My Kind of Christmas (9 page)

He just grinned at her before gently sliding off her pants. She was so beautiful his mouth watered. He carefully lowered himself over her; all he wanted in the world right now was to be sure she never regretted this.

“You’re trembling,” she whispered.

“I know. I’m trying to be careful with you. But the truth is, I can’t get into you fast enough....”

She ran a hand over the stubble on his cheek. “I’m okay, Paddy. You can let go.”

“Sweetheart, if I let go, I’m afraid I’ll tear you apart, I want you that bad.”

She reached down between their bodies and gave him a brief stroke before positioning him. He had barely touched her when, with a will of its own, he slid into her. Her eyes widened for just a second, then gently closed. He held her still, filling her, and the trembling stopped at once. “Better,” she said.

Patrick moved cautiously, slowly at first, but when she started to lunge toward his thrusting hips he pushed harder, loving the soft sounds of pleasure she shared with him. When she cried out, he took her mouth and kissed her ravenously while she gripped him with all her internal muscles. He held on. And on. And on…

When she had exhausted her pleasure and relaxed, he grabbed her behind and let himself go. The power of it shocked him. As he felt his orgasm release, it started another shuddering inside her and she wrapped a leg around him to pull him deeper. “God,” he said. “God, Ange…”

It took a long time for him to catch his breath. He started to pull away from her and, that fast, the palm of her hand was against his chest. “Don’t,” she whispered.

“I won’t leave you, sweetheart. Let me grab the quilt.”

She allowed this, and in just one second, he had pulled it over them and was holding her. She was so soft in his arms. He turned her so that he could cradle her against his chest, her back against him, listening to her breathe evenly.
Don’t talk,
he told himself.
Don’t say a word, not a single word.
With her head on his arm, she curved into him. He held one hand against her chest and with his lips pressed against her neck, he began to drift off. He couldn’t help himself. “Are you all right?” he asked.

“I’m better than ever,” she whispered.

And they slept.

* * *

In the cool light of morning, Angie realized she was alone, but she could smell the pleasant aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Just as she was sitting up, Patrick handed her a cup. He wore only jeans—no shirt, no shoes. The fire blazed with new logs.

“Mmm,” she said, taking the cup in both hands and bringing it to her lips. Nice. Patrick sat on the only chair in the room, elbows on his knees, leaning toward her. “Oh, Ange, what did we do?”

She laughed softly. “What did we do three times, you mean?”

“Are you going to be all right?” he asked.

“Why? Are you planning to bolt now?”

He shook his head. “No, of course not. But I have commitments. At the very least, there’s likely a big gray boat with my name on it. And you have a world to save. We have to face the facts.”

“Maybe I should be asking if you’ll be all right,” she said.

“Maybe so.”

“Paddy, I can’t stand that you’re so sad on the morning that I’m so happy.”

“Ange, I’m not going to want to leave you.” He dropped his chin, looking down. “And I have to.” He looked up. “Tell me you understand that.”

“Wow, another revelation in the emotional growth of Angela LaCroix. I thought men handled flings effortlessly.”

He was quiet for a long moment. “Not necessarily,” he finally said. “So, a fling? That’s how you look at this?”

“Well, you’ve made it clear that you aren’t available for the long haul. You have your ‘commitments.’ But I’m a grown woman who happens to have really enjoyed our night together. I don’t see why it can’t continue on just like this.” She looked right into his eyes, hoping she could convince him—convince herself—that she could be nonchalant about all this.

“Listen,” Patrick said, his face a little red, “we should try to be discreet.”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Not even slightly,” he replied quickly. “But there’s no point in upsetting or worrying people. I mean, I doubt anyone would be worried about me. But you…”

“Please, I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m a big girl.” She took a sip from her cup. “Hmm. You know, I think having fresh coffee delivered to me in the morning is almost better than sex.”

He smiled at her then. Relaxed again. “I’ll have to work on my technique.”

“I appreciate the gentlemanly overtures, but I believe it was consensual. I wasn’t ambushed.”

“I didn’t think that was likely to happen when we’d known each other for about two days. I thought maybe eventually, but…”

“I knew in the first five minutes. Besides, it was three days.” She ran a hand through her hair and it practically stood up, full of static electricity. “God, I must look like the wrath.”

“You look like dessert.”

“You’re not dumping me, then?”

He shook his head. “I think it would be easier to give up an arm. But, Angie, I have no choice about leaving. I already have my plane ticket. I booked round trip.”

“When will you go?”

“The twenty-third. My leave is up on the twenty-seventh. And I promised… Well, you know. I’m checking on Marie at Christmas. I promised.”

“You’re a good man, Patrick,” she said. And even though she thought she might be losing him to that woman, to Marie, she meant it from her heart.

“And do you realize your uncle Jack is going to kill me?”

“Patrick, let it go! Do you think I tricked you into sex to get some kind of promise out of you? Seriously?”

“I don’t know everything about you, Ange, but I’d bet my life there’s not an ounce of cunning in you. I’m having a little trouble getting over the fact that you’re… Well, you’re twenty-three.”

“And life is damn short, even for old guys like you,” she said, getting to her feet without dropping the quilt or spilling her coffee. “I promised to help in the clinic and I’m going to keep my promise. I’m headed for the shower.” Since she was naked, she dragged the quilt with her. At the door to her bedroom, she turned. “By the way, I’m free this evening.”

She loved that he grinned hugely. “Are you now?”

Alone in the shower, with the hot water washing away the scent of him around her, she let down her guard a little bit. Despite her bravado, she knew she had loved him almost instantly. She had been extremely curious and fiercely attracted. He was brave, she could see that. He was loyal—even planning to marry his best friend’s widow, believing he could make her happy, keep her and her son safe. Angie didn’t exactly like those plans, but she certainly admired them. There was something about a selfless, giving man…

But she was going to have to fake it from now on, since there was no way of knowing how a situation like this would play out. Her heart felt raw and open, but she wasn’t about to let him see that. When she stepped out of the shower, she listened. There wasn’t a sound coming from the little living room. She wasn’t surprised that he’d left. That’s how casual flings were meant to go. Now that they’d had their morning-after talk, cleared up a few things, he would go.

While she dried her hair and dressed, she couldn’t help but think about their night together. It drove her right up the mountain again—she’d never in her life had a night like that. In point of fact, she’d never even had a whole night. There had only been Alex, and he’d never actually
slept
with her. While Alex looked like a harmless nerd, he had been pretty impervious—he never once asked her if she was all right, for instance. He had gotten very excited, asked her if she was willing, boinked her and went home to his own campus apartment. She had accused him of needing her for chemistry—it was one of her degrees and he wasn’t that good at it. He had responded that it was far better than needing her for sex and she supposed that was probably as sensitive as he could be.

Well. Long ago and far away. It wouldn’t take much of a lover to surpass Alex. However, she suspected that Patrick was more lover than she would ever meet again, and that thought was chilling. But despite how perfectly they seemed to fit, it had been clear from the first time they talked that their lives weren’t meant to intersect beyond this vacation.

And yet, to her surprise, he was still there in the cabin when she emerged from her room, showered and dressed. He stood up from the chair, now wearing his shirt and boots, his jacket hanging on the kitchen chair. The small room was in order.

“I could make you breakfast,” he offered.

Angie thought,
He’s not going to stay with me, I knew that. But Alex would have been gone by midnight, so this really is an improvement.
“No, thank you, Patrick. I’m not much of a breakfast person.”

“Most important meal of the day,” he said.

“I know. Since the accident, my mother’s been shoveling it into me as if it might prevent future accidents. I’m more a midmorning snack kind of person. Is there anything I can get you?” She flashed the best flings-are-easy smile she could muster, though it felt fake, even to her.

“I’ll shower at home, since you’re headed for the clinic. I waited for a reason,” he said. Then he came to her, put his arms around her and kissed her. He had perfected that kissing thing. In fact, she thought he perfected everything.

“Hmm. If I didn’t have commitments…”

“But you do,” he reminded her, breaking away from the kiss.

“So I guess I’ll see you later?” she asked.

“Definitely. How about my place tonight. Is noon too early?”

She loved that. “I’ll be there at six. Lay in some food.”

Seven

W
hen Angie arrived at the clinic, Cameron was just leaving, medical bag in hand, off to make a house call. He was standing in the reception area with Mel. “Good morning,” Angie said. “I’m ready to help out. What would you like me to do first?”

“Cameron’s leaving so let’s plan the day over a cup of coffee.”

“Excellent,” she said, heading for the kitchen to start a pot brewing.

A few minutes later, Angie sat at the kitchen table with a pen poised over a yellow pad, ready to take down her instructions.

Meg poured them each a steaming mug and handed one to Angie. “Okay, kiddo—how do you feel about what happened last night?”

Angie’s cheeks flamed as her eyes widened in shock. Had news already spread about Patrick spending the night? “Huh?” she asked, dumbfounded.

Mel frowned as she pulled out a chair and sat across from her. “The injury, Angie. Megan’s injury and the emergency. Did it upset you?”

Oh, way to be discreet,
Angie,
she thought, looking down and taking a deep breath to pull herself together. “I’m only upset for Megan—that scar. I’ve been thinking about it a lot. I have a question.”

“Shoot.”

“If she were to get plastic surgery, what would the procedure entail? Just how complicated would it be?”

“Probably removal of the scar by incision, re-joining by an expert, possibly a very minor graft. Maybe something to lift that lower lid. I don’t really know—but I did a little internet reading on it. She would very likely end up with a thin, barely visible scar that wouldn’t contract or distort her facial features. Something she could conceal with a touch of makeup.”

“Not extensive?”

“I wouldn’t think so, but before you ask—it would still be very expensive for the Thickson family. It would require pre-op blood work and exam, an O.R., anesthesia, a nurse and O.R. tech. I don’t think it would be a long surgery, but nonetheless…”

“I know, I get it. Has anyone asked around for donations?”

“I’m pretty sure the pastor, Noah Kincaid, has a fund started, but he has a fund for many things in this town, as does Jack. There are plenty of people around here who live comfortably but far more who barely squeak by. Everyone pulls together admirably and there’s no question that a surgery for Megan is a good cause, but so is medication for Adie Clemens, who lives on social security, or Burt Jackson, who’s losing the farm that’s been in his family for generations. There’s a whole flock of women who can’t afford mammograms and we’ve managed to get a nonprofit organization in here now and then to do free ones. Cam and I do wellness exams for the cost of lab work in an effort to keep people healthy. We do what we can. We can’t do it all.”

“But you don’t mind if I look into it? Research a little bit?”

“In fact, I’d appreciate it,” Mel said. “You have a good heart, Angie.”

“I just wish I could leave here knowing Megan’s scar is going to be fixed.”

“Well, my advice is that everything seems to boil down to knowing who to call. I’ve tried a lot of agencies and foundations on this one with very little positive feedback. Having someone else take over the computer and phone will be helpful.”

“I’ll bring my laptop with me tomorrow. I might have a few people I can ask that you haven’t thought of yet.”

“I would love that. Now…is there anything else you’d like to talk about? Asking about last night seemed to get a pretty strong reaction.”

“I think I’ll take a rain check,” Angie said, but she couldn’t seem to help coloring up again.

Mel smiled. “I just want to be here for you if you ever have anything on your mind that you want to talk about. I’m not going to make judgments and I promise not to give advice unless asked.”

“That’s not very Sheridan of you,” Angie said with a laugh.

“I’m a transplant. I don’t carry all the Sheridan traits. Plus, it helps that you’re not my daughter. We all tend to lose objectivity when it comes down to someone we desperately feel we have to protect.”

“That would explain my mother’s behavior,” she said.

“And your uncle’s, to some degree.”

“But…how did you know there was something…?” She couldn’t say it. In case any part of her night was still a secret, she wouldn’t go out of her way to reveal it.

“Well, either you’ve been snowmobiling or you have yourself a little whisker burn there.” Mel raised her eyebrows, giving Angie a pointed look.

Angie’s hands went to her cheeks before she could stop herself. She laughed. Okay—no secrets. Except the details. Delicious, wonderful, mind-blowing details.

* * *

Patrick knew that comparing the women he’d had intimate experiences with, even when done secretly, was not gentlemanly. And Patrick was, if nothing else, a gentleman. However…

His relationship with Leigh had been satisfying in its own way. It must have been—he had never strayed. But even in the beginning he wondered what more he could do to satisfy her, to arouse her, to really make things exciting between them. It always seemed as though she had little interest in sex—in any sort of intimacy, now that he thought about it. There were times, of course, when this was understandable—sometimes they fell into bed tired after working long hours. After a couple of years, he reasoned that they’d drifted into a certain complacency because they were so comfortable; they’d just grown so accustomed to each other. Perhaps they took each other for granted. But there were other times when it chafed—like when he returned from deployments. He had missed her while he was away; he hungered for an obvious sign she had longed for him, too. He would have welcomed some wild lust. Some hot, crazy, sweaty, button-popping, fabric-ripping sex. Hell, he’d have been happy with a really good kiss. Anything to show him that his absence had affected her.

But Leigh wasn’t made that way. She was emotionally reserved and even more so when it came to sex. The woman was so damned beautiful and socially vivacious, it felt as though she should be an erotic dream come true, yet she was always so busy perfecting her social image that there was hardly any time left to spend with Patrick. She assured him he was a wonderful lover and that she desired him more than anyone else. And she said she loved him. He bought it, too. Until she left him and never looked back.

Angie, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to get enough of him during their night together. She was Leigh’s polar opposite in bed—and Patrick loved it.

Patrick drove all the way to Fortuna for breakfast. Under the circumstances, he didn’t think he could hold a conversation with Jack. And Jack liked to talk. Chances were good if Jack looked deeply into Patrick’s green eyes he would see images of his niece burned into the irises. Patrick’s palms still tingled from where he’d touched her.

He made a run to the grocery store. He was a passably good cook, but he didn’t want to spend a lot of time cooking or cleaning up that evening, and he wasn’t sure what Angie liked to eat, so he played it safe—chicken stir-fry, brown rice, wine. A little cheesecake in case she had a sweet tooth.

Once that was finished, groceries safe in the car in cold weather, he drove out to Jilly Farms to visit with Colin. As luck would have it, Luke was there. Colin, who had a titanium rod in one femur, was holding the ladder steady while Luke used a staple gun to affix multicolored lights to the eaves. This was a brilliant stroke of luck and Patrick had a strategy here—if he spent a little time with them, declined any offers of dinner, his evening would be his own. And he had plans for the evening.

“Great timing, Paddy,” Luke yelled from the top of the ladder. “We’re done.”

“I pride myself in good timing,” he said with a laugh.

Luke made his way down the ladder and once his feet were on the ground, Colin lowered the extension and picked it up to put away. Teamwork. The interesting part was that until this past year, these two brothers, eldest and second-born, were fiercely competitive and often battled. Now they were Mutt and Jeff. Frick and Frack. Ozzie and Harriet.

Luke looked at his watch. “Lunch,” he said.

“It’s ten-thirty!” Patrick said.

“I had breakfast five hours ago.”

“I had breakfast one hour ago,” Patrick said. “But I can watch you eat.”

“What have you been up to, kid?” Luke asked as he crossed the porch and went into the house.

Thirty-three years old, flown a hundred missions in war zones on at least ten deployments to sea and he was still
the kid
. The youngest. The one who should be taken care of. “Reading,” he said with a little attitude.

“Reading what?” Luke asked.

“You taking a survey?” Paddy returned.

Colin had leaned the ladder against the porch and was right behind them, following them into the house. “Sometimes if you just let him take your temperature, it satisfies him and he stops asking questions.”

“War and Peace,”
Paddy said.

“My ass,” Luke shot back.

“Actually, I have been reading, but not
War and Peace.
I’m catching up on the DeMille books. That’s what we do at sea—read. Watch DVDs. We play video games and work out a lot. And fly. I haven’t had any significant downtime when the ground isn’t rolling under me in about ten years now.”

“How’s it working out for you?” Colin asked.

“All right, as a matter of fact. This was a good idea. For a few weeks, anyway.”

“Come to San Diego with us,” Colin invited for at least the tenth time.

Paddy shook his head. “I have commitments.”

“Yeah?” Luke asked. He opened the refrigerator. Though Colin lived in this big old Victorian with Jill, Luke apparently put himself in charge. He pulled out bread, lunch meat, cheese, lettuce, mayo, mustard, pickles and tomatoes. “What commitments?”

“I told you, but you never listen. I have to be back in Charleston right after Christmas and I promised to check on Marie on my way. I’m going to spend Christmas with her and little Daniel.”

“Is that carved in granite?” Colin asked, putting a couple of plates on the work island. “Because maybe you can wrangle a few more days out of the Navy, come with the family to San Diego…”

He shook his head. “I told her I’d be sure she was all right at Christmastime. It’s Jake’s wife,” he said.

“Widow. Did she ask you to come?” Colin wanted to know.

Patrick shook his head. “In fact, she said I didn’t have to. But I have to. You guys didn’t really know him—Jake. And you never knew him with Marie.” His shoulders lifted slightly in sentimental memory. “They were so crazy for each other, sometimes it got ridiculous.” He laughed. “They could finish each other’s sentences. When we got back to base after a deployment, they couldn’t be disturbed for days. While we were home, they had date night, alone, every week. I know a hundred couples that wouldn’t be as wounded by separation as Marie and Jake—they were like a blended person. She’s doing well right now, but it’s been brutal. So I’m going to see Marie. Besides, if it wasn’t for the crash, I’d be at sea over Christmas, anyway, and you’d never think twice about me missing it.”

“You seem a little better,” Colin observed.

“I said this was a good idea. I had to get the hell away from that boatyard. A little distance, you know? I remember when the smell of jet fuel got my heart pumping and all of a sudden…” He shook his head. “Probably just some PTSD.”

“Even after my Black Hawk went down, I was ready to climb right back into one,” Colin said.

“Yeah, because it was yours, not one of your boys. That changes everything. But I’m working through it.”

While Patrick talked, Luke spread out bread and dealt cold cuts and cheese onto the slices. He slathered them with mayo and mustard, then sliced a tomato. The tomato slices went on two of the four sandwiches, lettuce on all four.

“Missed a couple,” Patrick told Luke.

“I don’t want tomato. That’s Colin’s—since his woman grows ’em, he has to eat ’em.”

Patrick couldn’t help it, he laughed. “You two,” he said. “For about forty years we couldn’t keep you two from fighting, day and night, and now look at you. Like two little old ladies taking care of each other. You’re totally mellowed. It’s the girls, that’s what it is.”

“Probably,” Colin said. “For me there were a lot of factors, but I’ll be the first to admit Jilly is the best of all those things. She just has this calming effect on me.”

“How much older are you than Jillian?” Patrick asked.

Colin shrugged. “Eight years or so, I guess. Luke’s the one who robbed the cradle.”

Luke took a huge bite of his sandwich, chewed, swallowed and said, “I’ve got almost fourteen years on Shelby, the crazy little witch. Young is good, trust me.”

Patrick leaned toward him. “Don’t you feel just a little bit like a dirty old man?”

Sound and movement stopped so suddenly, it was almost surreal. Only eyeballs shifted between Colin and Luke. Luke slowly put down his sandwich. “Shit,” he said. “You did it. You and the little one, Jack’s niece. You did the nasty.”

“What are you
talking
about?” Patrick said indignantly.

Colin put down his sandwich. “Yep. Not DeMille’s books relaxing you, Paddy. Something else altogether.
Someone
else. Aw, man. You had to go for the mayor’s niece?”

“Mayor?” he asked. Patrick stood up from his stool, yet Luke and Colin finally sat down on theirs. The older brothers looked a little weary. “There’s no mayor here!”

“Okay, the king, then. Jack’s pretty much running this town. Don’t tell him that, though. He seems oblivious,” Colin said. “What he’s
not
oblivious to is his niece. He’s been clear—he doesn’t want her mixed up with any Riordan hooligan.”

“It was consensual,” Paddy said before he realized how awkward that sounded. Obviously all the wonderful sex had killed off some of his brain cells. He certainly hadn’t engaged his mind before opening his mouth.

“There we go,” Luke said. “He did the teenager. Crap.”

“She’s twenty-three! She has two degrees! Two impossible science degrees—biology and chemistry! She’s been valedictorian of every school she’s been in! She’s extremely smart.”

“I know this,” Luke said. “Jack told me. In fact, he told me at the same time he pointed to you and Angie and said, ‘That can’t happen.’ So now what, genius?”