Chapter Fourteen
It was usually only Lizzie who waited by the window for her father, but today I couldn’t help but join her. Every few minutes I went to stand beside my daughter who waited perched on her knees, peering out at the street. The blinds were drawn wide, opened in invitation. The glass was smudged and painted by Lizzie’s eager hands and dotted by her tiny nose.
Christian had sent a text about twenty minutes before to let us know he’d landed and was on his way.
My heart palpitated, raced in anticipation, sped in fear.
Christian had told me he loved me.
My chest constricted as his words flowed through me again with their tenor, their depth.
His declaration had nearly undone me, had almost unraveled the knot I held so tightly twined around my broken heart. I’d wanted to say it so badly. I’d felt it dance on my tongue, longing to admit that I loved him too. Somehow, I’d reined it in, harnessed it, and left it to smolder, knowing it would only grow.
For one more day, I’d kept my heart hidden and protected.
Running my palms over my arms, I attempted to tame my nerves. I forced myself into believing that the moment we’d shared in place of those words hadn’t been so much more powerful than had I just said them aloud. I pretended that my heart wasn’t the farthest from secure and that I didn’t feel more vulnerable today than I had ever in my life.
Movement from the street brought Lizzie to her feet, the tail of Christian’s silver car visible as he pulled into our driveway. “He’s here,” she all but whispered. Her face looked determined as she set out the front door and ran down the sidewalk to meet him.
She had not been herself all week but quiet and contemplative. Finally, last night as I’d tucked her into bed, she’d opened up, confessed her fears, and asked, “What if my Daddy dies too?” It had been one of the hardest things I’d ever discussed with my daughter, the balance of giving her both peace and honesty, the truth that life ultimately ends in death. She’d only been able to fall asleep once I’d lain down next to her and ran my fingers through her hair. I’d whispered for her not to worry and promised that she’d see her father again.
Pushing a hand through my bangs, I steeled myself for the emotion I knew would come. I hesitated at doorway and listened to their greetings.
Even though they were out of view, I could almost feel Christian’s relief when Lizzie was finally in his arms.
When they rounded the corner, Lizzie was attached to her father’s hip, clinging to his neck as if she’d never let go.
Christian came to a standstill when he saw me, his breath rushing from his chest as his gaze washed over me. His eyes swam their deepest blue—midnight—warm but so very tired, his body weary, leaden with obvious exhaustion. Chaotic shocks of black hair stood up in disaccord, salient circles beneath his eyes, his white, printed T-shirt wrinkled—his expression hopeful.
I couldn’t refrain from taking a step forward and whispering, “Welcome home.”
Slowly he approached, each footfall measured, calculated, and purposed. Every step that brought him closer escalated my already rapid breaths. The pieces of my broken heart were at war, tangled and twisted, the smoldering, conflicting emotions threatening to burst.
Inches from me, he stopped and kissed the side of Lizzie’s head, before he set her down, never taking his penetrating gaze from me.
Frozen, I waited, unable to look away.
Somewhere inside me, I knew I shouldn’t reach out when he reached for me, knew I shouldn’t wrap my arms around his waist when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders, knew I shouldn’t bury my face in his chest at the moment he buried his in my hair.
I just couldn’t stop myself.
Christian tugged me closer, his body heavy and perfect against mine, fatigued and seeking support.
“I missed you so much,” he whispered against my ear as he pulled me impossibly closer and breathed me in. The heat of his breath licked at my skin, his nearness setting it aflame.
He clouded every faculty, interrupted reason, tempted me to forget. I closed my eyes against the sensations and tried to block the resurgence of memories, to ignore the familiarity of his touch. I pushed it all aside and focused on what he needed—comfort.
He clung to me as if his life depended on it.
A warning signal flared somewhere deep within my soul.
Dangerous.
For once, I ignored it.
Instead, I crushed my chest to his, allowed the rush of relief to surge through my veins, and savored the heat of his skin and the warmth of his body.
Echoes of our past surfaced in my mind, our happiest moments, the way only he could make me smile, the way only he could make me feel, our most intimate times. I wanted to hold onto them, but they fluttered and flickered and gave way to vivid images so strong I could almost taste them—sick, cold, alone—and I remembered why I could never give into this.
Even then, I didn’t want to let go and allowed myself a few moments more before I placed a hand against his chest and gently pushed him away. He covered my hand with both of his, pressed it over his heart, and smiled at me in a way that chipped away another piece of my armor.
Averting my eyes, I made the mistake of looking down at Lizzie who gazed up at us with the same expression I’d seen Christian wearing the second before—like she’d just been allowed a small piece of heaven.
What the hell was I doing?
Teasing my daughter?
Giving her false hope, stoking her imagination, painting a picture of things that could never be?
I forced myself to take a step back from Christian, gathered up the emotions that were slowly slipping away, and drew another line.
For Lizzie, I told myself. This was for Lizzie.
I glanced back up at Christian, reminding myself we could only ever be friends— partners. Purging the remnants of my desire from my face, I straightened myself and put back on my mask. I smiled and stood aside. “Go on in. Dinner’s almost ready.”
Christian inhaled and threw a grin in my direction, lopsided and achingly cute. “You made spaghetti and meatballs?” His voice teemed with appreciation, swam in awareness.
My mask fell, so easily penetrable, evidence of my weakness. I felt my face flush and I ducked my head. I knew how obvious I was in preparing his favorite dinner just as I had prepared his favorite breakfast the morning after Lizzie’s fall.
“Yeah, I figured you’d be starved after the long flight,” I mumbled toward my bare feet, shrugging to make less of it than we both knew it was.
I looked up in time to see his lopsided smile spread. “You have no idea how good that sounds. I haven’t eaten all day.” Turning his attention to Lizzie, he wrapped one of her tiny hands in his and asked, “What about you, princess, are you hungry?”
Overwhelmed, I hung back and tried to convince myself that nothing had changed as he led her inside.
Christian glanced back at me with a lazy grin. “You coming?”
Sighing, I told myself another thousand lies and followed him inside.
~
“Do you want to talk?”
Pointing the remote at the television, I lowered the volume and let the cartoon Lizzie had wanted to watch play out. She’d fallen asleep about fifteen minutes before, curled up in Christian’s lap. Her sweet breaths came in soft pants against his chest, rhythmic and soothing in the dimness of the room. He played with the strands of her hair, appearing lost in thought and most likely minutes from sleep.
Glancing at me, he grimaced through a heavy sigh, ran his palm over his weary face, and blinked. “I . . . don’t . . . know.” It didn’t seem an answer to my question but was more a statement of how he was feeling.
If I were in his place, I wouldn’t know what to feel either.
Those unanswered questions formed as lines across his forehead. “I’ve spent so much of my life resenting my father . . . blaming him for all of my problems . . . for every mistake I’ve made.” His brow furrowed as he left those mistakes unspoken, though many of them were glaringly obvious. He snorted through his nose and shook his head. “Do you know he left me a quarter of his inheritance?” He focused on his fingers weaving through Lizzie’s hair while still shaking his head. His words dropped in slow disbelief, maybe even hinting at a newfound respect.
“And the rest of it to my mom.”
“What?” I couldn’t keep my shocked reaction contained.
Christian cut his eyes to mine. In the muted light of the family room, they were dark and mournful.
His mouth twisted and twitched, and he seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. Supporting Lizzie, he leaned forward, wrenched his wallet from his back pocket, and produced a folded up piece of paper from it. With his head bowed, he passed it over to me.
“He’d kept this in his desk.”
Wary of what I’d find inside, I stared at the piece of worn and tattered paper in my palm. I was sure whatever it held had broken a part of Christian’s heart.
Gingerly, I unfolded it, smoothed it out on my lap, and gasped at the simple picture.
Christian must have understood my surprise, must have read in the message the same thing I saw now.
“I can’t remember drawing it . . . or feeling it. I just wish I could.” The words shook as they fell as grief from his trembling mouth. “Damn it,” he suddenly spat, raking his hand through his hair. “He wasted his whole life.”
Again, his expression shifted and the fire behind his words dulled and eased into pain, as if he didn’t know whether to revile his father’s memory or mourn him. “He knew he was dying, Elizabeth. I know it, and he wanted me to know he cared about me.” The sadness poured through him, a mixture of anger and pity and so much regret. “I just wish he would have had the courage to say it to my face.”
Tracing the lettering, I imagined a little black-haired boy drawing it, the concentration he would have had on his face as he worked on the choppy, misspelled letters, the pride he’d have had as he’d given it to his father.
I didn’t flinch when Christian reached out to do the same.
I closed my eyes as he pried my fingers from the page and wrapped them in his hand. “I don’t want to become like him, Elizabeth.” His throat bobbed in unspent emotion. “I don’t want to waste my life. I don’t want to waste this,” he stressed as he squeezed my hand.
I laced my fingers through his and blinked back tears. He followed my gaze to Lizzie, and I brought our joined hands to touch the porcelain rosiness of our daughter’s cheek, before I turned back to face the intent in his eyes.
“You’re not.”
A sad smile whispered at the corner of his mouth, and he laid his cheek against her head as a heavy breath fell from his tired lips.
In the stillness, I held his hand, brushed my thumb over his soft skin. I watched as his eyes gradually faded and closed in exhaustion, listened to his deep breaths even out, felt his muscles twitch as he drifted to sleep.
As quietly as I could, I uncurled myself from the couch, lifted Lizzie into my arms, and carried her upstairs to her bed. I tucked her under her covers and spent a moment adoring the amazing child Christian and I had created, before I kissed her on the forehead.
Then I went into my room and dragged a blanket and pillow from my bed.
I tiptoed back downstairs to find Christian had slouched and sank deeper into the crevices of the couch. His arms were sprawled out, his body relaxed.
My stomach clenched in both pain and desire.
Why did loving him have to hurt so much?
Putting the linens aside, I crouched to untie his shoes, pulled them from his feet, and lifted is legs to lay them across the couch.
He stretched and groaned incoherently as he shifted, pulling at the twines twisted around my heart.
As gently as I could, I maneuvered the pillow beneath his head, shook out the blanket, and spread it over his body. I hesitated as I leaned down to pull it to his chin.
So beautiful.
His mouth had dropped open, just enough that he expelled soft breaths of air against my face, sweet and distinctly man, his long black lashes casting slight shadows across his face.
I leaned in further and let my fingertips wander over the day old stubble along his jaw, ran them tenderly over his lips—wanted what I couldn’t have.
So, like a fool, I stole it and pressed my lips to his, knowing he’d only be mine for a few moments.
They were hot, damp, and perfect; they scorched my skin and brought tears to my eyes.
A tremor rolled through my chest, stuck in my throat, and shook my body.
I took a little more, held his face in my hands and in my desperation, kissed him deeper—tasted my tears and the sweetness of Christian’s mouth—flirted with disaster.
Why? I begged him with my thoughts, with my touch as I kissed him again. Why did you have to ruin us? My mouth traveled to his jaw, kissed him there against the rough skin, fire against my lips and torment to my soul, where I mouthed out my deepest secret, “I love you, Christian.”
Sickened and ashamed, I ripped myself away, escaped upstairs, and wept for a man I’d never allow myself to have.
Grabbing my things, I sighed in satisfaction, thankful it was Friday and another long workweek had drawn to an end. I shrugged on my jacket, smiling at Selina. “Goodnight.”
She grinned and looked at me awry as she dug through her locker. “Night . . . see you tomorrow.” She shook her hips, suggestive and slow.
I giggled and waved over my shoulder as I left her in the break room.
Natalie and her parties.
She’d never let a year go by without planning something outrageous. They were always too much and always too fun. She’d invited next to everyone I knew, and I was certain we’d all be paying for it Sunday morning.
Anxious to start my weekend, I rushed across the bank floor as I called goodnight to everyone in the lobby. I came to an abrupt halt two feet from the door when I saw my daughter’s face pressed against the glass door, peering inside.
Her huge smile assured me I had no need to worry.
I laughed, returning her excited wave when she noticed me.
Pushing the door open, I poked my head out. She wore a maroon dress with a satin bodice and a skirt of tulle, wrapped at the waist in black ribbon. The outfit had been finished off with white tights, black patent shoes, and a matching maroon bow tied in her hair.
“What are you doing here and all dressed up?” I asked, grinning.
Lizzie grinned back, twirling away from the door as if she were a ballerina, and I stepped the rest of the way out.
Christian’s voice hit me from somewhere behind, smooth and warm—intoxicating. “We’re celebrating.”
Jerking around, I found him leaning with a shoulder against the bank wall. He wore an almost cocky look on his face, his mouth twisted in casual confidence. He was dressed in a deep-blue collared shirt rolled up to his elbows, the first two buttons undone, and black slacks that looked better than they should.
“I figured since the rest of your family and friends get you tomorrow night on your actual birthday, Lizzie and I get you tonight.” A smile pulled at one side of his mouth, and he pushed from the wall and took a step forward.
Lizzie took my hand and danced beside me as she sang, “Surprise!”
My spirit soared.
This was the birthday I wanted.
Kneeling beside my daughter, I hugged her while I looked up at Christian. “Thank you.”
He smiled so wide it touched his eyes. “Did you really think we’d let them keep you all to themselves?” He came forward and extended his hand to help me up, once again igniting the flames I futilely fought to squelch. He froze, just for a second, as a palpable quiver traveled up his arm, and I knew he felt it too.
After I’d kissed him last Friday, I’d felt so ashamed. I was sure he could somehow see the guilt on my face—find in it in my eyes. The next morning, he’d seemed to watch me carefully, attentive to my every move. It was as if he were counting each breath I took and reading every word I spoke. It had begun then, the timid fingertips across my upper arms as he’d leave the room, gentle brushes of skin, testing, tempting. In spite of my promise to myself, my promise to Lizzie, I’d done the same, furtive fingers, roaming eyes—played with fire.
Christian tugged on my hand. “Come on. We’ll follow you home and you can hop in my car.”
Forty minutes later, we walked through the parking lot to the restaurant, swinging Lizzie between us. She squealed and begged us to do it again and again. Christian smiled at me over her head, and I fell in love a little bit more.
All three of us were laughing when we entered the loud, crowded restaurant. Filled with young families with small children, parties and celebrations, it was one of those places people flocked to on a Friday night to unwind, to forget about the week, and to share a meal and drinks.
Christian led us through the throng of people waiting for tables and to the podium, announcing our arrival and name for the reservation. The hostess weaved through the tables to the far corner of the restaurant, seating us at a booth.
I laughed and dropped my mouth in mock offense when Lizzie once again crawled up next to her father. “How come you never want to sit by Mommy anymore?” I teased. Lizzie clung to his upper arm, laid her head on his shoulder, squeezed as she giggled, and said, “Cuz Daddy doesn’t always get to sleep at my house.”
Christian smirked, threw me a mischievous look that said that would be easy to fix.
Instead of cringing and cursing my heart, I rolled my eyes and laughed to let him know I knew exactly what he was thinking. I surprised myself with the action, but I was feeling free, swept away by the atmosphere and the roaring energy of the room.
He grinned as he opened his menu and muttered something under his breath. His smile was evident even as he buried his face in the menu. My smile matched his, wide and unrestrained.
It was my birthday, and just tonight, I was going to allow myself to enjoy this, to enjoy my family, as unconventional as it was. Christian ordered me a birthday drink, a huge concoction of rum and chocolate and whipped cream, and didn’t hesitate to dip his finger in it to steal a taste. We ordered burgers and fries, drank and ate as we talked and teased. We laughed until we cried when a clown stopped by to make us balloon hats. All of the tension was gone, for a few precious moments our past forgotten.
Sated and appeased, Christian leaned easily against the booth with his arm slung around our daughter’s shoulders, his burger polished off.
Happy.
Blue eyes danced with merriment as he announced, “Present time.”
Lizzie bounced and clapped her hands. “Ooo, Momma, open mine first!”
Christian produced a small box he’d kept hidden from somewhere beneath the table. It was square and shallow, covered in shiny red paper bunched and uneven with a crooked silver bow—perfect—wrapped with great care by little hands. I released a small, surprised giggle of appreciation and wondered when the last time I’d felt so loved. “When did you have time for all of this?” I held the small gift near my ear and gently shook the tiny box.
Christian shrugged, smiled wide. “I took the afternoon off to take Lizzie shopping and to get ready.” He nudged her and they shared a knowing smile, thick as thieves. “I called Natalie last night to let her know I was picking Lizzie up from school today.”
I hoped my expression was enough to portray how much this meant to me, that he would take the time to help our daughter do something that was so obviously important to her, that he took time for me.
“Mommy, open it!” Lizzie prodded.
I smiled, shook it again, and drew the words out as I said, “I wonder what this could be?” I figured she must have picked out a piece of jewelry.
Slowly, I pulled away the bow and ribbon and ran my finger under the paper to loosen the tape. I felt my chest flutter when I realized the box was black velvet, its contents real, and I worried that it had probably cost too much.
Then I lifted the lid to the sweetest gift I’d ever received.
The white-gold charm bracelet was a rod and ball type, simple and beautiful, and made me feel incredibly special.
“Do you like it, Momma?”
I glanced up at Lizzie who was on her knees, eager for my reaction, and answered in complete honesty. “I love it.”
I traced a finger over it, unhooked its snap from the box, and held it up in the air over the table. Three silver bead charms slid to the bottom, one with an emerald for Lizzie’s birthday, one with a yellow topaz for mine, and another simply engraved with Mother.
Christian leaned over the table and reached out. “May I?”
Smiling, I nodded and passed it to him. I stretched my arm across the table and couldn’t ignore the tingles that spread out over my skin as Christian’s fingers worked the bracelet around my wrist and screwed the locking clasp in place. He twisted it, wet his lips in concentration as he did, and then glanced up at me and then back down to finish his work.
He murmured, “You know you can add to this, right?” He ran the tip of his forefinger down the sensitive skin of my wrist.
It sounded nothing like a question but an invitation.
My face reddened, but I refused to look away.
Lizzie gushed as she nearly climbed on top of the table to admire the bracelet now dangling from my wrist. “Oh, it’s so pretty!” My sweet child looked up for my approval, hoping to find I liked it as much as she wanted me to. Fingering the charms, I smiled back her, told her again how beautiful I thought it was and that I would wear it with pride.
“My turn.” Christian produced an envelope, larger than a normal card. It was thick and rectangular and it spiked my nerves with the way it shook in his trembling hand.
“Happy birthday, Elizabeth,” he said with the softest of smiles.
I returned an uncertain smile, hesitated as I held the card between us, and realized I didn’t want to be scared.
Just for one night, I didn’t want to be scared.
So I ripped it open. At first I was confused as I looked at the brochure and reservation slip in my hand, until my mind finally came to recognition.
When I snapped my head up in surprise, I found Christian’s eyes burning into mine. His words came more hopeful than any I’d ever known, impassioned as they passed through his lips, “Come to New York for Christmas with me, just you and Lizzie. I . . . I want her to see the tree . . . to show her where she was born . . . where we met.”
In his expectation, I lost all reason and threw all sanity aside because I actually wanted to go. I pretended I didn’t know what Christian meant when he asked me to go to New York with him, lied to myself again, and assured myself anew that nothing had changed.
Because by the look on Christian’s face when I released the breath I’d been holding and nodded that I would go, I knew everything had changed.
For a few moments, a new heaviness hung in the air, a new fear vying for my attention, imploring with me to pay it heed.
I pushed it aside and laughed through my embarrassment as our server suddenly appeared at the edge of our table and shouted over the clamor of the room, demanding attention as he called out, “We have a birthday in the house!”
Christian’s eyes glinted with deep satisfaction as he sang me the birthday song along with the rest of the restaurant. He seemed to make his own wish when I blew out the single candle stuck in a massive piece of chocolate cake.
“So how does it feel to be twenty-eight, Ms. Ayers?” All teasing from earlier aside, Christian’s eyes softened as he asked.
Like you missed too many years, I thought much too quickly, before I had the time to dismiss its meaning.
Before I answered, I glanced at Lizzie, my reason for living, and back at the man who had somehow snaked his way back into my life and had become such an important part of my family. I realized in all honesty that it felt amazing. For the first time in many years, I was truly happy. Even if being with him took great restraint, at times tore me apart and turned me inside out, it was worth every second. I swallowed and answered, “It feels . . . really . . . great.”
Christian grinned and touched the tip of his shoe to mine under the table, a gentle caress, chaste affection.
I blushed, flicked the bangs from my face, a subconscious tic, and knocked my balloon hat from my head.
Squinting, Christian suddenly leaned forward as he tilted his head to one side. “How’d you get that scar above your eye, anyway?”
He reached across the table to brush my bangs aside, and instinctively, I jerked away. I shook my head and forced out a feeble, “It’s nothing.”
Christian frowned and slowly withdrew his hand with my reaction.
“Shawn was mean to Mommy.”
Christian’s head whipped in Lizzie’s direction as she spoke the words, before fiery eyes darted back to me. I watched as a storm raced in, violent and destructive. And just like that, the peace of our evening was gone, leaving in its place a Christian I’d never seen, a Christian I didn’t know.
He put distance between himself and Lizzie, sitting rigid in the booth and saying nothing as he paid the bill. He wouldn’t look my way, not even when I whispered, “Thank you for dinner.”
He just stood and ushered Lizzie from the bench, never looked up from the ground as he walked behind us out to the car.
It took only seconds for Lizzie to fall asleep in the backseat of his car. Christian stared ahead and left me alone to suffocate in his seething silence. He said nothing as he rose from the car and collected our slumbering daughter from his backseat. He stood aside and waited for me to unlock the front door and took her up to her room.
I waited at the bottom of the stairs to give him space.
I understood he was angry, not with me, but with Shawn.
Minutes later, he emerged from Lizzie’s room and stared down at me with raging torment.
Something inside him had fractured—ruptured.
“Christian . . . ” I called out, my tone quiet, pleading for him not to make a big deal of this. It was something I’d not wanted to delve into with him. I had no desire to resurrect old ghosts and had been thankful to have dodged the subject when Christian had asked about Shawn at the beach. What happened with Shawn was long over and done with, something I’d dealt with emotionally, had come to terms with, and had vowed to never repeat.
Unable to escape from the intensity of Christian’s gaze as he slowly took the stairs, I knew there was no way to evade it now.
On the last step, he stopped inches from me and clenched his fists. “Shawn who?”
I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter.”
Over.
Done.
Forgotten.
Christian studied his feet, palmed the back of his neck, pushed past me, and paced my living room. Coming to an abrupt halt, he turned and glared at me. “It doesn’t matter?” His voice rose. “It doesn’t fucking matter? Are you kidding me, Elizabeth?” He flung his arm out in a wild gesture at my head.
I didn’t cower, didn’t flinch. I knew none of the fury flooding from him was directed at me.
This time he begged, wanted me to agree, “That asshole hurt you, and it doesn’t matter?” He turned away, buried both hands in his hair, and hid his head as he released his torment toward the floor. “I can’t believe I let this happen to you.”
Taking a step forward, I placed a cautious hand against his back and pressed my palm into the warmth of his body. Tremors rolled through his muscles with the contact, and my explanation came in hushed tones and filled the otherwise dark, silent room. “It doesn’t matter because I’ve healed, Christian. He means nothing to me, meant nothing to me, and he paid the price for what he did. The only part that hurts me now is dealing with the fact that my daughter had to witness it.”
Christian’s shoulders slumped further, Lizzie’s involvement another blow. Defeated, he choked over more guilty words, “I’m so sorry, Elizabeth.”
I caressed his back, ran my hand up his spine, and twisted my fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of his neck. “You can’t blame yourself for everything that happened while you were away.”
He looked at me over his shoulder. His beautiful face was illuminated by the light on the stairs and contorted in what could only be physical pain. “How can I not?”
I turned him and wrapped my arms around his neck.
He exhaled his burden, groaning from somewhere deep within his chest when he wound a single arm around my waist and tugged me flush against his body. With the other hand, he brushed away my bangs, tucked the heavy lock of hair behind my ear, and ran his thumb over the long healed scar.
My heart thrashed, protested its chains, loosened its binds.
Dropping his hand from my face, he brought it to my hip and dug in his fingers to draw me closer. He massaged his way up my back and to my neck and buried his hand in my hair.
Held me.
Rocked me.
Loved me.
The clock against the wall chimed midnight.
Christian pressed his heated cheek to mine and whispered, “Happy birthday, Elizabeth.”
~
Lizzie posed in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom. She slicked bright red lipstick across her lips, smearing more of it around her mouth and over her teeth than on her lips, and teetered in a pair of four-inch heels three times too big for her tiny feet.
I laughed under my breath from where I watched her out of the corner of my eye and wondered where I’d left my camera.
“Look at me, Mommy. Don’t I look pretty?” She spun in place, twirling the old red skirt I’d discarded on the floor as I’d dug through my closet for something to wear.
Crossing the room, I took both of her hands, whirled her around, and dipped her in an old-fashioned, impromptu dance. “You look absolutely gorgeous, darling.” Then I tickled her and kissed her solidly on the cheek.
She howled with laughter, her face red from both the lipstick and her surprise. She sobered, reached out, and touched my cheek as she searched my face with observant eyes.
“You look really pretty too, Mommy,” she said in quiet assurance, surely having noticed my nerves as I’d hunted through my clothes, tossing aside the modest outfits I typically wore to work for something Natalie and my sisters would find appropriate for the night.
I’d settled on a too short, black tiered skirt, coupled it with a white ruffled blouse that showed just a bit too much cleavage and, of course, a pair of much too high black heels. Even though it made me a bit self-conscious, I didn’t even bother to dress in something more conservative.
Natalie would have just marched me straight back upstairs to change.
Before I could thank Lizzie, the doorbell rang, and she wriggled from my arms and bolted out the door and down the stairs.
Christian.
A tremor of apprehension rolled through me, flared and balled in my stomach as I heard his voice drift up from below.
Sleep had evaded me for most of last night. I’d chased it, only to drift to the edges of unconsciousness to find myself back in his arms, surrounded by his presence, begging for his touch. Panic would bring me back, jolting me up in bed, leaving me gasping for air as blood pounded through my veins.
Those immeasurable minutes spent in Christian’s arms had felt so good, so right, like peace and eternity, made me feel as if I would choose to stay.
When the solace offered in my arms had shifted, we’d both felt it—when it’d become more—when the heat of his body had washed over me in waves, hot and hard, nearly drowning me in his desire.
I wouldn’t have had the strength to say no.
It had only taken him untangling himself from my hold and forcing himself out my front door for me to slip back into fear, to question what I’d done—what I’d agreed to.
In six weeks, I was supposed to go to New York with Christian, and I had no idea what that meant, what he expected, or what I could give.
I shook my head, smoothed out my shirt, and adjusted my skirt, wishing not everything had to be so complicated. I wished that I didn’t have so much hurt buried inside, so many deep-seated fears. I wished I could trust in him and believe that this time he wouldn’t let me down.
Most of all, I just wished to give up and give in.
God, I wanted to give in.
I clutched the railing for support at the top of the stairs as I looked down over my living room where Christian gazed up at me, hugging our daughter in his arms.
He was in dark low-slung jeans and a black T-shirt, his hair unruly, his eyes intense. It was as if the moment our eyes connected our bodies picked up right where we’d left off last night. The energy was dense, swirling with need and dripping with want. It rained down, sucked us in, and urged me forward.
Christian settled Lizzie onto the couch so she was facing the television, not in neglect, but as if this were something she could take no part in, the moment too intimate, not to be shared.
As I edged down the stairs, I watched him as he watched me, didn’t shy from the touch of his gaze, but welcomed it as it traveled down, kissed my body and caressed my legs.
His lips parted, tacit desire calling my name.
I stopped a foot away.
He hesitated and swallowed deeply before he finally took a step forward, assailing my senses as he placed a heated palm against my cheek. With the pad of his thumb, he caressed my jaw.
I closed my eyes and leaned into his touch as the sweet of his breath washed over my face. I waited, wanting more than I should.
His movements were tentative as he slanted forward and brushed his nose along the opposite cheek. He ran it to my ear and whispered, “You are so beautiful.” His words sent a thrill rushing over my skin. He ghosted his lips over the same line and pressed his mouth against my jaw.
I gasped and clutched his shoulders for support, unprepared for the onslaught of emotion—for the ache.
For the first time, I was completely defenseless, subject to Christian’s mercy.
Somewhere inside me, I knew he would hurt me. Once again, he’d stolen my heart and held in his hand. He had taken control and I didn’t know how to get it back.
I recognized it in the panic I felt when he pulled away, in the way my nails burrowed into the skin of his shoulders and begged him, Don’t let me go.
Christian dropped his arm completely and stepped away. A low, “Ahem,” made me turn my attention to a red-faced Matthew standing frozen in my doorway. He looked down and cringed over an apology.
Natalie popped up on her tiptoes, peeking over Matthew’s shoulder to find what it was that had caused her husband to stumble to a standstill.