colemans’ for a perfectly stuffy dinner with tension.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too. I tried to push it off. Owen wants nothing to do with it.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to, Jason. Tereck assured me there wouldn’t be any more bad-mouthing of Emily. And TJ has the right to see his son. We need to try and make this work.”
“Hey, Jason.” They both turned to the sound of Trent’s voice.
“Hello, Rachel.” Monica moved between them. “Merry Christmas.”
The women hugged.
Jason envied his sister-in-law.
“How are you liking your first New York winter?” Trent asked Rachel.
“It’s not as bad as I thought it would be.”
“Are you going home for Christmas?” Monica asked.
“No. Owen and I are staying here.”
“Just the two of you?”
She nodded. “He’ll probably play video games most of the day and only duck his head out of cyberspace long enough to eat.”
Monica glanced at Jason and Trent. “You should join us.”
Now Jason wanted to hug Monica.
“I couldn’t—”
“Why not? We have room. There is already a crowd. Don’t you think, Jason?” Monica asked him.
“I think that’s a great idea.”
Rachel matched his stare.
“I don’t know . . .”
“I’m ten minutes down the road. If we’re boring, you can go home.”
“Hey, speak for yourself, I’m not boring,” Trent told his older brother.
“I’ll talk to Owen.”
“Good, that’s settled.” Monica pulled Rachel away by her elbow. “Let me introduce you to Mary.”
Their voices faded as they walked away.
“Looks like someone has a date for Christmas after all,” Trent said.
“Don’t let her hear you say that, or she’ll back out.”
“Why?”
“Because she works for us.”
“It doesn’t look as if that is going to stop you.”
Jason couldn’t keep his eyes off her ass. “It’s not.”
Trent patted him on the back. “C’mon, let me buy you a drink.”
“It’s an open bar.”
“Okay, let me get you a drink . . . and I’ll join in.”
The Colemans lived forty minutes north of them, and holiday traffic made it worse. “We won’t have to deal with this tomorrow,” Rachel told Owen as they drove bumper-to-bumper.
“I wish we didn’t have to deal with this today.”
“It might not be that bad.”
“You say that every time.”
She gripped the wheel. “That’s because I pray every time that it will get better.”
“What if it doesn’t? What if they continue to be douchebags?”
“I wish I had an easy answer for that, Owen. Maybe TJ will help the situation.”
“Or maybe he’ll be a superior ass and make it worse.”
“Watch your language.”
Owen rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You’re thinking it, too.”
“Thinking, not saying.” She smiled at him.
He grinned back.
“We’ll get through this. Play nice. We eat dinner. They will probably give you a present or two.”
“I don’t want their charity.”
“Take it anyway, and smile. Then, when you’re ready to go, tell them you’re feeling sick, or have a headache or something.”
Each home sat on a minimum of two manicured acres. The lawns were covered with leftover snow from two nights before, a pattern that Rachel had noticed since the first flake fell. People had told her it was unusually warm for that time of year and warned her that it wasn’t uncommon for snow to come down and stay for quite some time.
It was the second time they’d been to the Colemans’ home. The colonial, three-story brick structure was as cold as the people inside.
They stood by the white lights from the front door and waited while the ridiculous chime of their doorbell went through its song.
Owen hummed the death march under his breath, and Rachel started cracking up.
They both stopped laughing when Tereck opened the door.
“Come in, come in . . . Merry Christmas.”
There was noise in the house. A lot of noise.
“Are we late?”
“No. You’re right on time.”
They stepped inside the white stone foyer and took off their coats. Rachel had opted for slacks and a sweater and insisted that Owen wear a button up shirt.
Tereck took their coats and placed them in a very full hall closet.
“Come in. Let me introduce you to everyone.”
Owen stuck to her side and whispered, “I thought it was just them and us.”
“So did I.”
They realized their mistake when they walked into the great room packed with people.
“He’s here,” Rachel heard a woman say from across the room.
Deyadria approached them, wearing a dress that belonged in a runway fashion show. The floor-length formal made Rachel feel completely underdressed.
“Here is my lovely grandson.” Her smile was entirely too wide, her words overly animated. She pulled him away from Rachel’s side without so much as a hello. “Let me introduce you to your family.”
Rachel scanned the room for TJ and found him in the back, watching his son.
Owen was surrounded by people within seconds.
The hair on Rachel’s neck stood on end. They’d been ambushed. No one had said anything about some massive family reunion. Although she should have thought it was a possibility, she didn’t see it coming.
Rachel stood out like a red apple in a sea of green. Nearly everyone ignored her, as if she wasn’t in the room. A few looked her way and whispered to each other.
“Hi,” a voice came from behind. “I’m Selma. You must be Rachel.”
Selma had the only kind smile in the room aimed at her. “Hello.”
“I’m Deyadria’s niece.” Somewhere in her early twenties, and owning some of Deyadria’s height. “You look shell-shocked.”
“We weren’t expecting this many people.” And from a few feet away, Rachel noticed when Owen’s face went blank. He was going through the paces of being nice, but she di
dn’t think it would last.
“Aunt Deyadria always leaves out details.”
“Is everyone here family?”
“Mostly.”
Rachel had no idea.
She still held the wine she’d brought with her for their small holiday dinner, which they’d planned on skipping out on as soon as they possibly could. From the reception line that stood up to meet Owen, that wasn’t going to happen anytime soon.
She watched as TJ walked up to Owen and opened his arms.
Instead of offering a hug, Owen put his hand out to shake. At fifteen, Owen was only a few inches shorter than his father, and there was no mistaking the resemblance. “We’re glad you’re here, Owen.”
Rachel noticed Owen’s shoulders stiffen.
She handed the wine to Selma and walked to him without apology.
“Hello, TJ,” Owen addressed his father.
Some of the family around them muttered among themselves.
She had to literally push her way to Owen’s side. There weren’t many times she’d seen Owen vulnerable. A couple of times when they were in the hospital when it became apparent Em wasn’t going to make it, and again at her funeral. Right at that moment, Owen glanced around the room, his eyes wide.
“Merry Christmas, TJ.” Rachel attempted to disrupt the tension.
“Hello, Rachel.”
“Owen and I had no idea your family was so large.”
TJ held his arms wide. “Well, we are.”
Rachel looked at Deyadria. “A little warning might have been warranted.”
“So you could have kept him away from us?”
The room went silent.
“Mom.” TJ looked at his son. “We’re a lot to take in.”
“Wait until Uncle Theo starts drinking,” someone in the crowd said.
Several people started laughing.
“You okay?” Rachel asked Owen.
He attempted a smile and a quick nod.
She leaned close so only he could hear her. “Say the word and we’re outta here.”
For over an hour, introductions were made, a laundry list of names she’d never remember. Selma offered her wine twice, twice Rachel said no. There was no way in hell she wasn’t going to be able to bolt out of there if Owen so much as sneezed.
The room was overwhelming for her, and she wasn’t the center of everyone’s attention.
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