Maybe This Christmas

by Sarah Morgan

  Living with him had deepened what she felt for him.

  Seeing the way he was with Jess—

  Brenna dragged her eyes away from him, wishing she could turn her feelings off or at least turn them down.

  She told herself it was the tequila that was making her emotional.

  “Are you ready?” She turned to the little girl who had been building the snowman, explained what she wanted her to do, and together they skied down, Brenna holding her all the way.

  Tyler was waiting at the bottom, his helmet and goggles lying in the snow at his feet as he laughed and joked with waiting parents who didn’t seem at all alarmed or angry that their children had come down one of the most difficult runs in the resort. And she didn’t need to look far to find the reason for their unusually mellow acceptance.

  The reason was standing right in front of her, all six foot three of him.

  One of the mothers asked if they could take photos, and Brenna waited for Tyler to refuse, but again he surprised her, posing with each of the children in turn. At the insistence of one of the fathers, he pulled Brenna into the photo, too.

  He looped his arm round her shoulder, dragged her against him and she pinned the obligatory smile on her face.

  “Great to meet you.” Richard’s father shook Tyler’s hand and then ruffled his son’s hair. “That’s one for the album. Thanks. And thanks to your girlfriend.”

  Brenna didn’t dare look at Tyler.

  * * *

  “IT WOULDN’T TURN OFF with the key or the kill switch?” His phone wedged between his shoulder and his jaw, Tyler dumped two cans of tomatoes and a can of beans on top of the meat and turned up the heat.

  The food looked unappetizing, and he had a feeling that nothing he did was going to improve the situation. He jabbed at the mixture with a spoon and listened while Jackson outlined the problem. “I’ll do you a deal—you come and fix dinner, and I’ll fix the snowmobile. You’re a better cook than I am.”

  Brenna walked into the kitchen, her hair wet from the shower. She was wearing a strappy top with a pair of yoga pants, and her feet were bare. Avoiding his gaze, she walked cautiously across his big open kitchen. Long legs. Bare feet.

  Unfortunately, the lack of eye contact did nothing to ease the tension that now seemed to be a permanent part of their relationship.

  It wasn’t just living together that had caused the problem, it was the shift in the way they responded to each other.

  When he’d encouraged her to speak her mind and be more assertive with people, he hadn’t realized he would be one of those people.

  It didn’t matter whether it had been the tequila talking; she’d said things that couldn’t be unsaid.

  They’d talked about subjects neither of them had broached before.

  Like sex.

  Was she planning on having sex with Josh?

  He felt something rip through him. An emotion he didn’t recognize and had never felt before.

  Jealousy.

  He was never jealous. It was ironic that the first time he should experience jealousy would be with Brenna. He’d protected their friendship more carefully than anything else in his life apart from Jess. It shouldn’t matter to him who she saw or what she did.

  That wasn’t the way their relationship worked, and it never would be.

  Jackson was saying something from the phone but Tyler didn’t hear him.

  There was a roaring in his ears, and his brain was doing crazy things.

  He wanted to flatten her to the wall and kiss her until she could no longer remember her own name, let alone think about Josh. He wanted to trail his mouth over her bare shoulder and lower. He wanted to rip that inadequate strappy top off her taut, mouthwateringly perfect body and feast on every part of her.

  She dragged open the fridge and finally glanced at him, and maybe she saw something in his eyes she hadn’t seen before because she froze. It made him think of a gazelle spotting a lion, afraid to move.

  Given that he was on the verge of pouncing, it was an uncomfortable analogy.

  She might have been safer with the lion.

  He had no right to do this. No right to think thoughts he had no intention of following with actions.

  Jackson’s voice came again, sharper this time, and Tyler stirred. “What? Yeah, I’m still here.” He watched as she reached into the fridge. She was fit and strong, slim and toned, and he knew the fact he was salivating had nothing to do with the meal he was cooking.

  “Ty? Are you paying attention?” Jackson’s voice came from the phone, irritated, and he forced himself to concentrate.

  “Sort of.” His voice was croaky, and he averted his eyes from the perfect dip and curve that was Brenna’s waist and hips. What had she meant by that comment that he didn’t notice her as a woman? Of course he noticed her. He was working so damn hard not to notice her, it was driving him crazy. “I’m here, unfortunately. I wish I wasn’t because then I wouldn’t be the one cooking dinner....” He listened to the predictable brotherly banter, his gaze sneaking back to linger on Brenna’s smooth arms and the straight column of her spine. He’d seen her wearing less in the summer, but somehow this was different. “What? I don’t think what I’m cooking has a name, but it looks as if something died in the pot. Hopefully, this concoction will ensure I never have to cook again. Élise is training Jess, so there’s hope in my future. That’s providing I have a future, which I may not have once I’ve taken a mouthful of this.” He expected Brenna to leave, but instead she sat down at the table and curved her hands round the glass of juice she’d poured, listening.

  Her skin was fresh and smooth, her hair the color of oak. She had the sort of face advertising agencies used to promote shampoos and wholesome soap.

  Which made his thoughts all the more inappropriate.

  She was his best friend.

  And Josh was taking her to dinner.

  He jammed the spoon in the pot, reasoning that no amount of savage stirring could ruin something that was already ruined. “Is onion supposed to be black? What?” He listened as Jackson spoke. “I’d rather fix the snowmobile than dinner, that’s for sure.”

  “Jackson has a problem with one of the snowmobiles?” Brenna half whispered, half mouthed the words so she didn’t interrupt his conversation. “I could go and help.”

  Was she looking for an excuse to escape?

  He shook his head, even though he knew she was perfectly capable of fixing whatever was wrong. She knew her way around an engine as well as he did. “Do you see a black wire with a white stripe coming from the stator?” He shifted the phone so that he could talk and carry on stirring, not because he thought it would make any difference to the dinner, but because he couldn’t reach out and grab Brenna with a spoon in his hand. “It’s got a bullet-style connector and sometimes that gets knocked out—yeah, that’s right. Did you have the air box off? Well, then, that’s your problem. Without the wire attached, the sled won’t die when you kill it.”

  He talked Jackson through the problem, and by the time he ended the call and put his phone down on the table, he was back in control. “I’ve made dinner. My advice? Order takeout.”

  “It smells—interesting.” She stood up and walked across to the stove. “What is it?”

  “Mexican. Or perhaps I should call it Mess-ican. It has beans and chili and some other stuff. Some of which burned. Blame Jackson. I was distracted. He called at the difficult part when I was frying.”

  She rested her hips against the counter. “The difficult part? Do you ever listen to yourself?”

  Right now he couldn’t hear a thing over his brain telling him to kiss her.

  “I never listen to myself,” he muttered, “because I have crazy ideas.”

  “Tyler, you rescued two kids and skied down a slope with one und
er each arm that ninety percent of the population wouldn’t attempt with both their hands free. And you call this—” she glanced at the food “—difficult?”

  “I’d rather ski that slope blindfold than cook dinner.”

  “It will be fine.”

  “You haven’t tasted it yet.”

  “You’re forgetting I’m not much of a cook, either. If the way to a guy’s heart is truly through his stomach, I’m doomed. Whatever you’ve made will be better than what I usually eat.”

  Was she interested in Josh’s heart? Or other parts of him?

  Tyler groped for his beer and took a big gulp. “So did you speak to Patrick about that incident with the kids?”

  “Yes, but he was already freaked out enough without me laying it on. Thanks for helping out. I wanted to thank you yesterday, right after, but you dashed off and then we kept missing each other.”

  He’d worked really hard on making sure they kept missing each other. “Anytime.”

  “Listen—about the other night and the stuff I said—”

  “Forget it.” He glanced up with relief as Jess walked into the room. “Hi, sweetheart. You’re late. Was the bus delayed?”

  “Yes.” Without looking at him, Jess made straight for the fridge, and Tyler was about to make a flippant comment about uncommunicative teenagers when he noticed her shoes.

  “What happened to you?”

  “Nothing happened to me.”

  For a moment he forgot about Brenna. “You’re soaked through. You fall in a ditch or something?”

  “It’s slippery out there. I’m hoping tomorrow is another snow day.” She poured milk into a glass, her hand shaking so much she sloshed milk onto the floor. “I ripped my jacket. I’ll pay for a new one. Sorry.”

  “You don’t have to pay. Since when do you buy your own clothes?”

  “If I ruined something, Mom made me pay for it.” She drained the glass and topped it up. “She said if I paid for it, I’d learn to take care of my stuff better.”

  Tyler stared at her. “Yeah, well, accidents happen, and I don’t expect you to pay for it. But I’d like to know how it got torn.” Something about the way she held herself, the way she wasn’t looking at him, told him there was more going on than she was telling him. “Did you—”

  “Dad! Stop asking questions. I’m clumsy, that’s all.” Moody, scowling, she slammed the fridge door shut and then wrinkled her nose. “What’s that terrible smell?”

  “That terrible smell is what happens when you leave me to cook.” Deciding that handling a teenage girl needed the skills of a bomb-disposal expert, he backed off. “It’s ready whenever you’re hungry.”

  “I don’t think I’m hungry anymore.” Jess walked across the kitchen and peered cautiously into the pan. “Have you tasted it?”

  “Why would I want to do that? I made it. The rest is up to you.” He threw the spoon down, strolled to the table and sprawled in a chair. He was about to put his feet on the table when he caught Jess’s eye.

  “You sit down, too, Brenna.” She urged Brenna to the table. “Not this side because I’m going to be cooking and rushing around. Go around and sit next to Dad. I’ll finish off dinner.”

  He didn’t want Brenna sitting next to him.

  He didn’t want her anywhere near him, but apparently Brenna failed to notice that piece of blatant teenage manipulation because she did as Jess suggested.

  “So how was school, Jess?”

  Tyler wondered if she’d have more success than he had, but it seemed Jess wasn’t eager to share details of her day with anyone.

  “There was no skiing. Enough said.” Jess stuck a spoon in the pot, tasted it cautiously and coughed until her eyes watered. “Dad! How much chili did you put in this?”

  “I lost count. Blame your uncle Jackson. He was talking to me.”

  “It’s not a good idea to lose count with chili.” Jess guzzled water as if she’d been lost in the desert for a month while Luna nudged her leg hopefully. “You don’t want this, trust me. It would blow your doggie brain.” She rummaged in the cupboards, pulled out more tomatoes and puree and proceeded to add and adjust, tasting all the time.

  “She ate your food, Ty, and she’s still alive.” Brenna reached across the table for the juice she’d poured. “It’s a miracle.”

  The miracle was that he was managing to keep his hands to himself.

  From this position he had a view straight down her top, and his gaze welded itself to the shallow dip between her smooth breasts. He saw creamy skin, a hint of lace and then lost focus.

  He didn’t breathe, didn’t move, and when she sat down he sucked in air, feeling as if he’d been smacked in the gut by a heavy object.

  Thanks to Jess, she was sitting so close he could see the flecks of green in her eyes and the freckles dusting her nose. He could smell that elusive scent that made him think of the long, slow days of summer.

  And he could think of nothing but sex.

  Why?

  What the hell was wrong with him? Was it the memory of the things she’d said under the influence of tequila, or was it simply that he was jealous of Josh?

  He pushed his chair back, an involuntary movement designed to put distance between them. Keeping his eyes away from her shoulders and the smooth skin of her arms, he groped for his beer.

  Across from them, Jess served the chili into bowls. “I’ve done my best, but it’s probably still going to make you sweat.”

  He couldn’t sweat any more than he was already.

  It was having Brenna living here. Under his nose. Walking around in bare feet wearing nothing but a strappy top and clingy yoga pants.

  And talking about sex.

  He dug his fork into the chili, surprised by how good it tasted. “You’re a genius, Jess.”

  The moody, sullen expression vanished and was replaced by a smile. “You made it. All I did was adjust it a little bit.” She glanced at him and grinned. “Okay, I adjusted it a lot.”

  Somehow they made it through dinner, although he had no idea what they talked about.

  Brenna had the sense not to mention school again and instead turned the conversation to skiing.

  Still, Tyler could think of nothing but sex.

  He ate quickly, decided against a second helping and swept his empty plate off the table. “Excuse me, ladies, I need to go take a cold shower.” He stood up, banging against the table in his attempt not to look at Brenna.

  “Now?” Judging from the look Jess gave him, he might as well have announced that he was taking up ballet.

  “Yes, now. Cooking is sweaty work.”

  “Brenna and I are going to watch skiing. Will you join us?”

  “Sorry, sweetheart, not tonight.” Even the rush of guilt wasn’t enough to make him give a different answer. “I have to help Uncle Jackson with that snowmobile.”

  Jess cleared the bowls. “After your shower?”

  He opened his mouth but was unable to think of a single, logical explanation, mostly because there wasn’t one. Logic had left the room along with self-restraint. “Last time I checked, a man was allowed to decide when to take a shower in his own house. Thanks for rescuing dinner. I’ll see you later.”

  In the end, he abandoned the cold shower in favor of leaving the house as fast as possible. He grabbed his jacket, whistled to Ash and stepped out into the cold.

  He walked along snow-covered trails toward the barn where they kept the snowmobiles and the rest of the outdoor equipment.

  Jackson was lying on his back, fiddling with the snowmobile and using words that would have made his grandmother frown. Words that grew worse when Ash bounded over and landed on him.

  “I thought you were training that stupid dog.”

  “It’s a work in progress.�
�� Tyler strolled around the snowmobile. “So far there’s not been much progress.”

  “You’re not kidding.” But he ruffled Ash’s fur before he pushed him off. “So how was dinner?”

  “I was cooking it, which should give you a clue. Fortunately, Jess came and rescued the food.”

  “That explains why you’re alive. So if you’re not here to tell me you’ve poisoned yourself and only have an hour to live, what are you doing here?” Jackson tested the snowmobile. “This machine is dead. I changed the plugs, but they’re full of fuel when I take them out.”

  “Well, at least you know you’re getting fuel, so that’s not the problem. Sounds like the inlet needles are sticking to the carbs.” Tyler pulled off his gloves and crouched down next to his brother.

  For the next hour they worked together on the snowmobile, and then Kayla walked in holding two mugs of coffee. Maple, their miniature poodle, was at her feet.

  “I thought you might—oh, hi, Tyler! I didn’t know you were here.”

  Ash spotted Maple and bounded toward him.

  “Sit!” Tyler bellowed, and Ash screeched to a halt, hesitated and then sprang again, but the brief delay had given Kayla a chance to put the mugs on the floor and scoop up Maple.

  “Get that animal under control!”

  “Believe it or not that is the under-control version.” Tyler stood up and pushed Ash’s rump to the floor. “Sit means your butt engages with the floor.”

  Ash wagged his tail, his gaze fixed on Maple.

  “The dog wants to play.” Jackson stood up and wiped his hands on a rag. “He’s not going to hurt her.”

  “Maybe not intentionally, but Ash playing is enough to end Maple!” Kayla held the little dog close but Maple wriggled. “Do you have a death wish or something? I brought you coffee but most of it is on the floor now.”

  “So I see.” Jackson leaned forward and kissed her slowly, taking his time.

  Ash whined.

  “Cover your eyes, buddy,” Tyler muttered, “this is only the beginning.”

  Kayla eased away from Jackson. “How are you finding living with Brenna?”