I hesitate on the spot and hear the unmistakable skid of a car, a blood-curdling scream just around the corner.
‘Cait!’
There’s a thud, followed by quiet. Deathly quiet.
I know it’s her. My head spins, my heart contracts, and I’m stumbling and running.
I break out onto the road, skidding to a halt as my gut rolls. I don’t want to see it. I don’t.
But no amount of mental talk can take away the image of her lying on the ground, the car headlights highlighting her crumpled state, and my entire world crumples with her.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
I CAN HEAR VOICES, lots of voices. Or wailing. Or is that a siren?
I try and open my eyes but the light’s too bright. I try to move but it hurts too much. I want the blackness back, no pain, no noise...
I’m cold, so cold, and I don’t know where I am. I want to open my eyes but my body won’t listen. Lights flash behind my eyelids, colours, then white and more white.
I’m moving, being pushed along. What happened? What’s going on?
The voices sound worried, panicked. Is that Mum? Mum?
Nothing. The blackness wraps around me, comforts me.
* * *
I’m warm now and still, very still. There are hushed voices nearby, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I try and lift a hand, but it hurts. My entire body thrums with a strange kind of numbness. I’m fuzzy, out of step with my body.
I try and remember how I got here. Wherever here is.
There’s a weird humming, a low buzz, and a clinical smell in the air... Hospital. I’m in hospital.
And then I remember the car—the car I didn’t see coming because I was crying. Why was I crying?
Jackson. Our argument. I try to push the memory away. I don’t want it. I move my head and hear a whimper. Was that me?
Someone takes hold of my hand, someone soft, loving. Mum?
I try to open my eyes, but they feel stuck together.
‘It’s okay baby girl, we’re here.’
Mum. It is Mum. I rest back into the pillow and feel the tiredness take over. Pushing out the pain, the memory...
* * *
I’m dreaming. I know it’s a dream because I’m dancing with Jackson again. We’re happy, so happy. I look down, expecting to see green silk blending with the navy and green of his kilt and instead I see white.
It’s our wedding day. Our wedding day...
Wake up, Cait, don’t taunt yourself with this. Wake up!
‘Wake up, Cait.’ I realise the voice is real. It’s Dad.
‘Maybe she needs more sleep,’ I hear Mum say as someone puffs the pillows beneath me, and the head end of the bed rises up.
‘It’s been two days.’
Two days?
My lashes flutter open and my hand is taken up as Mum appears a foot away from my face. ‘Cait!’
‘Mum?’
I don’t sound like me. My voice is raw, scratchy.
‘Oh, darling, it’s so good to see you!’
I see her eyes well up but it’s impossible to focus with her so close.
‘Back up a little, love.’ My dad places a hand on her shoulder as he leans into view. ‘You’re sending her boss-eyed.’
‘Dad?’
‘Hey, kiddo, it’s good to see you awake.’
I try to smile but inside I feel like my heart is breaking all over again. My vision blurs as tears well and my mum is back up close again, her hand softly squeezing mine.
‘It’s okay, love.’
It’s not okay. But how can I tell them that? ‘What happened?’
‘You were...you were hit by a car...’ Mum’s voice breaks. ‘Do you remember?’
I nod and close my eyes then press my head back into the pillow and try to ease the discomfort that seems to throb through my entirety.
‘You were lucky, love,’ Dad says. ‘Not that you’ll feel like it right now, but the doctor says you’ll make a full recovery. That’s the important thing.’
I want to ask what I’ve done, what injuries I’ve sustained, but it makes my stomach swim. I look around the room. It’s a private room—chairs, table, TV. Chairs? I frown as I spy the leather jacket slung over one. Mum and Dad don’t own—
‘They’re having a coffee machine crisis, so I opted for a pot of tea.’
Jackson.
‘Cait?’ His eyes widen and his body freezes, a tray with a teapot and mugs outstretched before him. How is it possible he can look like hell and still I find him so gorgeous that my heart’s fluttering wildly in my chest? ‘You’re awake.’
‘Good timing, son.’ Dad walks over to him and takes the tray from his unmoving form. ‘Come on, Marlene, let’s leave these two lovebirds to it.’
‘Back soon, love.’
Mum kisses my forehead but I can’t respond. My eyes are glued to Jackson. Is he real? Am I still dreaming? Have the drugs done this to me—made me hallucinate? I know I must be on plenty, that the woozy feeling in my gut isn’t all down to him.
Mum closes the door and it’s just us. He steps towards me and my eyes widen. He’s definitely real. So very real and still so very tortured.
And I’m still so in love with him it hurts more than any bruise to my body.
‘I’m sorry. I can go. Now that I know you’re okay, now you’re awake...’ His voice is hoarse, his grey eyes bloodshot. When did he last sleep? ‘I can leave if that’s what you want.’ His voice cracks and his eyes water. ‘I just had to know you were okay. And to tell you that I came after you. When you left, I came after you to tell you...’
‘To tell me what?’
‘To tell you I was a fool, to beg your forgiveness, to tell you that I love you, Cait. God help me, I love you and I’ve been an idiot, and I’m so—’
‘Stop.’
I try to push myself up in the bed and wince as the pain grips me. He rushes to my side.
‘Don’t move.’
‘I need... I can’t... Did you just say what I think you did?’
Carefully, he takes up my hand, his touch so gentle and a dramatic contrast to the ferocity in his eyes. ‘I love you, and I’m so sorry.’
I choke as I try to speak, and a tear runs over one lid. He cups my cheek, brushing it away with the pad of his thumb, his eyes hooked on mine. ‘I love you, baby, and if you can forgive me I’ll do everything I can to prove it to you.’
‘Is this really happening?’ The tears are streaming down my face now. I want so much to kiss him, to lean in and take away the tears I see welling in his eyes too, but I can’t move.
‘Yes.’
‘It’s not the drugs?’
He gives a soft laugh. ‘No, baby, it’s all real. Please say you can forgive me?’
I wet my lips. ‘Of course I forgive you. I love you, Jackson.’
He bows his head, drags in a breath, and when he looks back at me his head is shaking; the overhead lights glitter in his eyes as they spill over. ‘You have no idea how good it feels to hear you say that again.’
I give him a small smile. ‘I have a fair idea.’
‘I’m a lucky man.’ His eyes turn grave as they waver over my face. ‘I know I still don’t deserve you, but I can’t walk away. I’m nothing without you by my side, Cait. The second you walked out I knew it, I knew...and then when I ran after you and...and...’
His voice breaks and my inability to reach for him pulls me apart inside. ‘Jackson?’
‘Yes?’
‘Please shut up and kiss me.’
His mouth quirks up, his damp smile everything. ‘I don’t want to hurt you.’
‘You’re hurting me more by not kissing me.’
He chuckles as he leans down, his lips sweeping softly over mine. ‘I love you, Caitlin. I love everythi
ng about you, right down to your obsession with Christmas.’
‘Oh, God.’ My eyes fly open. ‘Christmas! I’m going to miss it.’
He shakes his head at me, his fingers gentle as he strokes the hair from my face. ‘You won’t.’
‘But what day is it today? It must be the twenty-first...the twenty-second? I’m not—’
‘Shh, your mum has it covered.’
‘She does?’
‘Of course she does. She’s Mrs Claus incarnate and has already been on at the staff about what she can get away with.’
‘She has?’
‘Yes, baby. Christmas will be coming to you, and when you get out of here we’ll have another Christmas Day...on a day of our choosing.’
‘We will? You and me? But you hate Christmas...’
‘That was before I fell in love with Santa’s Little Helper.’
I smile and this time it fills my face. I am happy. So very happy. And as I look up into Jackson’s eyes I realise he is too.
No more demons. No more torment.
Love. Just love.
‘Hey hey, sis! Check you out!’
I look past Jackson to see the door open and a queue as far as my eyes can see...brothers, wives, Granny... I give a soft laugh.
‘The Careys are in the house,’ Jackson murmurs.
‘And now you’re one of them,’ I say, turning my hand over so I can squeeze his. ‘I love you, Jackson Black.’
‘Love you too, my naughty elf.’
EPILOGUE
One month later
I OPEN THE door to Jackson’s flat and frown. I can hear music—not just any music, but Mariah Carey at her finest: ‘All I Want for Christmas is You’.
‘Jackson?’
I step inside, pushing the door closed behind me and stop still. Stunned doesn’t even cover it. Filling the living area is a Christmas tree, its lights twinkling, its glass baubles in various shades of gold shimmering. It’s stunning. Exquisite. But it’s the end of January. Where do you even get a tree as late as this?
I sense movement and turn on the spot and—freeze.
No way.
Jackson side-shimmies into the room and starts to mime! Actually mime Mariah Carey! And he’s wearing...
‘Oh, my God, what are you wearing?’
‘You don’t like it?’
He does a little jig that has his Santa hat swinging on his head, his red jacket with white fluffy trim falling open to reveal his tattooed chest, a hint of biceps, and I cover my mouth with my hand, my eyes watering up.
‘I thought it would be right up your street.’
He does a roll that has the bare muscles of his chest rippling all the way down to the tight V disappearing into a wide Santa buckle and bright red shorts...
‘You do look pretty fine, but you, in a Santa costume?’
I shake my head as he continues his act, extending his little jig my way and I’m torn between salivating over his gorgeous body and giggling at this new festive version of the man I love.
‘I told you I owed you a decent Christmas. Just you wait until you see what’s in my sack.’
I can’t help it, I erupt, my entire body vibrating with all-out laughter and he stops and pouts. ‘Right, that does it, time to punish my naughty elf.’
He lunges forward and sweeps me up in his arms. I let out a shriek but there’s no stopping his stride for the bedroom.
‘Is that...turkey I can smell?’
‘Yup.’
‘And, hey, is that Granny’s special eggnog on the side?’
‘Yup.’
‘Mulled wine?’
‘Of course.’
‘Do I have a stocking?’
‘Why don’t you stop asking questions and see for yourself?’
He sets me down in the bedroom and there at the end of the bed is a neat little bundle. I give a squeal and race towards it, lifting it up and giving it a little jiggle. ‘Well, it’s not Lego.’
He shakes his head at me, his eyes dancing, and I’m hooked on his whole body. He does look delicious as Santa.
‘You want to open it or are you going to continue eating me with your eyes?’
I’m so excited. I tip it upside down on the bed and out falls a small square box.
I’m still. I don’t think I’m even breathing.
No...it can’t be.
The red velvet seems to throb up at me from the deep grey sheet and I... I don’t know what to do. I almost daren’t open it. I don’t want to get my hopes up, I don’t...
I look at Jackson and he walks towards me, his eyes sincere.
‘Caitlin Carey...’ he pauses before me and lowers himself to one knee ‘...will you do this reformed Grinch the honour of becoming his wife?’
‘Are you serious?’
He takes up the box from the bed and opens it for me. At its heart is the most exquisite ring, its cluster of diamonds shaped to form a snowflake, and it’s beautiful, oh, so beautiful. My vision blurs as I hiccup on a cry.
‘I know we’ve not been together long, but you’ve always been the one. From the moment you fell in my lap six years ago, it’s been you and only you.’
I’m too stunned to speak. Of all the things I expected, wished for even, this is so much more.
‘If you need time, that’s fine. I just want you to know how serious I am. And if you’ll have me I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you know I love you.’
I stare down into his face and see all his love shining back at me and smile through the tears.
‘I will marry you...on one condition.’
His brows lift. ‘Anything.’
‘You wear this every Christmas. Or a variation thereof. You make the most delicious Santa. I’m quite—’
My words are cut off as he launches to his feet and swings me around, his lips crushing mine.
‘You’ve got it. So long as you return the gesture?’
‘Oh, I think that can be arranged.’
He lowers me to my feet and slips the ring out of the box and onto my eagerly awaiting finger.
‘Merry Christmas, Elf-to-be.’
‘Merry Christmas, Santa.’
* * *
DARE to read more sexy stories!
Check out our other Harlequin DARE titles, available now:
No Strings Christmas by Clare Connelly
Turning Up the Heat by J. Margot Critch
Pure Satisfaction by Rebecca Hunter
And Ash and Coco's story is also available to read now in
Getting Dirty by Rachael Stewart
Discover more at Harlequin.com
Keep reading for an excerpt from Turning Up the Heat by J. Margot Critch.
WE HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK FROM
Take control. Feel the rush. Explore your fantasies.
Step into stories of provocative romance where sexual fantasies come true. Let your inhibitions run wild.
ALSO AVAILABLE FROM
The Fiancé
Close Quarters
by Stefanie London
Getting caught with scandal-ridden CEO Daniel Moretti is the cherry on top of Ava’s day. Until he proposes a fake engagement that will pacify her mother and save Daniel’s reputation. In close quarters, they can’t resist saying yes all night long! Could a fake engagement lead to true love?
Her Playboy Crush
by Nicola Marsh
Ryder Beale is back in town and adorable statistician Polly Scanlon is back in lust. He’s six-feet-plus of sexiness—and her brother’s best mate. Also, she doesn’t stand a chance with him. Until now. A fling with Ryder is pure delicious trouble...the kind she can’t resist!
Masquerade
by Cara Lockwood
Heiress Asha Patel has just crashed a party w
ithout knowing that the masquerade ball is for exclusive members only. The moment she sees gorgeous French host Mathis Durand she wants membership more than anything. But Mathis has something else in mind for a bombshell... Is Asha willing to pay the dangerously high price?
Dating the Rebel
Liaisons International
by Lisa Childs
Professional gambler Grant Snyder knows that Miranda Fox is trouble. Petite, delectably curvy trouble. So why is he trying to prove that he’s the perfect guy for Miranda’s posh dating service? They loathe each other. They want each other. But one of them is bluffing...and the other is playing very dirty.
Turning Up the Heat
by J. Margot Critch
CHAPTER ONE
GEMMA REXFORD COULD feel the attention of everyone on her when she entered the hotel’s banquet hall. She smoothed her hands down the front of her black dress and looked around for her brothers and their girlfriends. They were nowhere to be found in the crowd. As she walked deeper into the mass of people, she could feel them assessing her with open curiosity, jealousy and, as evidenced by the eyes that traveled up and down her figure as she passed, desire. Were they looking at her dress, her hair or the fact that they were all there to celebrate her, despite the fact that she was one of very few women in attendance at the International Rum Sellers and Distillers Convention?
Well, maybe celebrate wasn’t quite the right word to use for the curious, envious glances that were thrown her way by the predominantly older male crowd. As a woman in the rum industry, she was part of a small but growing demographic, but none had been awarded a blending and distilling award from the association. It was a high honor, but even though Reid and Lila, and Quin and Celia were in attendance, Gemma was still the fifth wheel, and she felt incredibly out of place.
Gemma made her way into the room and took a quick look at the stage and saw the large trophy that she would somehow be taking home to the Rexford Rum Distillery in Miami. Like it will even fit in the overhead bin.
Smiling at those who politely waved and nodded in her direction, Gemma realized that she would need liquid fortification to get through the rest of the evening and made her way to the bar. If there was ever a place where one could get a drink, it should be this awards banquet. But when she arrived at the large bar, she found herself next to several men—all sniffing their glasses, swirling, sipping, smacking their lips. They were turning what should have been a casual drink into a spectacle. Owners and CEOs of some of the world’s biggest rum brands drank their own brands, comparing the depth of caramel color and strength of spicy notes, boasting to their contemporaries about their own successes, but they all quieted when she approached, sliding their eyes over to her. Normally, Gemma didn’t mind attention, but at the conference, she saw it as scrutiny. Everyone was trying to figure out the young female distiller who had been called one of the best in the world. She knew she made good rum. But the accolades made her feel uncomfortable.
Unwrapping the Best Man Page 17