Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors)

Love, Laughter, and Happily Ever Afters Collection (Eight Fun, Romantic Novels by Eight Bestselling Authors) Page 27

by Violet Duke

  It didn’t take much for her dainty fairy-like features—dark catlike eyes, petal soft skin, and full, just-kissed lips that curved up at the corners even when she wasn’t smiling—to become the picture of unabashed joy.

  That’s what it was. Joy. Her eyes would fill to the brim with the stuff, and transform into those—for lack of better description—‘dancing rainbow eyes’ that Beth used to always go gooey over whenever she’d see it happen on smiling, cherubic children. Shining with humor, arched like two little half-moons over high, laughing cheekbones, those eyes alone could make anyone in a fifty-yard vicinity smile.

  A stark contrast to the week prior.

  For days after that night, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of her telling him about her heartbreaking past, her eyes brimming with tears she simply refused to shed, her broken-angel features almost haunting in its pain.

  He stared at her in wonder. “Seriously, Tessa, how is it that you can still laugh like that?”

  “Like what?” She blinked, little bursts of laughter still seeping into her voice.

  “Like the universe hasn’t taken everything out of you and crushed your spirit, like it hasn’t squeezed the humor out of your soul with its selective brutality.”

  She looked startled for a moment, but then recovered with a slow nod. “Sometimes I forget you know exactly what that feels like.” Shaking her head, she said softly, “For a while, I couldn’t laugh. Especially after Willow died. It’s not easy to keep laughing. You have to be open to surprises, work at not shutting yourself off to them. When you focus so much on surviving, nothing is a surprise because you’ve prepared yourself for everything. That’s why nothing is funny anymore. You can’t laugh if you don’t let the unexpected sneak up on you and take you by surprise.”

  She gave him a determined look and stood up. “Here, try this—go over to that window and look outside. Mentally catalog everything you see.”

  He looked out at the pitch-black scenery on the other side of the glass. “Everything I see in the dark?”

  “Just do it. There’s enough street light. Be quiet and concentrate.”

  The woman was cute when she was being bossy.

  A tiny bit curious over where this was going, he turned and did as he was instructed, staring off into the night and taking inventory of the neighbor’s fence off to the right, the house with the weird rock garden out front, three SUVs… He heard her shuffling around behind him. “What are you doing back there?”

  “Stop getting distracted. Keep going,” she said sternly.

  When she fell all but silent behind him, he focused back on the bizarre task at hand. Street curb, tree, fire hydrant…

  “Okay, now turn around and tell me what you see.”

  He pivoted toward her and heard it before he saw it—the airy hiss that registered in his brain a split second too late.

  Followed by an ice-cold splatter webbing over his face.

  Gaping, he swiped a hand down his face to clear the stuff out of his eyes.

  The woman had actually sprayed him with a can of whipped cream.

  Tessa’s jaw fell open and she backed up a step. “I swear, I didn’t know it was going to do that. I was just aiming for your mouth.”

  With a slow, simmering smile, he wiped the rest of the cream off on the sleeve of his shirt as he stalked toward her. “You’re so going to get it.”

  Her eyes flicked down to take in just how much white foam was now staining his partly rolled sleeves and her lips twitched in a flagrant lack of remorse.

  Despite the fact that she was laughing at his expense, he smiled wider. Mostly because he’d just added that escaped grin to the tally of things he was going to collect on.

  “Now, Brian. Let’s be rational,” she tried reasoning. “You can’t blame me for that food canister malfunction.”

  Another tiny giggle.

  Check.

  The closer he got, the more he wondered why exactly she wasn’t even trying to run—

  He found out moments later when she launched the whipped cream toward the dining room and bolted in the opposite direction toward the sliding patio door.

  Clever little prey. Too bad she put too much stock in the bottle of whipped cream.

  He snagged her by the belt loops and crushed her body back against his. The sudden explosion of ear-singeing curse words at full soprano intermixed with those drunken fairy giggles of hers had a ball of laughter building in his chest.

  Naturally, she followed that up with the last possible thing he expected.

  Rather than attempt to escape, she instead spun around and grabbed the two sides of his half-buttoned flannel shirt—or as Skylar called it, his country music award outfit—and rammed her face into the opening. She smooshed her face against the plain black t-shirt he wore underneath, and wrapped the two flannel sides around her head like a protective bubble from any whipped cream retaliation. Her laughter continued, of course, buried though it was against his chest.

  “This is your defense of choice?” He burst out laughing. “The ostrich-head-in-the-sand move?”

  He took a few steps forward and cracked up harder when she shuffled back quickly to keep pace. He was certain if the girls were to happen upon them in the house now, hopped up on candy as he was sure they’d be, they’d freak out thinking they were seeing an ass-backward centaur.

  Two muffled words vibrated against his sternum.

  “What was that?” He grinned, deliberately mishearing her. “Was that an ‘I’m sorry?’”

  That smoked her out.

  “I said, ‘You’re welcome,’” she flung out quickly before diving back in.

  Not nearly quick enough, however.

  An indignant cry pierced the air as he smeared a dollop of salvaged whipped cream down across her face.

  “Thank you, sweetheart.” He kissed her forehead between sidesplitting chuckles. “That was the first belly-deep laugh I’ve had in years.”

  She gave him an adorably disgruntled pout, and used his shirt to wipe her face before eventually chuckling and smiling up at him from ear to ear. “You should laugh like that more.” Her eyes twinkled with more of that infectious joy. “It sounds good on you.”

  SUDDENLY, SHE FELT his warm hand cup her cheek and slide along her jawline. Just a gentle, mild little caress to swipe away a smudge of whipped cream at the corner of her mouth. But for some reason, it inspired her tongue to flick out and curl around the pad of his thumb.

  Oh my.

  An intense fireball of hunger flashed, burned in his eyes and then without a sound, he pivoted, grabbed her hand, and quickly towed her to his bedroom.

  The door slammed shut behind him, cloaking them in darkness.

  “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

  God, his voice had dropped even lower, to a sexy thunder down under rumble.

  “Crazy in a good way or a bad way?” she managed to ask as her eyes adjusted to the lack of light.

  “Both.” He circled slowly around her as if she were a dangerous animal…he was getting ready to pounce on. “You have no filter whatsoever. Not with what you do or say, and especially not with how you react.”

  “That’s not my fault. You can just point that finger at yourself, buddy,” she grumbled back before snapping her mouth shut.

  Alright, so maybe he was right about the filter thing.

  “What?”

  Man, if looks could strip. She’d never felt this naked before, this out of control. Inwardly, she sighed. The guy just brought out the uncivilized in her.

  Oh well. She came this far—may as well see where this ride ends. “You heard me.” Her chin came up defiantly. “I can’t think when you talk in th
at ridiculously sexy voice. Or when your biceps suddenly double in size in the middle of even the simplest of tasks, like lifting a coffee mug. And don’t get me started on your eyes. My god, I almost walked into a wall the last time you smiled and your eyes went from that soft ocean blue to deep turquoise. I mean who does that?!”

  It was like she just couldn’t stop talking.

  When he came to a standstill and stared at her like she’d lost her mind, she huffed, “It’s simply not reasonable to expect a girl to have a filter with all that steamy-eyed, bicep-bulging, talking-like-a-wet-dream-voice-over madness going on!”

  Silence.

  Huh, so where might one buy one of these filters, she wondered.

  With a quiet curse, he stomped toward her and picked her up by the waist, not even pausing in his stride as he kept right on walking to the bed. Well, if he going to take her for a ride…

  She speared her hands into his thick, tousled waves and nearly purred with pleasure.

  “Stop being so damn open,” he rasped, sounding like a man about ready to do the unimaginable, his lips a whisper away from hers.

  “Stop being so damn irresistible,” she threw back, digging her heels into the carpet until his body ran flush into hers and bulldozed her straight back, flat onto the bed.

  The air wedged in her throat as she watched the outline of his granite-etched jaw clench and release. He was so beautiful. Oh to hell with it. She wrapped her arms around his neck and touched her lips to his throat. The quiet male hiss she heard shot her attention down to the fact that he was more than a little happy to see her. Impressively so. And her sigh of pleasure against his throat served as a live current of electricity that she felt run through him…everywhere.

  His hands slid into her hair and tilted her head back before he brought his lips crashing down onto hers.

  “You’re so mind-screwingly sexy,” he muttered gruffly against her lips before his tongue made another sweeping raid in her mouth. “For chrissakes, I feel like I have zero control around you.”

  FOR ONCE, Tessa didn’t have a snappy comeback for him. And despite his current state, which was anything but funny, Brian grinned over that as he flicked his tongue out to slide along the seam of her lips in triumph.

  But then he nearly bit his own tongue off.

  “I like making you lose control,” she whispered, sliding a hand down past his waistband.

  He jackknifed upright and flipped her onto the bed, pulling her hand up out of his boxer briefs to pin both of her wrists behind her back, wedged against the mattress.

  She wriggled against him. “You’re always holding my hands down. Don’t tell me, you have a thing for bondage?” she teased as she tried to escape his grip.

  When he couldn’t stop his hips from bucking sharply against hers in response, she stilled and met his gaze. “Um…do you? Because if that’s what you’re into, we can uh—”

  Keeping her wrists in place with one hand, he clapped the other over her mouth in exasperation. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

  Her body stopped squirming finally but there were still the equivalent of floating cartoon question marks in her eyes.

  She was going to be the death of him.

  “Have I fantasized about bondage?” he rumbled, his voice straining at the seams. “Of course. What guy wouldn’t want a woman at his sexual mercy for a change?” He let out another silent oath when her eyes sparked with naked, hungry curiosity. “Do I want to try it with you? Probably, one day. It’d be hot as hell.”

  “And if you don’t stop talking, that one day is going to be today—all your work deadlines bedamned. So for the love of God, stop pushing me before you sentence us to an even longer bout of hot, hard, take-you-six-ways-to-Sunday sex.”

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  HE DIDN’T CALL. After Brian had liquefied half her brain cells with that speech, and made it impossible for her to think of little else besides what more she could have done to get her sentence extended from six to seven-ways-to-Sunday sex…not one call or text all week.

  She felt like an idiot.

  Clearly, he was rethinking things between them. And the thought of that filled Tessa with a bone-deep feeling of loss, which was absurd really because he hadn’t even been hers to lose.

  Not hers to lose.

  She repeated that mantra to herself as she picked up her ringing landline.

  “Hello?”

  “Tessa?”

  She sighed. Still not hers to lose. “Hey, Abby.”

  “Tessa, I promise I’m not playing cupid again. I really do need you to do me a favor if you can. Brian and I usually spend this day together every year. Doing nothing. It’s a long story. And one that’s not mine to tell. But I’m not feeling well and I don’t want him to be alone today. Do you think you could go over in my place?”

  “I really don’t think—”

  “Please, Tessa. I swear I don’t have any ulterior motives here. I’ve never left Brian alone on this day for years. And you’re the only one who I think will understand.”

  What if he doesn’t want me to understand?

  But she was wavering; Abby sounded so broken up about it. What could have possibly happened on such a specific day? She knew Beth hadn’t died in the spring and unless Brian had some severe phobia of leprechauns, she didn’t know what terrible thing could be plaguing him on March 17th.

  “Why don’t you ask Connor?”

  “Because I think Brian would want to see you. In fact, I know he would. Now that I think about it, even if I weren’t feeling under the weather, I’d still think you’d be the best person for this today.”

  So cryptic. “Okay, I’ll be there.”

  *

  BRIAN GLANCED at the clock and went over to answer the door, reaching over to snag the phone along the way. He’d meant to call in the pizza order before Abby arrived, but somehow, he’d lost track of time. Seemed his mind was more distracted than usual today. But not with the usual distractions.

  “Tessa.”

  He opened the door wider. And Tessa pushed through with a determined stride and a take-no-prisoners gait that was almost domineering enough to cover up the unsure set of her jaw.

  Dammit, she was so freakin’ cute.

  “Tessa, what are you doing here?”

  “Abby sent me.”

  For chrissakes, when had his best friend become such a meddler?

  “She promised she’s not playing matchmaker this time,” interjected Tessa quickly. “She’s not feeling well.”

  Now Brian was concerned. “Is she okay? Is my brother home with her?”

  “Yes and yes. Abby said she’s just been exhausted with her long work hours. Connor is apparently at home force-feeding her chicken soup and subjecting her to endless fussing. But she promised she’d call you tomorrow.”

  Tessa grabbed a throw pillow, plopped on the couch, and looked up at him expectantly, concern written all over her face. “So, do you want to tell me why Abby thinks I’m the best person to spend St. Patrick’s Day with you? You don’t have to tell me. But she seems to think I’d understand what you’re going through.”

  He thought about that for a moment and shook his head. “I’m not sure you would. You didn’t put your sister in a care home, did you? I remember Connor saying something about that once.”

  A sad look of understanding clouded over her face. “No,” she said quietly. “I didn’t. I couldn’t bear to leave her there alone.”

  That pierced him in the gut like a dull, serrated blade.

  “Oh, Brian, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, it’s okay. I did what I knew was best for Beth and Skylar.
I couldn’t be there to watch Beth all the time because I had to work. The care home took care of her in ways I couldn’t.” He gazed over at the calendar on the wall, at all the smiling green clovers Skylar had drawn on today’s date. “March 17th was the day I admitted her. I remember it like it was yesterday. I remember signing all the paperwork, I remember not knowing how to leave, and most of all, I remember exactly what it felt like when I finally did. And sadly, at least for a while after that day, I know she remembered it all too.”

  “Her dementia hadn’t set in yet?”

  “It came in waves. But that day, she’d been fully lucid. I tell myself it’s better than if the reverse had happened and she hadn’t been aware when I left…that it would’ve been worse if she’d just woken up one day later with her mind crystal clear, but still wondering how in the hell she got there. No matter what I tell myself though, I can’t ever forget that look—that look on Beth’s face when I left the care home that night. Without her.”

  Remembering it hit him like a sucker punch every time. And it was a punch he never ducked, especially not on March 17th.

  “I think Willow would’ve wanted to be put in a home.”

  Stunned, Brian looked over to see if she was just trying to make him feel better.

  Apparently not, because frankly, Tessa looked a little astonished herself. “I’ve never said that out loud before.” She seemed to be chewing the words in her mouth before she asserted again, “But it’s true. I think toward the end, before her memory started going, Willow actually did want to be put in a home. She tried to tell me once but I wouldn’t hear of it.” A self-deprecating sigh whooshed out of her. “It took me a few years to realize why she probably said it. My dad and I had arranged our work schedules so one of us would be at Willow’s bedside at all times. I worked the bakery from two a.m, to eleven a.m., and dad worked security at the lumberyard from four p.m. to midnight. It worked, but the schedule never really accounted for sleeping.”

  “Since dad had his own HD symptoms taking a little more out of him each day, I always made sure he got lots of rest. So, the only times I would sleep were the times he wasn’t sleeping when he was home, which were only a few hours here and there. I remember I’d always be terrified to go to sleep. I was so sure something would happen to Willow if I did.”

 

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