by Unknown
“You won’t be here to do that, remember?” His gaze caught hers. “Unless you want to stay in town. Then I can help you the day after Christmas, when the shop is closed. We could put on a pot of coffee, order in some pizza, make a day of it.”
In his blue eyes, she read temptation. Not just with a little pepperoni and a cup of java, either. “I, ah, have to get this tinsel picked up. It’ll wreak havoc with my vacuum cleaner if I don’t.”
“Aw, you’re no fun,” C.J. said.
But she wondered how much of that was said in jest, or whether she was just being overly sensitive. Had her funny bone deserted her? Had it gone the way of her Christmas spirit?
What if she did stay in Riverbend this Christmas?
Would she find that funny bone, along with C.J.’s teasing eyes, wrapped and waiting under a tree, much like this one?
Or would both of those gifts be as elusive as the Christmas spirit that seemed to flicker in and out of her heart like a bad electrical connection in a really cheap set of lights?
CHAPTER SIX
IF C. J. HAMILTON had grown up in a house like Jessica Patterson’s, he wondered how he would have turned out. Would that wraparound porch, the always-on front light, the welcoming lawn, the big, bright windows, have given him the kind of mental hug he’d never had in real life?
Or if he had a house like this now to come home to, a woman like Jessica waiting for him—
“Are we going in…or just sitting in the driveway?” Jessica asked.
“Sorry.” C.J. turned off the engine of his truck and shook off the momentary walk down What-If Avenue. He was supposed to be driving her home at the end of the day, not staring at her house like a loon.
She gave him a curious smile. “You better tell me now.”
“Tell you what?”
“What plans you have for my house. I saw the way you were staring at it. I may not have known you very long, but I already know that means you’re up to no good. I’ve seen every Chevy Chase movie ever created, so I know what you Hollywood types can cook up with a decent lighting and special-effects budget.”
He chuckled. “No plans for the house, I promise.” He put a finger to his chin. “Though you did give me some ideas.”
She swatted him. “Take your ideas elsewhere, Mr. Hamilton.”
But the words were a joke, the touch a light one, the mood between them considerably changed from the day before, even an hour before. C.J. glanced down at Sarah, who had fallen asleep between them, her head crooked between the corner of the cushion and the window. “Do you really want to know why I was staring at your house?”
Even though it was early afternoon, and broad daylight, the cramped interior of the truck gave everything between them a hushed feel. She shifted in her seat, her green eyes meeting his, and when they did, his heart skipped a beat. Two. “Yes.”
“Because I grew up in a trailer in a not-so-pretty side of Ohio.” He glanced again at the Norman Rockwell real estate before him, one more segment of a town that seemed to have been pulled straight out of the very sets he worked on, as if it couldn’t possibly be real, even though he was breathing it in, touching it and knowing it was as three-dimensional and real as his own hands. “There was this neighborhood down the street from me, where Mary Klein and Gerry Whitman lived, and all the other kids who had a mom and a dad, and a dog and a cat, and dinner on the table every night.” He drew in a breath, surprised at how the memory still stung, like a wound that had never quite healed. “And they lived in houses like these.”
She reached out a hand to him, her delicate palm resting on his. How could such a small-framed woman imbue such strength in a simple touch? And how could something so small suddenly move him, nearly to tears, for Pete’s sake, over a tiny thing like a house? Four walls, a bunch of windows. Nothing more.
“I’m sorry, C.J. I wish you’d had a house like that.”
He turned away. Sucked in a bit of air. “It was nothing. Just a kid, wanting a swing and a dog. All kids do.”
“Yeah, they do.” Then a shade dropped over her face, and the space between them seemed to stretch to ten feet. “And some kids have that fairy tale and it’s not as pretty on the inside as it looks on the outside. And some of them have it and it doesn’t last.”
He glanced at her, but she already had her hand on the door and was climbing out of the truck. “We better put that tree into some water,” she said, “before it starts to dry out. And I’m famished. Let’s get some lunch.”
Something in what C.J. had said touched on a nerve in Jessica’s past. He didn’t know what, but it was clear it was a nerve she didn’t want to revisit.
He understood that. He had plenty of nerves of his own he’d learned to steer clear of. There were places a man didn’t need to go more than once to know he’d been there enough.
C.J. carried Sarah inside and laid her on Jessica’s couch, letting her sleep a little bit more. Jessica grabbed the tree stand out of her garage, then they carried the second of the three trees into the house and set it up in her living room, facing a wide bay window that looked out over the street.
C.J. returned from sweeping up the trail of pine needles to find her standing in the center of the room, staring at the tree with an almost wistful expression on her face. “Do you want to decorate it?”
She shook herself. “No. Not now. Let’s leave it and have some lunch instead.”
C.J. followed Jessica into the kitchen, sure he’d read something in her face a moment earlier but not sure what he’d seen. Maybe there was more to her wanting to skip Christmas than he knew. Maybe he was pushing her too much to do something she truly didn’t want to do.
Then his gaze strayed to the sleeping, cherubic child on the sofa, and he thought back to how excited Sarah had been when they’d decorated the first tree, how she’d turned to him after hanging the star, smiling at him, happy for a brief moment—
And knew that no matter what Jessica had going on, he was doing the right thing for his daughter, and right now she had to come first.
“Tuna? Or…tuna?” Jessica asked when he joined her in the sunny yellow kitchen. Bandit trotted over to C.J. for some head-rubbing, plopping down beside him and enjoying all the attention. “I don’t have anything in my fridge because I’m leaving tonight.”
“About that,” C.J. said.
“About what?” Jessica withdrew two cans of tuna, rummaged in a drawer for a can opener, then found a bowl in another cabinet. “You don’t like tuna fish?”
“I don’t like you leaving.”
She sighed, laid the can opener on the counter and turned to him. “C.J., we have been through this a dozen times. It’s why I bought the tree with Sarah today, so that you can leave me alone about the whole trip issue. She has that Christmas memory, and it was wonderful, now you can take the reins from here. I’m sure you’ll do just fine. But I have my own life to live.”
From what he’d seen, she wasn’t living much of a life. He’d come in here, intending to talk her into spending time with him and Sarah, because every time the three of them were together, his daughter opened up like a flower, talking more, laughing more.
He knew he should keep the focus on Sarah, but the conversation had taken a detour down a road C.J. couldn’t resist, and he found himself treading on personal ground—personal for him and for Jessica.
“What about that life, Jessica?” He took a step closer, invading her space, watching as she inhaled and knowing that he was getting to her. “What kind of life has it been?”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been talking to the people around town, and they say you’ve become almost a hermit in the two years since your husband died.” He took another step closer. Her mouth dropped open in an O of surprise at his words, his invasion of her space, her careful facade. “You run your store, then you go home and stay home. All work and no play makes for a very boring life. In fact, no life at all, despite how well you pretend otherwise.”
; “I don’t pretend.”
“You don’t? It seems to me that you do. You stand here telling me that you’re perfectly happy, totally fine, don’t mind skipping Christmas at all, yet every time I look in your eyes, I see a woman who feels the exact opposite.” He waved toward the door. “Ask anyone in this town and they’ll tell you the same thing.”
And then she surged toward him, closing the gap, fire in her eyes, crimson sparking her cheeks. “How dare you talk about me behind my back like I’m some kind of experiment you want to analyze? How dare you come into my own house and tell me how to run my life?”
“How do I dare? I dare because—” An answering fire had already risen in him, and he stopped trying to tamp it down. He let it come, let it take over him. All day long that fire had been waiting, the embers hot and patient, kept from bursting forth because his daughter had been around, and repeating that kiss in the truck wouldn’t exactly be good parenting. But now Sarah was asleep and Jessica Patterson was—
She was here, and he was, too, and damn it he was tired of waiting. C.J. took Jessica’s arms, bent forward and kissed her, this time not bothering to be soft and gentle, or to couch it in sweet terms, but to tell her, in no uncertain terms, that he wanted her.
His mouth captured hers, hot and hard, nearly a collision of need, instead of the slow introduction of the day before. For half a second Jessica didn’t move, didn’t respond, didn’t seem to even breathe, then the cans of tuna dropped to the tile floor with a hard plop and her hands went around his back and she returned every ounce of what he gave her, twice as intense.
His mind blurred into a swirl of images of her, of her blond hair, her emerald eyes, her lithe, beautiful shape, but most of all, the way the entire package seemed to set off sparks within him.
Sparks of need, never answered by anyone before, as if Jessica had opened a well C.J. hadn’t even known existed until she came along.
Sparks of loneliness—because as much as he told her she was pretending to be happy, he knew he’d been doing the same damned thing for way too long.
Until now.
Her tongue dipped into his mouth, playing music against him. A groan escaped his throat, and C.J.’s hands roamed down Jessica’s back, along the valleys of her curves, bringing her closer, assuaging for a moment the heat burning inside him. She clutched at his shoulders, holding tight, as if searching for purchase in the storm taking them both.
Eyes closed, he memorized her peppermint taste, her soft, easy lips. He knew, long after this was over, long after they were over, that he would come back to this moment and never ever look at the scent or taste of peppermint the same again. God, she tasted good, she felt good—she was good.
She was exactly the kind of woman he usually stayed away from because she came wrapped with the bows of entanglement. Permanence. The front porch light, dinner on the table. And as crazy as it sounded, as much as he craved those things, C.J. had always known he wasn’t made for that kind of life.
Yet now he had it thrust on him in the form of a child. Was he ready to add to it with a relationship? A relationship with a woman who so clearly came entwined with home, with permanence?
Because to take this any further with Jessica, no matter how sweet the peppermint was, meant doing just that. And if he had no intentions beyond this week, C.J. knew it wouldn’t be fair to her to go further than kissing her.
He pulled back reluctantly—because he knew that if he didn’t, he’d be going way beyond a kiss a half minute from now—and trailed the back of his hand along the satin skin of her cheek. Oh, how he wished to do more. Much, much more. But he had to be smart, for her sake. Even if he felt as if he’d left his brain cells somewhere back in Des Moines right now.
He traced the outline of her mouth, still tasting peppermint on his tongue. “Apparently, I dare to do a lot more than just ask about your life.”
A half smile crossed her lips. “Apparently.” Then she seemed to recover her wits, returning to some semblance of propriety. She bent down, retrieved the cans of tuna and straightened. “Mayonnaise or relish?”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“MAYONNAISE OR RELISH?” How stupid was that? And what kind of woman asked that question after a man kissed her, for Pete’s sake?
Jessica chalked the whole idiotic question up to complete, stunned surprise. She hadn’t expected C. J. Hamilton to kiss her. But most of all, she hadn’t expected to kiss him back. And especially not like that.
Who was she kidding? She’d been thinking, almost nonstop, about kissing him again, ever since the first time. And now here they were, in her kitchen, doing exactly what she’d imagined—and even better the second time around.
“Mayonnaise,” C.J. said.
“Mayo—” Jessica caught herself. “Oh, of course.” Her face heated up, so she turned away and busied herself with opening the can, draining the tuna and mixing it with the mayonnaise and some salt and pepper.
All the while replaying that kiss. The riot of emotions and desire that had run through her at C.J. Hamilton’s touch. And how very long it had been since she’d felt anything at all like that.
Two years. C.J. had been right. She had been living like a hermit since Dennis died. It hadn’t been a conscious decision—just one day after another alone had multiplied atop each other, and it had simply become easier to stay that way, rather than venture into the world of dating again.
Of trying to find another Santa to replace the one she had loved so very much.
“I’m sorry,” C.J. said, coming up beside her and sliding two plain white plates onto the counter.
“Sorry for what?”
“For kissing you. That’s twice now I’ve just gone and—” His voice cut off, his gaze met hers, then drifted down to her lips, as if he intended to do that very thing one more time.
Oh, how she wished he would. And at the same time wished he wouldn’t.
“I’m a grown woman, C.J. I could have said no.”
“But you didn’t.”
His blue eyes had tiny flecks of silver. Why had she never noticed that before? They looked almost like stardust. No…like snowflakes, tiny snowflakes that fell at the first sign of winter.
“I didn’t say no.” Jessica moved a step closer to him, the sandwiches forgotten again. “Because you’re right. I have been alone a long time. And I’ve missed having a man in my life.”
He quirked a grin. “Any man?”
“Maybe not any man.”
“Good.” He caught a tendril of her hair, wrapped it around a finger, then let it go in one long, slow, silky movement. “You deserve to be happy. Stay for Christmas, Jessica, and let me show you a holiday you’ll never forget. One day. What could it hurt, either of us?”
The temptation whispered against her. Stay here, with him. Instead of running away from her memories. From herself, from the fear of being hurt again, left again.
From being left alone in this quiet, empty house.
“I…” The reasons got caught in her throat. In the sparkles in his eyes.
“Just Christmas, Jessica. That’s all I ask.” He reached down and took her hand, a smile curving across his face. “Look. It’s a sign.”
Confusion swept over her at the turn in conversation, but then C.J. spun her toward the French doors at the back of her kitchen. They faced her deck, then opened to the dense, wooded lot behind her house.
It had started snowing again. She moved forward, mesmerized, still holding hands with C.J., watching the white flakes drift down from the sky. “I love the first few snowfalls of the season,” she whispered. “They’re so magical.”
He opened the door and they stepped out onto the deck. Big, fat, fluffy snowflakes fell around them, soft and quiet, laying a blanket of white along the ground. It was the kind of snow that fell with a whisper, like hundreds of angelic voices multiplying one on top of the other, nature’s own song.
“Look,” C.J. murmured again, this time in her ear, his breath warm.
Ne
arly one with the woods, a doe and her fawn peeked between two trees, then took a tentative step forward, sniffing at the crisp air. The fawn stuck his nose into the new snow, then shook off the fluff, clearly surprised by the wet result of his exploration. He stumbled back, hiding behind his mother’s stick-like legs, then peeked again, sneaking stares at the odd humans.
Jessica covered a giggle. “How sweet.”
“There’s a bit of Christmas magic, right in your backyard,” C.J. said, then he turned and smiled, watching her face. “What I see in your eyes right now is what I saw in Sarah’s this afternoon. Wonder. Amazement. Joy. If I can just give Sarah that one thing, after all she’s been through…” He ran a hand through his hair. “That’s all I’m asking of you, Jessica, is to help me. Will you stay, just for Christmas?”