A Very Gothic Christmas

by Christine Feehan

  “My mother never said a word to me, Dillon, about what happened to me that night. Why didn’t she talk to me about it all those years? The nightmares. I wanted someone to talk to.” She had wanted him.

  “She told me she waited for you to come to her, but you never did.”

  Jessica sighed softly as she pulled away from him. “I could never bring myself to tell her what happened. I felt guilty. I still go over every move I made, wondering what I should have done differently to avoid the situation.” Her hand rubbed up and down his arms. She felt the raised ridges of his scars beneath her palm, the evidence of his heroism. A badge of love and honor he hid from the world. “How could Mom have thought you were guilty?”

  “I told her what went on and the entire time I was breaking things, threatening them, swearing like a madman. She was sobbing; she sat on the floor in the kitchen with her hands over her face, sobbing. I went back upstairs. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I think I was going to physically throw Vivian and her friends out of the house, one by one, into the ocean. Your mother saw me go up the stairs. I stood on the landing and could hear Vivian weeping, shrieking to the others to get out, and I knew I couldn’t look at her again. I just couldn’t. I went back downstairs and out through the courtyard. I didn’t want to face your mother, or the band. I needed to be alone. I walked into the forest and sat down and cried.”

  She could breathe again. Really breathe again. He wasn’t going to do anything silly such as try to convince her that he had actually shot Vivian. “I’ve always known you were innocent, Dillon. And I still don’t think my mother believed you killed them.”

  “Oh, she believed it, Jessica. She stayed silent at the trial, but she made it abundantly clear that I wasn’t to go near you or the children. I owed her that much. For what happened to you, I owed her my life if she asked for it.”

  Jessica felt as if he’d knocked her legs out from under her. “She never said anything but good things about you, Dillon.”

  “She knew I wanted you, Jess. There was no way I would ever be able to be around you and not make you mine.” He admitted it without looking at her.

  His tone was so casual, so matter-of-fact, she wasn’t certain she heard him correctly. He was looking out to sea, into the thick veil of mist, not at her.

  “And I would have let you.” She confessed it in the same casual tone, following his example, looking out at the crashing waves.

  His throat worked convulsively; a muscle jerked along his jaw at her honest admission. He waited a heartbeat. Two. Struggled for control of his emotions. “Someone has been attempting to blackmail me. They sent a threatening letter, telling me that they knew I had gone back into the house that night and that if I didn’t give them ten thousand dollars a month, they would go to the police. I was supposed to transfer the money to a Swiss account on a certain day each month. They used words cut out of a newspaper and pasted onto paper. To my knowledge Rita was the only person who saw me go back into the house that night before the shots were fired. That was the reason I asked her to come here, to discuss the matter with me.”

  “You thought my mother was blackmailing you?” Jessica was shocked.

  “No, of course not, but I thought she may have seen someone else that night, someone who saw me go back into the house.”

  “You mean one of the security people? The staff? One of the groundskeepers? There were so many people around back then. Do you think it was one of them?”

  “It had to be someone familiar with the inside of the house, Jessie.” He raked a hand through his hair, his gloved fingers tunneling deep, tousling the strands in his wake.

  Jessica glanced back toward the house. “Then it has to be one of them. A member of the band. They lived there on and off. They all survived the fire. Robert? He and Brenda need the cash and it’s a plan she’s capable of coming up with. I doubt if blackmailing someone would bother her in the least.”

  Dillon had to laugh. “That’s true—Brenda would think she was perfectly within her rights.” His smile faded, leaving his blue eyes bleak. “But they all need money, every last one of them.”

  “Then it’s possible one of the band members killed my mother. She must have seen someone, maybe she confronted them about it.”

  Dillon shook his head. “That’s just not possible. I thought about it until I thought I’d go out of my mind—it just isn’t possible. I’ve known them all, with the exception of Don, all of my life. We were babies together, went through school, went through hard times together. We were family, more than family.”

  Her hand went to her throat, a curiously vulnerable gesture. “I can’t imagine someone we know killing Mom.”

  “Maybe it really was an accident, Jessie,” he said softly.

  She just stood there looking up at him with that look of utter fragility on her face, tugging at his heartstrings. Unable to stop himself, Dillon reached out, pulled her to him and bent his dark head to hers. There was time for a single heartbeat before his lips drifted over hers. Tasting. Coaxing. Tempting. Kissing Jessica seemed as natural to him as breathing. The moment he touched her, he was lost.

  Dillon drew her into his arms and she fit perfectly, her body molding to his. Soft. Pliant. Made for him. His tongue skimmed gently along the seam of her lips, asking for entrance. His teeth tugged at her lower lip, a teasing nip, causing her to gasp. At once he took possession, sweeping inside, claiming her, exploring the heated magic of her. Where she might have wanted to be cautious, with him she was all passion, a sweet eruption of hunger that built with his insistence.

  Her mouth was addicting and he fed there while the wind whipped their hair around them and tugged at their clothing. The sea breeze cooled the heat of their skin as the temperature rose. His body was full, heavy and painful. The hunger raged through his body for her, a dark craving he dared not satisfy. Abruptly he lifted his head, a soft curse escaping him.

  “You don’t have an ounce of self-preservation in you,” he snapped at her, his blue eyes hot with an emotion she dared not name.

  Jessica stared up at his beloved face. “And you have too much of it,” she told him softly, her mouth curving into a teasing smile.

  He swore again. She looked bemused, her eyes cloudy, sensual, her mouth sexy, provocative. Kissable. Dillon shook his head, determined to break free of her spell. She was so beautiful to him. So innocent of the vicious things people were capable of doing to one another. “Never, Jess. I’m not doing this with you. If you have some crazy idea of saving the pitiful musician, you can think again.” He sounded fierce, angry even.

  Jessica lifted her chin. “Do I look the type of woman who would feel pity for a man who has so much? You don’t need pity, Dillon, you never have. I didn’t run away from life, you did. You had a choice. No matter what my mother said to you about staying away from me and the children, you still had a choice to come back to us.” She couldn’t quite keep the hurt out of her voice.

  His expression hardened perceptibly. “It was my choices that brought us all to this point, Jess. My wants. My needs. That isn’t going to happen again. Have you forgotten what they did to you? Because if you haven’t, I can tell you in vivid detail. I remember everything. It’s etched into my memories, burned into my soul. When I close my eyes at night I see you lying there helpless and frightened. Damn it, we aren’t doing this!” Abruptly he turned his back on her, turned away from the turbulent sea and stalked back toward the house.

  Jessica stared after him, her heart pounding in rhythm with the foaming waves, the memories crowding so close that for a moment madness swirled up to consume her. The fog slid between them, thick and dangerous, obscuring her vision of Dillon. She swayed, heard chanting carried on the ocean breeze. Beside her, the German shepherd snarled, his growl rumbling low and ominous as he stared at the moving vapor.

  “Jess!” Dillon’s impatient tone cut through the strange illusion, dispelling it instantly. “Hurry up, I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

&
nbsp; Jessica found herself smiling. He sounded gruff, but she heard the inadvertent tenderness he tried so hard to keep from her, to keep from himself. She went to him without a word, the dog racing with her. There was time. It wasn’t Christmas yet and miracles always happened on Christmas.

  chapter

  7

  “COME ON, JESSIE,” Trevor wheedled, stuffing a third pancake in his mouth. “We’ve been here a week. Nothing’s happened to us. There’s no weird stuff happening and we haven’t even had a chance to explore the island.”

  Jessica shook her head adamantly. “If you two want to explore, I’ll go with you. It’s dangerous.”

  “What’s dangerous?” Trevor glared at her as he picked up a huge glass of orange juice. “If Tara and I are in any danger, it’s of being sucked into one of those video games we’re playing so much. Come on, you and the others have been locked in the studio and we’re always alone. We can only watch so many movies and play so many games. We’re living like zombies, sleeping all day and staying up all night.”

  “No.” Jessica didn’t dare look at the band members. She knew they thought she was overly protective when it came to the twins.

  Brenda snickered. “It’s none of my business but if you ask me, they’re old enough to go outside all by themselves.”

  “I have to agree with her,” Brian seconded, “and that’s plain scary. Trevor’s a responsible kid, he’s not going to do anything silly.”

  Tara glared at Brian. “I am very responsible. I said we’d look for a Christmas tree. Trevor wants to find one and chop it down.”

  Jessica paled visibly. “Trevor! Chopping involves an axe. You certainly aren’t going to go chopping down trees.” The thought was truly frightening.

  “They aren’t babies,” Brenda sounded bored with the entire conversation. “Why shouldn’t they go outside to play? All that fresh air is supposed to be good for kiddies, isn’t it?”

  Jessica glared at the twins’ aunt as she sipped her morning coffee. “Stop calling them kiddies, Brenda,” she snapped irritably. “They have names and like it or not you are related to them.”

  Brenda slowly lowered her coffee mug and peered intently at Jessica. “Do us all a favor, hon, just have sex with him. Get it over with and out of your system so we can all live in peace around here. Dillon’s walking around like a bear with a sore tooth and you’re so edgy you exhaust me.”

  Trevor spewed orange juice across the counter, nearly choking. Tara gasped audibly, spinning around to glare accusingly at Jessica.

  “Oh dear,” Brenda sighed dramatically. “Another huge gaffe. I suppose I shouldn’t have said ‘sex’ in front of them. One must learn to censor oneself around kid . . .” she paused, rolled her eyes and continued. “Children”

  “Don’t worry, Brenda,” Trevor said good-naturedly, “we kiddies learn all about sex at an early age nowadays. I think we were a little more shocked at your mentioning Jessica and our dad doing the a . . .” he glanced at his sister.

  “Dastardly deed,” Tara supplied without missing a beat.

  Brian mopped up the orange juice with a wet cloth, winking at Jessica. “It would be dastardly if you decided to hop in the sack with Dillon. All his wonderful angst and creativity might evaporate in a single night.”

  “Shut up,” Jessica snapped, placing her hands on her hips. “This conversation is not appropriate and it never will be. And we aren’t doing anything, dastardly or otherwise, not that it’s any of your business.”

  Tara tugged at the pocket of Jessica’s jeans. “You’re blushing, Jessie, is that why you’re irritable all the time?”

  “I am certainly not irritable.” Jessica was outraged at the suggestion. “I’ve been working my you-know-what off with a madman perfectionist and his group of comedy club wannabes. If I’ve been a teensy little bit edgy, that would be the reason.”

  “Teensy?” Brenda sniffed disdainfully. “That doesn’t begin to describe you, dear. Robert, rub my shoulders. Having to watch my every word is making me tense.”

  Robert obediently massaged his wife’s shoulders while Brian circled around Jessica completely, peering at her with discerning eyes. “Your you-know-what is definitely intact and looking delicious, Jess, no need to worry about that.”

  “Thank you very much, you pervert,” Jessica replied, trying not to laugh.

  Dillon paused in the doorway to watch her with hungry eyes. To drink in the sight of her. The sound of her laughter and her natural warmth drew him like a magnet.

  He had spent the last week avoiding brushing up against her soft skin, avoiding looking at her, but he couldn’t avoid the scent of her or the sound of her voice. He couldn’t avoid the way his blood surged hotly and little jackhammers pounded fiercely in his head when she was in the same room with him. He couldn’t stop the urgent demands of his body. The relentless craving. She haunted his dreams and when he was awake she became an obsession he had no way to combat.

  Thoughtfully, Dillon leaned one hip against the door. The intensity of his sexual hunger surprised him. He had always felt that Jessica was a part of him, even in the old days when it was simply companionship he had sought from her. They merged minds. Her voice blended perfectly with his. Her quick wit always brought him out of his brooding introspections and pulled him into passionate battles in every aspect of music. Jessica was well versed in music history and had strong opinions about composers and musicians. His conversations with her inspired him, animated him.

  There was so much more. He felt alive again after a long interminable prison sentence. It wasn’t at all comfortable, but along with bringing him to life, Jessica was putting the soul back into his music. He swore to himself, each time the moment he opened his eyes that he wouldn’t give in to the whispers of temptation, but it seemed to him that he had gone from a barren, frozen existence straight into the fires of hell.

  He couldn’t help loving his children, being proud of them. He couldn’t help seeing the way Jessica loved them and the way they loved her back. And he couldn’t help the desperate longing to be part of that bond, that intense love. Dillon had no idea how much longer he could keep his hands to himself, how much longer he could resist the lure of a family. Or even if he wanted to resist. Did he have the right to allow them into his world? He had failed once and it had changed the course of so many people’s lives. Death and destruction had followed him. Did he dare reach out again, risk harming the ones he loved? He swept a hand through his thick hair and Jessica immediately turned, her vivid eyes meeting his.

  Jessica could feel her heart thundering at the sight of him. A faint blush stole into her face as she wondered if he had overheard the conversation. She could only imagine what he must be thinking. Looking at him nearly took her breath away. There had always been such a casual masculine beauty to Dillon. Now, it seemed more careless, a sensual allure against which she had no resistance. One look from his smoldering eyes sent her body into meltdown. He was looking at her now, his blue eyes burning over her, intense, hungry, beyond her ability to resist.

  Jessica tilted her chin at him in challenge. She had no reason to resist the strong pull between them. She wanted him to belong to her, body and soul. She saw no reason to deny it. As if knowing her thoughts, he lowered his gaze which drifted over her body, nearly a physical touch that left her aching and restless and all too aware of his presence.

  “Dad?” Tara’s voice instantly stopped all conversation in the room. It was the first time she had addressed Dillon that way. “Trevor and I want to go looking for a Christmas tree.” She glared at Jessica. “We aren’t going to chop one down, only look for one.”

  Dillon smiled unexpectedly, looking like a mischievous, charming boy, so much like Trevor. “Is Mama Tiger showing her fangs?”

  “Her claws anyway,” Brenda muttered into her coffee mug.

  “The weather’s good, so we’ll be perfectly safe,” Trevor added, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Someone has to get this Christmas thing off the ground.
We have less than two weeks to go. You’re busy, we don’t have that much time left, so Tara and I can handle the decorations while you work.”

  Dillon didn’t look at Jessica. He couldn’t look at her. The boy’s face was hopeful and eager and trusting. Tara had called him ‘Dad’. It tugged at his heartstrings as nothing else could have. His gaze shifted to his daughter’s face. She wore an expression identical to her brother’s. Trust was a delicate thing. It was the first time he’d come close to believing in miracles, that there might be second chances given out in life, even when he didn’t deserve it. “You think you can find the perfect tree? Do you know how to choose one?”

  Jessica blinked, her teeth sinking into her lower lip to keep from protesting. Dillon’s tone had been casual, but there was nothing casual in the vivid blue of his eyes, or the set of his mouth. His gloved hand rubbed along his denim-clad thigh, betraying his uncharacteristic show of nerves. The gesture disarmed her, stole her heart. She wanted to put her arms around him, hold him close, protectively, to her.

  Tara nodded eagerly. She grinned at Trevor. “I have a long list of requirements. I know exactly what we want.”

  Don had been sitting quietly in a chair by the window but he turned with a quick frown. “You don’t just arbitrarily chop down trees because you want a momentary pleasure. In case you’re not aware of it, when you chop the tree down, it dies.” The frown deepened into a fierce scowl when Dillon turned to face him. “Hey, it’s just my opinion, but then that doesn’t count for much around here, does it?”

  “I’m well aware of your environmentalist concerns, Don,” Dillon said gently. “I share your views, but there’s no harm in topping a tree or taking one that’s growing too close to another and has no chance of survival.”

  “We’re supposed to be working here, Dillon, not celebrating some commercialized holiday so the privileged little rich kids can get a bunch of presents from their rich daddy.” There was unexpected venom in Don’s voice.