Harlequin Special Edition November 2014 - Box Set 1 of 2: A Weaver Christmas Gift\The Soldier's Holiday Homecoming\Santa's Playbook (52 page)

Yep, a born salesperson, that one.

Not that any hard sell was needed, although Ethan wasn't about to share that bit of information, either. With Jules or anyone else. Bad enough that nearly a week later, he still hadn't gotten over his reaction to Claire that morning—a reaction only reprised every time he saw her at school. Or, like now, as he heard her distinctive laugh, caught a glimpse of her shiny curls as she worked the crowd. So, yeah—he was smitten. And
hell,
yeah, tempted...despite the laughable impracticalities of even trying to see where that temptation might lead.

And hallelujah for impracticalities, he thought as she finally made her way through the throng to them, her smile bright—she was wearing lipstick, he noticed, a bright red that actually made his mouth go dry—her joy a palpable thing, radiating more brightly than the Christmas lights on Main Street. Ethan had never seen her dressed in anything but her weird outfits, so her simple black dress, dark stockings and pumps—even if those were the same color as her lipstick—came as a shock. As did the way the clingy fabric hugged her curves, the neckline dipping just low enough to hint at cleavage...peeking out from underneath a necklace of blue and green stones roughly the size of the Christmas wreath on his door. It was all so...Claire, he thought with a smile.

As the twins shyly grinned, looking almost civilized in the sweaters and khakis Ethan had insisted they wear, Jules squealed and gave her teacher a hug, then introduced her to Merri's parents. Claire's eyes softened as she took one of Carmela's hands in both of hers before wordlessly pulling the plump, dark-haired woman into a hug. He could count on one hand the number of women he knew who expressed that kind of selflessness, two of whom were right in front of him.

And the other two—Jeanne and Merri—were gone.

Dulled though it may have been, pain streaked through him, along with the same warning that had played in his head with both increasing frequency and urgency the past several days:

Do not go there.

Do not set yourself up for more hurt, more misery...more hell—

“Dad? You okay?”

Ethan snapped back to attention to smile for his daughter, avoiding Claire's curious glance as she talked with both grandfathers. “Sure, honey. I'm fine.”

“I was just remarking,” Carmela put in, “about how impressed we all were with her performance. I had no idea Julie was so talented. Best Ghost of Christmas Past I've ever seen!”

“Isn't she?” Claire said, her gaze deliberately bouncing off Ethan's before returning to Carmela's, then John's. She laughed. “And I'm not only saying that to blow up you guyses' skirts.” Slipping her arm around Jules's waist, she gave his daughter a quick squeeze. “She's a real natural.”

“Yes, she is,” Ethan agreed, taking a perverse pleasure in seeing his daughter's gasp of surprise. Of course, she had no idea about his standing outside her room the night before, hearing her go over her lines with Rosie, the almost electric shock that had gone through him when he'd realized her gift.

And to deny her the opportunity to see where that gift took her, no matter the risk, would only make him a jerk of the first order.

Behind her, Claire's eyes went shiny as she pressed her hand to her chest, giving him a short, slight nod before resuming her conversation with the grandparents, while the twins took Bella over to the refreshment table. Jules, however, let the crowd wash around her as she faced Ethan, arms crossed, brow puckered.

“Did you mean it?”

“Hey. Did you notice how still the audience got, like they were hanging on your every word?”

Her mouth twisted to one side. “I was kinda busy up there.”

“Well, they did. And if this is something you really want to pursue, I won't stand in your way. Because what I saw tonight...” He shook his head, as if that would dislodge the lump in his throat. “It was magic, is the only word for it. And your mother would be... What was that expression she liked to use? Over the moon, that's it. I couldn't be prouder, honey.”

“Oh, Daddy...” Juliette's eyes glittered before her arms wrapped around his waist. But the moment was short-lived when that Scott person appeared, looking sheepish and determined at the same time. Jules had finally confessed that, yes, her new tutor was indeed the boy in the cast she'd let upset her at the mall on Black Friday, but that she was completely over it now. Judging from the startled look on his daughter's face, he somehow doubted it. Judging from the look on the
boy's
face—he had waited until Ethan let his daughter go before extending his hand—Ethan seriously considered adding a forty-foot tower to the house.

“Nice to see you, Coach Noble,” the boy said with a firm, confident shake. Point to him. “Scott Jenkins—”

“Yes, I know who you are. Jules tells me you've been a huge help with her math.”

The kid turned his smile on Jules, whose glittery grin was only surpassed by the boy's. And he wasn't even wearing braces. “Can't take a whole lot of credit for that. Julie's ridiculously smart—”

“I've always thought so,” Ethan said. Sternly.

“I know, right? But between you and me, Mr. Noble...” Scott leaned in to Ethan, his voice lowered as his eyes darted furtively around the noisy lobby. “Miss Henry is nice and all, but she isn't the greatest at explaining things. So it was really only a matter of finding another angle.”

His grin at his own joke seemed slightly nervous. Good. “As it were. Once I did that, Julie immediately caught on. Anyway...” He straightened. “My parents—they're over there—” he pointed to a reasonable enough–looking middle-aged couple a few feet away “—are hosting the cast party at our house. So I was wondering if it'd be okay with you if I took Julie? Not as a date,” he hurriedly added, “because she told me you won't let her date until she's sixteen, but...as a friend?”

Brows raised, Ethan looked at his daughter, who was staring at the boy openmouthed. Beside him, Scott prattled on.

“I mean, we don't live very far, and you can talk to my parents, if you like. But I can promise you, sir, there won't be any alcohol or drugs or anything like that. And Miss Jacobs'll be there, too. And she's worse than my parents. About making everybody toe the line,” he said, his face turning more red than Juliette's.

That was definitely true, Ethan thought, remembering what Jules had said about Claire's interaction with the pair of monkeys currently masquerading as his sons. He also recalled his own pleas to Carmela and John, all those years ago, to let him go out with their daughter, the anxiety in their eyes even as they finally, reluctantly, said okay when they were sixteen. The combination of guilt and excitement as holding hands led to sweet kisses, which quickly escalated into heated kisses, which in turn naturally and inevitably led to all those things every parent fears and no parent wants to think about. Not when they were sixteen, no, but by eighteen...

A cold chill streaked up Ethan's spine.

But right now, they were only talking about a chaperoned cast party at somebody's house. And Claire would be there. He could count on her.

Without a shred of doubt.

“Let me talk to your parents.”

Scott nodded, his Adam's apple bobbing. “Sure thing...”

So he did, and got his reassurances, and then Claire appeared to tell him she'd have Jules home by midnight, and he got another hit of her perfume and his brain tripped for a second. Then he watched his baby walk off with some hormone-addled teenage boy with Claire beside them, that dress cupping her ass, swaying slightly as she walked in those killer red heels.

And he closed his eyes, swearing.

* * *

Oh, dear,
Claire thought as she pulled into Ethan's driveway and caught a glimpse of Juliette beside her, her expression so rapturous in the glow from the Christmas lights Ethan hadn't yet turned off that a casual bystander might think the girl'd had an angel visitation.

“Um...you're home?”

“I know.” Juliette sighed, slowly unbuckling her seat belt. “Was that the best party ever, or what?”

“It was very nice,” Claire agreed, unlatching her own belt, and Juliette frowned.

“You don't have to see me inside, you know.”

“Have you
met
your father?” she said, the precise moment Ethan opened the front door.

The teen sighed again, then shrugged. As though not even the world's most protective daddy was going to mar this most perfect of nights.

“You said midnight,” the daddy in question muttered as Juliette floated past him.

“For pity's sake, it's five after—”

“Ten after.”

Claire ignored him. Well, as much as one could ignore the presence of this hubba-hubba hunk taking up his entire front door opening. “And Scott's mom is not someone to whom you simply say, ‘I had a great time, thanks so much,' and leave. Man, can that woman talk—”

“So...everything was on the up-and-up?”

“Aside from the kegs set up in the dining room? Sure thing. For God's sake, Ethan,” she said, laughing when the frown deepened. “I'm kidding. And you are way too much fun to tease.”

“Sorry. It's just...”

“She's your baby girl, got it. And if it makes you feel any better, I did not let her out of my sight for a second. Not that she knew that, of course. Swearsies,” she said, and he finally blew out a breath. Maybe even smiled.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his gaze locked in hers, and, oh, dear
God,
did she ache to skim her fingers over that tight jaw, those shoulders so tense with responsibility.

“You're very welcome. Well—”

“Um...you want to come inside...?”

And heaven help her, she actually hesitated. “No, it's late. And I'm about to crash. But...you guys gonna be around tomorrow? I've got some presents for the kids.”

There went the frown. “You didn't have to—”

“Know that. Not the point. So...I'll swing by tomorrow afternoon?”

“Uh...yeah. Sure. I think their grandparents are taking them shopping tomorrow morning, but they should be back by two or so?”

“Then I'll be by sometime after that,” she said, then turned to go.

“Claire?”

Halfway to her car, she swiveled back. “Yeah?”

“Text me when you get home. Let me know you got there okay.”

She couldn't help the laugh. Or the thump in the pit of her stomach. Since when did he care whether she got home safely? Since when did anybody? “I'm a big girl, Ethan.”

“And it's late, and the roads look like they might be getting icy. So humor me, okay?”

“Fine, fine,” Claire said, giving him a backward wave as she returned to her car. Where she and her still-thumping stomach sat behind the wheel for a moment, trying to decide whether that sound in her head was more
aww...
or
argh!

Either way, she thought as she put her car in Reverse and backed into the street, it was freaking her the hell out.

Like, seriously, dude.

Chapter Eleven

I
f the dog hadn't gone into his frenzied barking routine late the next afternoon, Ethan—in the office wrapping presents—would've never realized the doorbell had rung. Or—when he opened the door to find Claire with a shopping bag brimming with Santafied goodies—that he'd completely spaced about her coming over.

“You look surprised,” she said, amusement dancing in her eyes as she removed her sunglasses, then rammed the earpieces into her curls, and Ethan felt he'd been sucker punched. In, oh, so many ways. For, oh, so many,
many
reasons.

“I'm—” he blew out a breath “—an idiot. Please...come in. The kids aren't here, though,” he said behind her as she did, and he caught a whiff of that damned perfume, tangled up with the crisp scent of the cold, and more sucker punching ensued. Also, stirrings. Of the damn-it-all-to-hell kind.

“Oh?” She turned, setting down the bag on a bench by the door, then facing him again, fidgeting with her long scarf. Bright purple. Fuzzy. Soft. Probably smelled like her perfume. “Not home yet?”

He forced his eyes to her face. Crossed his arms over the rattiest sweatshirt he owned. Wondering how he'd forgotten about her when he'd barely slept for thinking of her all damn night. “Not coming home. Tonight, I mean. Which is why I'm an idiot, because if I'd remembered, I would've called you. Their grandparents decided to take them into the city to see the show at Radio City, do the whole Christmas in New York thing. Stay overnight at the Plaza—”

“Wow.” She pressed her lips together. No lipstick, he noticed. This was not a turnoff. “They got rooms at the last minute like that?”

“No, they'd apparently had it planned for months, but didn't tell me because they didn't trust me not to let it slip to the kids.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Bad at keeping secrets, are you?”

“Notoriously so. So I didn't know any of this until they picked the kids up this morning. And then I thought of the five million things I could get done without them here, and...” He felt his face warm. “I totally forgot about you. Not about
you,
” he said when she laughed. Then he puffed out a breath. “You know what I mean.”

“And I even texted you last night.”

Yeah. A single word:
Home.

Of course, his response had been equally succinct:
OK.

“I know. Like I said. Idiot.”

“So...” She looked around. “You're all by yourself?”

“Just me and the beast.” Who'd planted his fuzzy butt on the toe of Ethan's sneaker. Smiling, Claire glanced at the dog, then back at Ethan, and the ramifications of their being alone slammed into him, knocking all those years of being a responsible adult clear into next week. Especially when she said, “Wow. You could do anything you want, huh? Anything at all.”

“I know. The freedom... It's heady,” he said, and she snorted a light laugh. “So I've been wrapping presents. Speaking of which... You can put yours under the tree, if you want.”

“Okay. Sure,” she said, picking up the bag again and walking into the living room, slowly unwrapping the scarf with one hand. Then she stuffed a curl behind her ear, dislodging the sunglasses, which she caught before they got past her shoulder. She was only wearing the tiny diamond studs today, more flash than substance. The exact opposite, he mused, of the woman wearing them. “Wow. I see they've been working on it.”

“Not
they.
Jules. A trait she inherited from her mother,” Ethan said, watching Claire as she carefully set the packages among the others. From the hall behind them, the grandmother clock chimed. One...two...three...four... “The tree was never really done, as far as she was concerned. She'd keep adding things, moving stuff around...even after Christmas.” He pushed out a quiet laugh. “It was nuts.”

Standing again, Claire gave him much the same look he'd seen her give Merri's parents the night before. In that situation, it had worked. Now, for some unknown reason, it irked the hell out of him. “She sounds—”

“Don't you dare say perfect.”

“I was going to say...fun.”

“Okay, yeah. In her own way.”

Chuckling, she came closer, the sunglasses hooked into the front of her vest. God, he hated that vest. Almost more than those hideous patterned leggings. And the clunky boots.

“What does that mean?”

“Mer wasn't crazy fun—”
Like you are,
Ethan almost said. “Not...roller-coaster, jack-in-the-box fun. But she enjoyed the little things, you know? She made ordinary things special. Like baking cookies.” His gaze returned to the tree. “Decorating Christmas trees.”

“And you'll always miss her.”

The kindness lacing her words sliced right through him. So much so it took a moment to get out the simple “Yeah.” At her silence, he cupped the back of his neck. “Everybody keeps telling me I need to get over it.”

“Right. Like you're just supposed to forget someone you loved for more than twenty years? What a load of B.S.”

Ethan almost smiled. “The pain, I think they mean. Not her.” He paused, then said, “Jules was telling me about your mother, how she never really got past your father's death?”

“Not really, no,” she said, and sighed. “I don't mean she did a Miss Havisham or anything, getting stuck in a time warp after he died. She functioned. Kept up with what was going on in the world. But she wasn't any too keen to stick around, either. In some ways I think she almost welcomed her illness.”

Ethan looked back at the tree. “That's so sad.”

“You would think. Except she honestly believed she'd accomplished everything she needed to here, so why stay? And it certainly wasn't my place to convince her otherwise.” She looked over at him, a tiny smile on her lips. “It's nobody's business how anyone else handles their grief. Especially when they haven't been in the other person's shoes.”

Ethan felt something knock in his chest. “Too bad more people don't share your philosophy.”

“I've always thought so,” she said, smiling as Barney picked that moment to abandon his spot on Ethan's sneaker and shuffle over to sniff Claire's boot. Squatting to pet him, she laughed when he flopped on his back so she'd rub his belly.

“Damn dog has no shame,” Ethan muttered, wondering why she was still there, wondering why he was glad she was, as Claire chuckled again. Then Ethan heard himself say, “You looked good last night,” and her head jerked up. “In that dress. And that thing,” he said, indicating his neck.

“Necklace?”

“Yeah. Necklace. And those shoes.”

Another laugh. “What on earth brought that on?”

“No idea.” He rammed his fingers into his jeans' pockets, remembering. “But you should dress like that more often.”

“Like a grown-up, you mean?”

“Like...a woman.”

“Is there a compliment in there somewhere?”

“I said you looked good, didn't I? And if that sounded sexist, I'm sorry—”

Grinning, she got to her feet. “It does, a little. Except I know you didn't really mean it that way. So thank you.” She paused, then said, “I only have two dresses. Both black. One for winter, one for summer—”

“I should hook you up with my sister.”

“Pardon?”

“Sabrina. She works with fashion. In New York.”

“I think that's called digging yourself in deeper.”

“Yeah, I'm good at that.” As if she were magnetized, Ethan came closer, fingering the edge of her scarf. To keep from touching her hair. Her cheek. “See this color? It looks real good on you.”

Silence thrummed between them for a long moment before his eyes lifted to her face, where he saw her pupils dilate, her lips slightly part, her pulse hammer at the base of her neck.

“It looks better off,” Claire said, her voice barely above a whisper. He yanked his hand away.

“What?”

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then lifted them to his, her cheeks ruddier than usual. “I didn't come over here to seduce you. Obviously. Since for one thing, I expected the kids to be here. And for another, that's not something I do. But...I am a big believer in making the most of unexpected opportunities.”

He stilled. Then bristled. “So, what? You're offering me a pity—”

“I would never do that. Mainly because, for one thing, I don't pity you.” She smirked. “Big difference between not being able to get any and choosing not to.” Then she sobered. “I also know you're not ready to move on. That—emotionally at least—you might never be ready. And I accept that. But...” Her cheeks turning pink again, she nodded toward the tree, even as her lips curved. “But since I didn't get you anything for under the tree...” Her shoulders bumped.

He stared at her for a long, long time, then said, “I thought I was the one who owed you.”

She finally unwound the scarf, only to slowly lift it over his head and around his neck, tugging him closer. But not too close. “Then this is what I'd call a win-win situation, don't you think? Giving, receiving... It's all good, right?”

He barely heard her gasp as his mouth crashed down on hers, as he released himself to the beast that'd been gnawing at his gut for weeks. He felt her hands tighten around the scarf, pulling him closer as her lips parted, and every scrap of control he'd clung to so fiercely fled screaming into the night. Dropping onto the couch before his bum knee gave out, he pulled her onto his lap, and she laughed, deep in her throat, as she straddled him, then kissed him again, a fearless, hungry kiss that shot straight to his groin.

Deeper, where the demons lived.

The skin under her sweater was sleek, smooth, hot as his hands roamed. Hell, it was almost painful, how much he wanted her...and guilt flashed, paralyzing him. Her breathing already ragged, Claire cupped his face in her hands, then touched her forehead to his.

“Second thoughts?”

“I haven't... Since Merri...”

“I know,” she whispered. “Which is why this is your call. I'm only along for the ride.”

“That doesn't seem fair somehow.”

She sat back, her hands lowering to his shoulders, humor sparkling in her eyes. “Judging from what's pressing against me right now? Something tells me I'm not gonna have any complaints. Hey,” she said softly when he looked away. “I don't expect you to ask me to go steady when this is over. This is only about now. About two people enjoying each other. Being with each other. Maybe working out a little stress. And the best part? Nobody will know but us.”

“And Barney.”

“Yeah, well, unless he's suddenly learned people-speak, I'm not worried.”

“Except...dammit, Claire—we work together—”

“And I repeat—this goes no further than right here. Right now. I swear. I do not kiss—or anything else—and tell. We do this, we go on with our lives exactly as before. So. What's it gonna be?” Then she sucked in a breath, as though suddenly realizing something. “Oh. Wait. If you have issues with, um, me in your bed...”

Where you used to have sex with your wife,
was the rest of that sentence, he guessed.

Ethan lifted a shaking hand and finally, finally sifted his fingers through those satiny, springy curls. “I bought a new bed six months...after. Couldn't sleep worth crap in the old one. But I'm not exactly...prepared.”

“Didn't figure you would be. Lucky for you, I'm on the Pill. So we're good.”

Speak for yourself,
he wanted to say. “You're really sure about this?”

“You want me to smack you or what? And I do not mean as foreplay.”

Even though fear still coiled inside him, he laughed.

And slipped that hellacious vest off her shoulders.

“Good choice,” she said, smiling, and bent to kiss him again.

* * *

The first time was pretty much what you'd expect between two people who'd gone without for a while—hot, fast, a little awkward. Clumsy, even. And Claire had fully expected not only the clumsiness but that, once...relieved, Ethan would roll out of bed, either mortified or trying to act all cool, and suggest they order in Chinese or pizza or something. Or politely thank her, with a broad hint that she could go home now.

Not so, she thought as they lay all entwined and sticky and panting in his bed, and he whispered against her temple, “Was that as bad for you as it was for me?”

She laughed. “No,
bad
is when there's no fireworks at all.”

“As opposed to their going off prematurely?”

“Hey. At least they went off.”

He hesitated. “For you, too?”

She twisted to face him. “You seriously couldn't tell?”

“I was a little...preoccupied.”

“Not to mention deaf. Jeez.” When he didn't say anything, she hiked herself up on her elbow. “Please don't tell me you thought I faked it.”

“Hey. You're the actress.”

“And this isn't a damn stage. I don't pretend in real life.”

One arm behind his head, he looked up at her. “So if you don't pretend,” he murmured, lifting his other hand to lift her curls off her neck, which made her shiver and her nipples respond accordingly, “what's this all about?”

Something close to pain shot through her, that despite what she'd just said she couldn't answer as honestly as she would have if the situation were different. But the man was conflicted enough without her telling him she hadn't gotten naked with him simply because they were both needy and the timing seemed serendipitous, or that she'd never had sex with someone she didn't love, and that this time was no exception.

“It's about...friendship, I suppose. Caring. Giving,” she said with a shrug. Then, trickling her fingers across his jaw, she grinned. “Having a little grown-up fun.”