by Beth Ciotta
He grinned. “I know. I was there.”
“Was it good for you?”
“Never better.”
Maya’s inner thighs tingled when he hovered and soul kissed. Amazing how he could fire her up with mere kisses.
“Maya.”
She blinked up at his handsome face, her stomach fluttering with a thousand butterflies.
“I don’t know about the future, honey. I can’t think beyond now.”
She brushed her fingertips over his worried brow. “That’s okay. We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Or the day after.” She could sense his doubts and concerns, and even though she didn’t have all the answers herself, she did at least have faith in their deepening relationship. Something this good, this special, couldn’t be doomed to failure. “I’m thinking you’re the one in need of distraction now.”
Heart full, Maya rolled on top of Zach and rained kisses down his chiseled torso. “Let’s see if I can top never better.”
* * *
Zach’s eyes flew open, startled by a sound. No. Not a sound. A presence. He reached for the handgun he’d hidden nearby. He hadn’t mentioned the weapon to Maya. She wouldn’t approve. But Zach believed in the right to protect. He wouldn’t think twice about defending Maya. Yet when he trained his Glock on the shadowy figure sitting in a nearby chair, Zach’s heart seized. “Ben?”
“Yo, dude. I’ve already been shot once.” He waved off the revolver. “Do you mind?”
Zach lowered his weapon and looked down at Maya. She was fast asleep. He looked back to Ben. Still there. “Am I dreaming?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.” Dressed in bloodied cammies, Ben motioned to Maya. “She’s something special.”
“How would you know?”
“I’ve been watching.”
“From where?”
Ben pointed up.
Zach licked his lips, raised a brow. “From heaven? What are you now? An angel?”
“A messenger.”
Heart pounding, Zach spared Maya another glance. She hadn’t budged. She didn’t hear them talking? Of course not. Because he had to be freaking dreaming. He looked back to his dead friend. “I’ll bite. What’s the word?”
“Don’t be a wuss.”
Zach laughed. “That’s the message from above?”
“In a nutshell.” Ben leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees and affording Zach a better look at his grease and blood–smeared face.
Zach felt sick and mesmerized at the same time. “Are you going to haunt me, Ben?”
“Nope. This is a onetime visit. I saw you screwing up and begged for this chance. A chance to say thank you and good-bye, and to give you a kick in the ass. Step up to the challenge, Zach. There’s more than one way to make this world a better place. Just ask Maya.”
Sweating now, Zach palmed Maya’s shoulder, hoping to connect with reality. Oh yeah. She felt solid and warm, which freaked him out all the more. He’d played along with Ben, thinking he was dreaming, but if he was awake … He glanced back to Ben, but the angel, the ghost, the messenger, whatever … was gone.
Zach fell back on the pallet, temples throbbing.
He closed his eyes, willing his nerves steady. Maybe he’d been hallucinating. Too much cheap wine. A bit of bad chowder. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Dead was dead, right?
He rolled away from Maya, toward the comfort of the fire. He wondered if Marx kept any hard liquor in this cabin. He could sure use a shot. He opened his eyes and found himself face-to-face with his mom.
“Holy hell.”
“Don’t curse in the presence of women, Zachery.”
“Sorry.” His long dead mother was lying on her side, propped up on an elbow. She hadn’t aged in fifteen years, and she was still wearing her waitress uniform. “How can you be here, Mom?”
“You needed me.”
“I’ve needed you lots of times.”
“Not like tonight.” She pushed up a couple of inches and looked over his shoulder. “I always liked Maya.”
Poleaxed by the surreal feeling of being caught between reality and a dream state, Zach flashed back on the holiday movie he’d watched with Maya. He knew Maya thought he was cynical. Had he twisted things in his mind so that he was Scrooge, putting Ben and his mother in the roles of the ghosts of Christmas past and present?
Damn.
“Do you have a message, Mom?” he asked, wanting to hurry this nightmare along but at the same time wanting her to linger.
“I do. But not for you. For Maya. Tell her I said you’ll make beautiful babies.”
“Mom—”
“I love you, Zach,” she said, and then she was gone.
* * *
The next time Zach awakened, sunlight was spilling through the cabin windows and Maya was looking down at him with a big, cheery smile. “Merry Christmas, Zach.”
He smiled up at her sweet face, palmed her cheek to make sure she was real. “Merry Christmas, Maya.”
“Storm stopped. At least the wind died down. I’m almost afraid to look outside. There could be six feet of snow out there.”
“I doubt that, although the drifts could be fierce. I’ll check it out.” He brushed a kiss across her mouth, experiencing a moment of pure joy, before pushing to his feet. Though he managed a poker face, his muscles ached and his leg hurt. What bothered him more was the fuzzy feeling in his head. “Remind me to steer clear of that brand of wine in the future.”
“Are you feeling hungover?” she asked as she pulled on her undies and jeans. “You didn’t have that much.”
“Not hungover, but, I don’t know. Disconnected. Groggy. Had a couple of weird dreams.”
“Want to talk about them?”
“They’re sort of fuzzy. Maybe some fresh air will help.” Zach dressed quickly, angling his head when he heard a rattle and a hum.
“Is that the generator?”
“Sounds like it’s trying to kick in.”
“That would be awesome.” Maya pulled on that reindeer sweater and whisked into the kitchen area. “I think I saw some oatmeal and coffee. I’ll see if I can whip us up a quick breakfast. We’ll need energy to dig out. Oh, and maybe we should call Daniel. See if he can get someone up here with a plow and—”
“Maya.”
“What?” She turned away from the cabinets and teetered into Zach.
He steadied her, frowned. “Are you babbling because you’re excited about Christmas Day? Or because you’re anxious about us?”
She smiled a little. “Both?”
“Like you said last night, we’ll sort things out today. Or maybe tomorrow.”
“No rush.”
He grinned now. “Liar.” Backing away, Zach nabbed his walking stick and limped toward the front door. “Make that coffee strong!” he called over his shoulder.
He stepped onto the porch and shoved on his shades. Unlike yesterday, the sun was beaming full out. There was a lot of snow, but nothing like what Zach had expected. Had it blown and drifted on the other side of the cabin? Navigating knee-deep snow, he rounded to the back …
And saw an old white-haired man leaning over the generator. He was dressed in hunting garb and sporting a scowl. Zach recognized him from the photographs inside. “Roscoe Marx?”
“As you live and breathe.”
“I thought you were in Canada until after Christmas.”
“So did I.”
At first Zach thought Marx was hunched over the generator, but on second glance he looked plain crooked, his posture bent at an unnatural angle, sort of like a question mark. Zach looked over the brim of his glasses for a clearer look, but the glare off the glistening snow was blinding. “Name’s Zachery Cole.”
“Gunnery Sergeant. United States Marine Corps.”
Zach pulse thrummed. “Not anymore.”
“Once a Marine, always a Marine, son.”
“I know the code.” Zach shifted his weight, frowned. “How do you know me, sir?”
“Let’s just sa
y we’re kindred spirits. Or at least we will be if you maintain your present course. You can languish in the past or grab the future by the horns. Choose wisely. I did not and look how things turned out for me.”
Was he referring to his hermit-like existence? What the hell? Who was he to advise …
A shiver stole down Zach’s spine as words echoed in the back of his brain.
Don’t be a wuss.
You’ll make beautiful babies.
“Lookin’ a little green there, soldier,” Marx said.
“Bad storm. Rough night. Spent it in your cabin. Coffee?”
“I like it strong.” Marx went back to tinkering with the generator.
Zach heard a pop and a whir as he rounded the corner. What the hell was going on? He ambled back into the cabin, anxious to check in on Maya. She was sitting in a kitchen chair, holding her phone and looking stunned. “What’s wrong, honey?”
“My phone. I have a signal. I called Aunt Helen to check in and she told me … well, I mean it’s just awful. And on Christmas Eve, no less.”
Zach’s stomach turned.
“Roscoe Marx was killed last night in a car accident.”
Chapter Twelve
Maya couldn’t figure Zach out. His giddy mood was plain weird. She hadn’t expected him to break down over the news of Roscoe Marx’s demise—he didn’t know Marx. She didn’t know Marx. They’d never even met. Naturally, with that kind of emotional distance it was easier to disconnect. But at least she was sorry Marx had died. Zach had looked shocked for all of five seconds, and then he’d gotten a goofy grin on his face. He’d swooped her into his arms and spun her around with a childlike glee that reminded her of the scene in A Christmas Carol where Scrooge rediscovered the spirit of Christmas. She would have been charmed and thrilled if not for the inappropriate timing.
Zach had hurried her along, saying Marx wouldn’t want them missing Christmas Day with the Coles. Which didn’t sound to Maya like the Roscoe Marx Daniel had described—the same grump who’d left the rude letter for the Cupcake Lovers. Regardless, it was difficult not to be affected by Zach’s lightened heart.
Presently she and Zach were backtracking through the forest. Although there was a lot of packed snow, the trek was easier since they weren’t being slammed by wind and flurries. Maya could actually see where she was going, and the scenery was magical, to say the least. A veritable winter wonderland.
“I was thinking of maybe moving back to Sugar Creek,” Maya blurted as they neared the snowbound Hummer.
“I was thinking of moving down to Orlando.”
Her heart nearly burst through her ribs. She touched Zach’s arm, urging him to stop. “What’s going on with you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“Try me.”
“Maybe later. I need to simmer on this a little more.”
“Simmer on what?”
He tugged on her Santa hat, then shrugged. “A Christmas miracle?”
“Okay. You know what? You’re freaking me out. This isn’t you talking.”
“Not the old me, no.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“There’s more than one way to make a positive difference in this world. You’re doing that with Cupcakes & Dreamscapes.”
She palmed her brow. “You want to make cupcakes?”
“I want to make a difference. Thought I could hang out with you while I figure out how.”
“Hang out?”
“Marry me, Maya.”
Knocked dizzy, Maya slumped against a tree trunk.
Zach moved in, bracing his arms on either side of her head. “Mom said we’ll make beautiful babies.”
Something Daisy Monroe had said about Zach and Giselle. But Zach’s mom is dead. “When did she say that?”
“Last night.”
“What? In your dreams?”
“Something like that.” He kissed Maya then. One of those kisses that shimmied throughout her entire body, leaving her weak-kneed. He served a death blow with a breathtaking smile. “Marry me.”
Maya gave him a whole five seconds to take back the proposal. He didn’t. “Okay. You know what? I’m going to say yes, because I think you’ve gone a little screwy and you need someone to look after you.”
“Any other reason?”
Heart full, Maya pushed her hands through Zach’s messy hair and rested her forehead to his. “I love you, Zachery Cole.”
The besotted look in his eyes seduced her soul. This time Maya initiated the kiss and she was certain the heat they generated would melt a path leading them back to Sugar Creek.
Instead a car honked breaking the silence, if not the magic.
Still holding Maya in his arms, Zach eyed the logging road. A monster vehicle with a plow was pushing its way toward the Hummer. “Looks like Adam’s truck.”
A dark-haired woman shoved her body out the passenger window and waved. “And G,” Maya said with a smile.
“Ah, Giselle. The woman who talked you into penning her letters. Remind me to thank her.”
“For misleading you?”
“For gifting me with the woman I love.”
Read on for an excerpt from Beth Ciotta’s next Cupcake Lovers Novel
Anything But Love
Available from St. Martin’s Paperbacks
“What the hell?” Luke watched as Rae strode toward the doors of the luxury hotel. Stunned by her hasty exit. Mesmerized by her sensual body. Call him a dog, but Luke had a longtime obsession with the female form. Rachel Lacey had hidden her considerable assets beneath baggy ankle-length dresses, whereas Reagan Deveraux showcased her curves. Not in a slutty way, but that almost made things worse. Rae was class on designer heels.
And she just called him a judgmental jerk.
“Son of a—”
“LAX?” the driver asked.
“What?”
“Still going to the airport?”
“Yes. No. Not yet.” Luke unbuckled his seat belt.
“Want me to wait?”
“Yes.” Luke noted several taxicabs parked near the lobby. “No.” He hadn’t flown all this way to get the bum’s rush. “How much do I owe you?”
“Your lady covered it.”
“She’s not my lady.”
She’d duped Luke and all of Sugar Creek. She’d run off and left them all to worry. Where did she get off giving Luke attitude? She hadn’t given Luke a straight answer to any one of his questions. “How much did she give you?”
“A hundred.”
She’d paid his entire tab. As if he couldn’t afford it. Luke’s pride reared. He passed the man a generous tip, nabbed his backpack and jacket, and hit the pavement. He blew through the doors of the swanky hotel feeling severely underdressed.
Damn.
So this was how the other half lived. Even though the lobby had a cozy vibe—hardwood floors, comfortable furniture, raging hearth—this hotel reeked of sophistication and money. Similar to Rae’s house. Or rather her mom’s house.
He’d been so angry when he’d first confronted Rae, he hadn’t paid much mind to her posh digs. He’d been too focused on the gorgeous redhead with the kickass curves and impeccable style. He still couldn’t believe the extent of her physical transformation. Jayce Bello, Luke’s almost brother-in-law and an ace private eye, had not only, finally, traced this woman to Bel Air, he’d also filled Luke in on her real background and had shown him a “pre-Rachel” photo. Luke had barely recognized the stunning woman. Reagan Devereaux was hot. Even more so in person. Luke hated that he’d noticed and kept on noticing. On their short cab ride it was all he could do not to stare at her sexy legs. And now those sexy legs had taken her … where?
Luke did a three-sixty. No Rae. He approached the concierge. “I’m looking for a woman who just came in. Gorgeous redhead in a green dress?”
The man raised a brow and Luke realized he probably sounded like a stalker.
“Reagan Deveraux,” Luke added. �
�I was supposed to meet her in the lobby.”
“I believe the woman you’re looking for went into the lounge.”
Luke thanked the man and headed toward where he pointed. He found Rae sitting at the bar throwing back a shot of tequila. He had no idea she did shots. He’d only ever seen her sip beer. Now she was licking salt from her hand like a pro. He watched, transfixed, as her red lips closed over a wedge of lime and sucked.
He wasn’t the only man watching.
Luke felt a jab of jealously when a designer-suited dude eased in and offered to buy her a drink. Then a surge of relief when Rae turned the man away. Luke cursed his whacked-out emotions. He shouldn’t be feeling anything for Rae aside from betrayal and confusion.
He joined her at the bar. “What are you doing?”
“Treating myself to a birthday drink.” She barely cast him a glance while attacking her second shot.
Luke clenched his jaw as she repeated the ritual. Salt, tequila, lime. Lick, drink, suck. Not overtly sexy, but sexy all the same. He gestured to the bartender. “Two Coronas, please.” Then he looked back to Rae. “Drinking alone on your birthday is sort of pathetic.”
“I’m not alone.” She met his gaze. “Unfortunately.”
Luke searched her eyes, his gut clenching when he caught a glimpse of Rachel Lacey, the same vulnerability that had intrigued him all those months ago. He had a weakness for women in need. Hell, he had a weakness for women period.
The bartender served two longnecks.
Luke waved off the glasses.
“Put it on my tab,” Rae said.
“It’s on me.” Luke paid cash for two of the most expensive beers he’d ever bought in his life. “As for the cab,” he said to Rae, “thank you, but I can manage.” He pulled five twenties from his wallet and when she refused, he shoved the money in her purse. “Three months ago you were desperate for money. Or so you said. Jayce called you a trust fund baby. You might not have inherited your fortune until today, but you must have had access to a monthly allowance.”
“I didn’t want to touch that money.”
“Why not?”
“I can’t believe you had me investigated.”