TableofContents
BOOKSBYJULIAGODA
DAXTON
Copyright
Acknowledgements
AScroogedChristmas
Dedication
ChapterOne
ChapterTwo
ChapterThree
ChapterFour
ChapterFive
AboutTheAuthor
TheCedarCreekSeries
AScroogedChristmasCollection
TableofContents
BOOKSBYJULIAGODA
TheCedarCreekSeries
BentNotBroken
BeHereNow
NeverLookBack(ComingSpring2018)
TheGirlSeries
WrongSideGirl
TheGirlWorthFightingFor
Copyright©2017JuliaGoda
AllRightsreserved.
Nopartofthisbookmaybereproducedortransmittedinanyformorbyanymeans,
electronicormechanical,includingphotocopying,scanning,recording,orbyany
informationstorageorretrievalsystem,withoutwrittenpermissionfromtheauthor,
exceptfortheinclusionofbriefquotationsinareview.
Thisisaworkoffiction.Anyresemblancetocharacters,organizations,oreventsofreal
lifedescribedinthisnoveliseitheraproductoftheauthor’simaginationorused
fictitiously.Theauthoracknowledgesthetrademarkedstatusandtrademarkownersof
variousproductsreferencedinthisworkoffiction.
Issuedinprintandelectronicformats.
CovercreatedbyDarkWaterCovers
EditingprovidedbyJoanneThompson
FormattingbyCPSmith
Acknowledgements
AhugeTHANKYOUgoestoMayraStatham,whoinvitedmeonthisjourneyandgave
me a chance to come out of my comfort zone and “try something different.” You have
cheeredmeonalongthewayandbelievedinmemorethanIbelievedinmyself.Ilove
youdearly.
Thanks,too,toallthegreatauthorswhoarepartoftheScroogedproject.Itwasfun(even
when it could get stressful) to vote on all the things that need to be voted on when ten
cooksarestirringthepot.
Also,thankyoutoJoanneThompson,myneweditor.I’mgladwefoundeachother,not
justforeditingpurposesbutforyoursupportandadviceingeneral.
Andasalways,thankyoutomyhusband,Andre,forlovingmethewayIam.
Daxton–AScroogedChristmasispartofacollaborated
collectionbytenauthorsthemedaroundascroogedChristmas.
Checkouttheblurbsattheendofthisbookforthefollowing
correlatedauthors:CPSmith,FGAdams,JenniferDomenico,
JessikaKlide,JuliaGoda,MayraStatham,ReginaFrame,Tracie
Douglas,BSMStoneking,andWinterTravers.
Dedication
ThisoneisformysoulsisterMayraStatham,withoutwhomIwouldhavenevereven
consideredwritinganovella.
Emersyn
Idiscreetlycheckedmywatchforthefifthtimeinthelasttenminutes.
ThiswasnotwhatIneeded.
Nottoday.
OnChristmasEve.
NotaftertheweekI’dalreadyhad.
Thisiswhatyougetforyourinabilitytosayno,Ichastisedmyself.Ineverseemtobe
able to do that when a friend asks me for help. I feel like I disappoint them. It just isn’t
whoIam.ThoughIsurewishIdidthistime,IthoughtasIwatchedDaxtonMcArthur’s
arrogant ass strut through the rooms of the main building for the third time. This was
goingbeyonddoingafriendafavor.ThemaninquestionhadhadbusinessinBoulderfor
thelasttwodaysandhadinsistedonseeingthepropertytoday.Hewouldnotcomeback
anytimesoonifhecouldhelpit—hiswords—soifLinda,thelocalrealtorandmyfriend,
didn’twanttoloseapotentialbuyer,shehadtofiguresomethingoutandquick—again,
hiswords.Thepropertyhe’dwantedtoseewasthemostexpensiveonthemarketseeing
asitwastheBirchHavenCottages,which,ifitsold,wouldmakeLindaaveryhappylady
andwouldbringthetownofCedarCreekgoodyethopefullymodest—weappreciatedour
privacyouthere—businessifitreopened.
Enterme.
I’mnotarealestateagent,butIdidonoccasionhelpLindaoutwhenshewasinabind
and needed someone. It didn’t happen all the time but frequently enough, so I knew my
wayaround.Iusuallydidn’tmindshowingproperties;itwaskindoffunandsomething
completelydifferentfromwhatIdidinmyjobasafreelanceeditor.Ienjoyedit.Usually.
SowhenLindahadcalledmeinafrenzy,beggingandbribingme,Icouldn’tsayno.What
canIsay?ItwasChristmasEve,andLindahadafamilytocookfor.Ididn’t.Butnoteven
fiveminutesintothisshowing,itturnedouttobethemostaggravatingoneI’deverdone.
Not because Mr. McArthur—what he insisted on a scowl I call him, even though he
couldn’t be more than a handful of years older than my thirty-two, when I introduced
myself by my first name—had a lot of questions. No. It was because Daxton McArthur
wastherudest,mostcondescendingpersonIhadevermet.Toalleviatethepressureinmy
headthatthreatenedtoexplodeandwouldnotmakemeLinda’sfavoriteperson,I’dcalled
himMr.Jerkfaceinmymindforthebiggerpartofthepastfourhours.
Ithelped.
Somewhat.
Andyes,Isaidfourhours.
Thelongestfourhoursofmylife.
“AmIkeepingyoufromsomething?”
I clenched my teeth from saying what I really wanted to say. Yes, you’re keeping me
from something. And you know goddarn well what it is you’re keeping me from, you
arrogantbastard.ButIcouldn’tsaywhatIwasthinkingandriskhiswrath.Iknewfrom
having been in his presence for only one afternoon he would use anything he could to
squeeze as much money as possible out of this deal. I was positive he was interested in
buyingandeitherremodelingthecottagesortearingthemdownandbuildingsomething
new.ThoughIwasleaningtowardsremodeling.Whyelsewouldhekeeplookingaround?
Ifallhewasinterestedinwastheland,hewouldn’tcareaboutthestatethebuildingswere
in.Andifheweren’tseriouslyinterested,hewouldhavenevercomeoutherehimself.A
guylikehimhaspeoplewhodotrivialthingsforhim.
“No, Mr. McArthur. Of course not. Take as much time as you need. I’m just worried
about the road conditions. Didn’t you say you’d be driving back to Colorado Springs
today?”CedarCreekwasaboutanhourfromBoulder,whichwasanhourandahalffrom
Colorado Springs. The way the snow was coming down, a two-and-a-half-hour drive
couldeasilyturnintofourhoursormore,especiallyinthedark.Andseeingasitwasclose
tofiveintheafternoon,theskywouldsoonturnpitchblack.NotthatIcaredhowlongit
wouldtakehimtogethome.IjustwantedtogetoutofheresoIcouldsalvagewhatwas
leftofmyChristmasEve.EvenifitwouldonlybeaChristmasforonethisyear.
“Please,domethefavorofnottakingmeforafool.Webothknowthatisn’twhyyou
checkedyourwatchforthefifthtimeinthelasttenminutes.”
What?Didthisguyhaveeyesinthebackofhishead?
Iforcedasmile.“Ireallyamconcernedabouttheroads,”Ilied.“Thesnowiscoming
down heavily.” He raised one eyebrow in a dare, so I gave him some of the truth. “But
yes,IhavetoadmitI’dprefertogethomeshortly.It’sChristmasEveandI—”
“Christmasisoverrated.Justanotherholidaypeopleuseasanexcusetonotworkand
costtheiremployersmoney.”
Ofcourse,hewouldthinkthat.
“I’msorryyouthinkthatway.Butasyoucansee,Iamhere,workingonaholiday,but
itisgettingfairlylateandI—”
I clamped my mouth shut as he interrupted me yet again. I’d lost count of how many
timeshehaddoneit.
“Yeah,you’rehere.ThoughIcouldargueyouactuallydoinganywork.”
See?Totaljerk.
Iforcedanothersmile.MycheekmuscleswerestartingtohurtIwassopracticedatit
bynow.I’mnotusuallyonetofakeanything.Yes,Ihavetobitemytonguefromtimeto
time,buthey,whodoesn’t?Ihavemyownmindandspeakit.Usually.Ithiscase,though,
I couldn’t, no matter if this haughty ass was insulting me or not. I had to stay polite.
“Again,Iamsorryyouthinkthatway.”
Hewaitedformore,Icouldtell,butIdidn’tsayanythingelse.
Takeadeepbreath,myEmmy.This,too,shallpass,Iheardmymother’swords,words
she had spoken to me countless times. God, I missed her. I longed to let her comforting
voiceandwisewordssootheme.Sadnesssettledinmystomach.Ihadn’theardhervoice
inreallifeinalmostadecade.Iwouldnevergetthechanceagain.
“If you don’t mind,”—his harsh tone snapped me back to reality—“please do what
you’repaidtodoandcallyourboss.Haveheremailmethelastinspectionreport.Iwant
to go over it tonight.” His brows were furrowed and his words were clipped. I really
wanted to know who pissed in his cereal this morning, but then again, he was probably
thischarmingeverymomentofhisrichbutotherwisesadexistence.Provesmoneyisn’t
everything.
Knowing my objections about interrupting Linda’s Christmas Eve would fall on deaf
ears—andIwouldn’tmentionsettinghimstraightaboutherbeingmybossandmegetting
paideither;itwouldonlyresultinhavingtospendmoretimeinhispresence—Isimply
nodded.“Iwillcontacther.”
“Good.”Thenheturnedandmarchedoutthedoorandtohiscarwithouta‘Thankyou,’
withouta‘Haveaniceday,’withouta‘MerryChristmas.’NotthatI’dexpectedit.Still,it
wasbeyondrude.
“This,too,shallpass.Inabouttwominutes,”Imumbledtomyselfwhenhewasoutof
earshot. Then I slowly followed him outside, locked the door behind me, and trudged
through the snow to my car. He was already sitting in his, his phone to his ear, his
narrowedeyesonme.Iignoredhim.
UntilIcouldn’t.
***
No,no,no.Thisisnothappening.
Icheckedmyrearviewmirrorandletoutafrustratedsoundinthebackofmythroatat
thesceneunfoldingbehindme.
Shit.
Ididn’tthinkIcouldspendonemoreminuteinhispresence.
Hehadalreadyruinedmostofmydaybybeingnothingbutajerk.Therewasonlyso
muchpatienceleftinmebeforeIgaveintotheurgetodeckhim.
“No,no,no,”Ichantedundermybreath.“Pleasedon’tletthisbehappening.”
I’dbeensittinginthecarforthelastfiveminutes,duringwhichI’dcalledLindawitha
profanity-infusedupdatewhilemycarwasheatingup,pleadingtowhateverpowercould
hearme,thatwhatIwasseeingwasn’thappening.Icheckedthemirroragaininthehopes
aChristmasmiraclehadoccurredandhiscarwasgone.
No,Ireallydidn’twanttodealwiththismanforevenonemoresecond.
ButIalsocouldn’tjustdriveaway.Thatwouldberude.Andmyparentshadnotraised
a rude daughter. Opinionated with a healthy dose of sass? Possibly. But not rude. Even
thoughhehadbeennothingbutinsultingtowardsme.Iwasabetterperson.
So,Itookadeepbreathandstraightenedmyshoulders,thenIopenedmydoorandgot
out,leavingmycarrunningtohaveitfullyheatedupformyreturntriphome.
Hedidn’tnoticemyapproach—orsoIthought,sincehedidn’tshowanyindicationhe
did.YetwhenIwasfivefeetawayandstillbehindhimashewasleaningovertheopened
hoodofhisfancy—andIhadtoadmitsexy—Lexus,probablytryingtoglaretheengine
intosubmission,IlearnedIwaswrong.
“What,Emersynwithay,youfinallydecidedtoofferyourhelpaftercontemplatingif
you could get away with ignoring me? You think you’ll show more skill at this than
you’vepresentedsofar?Ihighlydoubttheyletyouanywherenearshopclasswhenyou
wereinhighschool.Andevenif,it’sclearlybeenawhilesinceyougraduated.”Hemade
adismissivesoundinthebackofhisthroat.
Jerkface,Ithoughtyetagain,nowleavingofftheMr.becauseIdidn’tfeelhedeserved
any courtesy. I should add ‘Fucking.’ That nasty comment more than deserved it.
Incidentally, I had introduced myself as Emersyn with a y. It usually brought a smile to
people’sfacesandstartedaneasygoingconversationaboutwhymyparentshadchosenan
uncommonspelling—tooffsetmylastname—Moore—oneofthemostcommonnamesin
the United States. But that was before I’d realized what an ass he was. I should turn
around and drive away. But it was cold outside and the snow was falling heavier by the
minute. I didn’t have it in me to leave anyone stranded in the middle of nowhere, no
matterhowawfultheywere.
Lindaowedmehugeforthis.
Iignoredhisobviousanimositybutansweredhisquestion.“Unlessit’sadeadbatteryI
canhelpyoujumpstart,you’reright,Iwon’tbeabletohelpyoudeterminewhat’swrong
withyourcar.ButIdohappentoknowwherethegarageislocated.”
He scowled some more. No surprise there. A scowl was pretty much the only
expression I’d had the pleasure of seeing on his face, with intense glares and sneers
liberallymixedinforseeminglynoreasonatall.Iwonderedifhisfacewasstuckatthat
grimaceandifitgavehimheadaches.Agirlcouldhope.
“It’snotthebattery.”
“Okay,then,wouldyoulikemetogiveyouaridetothegarage?I’msuretheycantow
yourcarthereorsendsomeoneoutheretohavealook.”
Hestraightenedandlookeddownhisnoseatme.“Yeah?Youthink?”Moresarcasm.
Asshole.
SinceIhadalreadytoldhimwhatIthought,Ididn’tanswer,notthatheactuallygave
methechanceto.
“Youseemtobeforgettingwhatdayitis,eventhoughyoudidn’tfailtomentionitno
less than three times in the last hour. Not that I’m surprised by the lack of mental
capabilitywhichwouldkeepyoufrommakingthelogicalconnectionthatthelocalgarage
willmostcertainlybeclosedonthisfineevening.”
Iwasgloweringathimnow.Thatmancouldnotbebelieved.Thoughhewasright.The
guysatLucidwouldprobablyallbehomebynow,enjoyingtheirwives’Christmasroast
orturkeyorham.Orallthreeiftheywerelucky.Igroundmyteethandmanagedtopull
outmyphoneinsteadofscratchinghiseyesout.MaybeI’dbefortunateenoughtocatch
someoneontheirwayout.
After six rings, the answering machine kicked in, informing me the shop would be
closed for the holidays and would not re-open until December twenty-sixth. “Shit,” I
hissed,eyestomyboots.Onagruntfromhim,theyshottohisface.
Jerkfacegavemenothingmorebutraisedeyebrowsbeforehereacheduptoclosethe
hoodofhiscarwithaloudbang.“Idon’tsupposeyouhaveanyaccommodationthatisn’t
infectedwithratsinthischarminglittletownofyours.”
He was referring to the cottages, I knew. They weren’t infected with rats. Not even
close. Yes, they had seen better days, but they’d also been closed for a couple of years
withnoonetakingcareofthem.Theyneededsomeloveandhardwork,nodoubt.Buthis
derisivecommentwasunnecessary.“Icanmakeacoupleofcalls,”Iforcedoutthrough
clenched teeth. Though I didn’t hold my breath. It was past five in the afternoon on
Christmas Eve and we were in the Rocky Mountains. The chances of finding open
accommodationswereslimtonone.Nottomentionwedidn’thaveahotelintown,ora
motel,orataxiservicewhichcoulddrivehimtoBoulder,theclosestcity.Theonlytourist
accommodationswehadsincetheBirchHavenCottageshadclosedshopwereabedand
breakfastandIveyandCal’srental.Bothofthemwerealmostalwaysbooked.Therewere
a few hunting cabins throughout the mountains which got rented, but I doubted those
wouldmeethisstandards.Andanyway,Iwasn’tclosetoanyonewhoownedone,sothere
wasnoonetocall.Welikedourtownlikethat,withsometourismhereandthere,hikers
onadaytripfromBoulder,ahandfulwhostayedmaybeaweektoenjoyacalmmountain
retreat, plus hunters who pretty much stuck to themselves when they were out here.
Another reason why I hoped Mr. Jerkface would be looking to renovate rather than
rebuild.
ItriedIveyfirst,sinceshewasoneofmygoodfriendsintown.Weweren’tbesties,but
I liked her a lot. We’d bonded over books, of course, her owning the bookstore named
Serendipity in town and me being an editor. I didn’t want to encroach on their family
Christmas, but I was in a bind. At this point, I would interrupt the Queen of England
during her Christmas dinner if it got this guy away from me. She answered on the third
ring.
“MerryChristmas,Emmy!Everythingokay?”
Icouldhearkitchennoisesinthebackground,aswellasaboy’slaughterandaman’s
chuckle.CalandTommy.
“I’msorrytobotheryouonChristmasEve,Ivey,butisyourrentalopenfortonightby
anychance?”
“Ourrental?”Ashortpause,then,“No,hon,it’srenteduntilthenewyear.Doyouneed
a place to stay? Is something wrong with your house? You can come and stay with us.”
Shesoundedconcerned.
Ihurriedtoassureher.“No,no.Nothinglikethat.Justan…acquaintancewhoneedsa
roofoverhishead.Butdon’tworry.I’llfigureitout.Thanks,Ivey.”
“Yousure?”
“Absolutely.It’snobigdeal.Enjoyyournight.AndMerryChristmas,”Iendedthecall
before she could ask any more questions, and dialed the only number left which could
savemefromhavingtosacrificemysanity.
Twominuteslater,itwasindangerofbecomingnon-existentinashortamountoftime.
Shitagain.
Jerkface McJerkerson stood with his hands on his hips, the scowl on his face now
expectantyetknowing,sincehe’dheardmysideofbothconversations,whichmeanthe
alsolookedpissedoff.ItookafortifyingbreathknowingwhatIhadtodo.AndhatingI
didn’thavemuchofachoice.“Myhousehasaguestroomyoucanuseifyou’dlike.”
Hisbrowsscrunchedtogetherandhismouthsneeredindisgust.“I’llcallacab.”
“I doubt they’ll come all the way from Boulder in this weather to collect you, but
you’rewelcometotry.”
“There’snotaxiservice?”
Ishookmyhead.
“Fuck,”heswore.
Yup.Mythoughtsexactly.
It was me who raised my brows in expectation this time. Though, I didn’t repeat my
disgruntledyetgracious—atleastIthoughtso—offer.
Inanswer,heroundedhiscarandgrabbedaleatherduffelbagfromthebackseat,then
hethrewhisdoorclosedandwalkedpastmetothepassengersideofmycar,lockinghis
withtheremoteashewent.
Itippedmyheadbacktolookatthesnowyandnowalmostdarkskyandtoldmyselfto
letitrolloffmyshoulders.Noteveryonehaditinthemtobenice.Therewereassholes
outthere.Alotofthem.Ijusthadtoclenchmyteeth,andit’dbeoversoon.Closeyour
eyesandthinkofEngland.Notthatanythingsexualwouldbehappening,butIknewIwas
inforanaggravatingeveningIwouldnodoubtnotenjoy,sotheidiomseemedfitting.It
would be my good Christmas deed this year. On that thought, I picked up my feet and
followedtheungratefulbastard,whowasalreadysittinginthepassengerseatofmycar.I
hadanicebottleofwinewaitingformeathomethatIpromisedmyselfIwouldopenthe
minute I walked into my house. I also had a Christmas dinner for one to cook. Shit. Or
maybefortwo.IfIcouldresisttheurgetocommithomicideinthenextcoupleofhours.
We’dseehowitwent.
***
Halfanhourlater,wepulledintomydriveway.
I didn’t live far out of town—a ten-minute drive on a normal day—but the roads had
becomeslipperysinceI’dleftearlieranditwassnowingheavilynow,impedingvisibility.
I wouldn’t be surprised if we got another good dump of snow overnight. I just hoped it
wouldn’tbetoomuchtodrivecomemorning.Notwantingtoletmythoughtsgotowhat
I’ddoifthathappened,IlookedatmymountaincabinlikeIalwaysdidafterIturnedoff
myengine.Mydreamhouse.Myhome.ThehomeIhadworkedmyassofffor.Istillwas,
justnotashardnowadays.
“Thisisyours?”Therewassurpriseinhisvoice,whichItookashimnotexpectingme
toownbeautylikethis.
Yes,asshole,thisismyhouse.Ididn’tsaythisoutloudbutratherchosetoclampmy
mouth shut so I wouldn’t scream. Apart from his frequent grumblings in the first ten
minutesaboutthestateofmycarandmylessthanstellardrivingexpertise—I’dignored
eitheruntilhe’dfinallyshutup;maybethiswasthewaytogo—thedrivehadbeenquiet.
Almostareprieve.Oracalmbeforethestorm.Ididn’tseegoodthingshappeninginmy
nearfuturebesidescurlinguponthecouchwithaglassofwineafterdinner,aChristmas
classicplayingonTVwhilesnowwasfallingoutside,blanketingeverythingwithawhite
sparklysheet.WhenI’dcalledmyhousea‘mountaincabin,’that’sexactlywhatImeant.
Atwo-storylogcabinwithagreenmetalroof—whichwashiddenundertwofeetofsnow
rightnow.Ithadthreespaciousbedrooms—oneofthem,themaster,wasinahugeopen
loft with a cozy reading nook overlooking the mountains; the other two were on the
groundfloorofftheoppositesideofthelivingroom.Theperfectpinekitchenwithhigh-
end appliances was every cook’s dream and was open to the sunken living room space
with,yes,awood-burningoven-typefireplacefacingasetofdeep,comfycouches.Iloved
everythingaboutmyhouse,wasproudofit,proudIwasabletogivethistomyself.
Thesightofthefrontporch,illuminatedbythelightsIalwayssetonatimerduringthe
winter,calmedmeenoughtosay,“Yes,thisismyhouse,”inasoftvoice.
I felt his eyes on me and turned my head. I was shocked to see something there,
somethingthatwasnotderision,somethingIcouldalmostsaywastenderness.Butbefore
Icouldfigureoutwhatitwas,itwasgone,shiftedtohardagain.Thenheturnedawayand
gotoutofthecarwithoutanotherword,tookhisbagfromthebackseat,thenstompedto
myfrontporch.
IfIweren’tsoannoyedrightnow,Iwouldlaugh.Hebehavedlikeafive-year-oldwho
hadn’tgottenhisway.
Isighedforthefivehundredthandeighty-ninthtimethatafternoonandfollowedhim.
ThefirstthingIdidwhenIenteredandleftthedooropenbehindmeforhimtofollow,
thentookoffmysnow-drenchedbootsanddroppedmypurse,wasnotopenthebottleof
wine.No,Iwalkedstraighttowardthesix-foottallChristmastreeinfrontofthefloor-to-
ceilingwindowsatthefarendofthelivingroomtoturnonthetwinklelights.Istoodand
staredatitforafewmoments,enjoyingitssimplebeauty,beforeIturnedandswitchedon
theothervariousChristmaslightsthroughoutthehugearea.Ineverwentoverboardwith
Christmasdecorations,didn’tlikeanysortofclutterortackyknick-knacks,butIlovedthe
lights—thewarmwhitenon-blinkingones.Iendedmywalkthroughinthekitchen—there
wasonelastswitchtolightupthesmallcountertoppottedpinetree—whereIshruggedoff
my coat and threw it over the back of one of the stools at the bar. Only then did I walk
towardthecounteroppositetoretrievethewine.
Ididn’tquitemakeittherebeforeIsawhimstandingnotmorethanafewfeetinside
the front door. His eyes were roaming the room, taking everything in, his jaw hard, a
muscleinhischeektwitching,hisbrowsdrawntogether,adeepfrownbetweenthem.He
alsohadhisarmscrossedonhischestanditlookedlikehisfistswereclenched.
Wonderful.
“Myroom?”hegruntedwhenhiseyesstoppedonme.
Rude.Again.
Butwhatever.
Ididn’tstopinmymissiontogetliquoreduptoplayhostessorgivehimatour.“Down
the hall, first room on the right. It’s got an en-suite, so you’ll have your privacy. Clean
towelsareinthecabinetunderthesink.”
I picked up the bottle, found the corkscrew in the utensil drawer, uncorked the wine,
thenpulleddownaglassfromthecabinetandpoured.Eager,Iliftedtheglasstomylips
andtookasip.Abigone.WhenIopenedmyeyesaftersavoringthefruitysmoothnesson
my tongue and palate, I noticed he hadn’t moved. His eyes were glued to me, glittering
withwhatlookedlikeawholelotofanger.
Whatthehellwashisproblem?
Isaidnothing,justheldhisstareasItookanothersip.Challenginghimmaybe.Towhat
Iwasn’tsure.IjustknewIwouldn’ttakehiscrapformuchlonger.Especiallynotinmy
ownhome.
Hebrokethecontacttosweephiseyesdownmybodytomywaist,takinghistime,his
jawnolesshard,hiseyesstillglittering.Ontheirwayup,theyrestedonmychestfora
fewlongsecondsbeforeheseemedtosnaphimselfoutofit,uncrossedhisarms,bentto
snatchuphisduffel,thenturnedandmarchedupthestairswithoutanotherword.
“Geez, Louise, that guy is a dick,” I murmured to myself, somewhat unsettled by my
body’s reaction to his short, yet intense, perusal. Though, it shouldn’t surprise me. It
tendedtopickassholes—Mark,myex-boyfriend,beingthelatestproof.
Determinedtonotletmymindgotherebecausethatwouldcausemyownangertoheat
toepicproportions,IwalkedtothefridgetotakeoutthesuppliesIneededtocookdinner.
IwouldnotletanyoneruinChristmasforme.NotdickheadMark,notMr.Jerkface,and
notthefactthatDadcouldn’tmakeitouthereontimetocelebratewithme.
I turned on some Christmas music and focused on food preparation, humming and
sipping wine while I chopped, seasoned, stuffed, roasted, peeled, and boiled. With the
turkey breast in the oven, the potatoes set to boil, and everything else prepared, I was
refillingmywinewhenthephonerang.
Daxton
Daxtonstrodedownthehallintentongettingawayfromtheexasperatingyetundeniably
captivatingwomanwhohadopenedherhometohim.
Sucha stupid anddangerous thing todo, taking in aman who wasa stranger to her.
Sheiscompletelyclueless.Whichprovedwhathealreadyknew.Emersynwithaywasnot
the brightest bulb. Her lack of professionality when she’d shown him the listing would
have made other men walk away from the immense potential he knew the property
provided. But Daxton McArthur wasn’t a man who let a promising investment slip
throughhisfingers.Hewouldn’tbewherehewasifhe’dletotherpeople’sincompetency
influence his decisions—in business and in life. The land those rundown cottages sat on
alonewouldbeworthmorethandoubletheaskingpriceafewyearsdowntheroad.
But if he was being honest with himself—brutal honesty was something he prided
himself in—it wasn’t just Emersyn’s ineptitude that had frustrated him to the point of
anger.No.Itwasmorethanthat,eventhoughhekepttellinghimselfitwasn’t.Fromthe
moment he had watched her getting out of her car, then kept watching as she’d walked
toward him with those long legs encased in a tight pair of jeans, jeans that hugged her
curves before they were hidden by her fitted wool winter coat that was belted at her
narrowwaist,hehadbeenattractedtoherinawayhehadneverexperiencedinhislife.
Anditwasn’tjustphysical.Therehadbeensomethingelse,something,thoughhedidn’t
knowwhatitwas.Uncomfortableandunfamiliarwithanytypeofuncertainty,hehadfelt
the instant fury igniting deep in his gut. Before she’d even made it to him to introduce
herself and shake his hand, he’d had difficulty controlling the heat coursing through his
body.Theonlywayhehadbeenabletocontrolthatheathadbeentotreatherlikehehad.
Daxton was an asshole most of the time, was famous for it both in his professional and
private circles, and he didn’t much give a fuck. But even he knew he’d been an even
biggerassthanthesituationhadwarranted.Therealtorhadtoldhimsomeonenotinthe
businesswouldshowhimaroundsincesheherselfwastiedup,sohe’dknownEmersyn
wasn’tanexpert,justsomeonewhowasdoingafriendafavor—somethinghehadlong
sincewipedfromhisrangeofbehaviors;grantingfavors,thatis.
Nobodydoesanythingfornothing.Thatwasthemottohehadlivedbyforalongtime
now, a motto which suited him just fine and had proven to be a great resource over the
years.Hedidn’toweanyoneanything,butalotofpeopleowedhim.Notmoney;hedidn’t
lendevenadollar.Favors.Markers.Andheusedthemtohisbiggestpossibleadvantage.
Always. One of those markers had brought the cottage property to his attention. He had
known by merely studying the details on paper he was going to buy the property. Even
knowingthis,hestillhadinsistedonaviewingtoday.Hedidn’tgivearat’sassitwasa
holiday, cared even less it was Christmas. He hadn’t always hated Christmas, but he
utterly despised it now. People’s uncontrolled spending on things they didn’t need, the
reproachfully forced cheer that was expected, the distasteful and ugly decorations. It all
leftasourtasteinhismouth.
Mostwonderfultimeoftheyear,myass.
Justlikeeveryyear,hecouldn’twaituntilitwasoverandanewyearstarted.
Buteventhoughhehadknownhewouldinvestintheproperty,hehadkeptEmersyn
there for much longer than had been necessary to ascertain his initial confidence, not
knowingwhyhedidit.Whichinturnhadaggravatedhimfurther,whichhadmadehim
actlikemoreofanassthanusual.
Daxton opened the first door on the right and surveyed the space. Not what he’d
expected.Atall.Theroomwascomfortableinamasculineway,withnosignofflowery
orcutesypatternsanywhere.Infact,itwasclosetohisowndecoratingtastesbutwarmer,
moreinviting.Justliketherestofthehousehe’dseensofar,makinghimwanttostaya
while.Whichwasn’tsomethingheliked.Hedidn’tconnect—withthingsorpeople.
Notever.Notanymore.
Hewouldn’tlethimself.
Grittinghisteeth,Daxtonunpackedthefewthingshewouldneedbeforehesatinthe
wingback chair by the window to check his email and make some phone calls. He’d be
missingalunchmeetingwithhisaccountanttomorrow,andjustincase,healsotoldhis
assistant,Margaret,torescheduletheconferencecallintheafternoonaswellasthedinner
meeting.Whoknewhowlongdealingwithhiscar,thendrivingbacktoColoradoSprings
inthisweather,wouldtake.Emersynhadn’tbeenwrong,thoughhewouldneveradmitit.
Thesnowwascomingdownhard.AndthefactitwasChristmas,whenninety-ninepoint
nine percent of the American population thought it wasn’t necessary to open their
businesses, would make things marginally more complicated out here in the middle of
nowhere.Ifnothingelse,hewouldorderMargarettocomeandgethimfirstthinginthe
morning.Hepaidherenoughtobeavailabletohimtwenty-fourseven,Christmasornot.
Donewithhisfinalcallforthenight,hestayedwherehewasandlistenedtothenoises
traveling to his room from the kitchen. It sounded like Emersyn was cooking. His
growlingstomachremindedhimthathehadn’teatensincebreakfast.Itwasnowcloseto
seveno’clock.
Onagroan,hegotuptoheadtothekitchen.Hedoubtedanyrestaurantintownwould
beopenonChristmasEve.Hedidn’tlikeit,buthehopedEmersyncouldcookandwas
makingenoughfoodforthebothofthem.Hewouldeatinhisroom.
As soon as he opened the door and walked into the hallway, a number of delicious
scents hit his nose and made him stop. The smell of the home-cooked food uncovered
memorieshehadlockedaway,forgottenabout.Happymemoriesfromhischildhood.Of
hismom.Memoriesofhersmilingandlaughingwhileshecooked.Orbaked.Memoriesof
hisdadwatchingherwithanindulgentsmileplayingaroundhislipsbeforehebroughther
intohisarmsandkissedher.Christmashadbeenherfavoriteholiday.
Pain suffused his every pore and glued him to the spot, locking his body. Other
memories, other sounds, entered his mind, took it over, threatening to eviscerate him.
Fuck,thishadn’thappenedtohiminalongtime.Tenyears.Withnochoice,hehunghis
headandgavethepainitsduebeforehegrittedhisteethandmanagedtobreathethrough
it,thenshoveditaside.Thoughhecouldfeelitlingering,hewouldnotsuccumbtosucha
pointlessthingasemotions;itwouldn’tgethimanywherehewantedtogo.Hehaddoneit
toomanytimesinhislifebeforehebecamethemanhewasnowandhadswornitwould
neverhappenagain.
But when he lifted his head, his eyes landed on Emersyn. She was swaying her hips,
humming to the music as she cooked. Mesmerized, he watched her every move as she
seemingly danced through the space while she chopped, poured, checked, and stirred,
never faltering, never hesitating, fluid, a smile playing around her lips. She looked
content.Happy.
Noneofthewomenhe’dspenttimewithinthepastfifteenyearshadcookedforhim.
He hadn’t given them the chance. Though he doubted most of them had ever cooked a
single meal in their lives. Few of them had been allowed into his condo, and those who
had,hadnoteatenthere.Hehimselfhardlyeverateinsidehishome.Whenhedid,itwas
takeout,whichwasalsorare.
Sohehadforgotten.
Forgottenthescent,forgottenthetaste.
Forgottenthefeeling.
Anyfeeling.
Buttheyallcamerushingbacknowashecouldn’thelpbutstare.
Transfixed.
Powerless.
Hehadnochoicebuttoletthemengulfhim.
When the phone rang and Emersyn moved out of his sight to answer it, he moved
closer,asifinatrance,asifpulledbyher.Itsoundedridiculous,ludicrous,buthecouldn’t
stopit.Nomatterhowhardhetriedtoshakeitoff,toshakehimselffree,heneededhis
eyesonher.
Yes,needed.
Themanwhodidn’twantforanythinginhislife,didn’trequireanythingbuthimselfto
livethelifehewanted,themanwhoachievedeverythinghesethissightson,neededher
insight.
Whichturnedintodesirewhensheansweredthephone.
“Hey, Daddy. Merry Christmas.” God, her voice was so soft, so loving, so full of
affectionandwarmth,soverydifferentfromthevoiceshehadusedwhenshe’dtalkedto
him.Daxtonhadknownthiswomanforamereafternoon,hadtreatedherwithnothingbut
irritation and disdain, had judged her unfairly because he was blinded by his own
superiority and frustrated by his inexplicable attraction, yet he knew he’d never meet
anotherwomanwhocouldfeelsodeeplyandexpressthatinfoursimplewords.
“Yeah,I’mgood.Missingyou.You’restillcomingforNewYear’s,though,right?”
“Good.That’sgreat.Ican’twait.”
“I’mstillmakingdinner.”
“Yeah, no kidding. Get this, Dad. I helped Linda out and showed a property this
afternoonforsomehobnobinvestorfromColoradoSpringswhohadtoseeittoday.Kept
me there for four hours. And you won’t believe what an arrogant dick he was. I swear,
Dad,I’vemetsomeassholesinmylife,butthisguytakesthecake.You’dbeproudofme.
Ididn’tpunchhim.CursedhimamilliontimesoverinmyheadandchristenedhimMr.
Jerkface,butIdidn’tgetviolent.”
There was a smile in her voice when she said the last, but Daxton was stuck on the
feelingsherwordsbroughton.Beforehecouldsortthemout,shecontinued.
“Anditgetsworse.Hiscarbrokedown.It’slateafternoononChristmasEveinCedar
Creek,thegarageisclosed,nohotelsintown,andthesnowiscomingdownhard.So,I
had no choice but to offer that asshat my guest room. He’s upstairs right now, probably
glaringatthewallorsomething.”
TheheavysensationinDaxton’sgutdroppedfurther.
HewatchedasEmersynwincedandpulledthephoneawayfromherear.
“Dad—”
“No,Dad,calm—”
There was a long pause during which she rolled her eyes yet listened as her father
probablylosthismindonherforbeingstupid.Asheshould.Hewasherfather.Itwashis
jobtosetherstraight.
“He’s a rich dick, Dad, but I doubt he’ll hurt me. That type of attention and media
coveragewouldbebadforbusiness.”
Anotherlongpause.Daxtonrepeatedlyclenchedandunclenchedhisfistsathisside.
“I’m not joking, Dad. You should have seen him. The suit he was wearing to see a
propertythathasstoodemptyintheRockyMountainsfortwoyearswasridiculous.Ibet
itcostmorethanImakeinamonth.Pristinelypolishedshoeswhichweren’tsoshinyafter
hesetfootinoneofthecottages,nottomentionthedumpofsnowwegotlastnight,plus
what’sbeencomingdownsince.Hisnailsaremanicured,hisbrowswaxed,hishaircutto
perfection.Everythingabouthimscreams‘Lookatme!I’mrich!Bowbeforeme!’Andhe
insistedoncomingouttoday,Dad,onChristmasEveofalldays,notcaringifpeoplewant
tospendtimewiththeirfamiliesinsteadofworking.Sneeringandlookingdownhisnose
at me, judging me from the minute he laid eyes on me. My jeans cost less than two
hundreddollars,soIprobablywasn’tworthbeingniceto.AndwhenIofferedhimaplace
tostay,helookeddisgusted.No‘Thankyou,’no‘That’skindofyou,’nonothing.WhatI
didgetwasshockanddisbeliefwhenhesawmyhouse,asifhethoughtallIcouldafford
wassomeshackinthewoodswithnorunningwater.He’satotaldick,Dad,butthat’sit.
Don’t worry. And hopefully he’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m sure he’ll command one of
hispoorlackeystocomeandgethimifhecan’tgethiscarfixed.ThenIcanforgetabout
himandgobacktoenjoyingChristmas.”
Daxtonclosedhiseyesinshame,somethinghehadn’tfeltsincehewasateenagerand
hadbeencaughtlyingtohismother.Thedisappointmentandhurtonherfacehadmade
himfeelheinousandhehadneverdoneitagain.Emersyn’swordsmadehimfeelthesame
yetmoreso.Shewasright.Hewasatotaldick.Ofcourse,hehadknownyethadn’tgiven
adamn,hadn’tcaredwhatpeoplethoughtabouthim,buthearingthosewordscomingout
ofEmersyn’smouthnow,knowingtheyweretrue,seareddeep.
“Okay,Dad.Yeah,Iwill.”
Then she burst out laughing, throwing her head back and laughing a deep, throaty
laugh.
Hisguttightenedadifferentwayatthatsound.
Fuck.
There was so much going on inside of him, he didn’t know where to start to sort
everythingout.Hewasunpracticed,hadbeenignoringhisfeelingsformostofhisadult
life,andhismethodofdisregardinganykindofemotionsincehisparentshaddieddidn’t
seemtoworkwiththiswoman.
Without knowing or wanting it, without him giving her permission to do so, she had
crackedhimwideopen.
Laidhimbare.
“Yougonnacalltomorrowmorning?”
“Okay.”
“Youtoo,Dad.MerryChristmas.”
Shehungupandwentbacktothestove,checkingonthingsthensippingherwineas
shewalkedfurtherintothelivingroom.
Andhenoideawhattodo.
Forthefirsttimeinfifteenyears,hewasclueless.
Wasn’tthatironic.
Emersyn
Replaying my dad’s words—the ones at the end of the phone call, not his earlier ones
whenhelosthisshitonme—broughtbackmysmile.
“Scrooge. Good one, Dad,” I murmured through a giggle before I finished piling the
woodjustrighttostartafire.Mydadhitthenailontheheadwithhisreference.ThoughI
doubted this particular Scrooge could be led toward enlightenment by any ghost. That
wouldrequireanelectricsparksoenormousitcouldtriggerevolution.
“Let me do that.” I jumped in surprise at hearing his clipped tone so close to me,
breakingthematchIwasusingtolightthefire.
“Shit.” I laid a hand over my chest to prevent my rapidly beating heart from jumping
out.“Howlonghaveyoubeenstandingthere?”
His face was blank. Neither hard nor cold, yet not soft or warm either. Carefully
constructed,itseemed.Hadheheardmywords,mygiggle?Hegavenothingawayashe
camecloserandthenbentdownandtookthematchboxoutofmyhand.Hedidn’tsaya
wordashestruckamatchandheldittothedrykindling,spreadingthefirethenblowing
softlytohelpitalong.
“There.”Hisvoicewasstillbrusquewhenheleanedback,yetstayedcroucheddown,
facingthefire.
Istoodupandlookeddownathim.“Thankyou,”Iutteredsarcasticallythenturnedand
made my way back to the kitchen. “Not that I needed your help. I’ve been capable of
lightingmyownfiresforyears.Ifyouhadn’tscaredthebejeezusoutofme—”
“Iapologize,”hecutmeoff.
Ieyedhimovermyshoulderbutdidn’tstop.Hewasnowstandingaswell,hishandsin
hispockets,hiseyesonme,hisgazeintent.Imusthaveheardwrong.Therewasnoway
thatwordexistedinthisman’svocabulary.“Youapologize?”
“Ido.”
Istoppednowasmyeyebrowsflewupinshock,buthedidn’tsayanythingelseashe
heldmystare,hisfacestillblankyethiseyesweirdlytender,asifhewantedtosaymore
yetdidn’tknowhow.Iwasn’tsurewhattodowiththat.ItiltedmyheadasIstudiedhim.
What was his game? Then I shrugged my shoulders on a, “Whatever,” and resumed
walking,notinterestedinfiguringthismanout.Hewouldbegonecomemorning,thank
goodness. All I was focused on right now was trying to somewhat salvage my night as
much as possible. Starting with the food. I uncovered the turkey breast, upped the oven
temperature,andresetthetimertotwentyminutes.Ilikedtheskincrispy;gaveitlotsof
flavor.Thenitwastimetomashthepotatoes,thelastchoreonthechecklist.
“IsthereanythingIcando?”
IwhippedmyheadaroundasIdrainedthepotatoes,startledbyhisquestion—andyes,
again, his unexpected nearness. Was he a ninja in disguise or something?—promptly
pouringthehotwaterovermyhand.“Shit,shit,shit!”Idroppedthesaucepanintothesink
withaloudclangthenreachedtoturnonthecold-watertap.
“Here, let me.” He was right there, one hand turning on the water, the other gently
holdingmywrist,guidingitunderthespray,thesideofhisbodybrushingmine.Whatthe
fuck?Itriedtopulloutofhishold,buthetightenedhisgrip.Notalot,justenoughtokeep
mewhereIwas.
“ItseemsIhavetoapologizeagain.Ididn’tmeantostartleyou.”Hisgazewasfixedon
myhandasheslowlyturnedit,makingsureeveryredpartofmyskingotcooled.Itstung,
but I didn’t flinch, didn’t move at all. When I didn’t answer him, he peeked over his
shoulderatme.Yes,peeked.Ididn’tthinkamanlikeDaxtonMcArthurwouldbeableto
peekatanything—amanlikehimstared,orglared,orsneered.Neverpeeked.Yetherehe
was,doingexactlythat.
Inarrowedmyeyesathim.“HaveyouseenthemovieSplit?”
“Split?”herepeated,confused,astateheprobablywasn’tfamiliarwith.
“Split. Where three girls get kidnapped by a man with twenty-three different
personalities.You’renotgoingallJamesMcAvoyonme,areyou?”
Therewasashortpausebeforeheburstoutlaughing.Hisamusementwassogreat,he
threwhisheadbackashisbodyshookwithdeep,loud,heartylaughter.
Itwasglorious.
ThemostbeautifulthingIhadeverseeninmylife.
“Holyshit,”Iwhispered,thenfrozeonthespotashiseyesmetmine.Goodgoodness,
buttheyweremagnificent.
Warm.
Open.
Happy.
And his face… It had changed completely. Gone was the anger, the sneer, the
blankness,replacedbydelight,wonder,andjoy.
Purebeauty.
“Holyshit,”Iwhisperedagain,thistimecausinghislaughtertodie.Iexpectedhiseyes
togrowcoldagain,tobecomedistant,hissmiletodie,turnintoafrown.Butitdidn’t.His
lipsstayedturnedupandhisgazeremainedwarm.
“YouthinkIhavemultiplepersonalities?Twenty-threeofthem?”
Was he…was that…was he teasing me? “Ugh, well…maybe not twenty-three, but…
yeah. Kinda.” I wasn’t usually one short for words, but he was throwing me for a loop.
Whowasthisguy?
“I see how you might come to such a conclusion”—he roamed my face—“but I can
assure you”—the smile still played around his lips as he zeroed in on mine—“that this
manstandingrighthereistheonlymaninsidethisbody.”
Gosh.Whydidthatsoundsounbelievablyhotinhislow,roughvoice?
Icoulddonothingbutstare,gapeashelickedhislips,holdmybreathasheleanedin.
“How’sthehand?”
“What?”
“Yourhand?Howisit?”
IsnappedmyeyesawayfromhisfaceandlookedatmyhandasIflexeditunderthe
water.“It’sfine.”
“Nopain?”
Ishookmyhead.
“Good.” His voice was a whisper now. When his dry hand touched my cheek and
turned my face until I was again looking at him, it felt warm, intimate, familiar. How
could that be? How could the horrid and despicable person I’d met this afternoon do a
one-eighty in an hour and become this… this…nice, gentle, caring man? I searched his
eyes, trying to find the answer there, trying to figure out what was happening. He held
mine,kepthimselfopenforme,invitingmein.Ilookeddeeper,thendeeperstill,needing
ananswer,wantingitdesperatelywithoutknowingwhy,justknowingitwasessentialto
meinsomeinexplicableway.Therewasalotthere,almosttoomuchtotakein,butstill,I
tried.
“Emersyn?”Hisvoicewasalow,yetsoft,growl,ifthatcouldbebelieved.
“Yeah?”Ibreathed,incapabletoresistthesuddenattractionlightingafireinmybelly.
“Ineedtokissyou.”
Mybodyleanedintohis,asifpulled,asifinatrance,whenIagreed,“Okay.”
Histhumbgentlyglidedovermycheekbone,backandforth,caressingmeashepulled
myfacecloser,untilourlipswereahairsbreadthapart.
Ipartedmylips,wanting,waiting…
A load banging at the door made me go stone still and my eyes grow wide. More
banginghadmeturnmyheadtothefrontofthehouse,asifIhadthepowertoseethrough
walls.
“Emersyn,please,openthedoor!”
Iheardagrowlcomingfromthemanstillholdingmyface,butIignoreditwhenthe
utterlyfamiliarvoicetoldmewhowasatthedoor.
“Youhavegottobeshittingme.”Ijerkedaway,turnedoffthewater,grabbedatowelto
drymyhand,thenthrewitontothecounterandmarchedtomyfrontdoor.Ohno.Noway.
He was not here. Without checking the peephole, I yanked the door open. And there he
stood,thebastard,hiseyespleading,hishairdisheveled,asifhe’dpulledatitrepeatedly.I
hadtoadmit,beingremindedofthemanytimesIhadrunmyfingersthroughitstunga
little. I’d loved his hair. But I’d never touch it again. Or him. “What the heck are you
doinghere?”
“Weneedtotalk.”
“No.Wedon’t.”
“Please,Em,it’sChristmas.”
“Icanreadacalendar,Mark,soI’maware.Thatdoesn’texplainwhyyou’rehere,atmy
house,interruptingmynight,makingwhatyouknewwouldbeashittydayformeeven
shittierafterIstressedhowverynotwelcomeyouwouldbeinmylifethelasttimeIsaw
you.”
“Em,honey,I’mso—”
“Oh no. Don’t you dare,” I hissed. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. You created the
mess,nowyou’vegottabeartheconsequences.Leave.Now.”
He did the opposite, taking a step toward me, his hands up in a conciliatory gesture,
beggingme.Fuckingasshole.“Please,Em,hearmeout.”
“Hearyouout?”Icrossedmyarms.“Whatexcusedoyouthinkyoucouldpossiblytell
metochangemymind?Letmeguess.Youtrippedandyourdickaccidentallyslidintoher
conveniently positioned vagina. No, wait, you were roofied. No? How about this? She
heldaguntoyourheadandforcedyoutofuckher.”
“Comeon,Em,youknow—”
“Yes, Mark, I know. I know you fucked her, I know you did it voluntarily and
repeatedly while you were in a committed relationship with me, which is all I need to
know.Everythingelseisirrelevant.Now,leave.”
Hetookanothersmallstepforward,hishandouttotouchme.
I moved back, warning, “Not one more step, Mark. Do not touch me,” and hit
somethinghardstandingbehindme.Thenanarmcamearoundmywaistandpulledmein.
Ninjaindisguise.Definitely.
“You were asked to leave. Twice. I advise you do so.” Daxton’s voice was low and
powerful,menacing.
I stilled for a moment but then relaxed in his hold, strangely grateful he was here to
havemyback.
“Whoareyou?AndwhyareyouinEm’shouse?”Markgrowledpossessively,asifhe
stillhadanyrighttoclaimmeashis.
BeforeIcouldopenmymouthtotellhimitwasn’tanyofhisbusiness,Iwasmoved,
thearmthathadbeenholdingmenowtightaroundmyshouldersaswestoodsidebyside
andheleanedintoMarktogetrightupinhisface.“I’mamanyoudonotcross.Andyou
just made the fatal mistake of crossing the line by trying to touch Emersyn. Against her
will.Aftershedemandedyouleave.Nowyou’redonetalkingtoher.Nowyou’redealing
withme.AndIassureyou,youdonotwanttodealwithme.”
“Whatthefuck?Whatisthis?”Marksnarled.“Somesortofrevenge?Imadeamistake,
nowyouhavetogetbackatme?Withthisguy?He’swearingatie,forfuck’ssake.”
I snorted. Was he really that stupid? And did he honestly think I’d be vindictive and,
well,stupid?ThesnortwasallIcouldgetoutbeforemyjawdroppedatwhatIheardnext.
“Emersyndoesn’tneedtolowerherselftobehaviorofthatkind.Sheishonest.Sheis
smart.Sheisgracious,kind,loving,andloyal.Nottomentionbeautiful.Awomanlikeher
doesn’tfuckforrevenge.Awomanlikehergivesthebeautyofherlovetothepeoplewho
deserve it, and she is smart enough to cut out the people who don’t. Which means you.
Youdisrespectedher,betrayed,deceived,andhumiliatedher.Youdon’tdeservetobein
herpresence,andshedoesn’twantyouinherlife.Now,I’mgoingtoclosethisdoorand
you’re leaving. If you don’t, she will call the police and press harassment charges.” On
that,hemovedusbackandclosedthedoorfirmlyinMark’sface.
Wow.Thoseweresomeamazingwords.Themanhardlyknewme,yetthecertaintyin
hisvoicetoldmehebelievedeverywordhe’dsaid.Itfeltnice.Andalittleterrifying.
“Didthatjusthappen?”Iaskedinamixofwonder,irritation,anddisbeliefasIstaredat
thecloseddoor.Thearmaroundmyshoulderstightened.
“It did.” Then the arm moved me until we were standing front to front. I rested my
handsonhischestandtippedmyheadback.
“Thankyou,”Isaidsoftly,“forsayingthosethingsaboutme.”
Thelookhegavemewassoftandwarm,thoughIcouldstillseeannoyanceinthemas
well.
“Doyou…uhm…didyoumeanthem?”Ibitmybottomlipinuncertainty.Gosh,what
the hell was wrong with me? I wasn’t this hesitant, worried person who needed
reassurance to feel good about herself. And from someone I barely knew and was
uncertainIliked,noless.
“Everyword.”Hisreplywasfirm.Unshakeable.
“Butyouhardlyknowme.Andthisafternoon,youweren’tallthatimpressedwithme.
Whatchanged?”Ivoicedmyunspokenquestionfromearlier,needingtheanswertocome
straightfromhim.
“Iwasanass.Youwererighttocallmeajerkwhenyoutalkedtoyourfather.”
I sucked in my breath and stilled. “You heard that?” I wasn’t sure if I should be
horrifiedhe’dheard,orifIshouldbeupsethe’deavesdropped.
“I did. I heard everything you said to him. And you were right. My behavior was
despicable.Itreatedyoulikeyouwerebeneathme,unworthyofmyrespect.Yetyouwere
gracious enough to invite me into your home, because you’re a good and kind person,
sacrificing your holiday to help a friend and then take in a stranger who has shown you
nothingbutcontempt.Ithumblesandshamesme.Iamahardman,Emersyn.Historyand
circumstanceshavemadeitso,andIdoubtitwilleverchange.Butyouremindedmeof
thepartstillinsideofmewhichusedtobedifferent.AndIwanttobethatmanwithyou.”
“So, you do have multiple personalities.” Yes, out of all he’d just said, that’s what I
focused on. He chuckled but didn’t answer as he stared down at me with amused yet
seriouseyes.
“Doyouacceptmyapology?”
“Ithinkit’sthebestapologyinthehistoryofapologies.”
“So,yes?”
“Yes.”
“Whatabouttheotherpart?”
“Theotherpart?”Iscrunchedmybrowsinconfusion.
“Theyou-and-mepart.”
Ilookedathisshoulder,thinking.“Idon’tknow.”
He cupped my face in his hands and lifted my chin so I was again looking at him. “I
knowthatguyfuckedyouover,butI’mnotlikehim.Imightbeajerk,butIwouldnever
betrayyou.Ihavetobehonest,though.Ihavenevertriedthisbefore.Ihavenoideawhat
I’mdoing.ButIknowthis:Iwantyou.AndItendtogetwhatIwant.Ialsotakecareof
what’smineandneverletanyonetakeanythingfromme.”
“Youwantmetobeyours?Asin,youwantmybody?”Myvoicewassqueakyasmy
heartratespiked,bothwithpanicandexcitement.Icouldn’tdenymyextremeattractionto
him—at least the him he was right now—but I also needed to acknowledge that his
intensityandchangeofheartworriedme,orratherscaredtheheckoutofme.
“That’spartofit,butIwantmorethanjustyourbody,”hesaidthrougharoguishsmile,
causingmybellytoflip.
More?Washesaying…?
“Iwantustospendtimetogether,eatdinner,goout,watchamovie,vegonthecouch
in front of the TV, anything we can think of including you and me. I want to know
everythingaboutyou.AndI’lltellyoueverythingyouwanttoknowaboutme.Iwantus
tobetogether.”
I swallowed, overwhelmed by what he was telling me. Did things like these actually
happeninreallife?Imean,I’mafictioneditor,soI’vereadeverylovestorythereis.And
don’tgetmewrong,Ilovedthemasmuchaseveryotherpersonwitharomanticbonein
theirbody.ButIneverthoughtanythinglikethiswouldeverhappentome.Itseemedtoo
fantastical.Absurdyetstrangelywondrous.ButIcouldn’thelpbutwantit.
“AmIallowedtocallyouDaxtonifIsayyes?”
His chuckle was quiet, but his eyes sparkled when he answered, “You can call me
anythingbutMr.Jerkfaceoreveryothercursenameyoucameupwith.”Igiggled,stilla
littleembarrassedhe’dheardme.
Then I turned serious. “Can we take it slow?” I wanted to believe him, wanted to
believethiswassomethingworthexploringevenafterourantagonisticstart,butIhadto
be careful. I tended to jump into things headfirst, which had led me to heartbreak more
thanonce.Ineededtoprotectmyselffrommore.
His answering grin was so magnificent it was almost blinding. He knew he had me.
“Doestakingitslowincludekissing?”Teasingagain.ThisversionofhimwassomethingI
couldgetusedto.
Ireturnedhisgrinwithoneofmyown.“Absolutely.”
“Thenyes,wecantakeitslow.”
Then his hands pulled me slightly up until I was on my tiptoes, my hands fisting his
shirttokeepmybalance,andinthenextmoment,hismouthwasonmine,kissingmeina
way I couldn’t mistake his desire for me. It started gentle as he brushed my parted lips
with his. Then his tongue was there, touching mine, gently stroking, exploring. When it
went deeper, claiming my mouth, I groaned low in my throat and pressed against him,
needingmore.ThenextthingIknew,mybackwasagainstthewallandhishandswerein
my hair as we went at each other, bodies pressed close. We were making out hot and
heavyliketeenagersinmyentryway.Itwasdelicious.Exquisite.Thebest.
Then it got even better when one of his hands traveled down my back to stop at my
butt,wherehecaressedfirstthensqueezed.Withnohesitation,Ijumpedupandwrapped
my legs around him, delighting in the sexy growl he released when my heat met his
hardness and I urged him closer, tipping my hips for some friction. The kiss deepened,
turnedfrantic.Icouldn’tgetenough,neededmore,anditseemedlikehewasrightthere
withmewhenhishandwentundermysweaterinthebackandhetouchedmyheatedskin,
stroking, running his hand up and down my spine, then stopping between my shoulder
bladesandpullingmeascloseashepossiblycould,asifhetriedtomergeourfrenzied
bodies.
I was in the middle of loosening his tie when the timer on the oven beeped and he
wrenched his mouth from mine and stared at me with passion-filled eyes. Goodness
gracious,hewassomething.Nobodyhadeverlookedatmelikehewasrightnow.Itmade
mefeelpowerful,cherished,sexy.
“Somuchforgoingslow,”Imurmured,stunnedbywhatwehadjustsharedanddizzy
at its abrupt ending. He didn’t comment as he roamed my face in what seemed like
wonderandadmiration.Andpassion.Andlust.Icouldn’thelpbutshiveratthemagnitude
thatlookcarried.Thenheleanedinandpressedalightkissagainstmyforehead.Iclosed
my eyes and savored the beauty of his touch as his lips lingered. Then he leaned back,
pulledhishandoutfromundermysweater,andbrushedaloosestrandofhairoutofmy
face.Thatwasbeautiful,too.Iwasstillinhisarms,mylegswrappedaroundhiswaist,the
intimate parts of our bodies pressed together. I wanted to stay like this, in this moment
whichseemedalmosttooperfecttobetrue.
Thebeepingsoundedagain.
“Ididn’task,butitlookedlikeyoucookedenoughfoodformetojoinyoufordinner.”
Igrinnedathim.“Ofcourse.Anythingelsewouldbeconsideredrude.”
Herewardedmewithanotherlowchuckleandasoft,closed-mouthedkiss.“Okay,then.
Let’seat.”
“Okay.”
Iunclaspedmylegsfromaroundhiswait,andheheldmeuntilIwassteadyenoughto
standonmyown.Thenhetookmyhandinhisandledmetothekitchen.
Daxton
Theywerecurleduponthecouch.
Daxtonpulledherintohissideuntilshewassnugunderhisarm,herheadrestingonhis
shoulder,herfeetinthecouch.Shewasholdingherwineglass,whilehissatonthetable
besidehim.TheendcreditsonthesecondChristmasmovieshehadinsistedtheywatch,
sayingthiswasherfavoritepartofChristmas,wererollingacrossthescreen.Hecouldn’t
denyherwhenshehadsmiledathim,playfullybegginghimwithhereyestogetherway.
He would have preferred some fooling around instead of watching some ridiculous
holidaymovie,buthecouldn’thelphimselfbutgiveherwhatshewanted.Whichdidn’t
bodewellandwasanewexperienceforhim.Heusuallytookthethingsthatpleasedhim
withoutmuchregardforanyoneelse.
ButEmersynwasdifferent.
Hewasdifferentwithher.
Dinnerhadbeeneverythinghe’dhopedanddreadeditwouldbe.
Emersyn had been able to save the potatoes, or most of them. He couldn’t be of any
helpcookingwise—eventhoughhehadofferedearlier,hehadnoideahow—sohesetthe
table for the two of them after he refreshed her wine and poured himself some as well.
Thenhewatched,justascaptivatedashe’dbeenearlier,assheputthefinishingtouchesto
theirmeal,thenplatedit.Hermovementsseemedalittlestiffer,alittlelessfluid,notquite
thedancehehadwitnessed.Still,shewasasighttosee,nowevenmoresobecausehe’d
kissedher,tastedher,feltherbodyheatandmeltunderhistouch.Heknewshewasunsure
abouthim;hedidn’tblameher.Hewasunsurehimself.Notabouthisintentionsorabout
thepullhecouldn’tanddidn’twanttofight.Hewasuncertainabouthisabilitytobeina
relationship.Though,itseemedeasywhenitcametoher.Thewayshehadrespondedto
hiswords,howshehadreactedtohistouch.Hedidn’thavetothinkabouthismovesor
whattosay,didn’thavetodeviseaplanofaction,sotospeak.Thewayhewaswithher
cameeffortlessly.Ifhewerearomantic,hewouldsaytheyweremeanttobe.
HealsohadthechancetolookaroundEmersyn’shomesomemore.Helovedtheway
she decorated. She clearly loved Christmas, but she didn’t go overboard. The lights she
usedallovertheplacelittheroomupwithacomfortable,classyglow;itwasinvitingand
warm.Itbroughtupalotofmemoriesofhischildhoodhomebeingdecoratedinasimilar
way,thoughhismotherhaddefinitelyusedmoreknick-knacks.
Those thoughts were the reason why, throughout dinner, he battled the conflicting
emotionsinsideofhim:wantingmoreandgoingforit,versusbeingabsolutelyterrifiedit
wouldstirupemotionshewouldn’tbeabletohandle.Thepaintheearliermemorieshad
brought on was still lingering while he was sharing his first real Christmas dinner in
fifteen years with Emersyn, though it was also morphing into something else. Not as
sharp, ripping him wide open, but rather melancholic and wistful. Longing even. A
bittersweetnostalgia.
Theywerechattingeasily,sharingthebasicsaboutthemselves;theirprofession,where
theywenttoschool,theirhobbies,likesanddislikes,tastesinfood.Simple.Easy.Going
slow. What he’d promised her they would, which, thinking yet again about the hot and
heavy makeout session they’d shared in the entryway as he held her close, would be
harderthanhe’dthought.Heusuallyhadmorecontrolofhimself.Butassoonashislips
hadtouchedhersandhehadhisfirsttasteofher,he’dknowntherewasnoturningback
forhim.
“WhydoyouhateChristmas?”Emersyn’ssoftandcautiousvoicesnappedhimoutof
hismusings.
He locked his body. It would take a lot to answer her question honestly. He knew he
wasn’t ready for it. But he also knew he owed it to himself, and to her, to try. If he
clamped up on her now, she would retreat thinking he hadn’t been serious when he told
her he wanted them to get to know each other. Still, it wasn’t easy to come up with the
right words. He hadn’t talked to anyone about his parents, about what had caused their
death,sinceithadhappenedfifteenyearstotheday.
When he realized Emersyn’s body had locked right along with his, he forced his
muscles to relax and ran his hand soothingly along her upper arm. “It’s a long and sad
story,”hemurmuredbeforehereachedforhisglassandtookahealthysip,hiseyesonthe
fire, his mind struggling to sort his thoughts, the visions flashing. The warmth of her
fingersbrushingagainsthischeekmadehimclosehiseyes.
Fuck,thatfeelsgood.
Heleanedintohertouchasshewhispered,“Tellme.”Heswallowed,thenclearedhis
throattogetridofthelumpformingintheback.Heopenedhiseyesbutdidn’tlookather,
couldn’t. Instead, he kept them to the fire as he told her about the one thing he would
regreteveryminute,everysecond,fortherestofhislife.
“Fifteen years ago, I killed my parents.” It came out brisk and harsh, and he felt
Emersyn’sbodyjumpinhisarmsandherhanddrop.Hetightenedhisgrip,whichwasall
hehadinhimtoreassureher.“IwashomefromcollegeinCaliforniaforChristmas.We
wenttotheirbestfriends’housefordinner.FrankandJoy.Momhadtoomuchwine,and
Dad had too many beers. I was twenty and a good driver. Never been in an accident.
Responsible.”Heswallowedagainbeforehecontinued.“Wehadagreatnight.Atealot.
Laughedalot.Enjoyedeachother’scompany.Likewealwaysdid.Christmashadalways
been my mom and Joy’s favorite holiday, so they went all out and took turns cooking a
hugemeal.Itwasafeast.Everyyear.Inevermissedit.”HecouldfeelEmersyn’seyeson
himbutwasafraidtomeetthem.Hedidn’twanttoseeherreaction.Thoughhehopedto
see compassion, he was certain he couldn’t endure the pity, or worse, the accusation he
wasconvincedhewouldfind.So,hekepthiseyesstraightaheadwithoutseeingwhatwas
infrontofhim,needingtogetthisnextpartoverwithasquicklyaspossible.“Theyonly
lived a ten-minute drive from our house. The radio was on. The Chipmunk Song. Mom
was in the back seat, in the middle, singing along, being silly. Dad was laughing. I was
laughingwithhim.Shakingmyheadathershenanigans.Tookmyeyesofftheroadather
favorite part of the song. Met hers in the rearview mirror. I didn’t realize…” He paused
andgrittedhisteeth.“Therewasastopsign.Ireactedtoolate.Brakedtoohard.Wasn’t
usedtoslipperyroads.Ihitanicysectionandthecarwentoutofcontrol.Itriedtoregain
itbutcouldn’t.AllIcouldseewereheadlightscomingtowardus,frombothsides.God,
theyweresobright.Blindingme.ThefirstcarhitusonDad’sside,spinningusaround.
Thenextcarclippedusontheothersideintheback.Momwasn’twearingaseatbelt.Was
DOA.Dadmadeittothehospital.DiedintheORanhourlater.Iwokeupthenextday
banged up and bruised. Left arm and three ribs broken. A huge bump and cut on my
forehead.”
Hehunghisheadasshameandguiltoverwhelmedhim.Hehadn’tallowedhimselfto
think of that night for so long they threatened to swallow him whole as his mother’s
grinningfaceflashedbeforehiseyesandhisfather’slaughechoedinhisears.
God,hemissedthem.
“Daxton,”Emersynwhispered.
Hedidn’tmoveorreply.
“Dax.Lookatme,please.”
Heliftedhisheadasshemovedintohislapandcuppedhisface.Hishandswenttoher
hips.Notwantingtobeacoward,hemethergaze…andsuckedinhisbreath.Silenttears
wererunningdownhercheeks,andthedeepsadnessinhereyesknockedthewindright
outofhim.
“Honey…”Hervoicebrokeasshetookhimin,thepainandremorseclearlyvisibleon
hisface,nothingbuttendernesswrittenonhers.Hecouldn’ttakeit.
Hegrippedherhips,readytopushheroff,andclipped.“Don’tpretendyouunderstand,
Emersyn.Youdon’t.Thereisnopossiblewayforyoutocomprehend.Sodon’tlietome.”
“Idounderstand,Daxton,”sheargued.
Hestartedtopushheroff,butsheclampedherkneesonhishipsandtightenedherhold
onhisface,leaningincloseuntilallhecouldseewerehereyes.“Ido,”shesnapped,then
continued,“mymotherdiedtenyearsagoinacaraccident.Mydadwasdriving.Iwasn’t
inthecar,butbelievemewhenIsaythis,Daxton,Idounderstand.”
Hefrozesolidatherwords.Hermotherisdead?Killedinacaraccident?
“Iwastwenty-two,hadjustfinishedcollege,wasabouttotakeonthelongdrivehome
the next morning when I got the news. My dad lost control of his car, too. It was the
beginningofsummer;itwasraininghardanditwasdark.Helostcontrolinatightturnon
theirwaybackfromanightout.Theywerejustoutsideoftown.Hydroplaning.Therewas
nochanceforhimtoregaincontrol.Nothinghecoulddo.Theyhitatree.Hewasn’thurt
much,butshewasunconsciousandbleedingfromaheadwound.Hecallednine-one-one
but didn’t dare pull her out of the car. EMTs arrived within ten minutes, stabilized her
neck,gotherout,workedonher.Gothertothehospitalandintosurgery.Theyoperated
forfivehoursbutcouldn’tsaveher.”Hervoicewaslow,almostsoothing,eventhoughher
wordswererushed.Hedidn’tknowwhattosay,couldn’tgetanywordsout.
“Heblamedhimself,too,”shewhisperedasnewtearsformedandrandownhercheeks.
He lifted his hand and brushed them away. “For years, he blamed himself. So, yes,
Daxton,Idounderstand.Imightnothavebeenintheaccident,butIknowsurvivor’sguilt
whenIseeit.”
Hedroppedhisheadtohershoulderandwoundhisarmsaroundher,pullingherclose.
Her arms went around his neck and she did the same. They held each other for a long
time,longenoughforDaxtontosorthisthoughts.
“Youneverblamedhim?”heaskedhershoulder.
“Never.”Thatonewordwasresolute.Unbreakable.
“How?”Heneededtoknowhowitwaspossible.
She released his neck and leaned back to find his eyes. “How could I? Do I think he
causedtheaccidentonpurpose?Orthathecouldhavedoneanythingtosaveher?No.He
didthebesthecould.Hedidn’tdrivetoofast.Hewasn’treckless.Hewasn’tdrunk.Inno
waywastheaccidenthisfault.SohowcouldIblamehim?”
Daxtonfurrowedhisbrowsashetriedtounderstandherviewofthings.
“Letmeaskyousomething.Wereyoudrivingtoofast?”
Heshookhishead.Hehadbeenagooddriver,nevertookanyrisks.
“Didyouhaveadrink?”
“No.”
“Didyoudriverecklessly?”
Anothershakeofthehead.“No,butItookmyeyesofftheroad.IfIhadn’t—”
“No,”shestoppedhim.“Don’tdothat.Ifsarenotgoingtogetyouanywhere.Forhow
longdidyoutakeyoureyesofftheroad?”
He shrugged his shoulders but thought back to that moment and answered, “I’m not
sure.Afewseconds.”
“A few seconds. And do you think, under normal circumstances, taking your eyes off
theroadforafewsecondstochecktherearviewmirrorwouldleadtoafatalaccident?”
Hestudiedherfaceashefollowedherlogic.“No,”hebreathed.
“Thenwhywouldyoublameyourselfforwhathappened?Youdidn’tplanit.Youdidn’t
knowyouwouldhitanicypatchatexactlythatmoment.Youdidn’tmeanforthecarto
swerve,andyoudefinitelydidn’tmeanforittogethittwiceandyourparentstodie.”
“No,Ididn’t.”Hisvoicewasscratchyandrawashismindwhirled.
Shecuppedhisfaceagainandleanedin.“Youwereyoung.Youlostyourwholefamily
withinmoments.So,it’sunderstandablewhyyouwoulddoit.Butthinkaboutit.Theway
youtalkedaboutyourparents,Idon’tthinktheywouldwantyoutoblameyourselfeither.
Doyou?”
Hismother’sfacetookoverhismind.Hersmilingeyes.Herbeautifullaugh.Herlove
forhimandhisfather.Thenherememberedhisfather,howproudhe’dbeenofhisfamily,
how happy he’d been all the time. How content. Emersyn was right. They would never
blamehimforwhathadhappened.
“Theywouldn’t,”sheansweredforhimwhenhedidn’t.
“Theywouldn’t,”heagreedsoftly.
“You loved your parents.” He held her eyes and nodded. “You still do.” He nodded
again.“I’mguessingyouneverletyourselfgrieve.Youlockeditallawayandpretendedit
neverhappened,didn’tyou?”
Hedidn’tanswerthistime.Didn’tneedto.Sheknew.Instead,heasked,“Howdidyour
daddoit?”
Hereyesturnedalittledarker,alittlesadder.Thenshesaidonashakeofherhead,“I’m
not sure. He closed himself off for some time, didn’t go to work, didn’t take care of
himself.Imovedbackinwithhim,workedalittlehereandtherebutmostlytookonjobsI
coulddofromhome.WhichishowIstartedmybusiness,actually.Itwentonlikethatfor
acoupleofmonths.Itwashardtoseehimthatway,youknow,mystrongfathersuffering.
But I did my best while dealing with my own grief. Until one day I couldn’t take it
anymore and yelled at him when he wouldn’t eat and refused to talk to me. It wasn’t
pretty,butIthinkit’swhatsnappedhimoutofitandherealizedhowmuchIneededhim.
How much we needed each other. His recovery didn’t happen overnight, but he started
going back to work. He’s a photographer, so his work usually involves travel. I was
worriedabouthimwhenhewasgone,buthepulledthroughandstartedlivingagain.”
“So,itwasyouwhopulledhimoutofit.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t see it that way. He just needed some time and
maybeakickinthebehindtogetthingsstarted.Buthe’stheonewhodidit.”
“I’mstartingtorealizeyou’regoodatthat.”
Shefrowned.“Goodatwhat?”
“Kicking people’s asses. You did it with Mark, too, and I know you most certainly
wantedtokickminethisafternoon.Icouldseethefirebehindyoureyes.Itwasamusing.”
“Itwasnot,”shescoffed.“Itwasfrustratingashell.”
Hegaveasmallchucklebeforeheturnedseriousagain.“Howisyourdadnow?”
Shesmiled,thoughitwasmixedwithsadness.“He’sallright.He’llalwaysloveherand
won’teverquitegetoverherdeath.Idon’tthinkhewantsto.Hedoesn’tdate,buthehas
foundsomeformofhappinessandfulfillmentinhiswork.Andhe’salwaysbeenagreat
dadanddotesonme,soIguesshe’sdoingasokayasheletshimself.”
Daxtonnodded.Itwasn’tquitethesame,losingthewifeyoulovedcomparedtolosing
yourparents.Heknewifeitherofhisparentshadsurvivedtheotherintheaccident,either
oneofthemwouldhavebeenjustasdevastatedasEmersyn’sdad.
“And how are you?” he asked as he ran his fingers along her cheek, then brushed a
strandofhairoutofherface.Hehadneverdonethistoawomanbefore,buthefoundhe
loveddoingittoher.
“I miss her every day, especially during the holidays. She loved Christmas and
Thanksgiving. Loved to cook and entertain. Since her death, Dad and I celebrate
Christmasjustthetwoofus.Thisyearisthefirsttimewehaven’t.”
“Justyouandhim?Noboyfriend?”
She shook her head. “Not that there were many, but Dad never liked any of them, so
theywereneverinvited.”
Hegrinned.“Isupposeit’shisjob.”
Shebitherlip.“Hewasn’thappywhenItoldhimaboutyou.Thatyouwerespending
ChristmasEveandstayingovernight.Ithinkitkindahurthisfeelings.Ididn’toccurtome
earlier,butnowthatIthinkaboutit…Hewasn’tjustworriedaboutmysafety.”
Shewasprobablyright,andDaxtonunderstoodandfeltforherfather,buthecertainly
wasn’t leaving. He would have to get used to having him around, since Daxton wasn’t
planningongoinganywhere.Hewasevenmoredeterminednowtobewithher.Tocall
herhis.Lifeasheknewitwasabouttochange.Andhewelcomedit.
“I’mnotleaving,”hestated.
“I don’t want you to. And anyway, we already established there’s nowhere for you to
go.”
He smiled at her. “Even if there were, I wouldn’t leave. Not now. Not after you’ve
shownmethebeautyyouareandIknowhowmuchIwantittobemine.”
Shereturnedhissmile.Thenhersmilediedandsheasked,“Areyouokay?”Shewas
genuinelyworriedabouthim,hecouldtell.Sincehisparentshaddied,nobodyhadever
cared about him like she did. He never let anyone get close enough to make it that far.
FrankandJoyhadtried,buthe’dgonebacktoCaliforniarightafterthefuneralservices
andhadcutanycontact.WithEmersyn,hecouldn’timagineitanyotherway.They’donly
known each other for hours, yet he felt like he’d known her all his life. It was bizarre,
absolutelyludicrous,buthedidn’twanttoimaginealifewithouther.
“Ihaven’tbeenthisokayinfifteenyears.”Hereyesmelted,andsodidherbodyasher
armswentaroundhisneckagain—looselythistime—andsherestedherforeheadagainst
his.“That’sgood.I’mglad.”
“Me,too.”Heknewhestillhadalongwaytogoindealingwiththelossofhisparents,
buthewasn’tlying.Hehadn’tfeltthisatpeacesincesecondsbeforetheaccident.
Emersyn
We stared into each other’s eyes. I could see something new in his, something I was
certain hadn’t been there in a long time. That something resembled peace. Contentment.
There was still a fair amount of pain there as well, but watching the change happen,
knowing my words of reassurance were helping him to see the tragedy that killed his
parentsfromadifferentperspective,broughttearsofhappinessandreliefforhimtomy
eyes.Ithurttoknowthismanhadlivedthepastfifteenyears,allofhisadultlifeifyou
think about it, drowning in guilt. I could only imagine what it would do to a person’s
psyche. His hard and arrogant exterior now made sense to me. It was his shield. His
protectionfromthepotentialofsufferingmorepain.Moreloss.
“Hey, what’s this?” His thumb glided underneath my eyes. Tears had gathered there.
Evenhistonewasdifferentnow.Theunderlyingsternnesswasgone.Itwassoft.Sovery
softand…hopeful.Ismiledathim.
“I’mjusthappyyouheardwhatIsaidandithelped.Icanseethereliefinyoureyesand
I…Nobodydeservestoliveunderthecloudofguiltforaslongasyouhave.”
Hestudiedmyfaceforlongmoments.“Yougonnabethereandhelpmeworkmyway
outfromunderthatcloud?”
Myheartskippedabeat.Thecertaintyandtendernessinhiseyestookmybreathaway.
Thiswascrazy.Absolutelyinsane.DadwasgoingtolosehismindwhenItoldhimIwas
fallingforthehorridjerkfaceofamanIhadventedtohimabout.
Whichwasexactlywhatthiswas.Iwasn’tapersonwholiedtoherself.Iknewexactly
what was happening. And no matter how bizarre, preposterous, and foolish it seemed, I
couldfeelmyselffallingforthismanIhadonlymetafewshorthoursago.AndIcould
tellitwashappeningtohim,too,evenifhedidn’tknowwhatitwasyet.Nomanlooked
at a woman the way he was looking at me this very moment without it meaning
something.ItremindedmeofhowDadhadalwayslookedatMom,ofhowhewasstill
lookingatherpicturetothisday.
So the answer was yes. Yes, I would be there for him. I couldn’t wait to be there for
him.
“Iwill,”wasallIcouldsaybeforehismouthwasonmine.Hekissedmelonganddeep
whilehishandscuppedmyfaceandangleditjustthewayhewantedit.Iclenchedhishair
inmyfistsandgavehimwhatheneeded.
When he pulled back, he caught my eyes. “I want this, Em. I don’t think I’ve ever
wantedanythinginmylifeasmuchasyou.Idon’tgiveashithowcrazythissoundsor
what I have to do to prove to you that I won’t let you go. I can feel it in my gut.” He
brushedthesideofhisnoseagainstmine,thenwhispered,“Ididn’tletmyselfgetcloseto
anyone for what feels like forever, but with you, closeness all I can think of. Has been
since I watched you climb out of your car this afternoon. There’s a pull between us, a
forceIcan’tdeny.Idon’twanttodenyit.IttellsmeyoubelongtomeandItoyou.Tell
meyoufeelit,too.”Hesoundedalmostdesperateinhisplea.Itbrokemyheartalittle.At
thesametimeitskippedabeat.Itdidn’tmatterthathehadbeenthejerkofalljerkswhen
we’d met. I was compassionate enough to understand why and let it go. He had found
somethinginmethatbrokethroughhisshield,somethingheneeded;notonlyhadhelet
mein,buthe’dpulledmethrough.Whichsaidalot.Sothewayhehadtreatedmedidn’t
matter.ThismaninfrontofmewastherealDaxtonMcArthur.AndIwantedhim.
“Ido.Ifeelit,too.”
Theneedinhiseyesintensifiedashishandmovedtomyneckandgrippedmetight.It
waspossessive,claiming,andacompleteturn-on.Mybreathingacceleratedandcameout
insmallpuffs.
“IknowIpromisedwewouldtakethisslow,butIneedtobeinsideyou.Sayyes.”
Thedesireinhiseyesoverwhelmedmysenses.Isquirmedinhislapandcouldfeelhis
hardnesspressingagainstme.ItfeltsogoodallIcoulddowaswhimper.Thedesireturned
intorawhungerashepushedupagainstme.
“Sayyes,Em.Ineedyoutosaytheword,”hegrittedthroughclenchedteeth.Hewas
holdingonbyathread.Icouldseeandfeelitvibratingthroughhisentirebody.
“Ye—“
HecrashedhismouthtominebeforeIcouldfinish.Thenallthoughtleftmymindashe
kissed me, taking me, claiming me while worshipping my mouth at the same time. He
groanedwhenhistonguedueledwithmineandImovedagainsthim.Thenmybackwas
against the couch and he was on top of me, my legs around his waist. Our hands were
franticaswestartedexploringeachother.Hewhippedmysweaterovermyheadandthen
stared at his hand with passion-filled eyes as it glided over my shoulder then down
betweenmybreasts.
“Sobeautiful,”hemurmured.Thenhistonguetastedtheskinatmyneck,driftingdown
slowly, savoring every inch as he kissed and nipped along the way. It was driving me
crazy.“God,Em,thewayyoutaste…IknowI’llnevergetenoughofyou.”
Whenhismouthclosedovermylace-coverednipple,Icouldn’thelpbutgroanandpush
mycenteragainsthis.“Daxton…”Heworkedmybreast,thenmovedtotheother.Butit
wasn’tenough.Ineededhismouthbackonmyskin.Impatient,Igrippedmybracupand
pulled it down roughly, the friction causing me to hiss. Then his mouth was there, his
tongue playing, lapping, teasing, his teeth nipping and biting, his hand squeezing and
massaging.ItfeltsogoodIneverwantedittoend.
“Fuck,woman.Youtastelikeheaven.”
MystomachdippedasIfelttheheatandwetnessgrowingbetweenmylegs.Myfingers
shookasItookoffhistieandunbuttonedhisshirt,whilehismouthmovedbacktomine
and his hand kept at my breasts, his thumb alternating between circling and flicking my
nipple.Thenhisshirtwasgoneandhisnakedchesttouchedmine.Younowthatmoment
when your naked chest touches your partner’s for the first time? It’s overwhelming and
arousing, yet soothing and comforting at the same time. It’s perfect. Daxton ripped his
mouth from mine, and we both stopped breathing as we stared into each other’s eyes. I
knewIwouldn’tforgetthismomentforaslongasIlived.Andneitherwouldhe.Itwas
spelledoutformetoreadclearly.
He held my eyes as he brushed his lips gently against mine. “Keep going,” he
whispered through small kisses. I didn’t need any encouragement. My hands and
breathingweresteadynowasIundidhispantsandpushedthemoverhishipsthendown
hislegs,usingmyfeetwhenIcouldn’treachtogetthemoffcompletely.Thenhedidthe
sametome,neverbreakingeyecontact,bothofuscalmnow,innorush,asifweknewwe
couldsavorthemomentbecausewewouldhavehundreds,thousandsmoreofthem.Itwas
as if we were in a trance, as if something had clicked into place, something we both
trustedwouldstaythatwayforever.
Whenwewerebothnaked,helaybackontopofme,ourbodiestouchingfromchestto
toes,hishardnessnestledagainstmyheat.
“Youknowthisisit.Youfeelit,too.”Itwasn’taquestion.
Still,Ianswered,“Thisisit.”
Hebrushedalockofmyhairoutofmyfaceashesaid,“Idon’thaveacondom.”
I did. Upstairs in my bedroom. I’d never gone without one, not even in my two-year
relationshipwithMark.ButIdidn’twanttobringthatupnorleavehimtogetone,didn’t
wanttobreakthisperfectmoment.AndIwantedtofeelallofhim.“I’monthepill.”
”Youtrustme?”Inoddedwithouthesitation.Callmecrazy—again—butIdid.Iknew
hewouldn’tputmeindanger.
“Good,”hewhispered,“Itrustyou,too.”
“Good.” My whisper turned into a broken breath as he moved his hips and glided
throughmyfolds.
Hesmiledandkissedmynose.“Youreadyformetomakelovetoyou?”
“Yes,”Ibreathed.
We held each other’s eyes as he slowly sunk into me, taking me gently, inch by inch
untilhefilledme.ThatconnectionI’dtalkedabout?Thatclickthathadlockedintoplace?
It solidified when our bodies became one, when we made gentle love to each other.
Solidifiedinawayitwascementedonoursouls.
Thatnight,onChristmasEve,adaythathadbeenhardforbothofusformanyyears,
by my lit Christmas tree, in front of a blazing fire, Daxton MacArthur and I started
something,somethingwebothknewwasbig.
Westarted.
Therewouldbeobstacles,therewouldcomehardtimes.Lifewaslife.
Butwebothknewthiswouldn’tenduntiloneofustooktheirlastbreath.
Andmaybeevenbeyond.
ItwasthebestChristmasever.
TheEnd.
AboutTheAuthor
JuliaGodaistheself-publishedauthoroftheCedarCreekSeriesandTheGirlSeries.Her
novelstouchonallkindsofdifferenttopics,butthethingsshetriestofocusonnomatter
what are strong women and romance. When she’s not in her writing cave, spinning the
talesthathavebeenhoundingher,orediting(sheisalsoaprofessionaleditor,)sheenjoys
reading,drinkingcoffee,eatinggoodfood,andlisteningtorockmusic.Hercurrenthome
isVancouverIsland,Canada,bywayofGermanandtheAlbertanRockyMountains.She
lives with her husband and two Labs to enjoy the beauty and wildness that is Pacific
Northwestliving.
ConnectwithJuliaGoda
TheCedarCreekSeries
BentNotBroken
LifehastaughtIveyJonesearlyonthatwithtrustcomepainandbetrayal.Outofsurvival
shehascreatedwallsaroundhertokeepanyonefromgettingtooclose.Thoughshelives
inherdreamhouseintheRockyMountainsandlovesbeingtheownerofthetown’s
quirkylittlebookstoreSerendipity,herlifeisnarrowandgovernedbystrictrulesthatshe
neverdeviatesfrom…untilCalBennettentersherlife.
ForthepastnineyearsCalvin“Cal”BennetthasstayedawayfromIvey,thinkingshe
deservedbetterthantobesaddledwithasingledadwhohasneverbeengoodat
relationships.Untilafewchanceencountersshowhimwhathe’sbeenmissingandhe
can’tstayawayanylonger.
Littledoesheknowhe’sgotafightonhishandsthathemightnotbeequippedtowin.
ShadowsfromIvey’spastlurkinthedark,readytostrikeandbringherlowonceandfor
all.ButCalswearshewilldowhateverittakestobreakthroughthatwallofsteeltowin
Ivey’sheartandkeephersafe.
US:
http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00VKQEJU0
UK:
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B00VKQEJU0
http://www.amazon.ca/gp/product/B00VKQEJU0
BeHereNow
Sixyearsago,LoreleyCooperthoughtshehaditall.Headoverheelsinlovewithher
boyfriendJasonandreadytotakeonthefutureaftercollege,shelandedtheinternshipof
herdreams.Butthingscamecrashingdownduringafightwhenshebelievedshefound
outhe’ddonesomethingsheknewshecouldneverforgive.Completelyheartbroken,she
walkedawayandhasn’ttalkedtohimsince.
Now,sixyearslater,Loreleyisrecoveringfromapainfultragedythatalmostkilledher.
SheisfinallyfindingherwaybacktoherselfwhennowfamousrockstarJasonSanders
returnsandseemsdeterminedtowinherback.Whyhewouldseekheroutafterallthis
time,Loreleyhasnoidea.Shehassworntonevertalktohimagainafterwhathedidto
her.
JasonSandershasregrettednotchasingafterLoreleytofightforwhatheknowswould
havebeenalifefilledwithhappiness.Nowheisbackandheisdeterminedtoremedyhis
mistakesandnotlettheloveofhislifewalkawayfromhimagain.Heiswillingtodo
anythingandeverythingtomakehergivethemanotherchance.
Butmisunderstandingsareuncoveredandsecretsarerevealedthatleadtopainand
heartbreakyetagain.Willtheyhavewhatittakestoforgiveeachotherandthemselves
andfightfortheirhappily-ever-afterorisittoolate?
AmazonUS:
http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B012HK98JY
http://www.amazon.co.uk/gp/product/B012HK98JY
AmazonCA:
DiveintomoreScroogedChristmasstorieswiththesejoining
authors.Pleasenote:Thesestoriesareacollaboratedcollection
toAScroogedChristmas.Theyarestandalones,not
interconnectedstories.
ByBSMStoneking
WhenhisparentsdieinacarcrashjustbeforeChristmas,andtheabusiveorphanagehe’s
senttogrowupinkickshimoutthedaybeforeChristmasEve,BraxtonScroogechooses
to leave the one person who completes him, leaving her in tears on Christmas Day, to
becomeacoldbig-shotmillion-dollarbusinessowner.
ForgettheGhostofChristmasPast.WithahistorylikeBraxtonScrooge’s,howcouldone
everenjoytheChristmasseason?
Braxtonregretsnothing—untilhistruelove,Gemma,re-entershislife.OnlytheGhostof
Christmas Future can give him the reality check he needs to stop being such a vengeful
scrooge—beforehelosesherforever.
Whenitcomestolove,therealquestiontoaskyourselfis,howfarareyouwillingtogoto
ensureyourpartnerstillfeelsyourloveevenafteryou’veleftherside?Becausethelove
BraxtonandGemmarekindlewillturnouttobethemostunconventionalloveyou’llever
find.
ByJenniferDomenico
I hate Christmas. Hate. I have my reasons, none of which I talk about. Ever. It suits me
justfinetowallowinmiseryeveryyearfromlateNovembertoJanuary.Ijustwanttobe
leftaloneinmyquiethomefarawayfromthenonsenseoftheseason.
Unfortunately, one of Santa’s elves just bought the unit next to mine, sprinkling her
ridiculous festive spirit all over my perfectly insulated existence. But she can spread all
theChristmascheershewants.Ithasnoeffectonme.
Atleastthat’swhatIkeeptellingmyself
ByJuliaGoda
DaxtonMcArthurisasuccessfulbutcoldbusinessman.Forreasonsheneverdiscusses,he
hasnotimeforthefrivolitiestheChristmasseasonbrings.Asurlymannormally,heturns
itupanotchwhenSanta’selvescomeouttoplay.Thisyear,thatpersonalityflawmight
costhim.
Insteadoffindingjoybyhelpingafriend,EmersynMoorefindsherselfbearingthebrunt
ofDaxtonMcArthur’sdisdain.Usuallyagood-naturedperson,Emersynispushedtothe
endofherpatiencebyhisscowlsandsneers.
Whenhe’sstrandedinthemiddleofasnowstorm,shefeelsobligatedtotakehimin.Itis
ChristmasEve,afterall.
Whathappenswhentwoworldscollideandthey’renotasdifferentastheythought?Will
the light Emersyn’s smile promises be enough to bring Dax back to life, or will he run,
foreverhidinginthedarknessofhispastmistakes?
ByReginaFrame
GraysonDeckerisamanwithmanytitles.NewYork’sManoftheYear.NewYork’sMost
EligibleBachelor,butwhenhemeetsthefeistyAubreeLane,heearnsthetitleofScrooge.
WhenGrayson’sparentspushhimtomarryandevenforcetoassistinfindingtheperfect
wife,Graysontakesmattersintohisownhands.
AubreeLaneisacollegedropout,workingpart-timeinacoffeeshop,desperatetomake
ends meet, but finds herself in danger of eviction from her run-down apartment in a
sketchyneighborhood.WhenGraysonDeckersetshissightsonher,hemakesheranoffer
she can’t refuse or is it the other way around? When he offers her $50K to be his fake
fiancéeforthreeweeks,shethrowsawrenchintohisplan.She’llgoalongwithhisidea,
butitwillcosthim$100KandChristmasDinnerwithherfamily.
Whentheiragreementends,willhebeabletolethergo?Willsherefusetostay?
ByCPSmith
IfLukeKnightcouldchangeanythingabouthislife,itwouldbethedayhisnephewdied.
Filled with guilt, Luke lived a lonely existence. Until the day an angel crashed into his
truck…andstruckhisheart.
Anna Stubbs knew one thing without question: God has a reason for everything. Her
optimismandfaithshinefromwithin,andnomatterhowhardLuketries,hecan’tignore
it.
Whenlifethrowsanunexpectedcurveball,bothLukeandAnnawillneedtoreachdeep
inside themselves this holiday season, and learn to have faith that God is in control and
duckslipperstrulyareaman’sundoing.
ByF.G.Adams
Doholidaywishesreallycometrue?
For kindergarten teacher Holly Mary Edwards is banking on a miracle when the man of
herdreamsreturnsfromdutyabroad.
Decorated army doctor Michael Barnes is not ready to face the holiday season after his
fiancéeleaveshimforanotherman.Michaelisconvincedit’stimetoputhappinessina
tightlittleboxandshipitbacktotheNorthPole.
Hewasn’texpectingHolly.AndwhenthesexyHolly-jollynymphtakesituponherselfto
divesthimofhisMr.Scroogedattitude,she’lldoanythingtobringhimintothejinglebell
jolly.
CanHollyconvincehim‘tistheseasonforlove?
ByWinterTravers
Silas Warlack doesn’t have time for anything other than running a multi-million dollar
businessthousandsofmilesawayfromhishometown.Heespeciallydoesn’thavetimefor
frivolousthingsliketheholidaysandfamily.Toobadhismotherdoesn’tunderstandthat.
AinsleyCrownefinallyhaseverythingsheeverdreamedofinherlife—amazingfriends
andasuccessfulflowershopallinherhometown.Butablastfromthepastblowingback
intotownandherbestfriend’sweddingjustbeforeChristmasremindheroftheonething
missinginherlife:Love.
Will Ainsley and Silas realize what they had was once in a lifetime or will they be too
stubbornandlettheholidaymiracleintheirmidstpassthemby?
ByTracieDouglas
TravisMaloneisagrinch,andhe’sdamnproudofit.Ifheneverseesanothertwinklelight
orsmellsafreshbatchofChristmascookiesinhislife,he’lldieahappyman.
Olivia Wilder needs to make this Christmas the most memorable for her daughter. It’s
theirfirstholidayintheirnewlife.
WhenLivmovesinnextdoor,TravislearnshowfasttheChristmasspiritcanseepintohis
world,andhestrugglestoignorethegrowingattractionhefeelsforthesinglemom.But
when he declares war, Liv is determined to win, even if it means getting the whole
neighborhoodinvolved.
WillTravis’GhostofChristmasPastdestroyanychanceatjoyduringtheholidayseason?
OrwillOliviabeabletogivehimtheChristmasmiraclehedidn’tknowhewaslooking
for?
ByMayraStatham
World-famousfashionphotographerZaidenKlausenisajerkofaboss.That’swhy,after
twoyears,IquitfourdaysbeforeChristmas.ButthenhemakesmeanofferIcan’trefuse.
What’stheworstthingthatcanhappen?
Michele Henlin is the best makeup artist he has ever worked with. When she quits
unexpectedly,hefindshimselfbeggingawomanforthefirsttimeinhislife.
Onemorephotoshoot.That’sallhewantsfromher.
Untilanightmareofwhatafuturewithoutherinhislifewouldlooklikekickshiminto
highgeartoconvinceherheisn’tthescrooged-upmanshethinksheis.
ByJessikaKlide
Zane Lockhart is a coldhearted, selfish Las Vegas cop who hates Christmas and proudly
owns the nickname, Sergeant Scrooge. Refusing to celebrate it in any way except the
bellowingof“BahHumbug,”heinsistsit’sjustanotherday.
Whileonpatrolwithhisnewpartner,aK9copnamed,BruceWayneakaBatman,hehasa
chance encounter with a hot chick and sets up a midnight date with her. Off-duty and
readytoscoreahookup,thetwoaregettingacquainted,whenarobberyoccursandZane
comesfacetofacewithapastfullofscars,andapresentfullofsecrets.
ThisChristmasdiscoverthatrealheroesarebornnotmade,thatloveistrulymagical,that
“BahHumbug”canbeweaponized,andafuturefullofsorrowcanberescued.
Document Outline
- BOOKS BY JULIA GODA
- DAXTON
- Copyright
- Acknowledgements
- A Scrooged Christmas
- Dedication
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- About The Author
- The Cedar Creek Series
- A Scrooged Christmas Collection
Wyszukiwarka
Podobne podstrony:
The Girl 02 The Girl Worth Fighting For Julia Goda
Luke A Scrooged Christmas CP Smith
Silas A Scrooged Christmas Winter Travers
Christmas around the world
Labirynty Łatwe, christmas maze 5
christiane f my dzieci z dworca zoo PODRYX5ASFIPH4SUR3JRHNPGY3OISOG2VG3DIII
Labirynty Łatwe, christmas maze 1
12 Wyznaczanie współczynnika przewodnictwa cieplnego ciał stałych metodą Christiansena
Agatha Christie Zerwane Zaręczyny
Pytania i odp Finanse Przedsiebiorstw(1), WZR UG, III semestr, Finanse przedsiębiorstw - dr Julia Ko
12?ys Of Christmas
JAK?ENEZER SCROOGE ZMIENIŁ SIĘ POD WPŁYWEM WIZYT DUCHÓW
christmas box
Christie, Agatha 23 Der Ball spielende Hund
IO377S Christmas truce
więcej podobnych podstron