Affectionately.
And that's when things got complicated.
-8-
The best way to describe Mitchell's back, thought Jacquie the next morning, was symmetrically broad.
He was putting on his shirt. She lay on the bed, spent and sated.
She'd be able to let him go, she assumed. It had been a good lay, better than a good lay. Several good lays. Far better than she'd hoped for.
It had been worth it.
She'd felt frustrated. Tense. In need of release. She'd wanted to be with a man who looked at women as more than just breasts and vaginas.
What she'd gotten in return, however, was a man so sensual that his kiss had buried itself far down below her physical form, and entered into a section of her mind that she'd long since closed shut.
No man's land.
"It's still snowing." His casual statement brought her back to the room.
"That it is."
He turned to her, his buttons still undone, his short hair a frazzled mess from her questing hands the night before.
She knew how it went. And she wouldn't lower her pride and beg him to stay. She was a grown woman now. She'd had her time for love, or, at least, her time for believing in it.
Life had sobered her up. A son with a man who'd loved her no more than the tramps he'd fucked almost every other night in the short time he'd been with her had sobered her up.
No, Mitchell had been—internally she sighed—a damn good lay. And that's all it was. The angst at seeing him get ready to leave was just the little girl in her rearing its head, trying to capture that magic she'd believed in when watching Disney movies about princesses who don't exist, and being swept off their feet by princes who never would be.
"Don't forget to call the airline," she hinted, trying to make him feel like he shouldn't worry about "commitment" or any such thing.
They were both adults here.
He paused with his hand to a cufflink. "Right, right..."
There was a buzz from her dresser. Mitchell's phone. He picked it up.
He turned to her. "It's your brother."
Her heart sank. Was Jeff planning to invite Mitchell over for Christmas lunch? She'd...like that, she admitted.
Mitchell answered. They spoke a bit.
"He asked if I'd come over for lunch with...you guys," he said to her, phone to the side.
If she'd been standing, she would have fallen. Her heart ricocheted inside her. She swallowed.
"I mean," he said, "if it's not weird or—"
"It's not weird." She realized she'd said it too quickly. "I mean, if...your flight's not available...of course."
"Sure, sure. But if I fly out tonight, I'd still miss lunch at home anyway. Next best holiday I got there is New Year's. So I might as well stay."
"Right."
He confirmed with Jeff and put the phone off.
They looked at each other a moment. "Thank you," he said, "for last night. It was... I really enjoyed it."
She wasn't sure how to read that. He seemed sincere. "Yeah, I..." She felt her cheeks heat up. "I...came a few more times than I'm used to." She looked down at the sheets, played with them.
She could feel his gaze on her, could feel his questions in the air.
"Wanna grab some breakfast?" he suggested.
She laughed. "It's England, Mitchell. Nothing's open."
"Oh, right. What about a movie?"
She raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry, I'm being too forward."
"No, silly, it's England! No movies on Christmas Day either!"
"No shit. Damn, that's a big blockbuster day in the states."
"Well, nothing's sacred there, is it? But...I could fry you up some bacon and eggs for a real English breakfast—if you'd like."
"If you show me where the eggs are, I'll slap up a Real English myself. And one for you."
Jacquie's skin went warm. The most a man had ever put on the table for her before had been a Wimpy burger and fries. Cold ones.
"Jacquie?"
"Yeah, uhm, sure, well, they're...in the fridge. I'll jump in the shower meanwhile."
After the shower, she put on the same silk robe she'd had on the night before. William would be with his cousins until tomorrow evening, Boxing Day. It was her family's gift to her, to take him off her hands on some of the Bank Holidays.
Part of her didn't like the sympathy. The other part appreciated that it was one of the few times she could still feel like a woman.
Although, for the last year, "feeling like a woman" on those nights had meant nothing more than reading a steamy novel to a glass of red wine on her couch. The real thing had simply lost its appeal of late.
Maybe she'd get lucky again this morning. She knew she wanted to.
The breakfast Mitch made was pretty good, for an American.
She sat on a stool at her modest kitchen counter. He sat across from her. "I couldn't find the coffee," he said.
She smiled. "There is none. Only tea."
Mitchell's heart went soft at the purity of her eyes, the bashfulness of her pale cheeks as she played with her food. His heart caromed inside him as she eased a lock of her wavy hair behind her ear.
She was all woman, Jacqueline. Full and feminine. She didn't have a single unrealistic touch to her. Life had had its way with her, he'd seen. It was evident by the stretch marks of her pregnancy, the light ripples on the backs of her legs and her stomach.
Battle scars.
He had his own. The stray gray hairs that had appeared on his head over the last two years. The small lines that had formed on his forehead after wife Number Two. The webbed feet by his eyes after Number Three.
He wondered if the fifteen-plus days—cumulative time—he spent at the gym every year were worth it. What else could he do in that time? Take a vacation with a family he didn't have?
Spend a week relaxing...in England. With a...friend?
Jacquie had a son, a bright son with a smile so curious it had made his chest pitter-patter when he'd seen it the night before. She had a home, small and cozy. Welcoming.
And he? What did he have? A cold mansion. A car so fast it left everything behind. Even the important things.
And a Christmas alone.
"Breakfast's good," she said.
He couldn't hold it back anymore. The bacon and mushroom and toast on his plate interested him less than a multi-million dollar deal just before the contract got signed.
He breezed around the counter and wrapped his arm around her waist.
He wasted no breath this time, spent no time warming her up or getting her ready.
He wanted her damnit. He wanted her more than he'd ever wanted any goddamn woman in the entire freaking world and, darn it, he would have her!
She gasped as she faced him.
His chest heaved.
Evidently, she wanted him as well: She ripped his shirt off like so much paper. Buttons bounced on the floor. Good thing he'd packed extra.
Before he knew it, his pants were on the ground and her lips were hot against his own while her hand massaged his balls below so firmly that he groaned deep into her ear.
He eased her off the stool. It fell. He spread her legs for her, slid himself between them and found her moist entrance around her panties.
The thought of logistics made him take a step back. She clutched him so he couldn't leave. "Condom," he said.
Her breath was ragged. "I'm—on the pill."
"Do you trust me?"
"Shouldn't I?"
He didn't bother answering, the question had been rhetorical.
He slid himself into her.
She whimpered, started trembling, shook and shuddered and began saying his name. "Mitch, oh, God. Mitch."
He speared her, held her warmth to him and felt her soft breasts on his hard ones.
He needed her, wanted her. Every cell in him cried out for her.
She put her hands on the counter behind her and stood firm, legs wi
de.
He fucked her.
Her head shook. His legs shook. Their bodies shook as paradise overtook him, slammed him, nailed his head to the ground and then kicked him when he was down.
It was heaven.
Her squeezing vag, was heaven.
Her dripping entrance, was heaven.
But her eyes, blue and wild, fresh and liquid, they were something else. They were something else entirely. True and honest and clear.
She stared him straight in his, stared straight down into his aura as the last remnants of him shot up into her.
What did she think of him? he wondered.
Was he just a good lay? A good fuck? Something she did with any man on what would otherwise be an empty Christmas day?
He shook himself inside her, felt the last drops fight upwards and then out of him and into her.
"I think I'll need another shower," she said.
He cupped her cheek, his erection still deep within her, moved in to kiss her.
The kiss melted him, as it had done the night before. It would be his undoing, he knew. He found himself kissing her neck like he'd kiss the neck of someone he loved. He was hungry for her, unable to satiate this lust of his that only grew stronger every time he drank of her.
He wanted her again now.
And so he took her again.
She clutched him tight in the end. She dug her nails into his back as they both fell off the cliff together one more time.
She held him, like a lover.
More than a lover.
He didn't let her go when they were finished. Neither did she.
"Mitchell," she finally said, speaking into his shoulder, "you need to let me go now."
The words rang deep with him.
Because he did need to.
-9-
This was Jeff's fault, thought Jacquie. For years the bastard had been trying to get her "settled down" and "with a good man."
And now? He'd hooked her up with his business partner. A business partner who lived in America of all places!
But the worst wasn't that.
She didn't want to admit the worst part. Because it had been sex after all, and only sex. Right?
Her parents' house smelled of roast and potatoes when she and Mitchell walked in.
Mum was grinning ear to ear. Of course she was. She damn near gave Mitchell a kiss herself as she took off his coat. "Have a good time you two?" she asked with a lilt.
Mortifying. But mum always had her back. Jacquie must give her that.
"Mommy, mommy!" William cried as they settled down on a couch. His red hair flailed wildly as he ran toward her. He jumped on the couch and almost kneed her in the stomach. She wrapped her arms around him and wondered why all men couldn't be like him—loving, generous, considerate.
Mitchell was at her side, no physical contact. They'd just sort of landed that way on the couch without even thinking about it. This wasn't a relationship after all. But now that William was with her, she noticed it.
And she was made minutely claustrophobic by it.
What if William got attached to Mitchell? She knew as well as anyone the boy needed a father. Her brother Jeff was a good man but...a little too nerdy.
William needed a man around.
And she also knew that he'd naturally gravitate toward a real man in any room, whether she was dating that man or not. Which is what made her worried that Mitchell was suddenly so near to her. Because he had that essence to him, that manliness about him.
William might get the wrong idea. Might grow attached to him, even if only a bit.
She needed to not be sitting so close to Mitchell. She couldn't risk confusing her son in any way. All the men she'd been with before had never even met the boy. She made an excuse to get up and go to the kitchen.
"Did you sleep at my house yesterday, sir?" William asked of Mitchell when she was almost out the room.
Mitchell nearly spat his drink out. He looked up to see Jacquie's large and terrified eyes, now turned toward him.
"Uhm, no, no. I, uhm—"
"Hotel," said Jacquie's mom.
Mitchell could kiss her on the cheek for that.
He liked kids, he just was no good around them.
"But there aren't any hotels around here."
This kid was smart.
Grandma to the rescue again: "Course there are, silly. Down the road, the, uhm..." She snapped her fingers.
Jeff jumped in: "Crown—something-or-other."
The kid wasn't buying it. He peered suspiciously into Mitchell's eyes and Mitchell felt like he was meeting Jacquie's father—or maybe The Godfather.
"You know," said the boy, "my mum's very vuhlnable right now."
"I'm sorry, what?" Mitchell asked.
"Vuhlnable. Someone said at school that she's—"
Saved by the bell: "Daddy! Look!" It was Jeff's youngest. Kaitlyn, if Mitchell remembered correctly. She'd rushed into the room showing off some furry shoes of hers that were now covered in slush. The conversation quickly turned into one of various Oh dear! and Goodness they'll get ruined! statements.
The boy forgot his question and dropped the third degree.
Jacquie returned, and Mitchell sighed in relief.
"You guys had fun?" she asked.
"Had a blast."
After lunch, William the Guardian seemed to not be very perturbed about spending another night at his grandparents' place with the rest of the kids. Seemed like a usual thing.
Back in the lounge, stuffed to the hilt with English hospitality, the adults chilled with drinks and Mrs. Conway Senior came out with the blaster: "Jacquie, we were wondering if you'd mind if we took William out to the country for a few days to visit Aunt Nora."
"Aunt Nora?"
"Yes."
"But that's two hours away."
Mrs. Conway's appearance was stoic. Mitchell noted how she hadn't looked him in the eye during her "suggestion."
"Mum—" Jacquie stopped abruptly, suddenly understanding the ploy. "William?" she called out.
From somewhere in the back, he screamed, "Yes, Ma!"
"Come here quickly."
He did, a tie around his head like he was a ninja. "What, mum!"
"Do you want to go to Aunt Nora's—?"
"Yes."
"Really?"
"Yes. Can I go now? Karl's teaching me karate."
A moment of stunned silence as Jacquie processed the information. "Uhm, yes, you can go." She'd hardly finished the sentence when he was out of there. "When will you be back?" she asked her own mother.
"Oh, who knows, two days, three, four. I mean, unless, of course, Mr. Langford, you're planning on leaving? We wouldn't want to leave Jacqueline here all alone..."
Jacquie bowed her head and put her hand to her brow in mortified embarrassment. She mumbled, "I feel like I'm fifteen."
He struggled to keep the smirk down himself. "Uhm, Mrs. Conway, sure, no, I mean, I'd be glad to...ahem...keep Jacquie—Jacqueline—company. Sure."
He'd not even thought of the answer, just committed to it. He'd called his own mother the night before. She'd told him she was happy he was with friends and asked if he'd met a nice girl.
What was it with these moms?
Jacquie kept mumbling to herself. Her head still firmly buried in her hand, her cheeks so red that all Mitchell could think of was warming up his lips on them.
"Well," said Mrs. Conway, hands to her knees, "lovely then. Tea anyone?"
-10-
"He seems like a fine young fellow," Mrs. Conway said to her son Jeff in the kitchen. They were bringing out desserts to finish off the afternoon's get-together.
"Told you he was." Jeff leaned back on a counter, eating more cookies than he should.
"It's time Jacquie settles down. This business of raising a boy on her own..." Mrs. Conway shook her head. "It's just not right. She deserves someone who'll treat her right. Not like that last...bugger! Oh, he makes me so mad when I think of him!"
She was referring, of course, to William's father. A man of low responsibility and yet endless virility. One of the few men who received the blessed honor of having Mrs. Conway actually utter a curse every time she spoke of him.
Mrs. Conway might be well into her sixties, but she was no fool. She understood a younger woman's needs. She didn't blame her daughter for her escapades. As far as Mrs. Conway could see, Jacquie had done a right good job raising that boy the way she had. She knew Jacquie was no hussy. She was just...misunderstood.
Little Jacquie had pride. And because of that pride she chose to stand on her own two feet instead of having some fool philander around and make an idiot of her.
Good on her for leaving the...bastard!
There. She'd cursed twice now because of him. Urgh! Bloody fool!
That's three.
It had been a year or more since Jacquie had put herself out there. She was always careful. Always put her son first. Mrs. Conway knew her daughter picked her men studiously. Well, more studiously since she'd learned her lesson with...him. She knew, as well, that many of the women of today thought first with their bodies and then with their hearts. Not as it had been in her day. Oh no.
But she was with the times. She could appreciate that things had changed. It was not her place to say if it was for the better or the worse. Things were simply as they were.
As for actively working to put her daughter and a man together, now that was something she'd never done! Take the boy to Nora's place? Hah!
She'd had a "feeling" about this Mr. Mitchell. He'd all but transformed Jeff's life from nobody to high corporate flyer all those years back.
They'd had a difficult time of it before that—the Conways. All of them. Jeff's marketing skills had not been wanted at home by English companies. Mrs. Conway's own husband had long since retired, weak in the knees and frail in the back.
They were pensioners.
Although she hadn't asked for it, Jeff had taken on the role of family patriarch and provider. But, out of work for two years, he'd been on the verge of taking his wife and daughter away to Ireland or America or, God forbid, Germany of all places!
No self-respecting Englishman goes off to Germany to provide for his family.
Mr. Mitchell took a chance on Jeff. Mrs. Conway knew how close she'd come to rarely seeing her son because he'd be working abroad, how close she'd come to missing out on her grandson growing up. Not to mention Jeff's second, Kaitlyn. She came later. Mrs. Conway would have missed out on that, too.
Christmas Comfort (Hot Holidays Series) Page 3