Once Upon a Christmas (38 page)

Dylan grinned and rinsed.
Tough job
.

He shut off the water and ran his fingers along the smooth
pink marble walls, feeling his grin widen. Memories of his night with Stacey
tumbled over themselves in his mind, better than a dream and twice as erotic.
They’d made good use of that inviting pink marble shower and bathtub, he
remembered as he reached for a towel to dry off with. Good, mind-blowing use.

They’d also taken advantage of the corner table, the bed,
the armchair in the sitting area…his body still thrummed with the lightning
touch of her hands and mouth and skin on his. He and Stacey had come together
as though they’d been made for each other.

Which was only natural. They had. He’d never met a woman who
intrigued and tempted and fascinated him more than Stacey did. Until her, he’d
never known what love could be. He was lucky as hell she’d taken a second
chance on him.

A second chance on them.

Lucky, lucky. Dylan had half a mind to forgo packing and
head down to the casino. As good as he felt today, he was practically
guaranteed to win big. But he’d promised Stacey he’d pack their things while
she made use of their prepaid massages in the hotel fitness center, and he wasn’t
about to disappoint her by breaking his promise.

In any case, he still had some loose ends to tie up with the
honeymoon surprises. Whistling “Have a Holly Jolly Christmas,” he
shook his head, sending water droplets pinging across the pink marble. He
rubbed the towel over his water-beaded body, then stepped out of the shower.
Time to get packing.

Sunday had already arrived, bringing with it the end of the
honeymoon charade. And the end of their weekend together.

He shouldn’t mind, Dylan told himself as he rumpled his
fingers through his hair and examined his jaw in the mirror, deciding whether
or not to shave. It wasn’t as though they wouldn’t be seeing each other back
home in Phoenix. After last night, anything felt possible between him and
Stacey.

He leaned toward the mirror, rubbing his hand along his jaw,
and decided he ought to at least try to look civilized for her sake. Resigned
but still whistling, he reached for his razor and glimpsed something shiny on
the vanity. Curiously, he bypassed his razor and picked up the smooth circle of
gold that had caught his eye instead. As soon as his fingers touched it, his
whistled carol stuttered to a surprised stop in his throat.

It was Stacey’s ex-wedding ring.

Dylan rubbed the thin gold band between his fingers,
watching it glimmer beneath the bright vanity lights. He’d never seen her
without it. The fact that Stacey had left it behind now could only mean one
thing.

“Whoo-hoo!” he hollered, jigging naked into the
honeymoon suite. “She loves me, girl!” he yelled at Ginger. With his
dog frolicking at his heels, Dylan jived to the window and whooshed his arms
overhead like a Super Bowl fan doing the Wave of Love. “Hey, Las Vegas!
She loves me!”

Ginger hunkered down and tucked her muzzle on her paws, her
hind-end wagging along with her tail.

“Stacey loves me!” he told her, grinning like an
idiot.

His dog joined in the celebration with a sneeze and a
rollover that left all four paws lolling in the air. Dylan gave her belly a
vigorous rub, his mind and heart still reeling with the significance of Stacey’s
actions. She hadn’t said the words last night, not that he remembered—and he
would have definitely remembered—but her leaving behind her ex-wedding ring
could only mean one thing. Not only did he love her…
Stacey loved him back
.

Too happy to hold still, Dylan got up and cha-cha’d across
the suite. “She-e-e-e loves me, cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-CHA!”

The door swept cautiously open. Stacey came in with her
purse slung over her shoulder, wearing boots, a sexy pair of jeans, and a
vibrant orange sweater. She looked gorgeous. She looked bemused, probably at
the sight of him dancing naked around the suite. She looked…a lot less interested
than he’d hoped she’d be, seeing him dancing naked around the suite.

Dylan smiled and boogied toward the woman he loved, slipping
the shiny gold harbinger of all his happiness safely on his pinky so he wouldn’t
dance it off.

“Good morning!” He crushed Stacey to him for a
fast kiss. Grabbing her hand, he twirled her away from him and back again, then
caught her waist and two-stepped them both into the sitting area. “How was
your mass—”

“Dylan, stop! Stop! This is terrible.”

She wrenched out of his arms and pushed herself away from
him. She gazed up and down his body, squeaked out a startled sound at the
sight, buried her face in her hands.

“Geez.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “You
seemed to like everything okay last night.”

A huge snuffle came from behind her hands. Her shoulders
shuddered. He could see her trying to get a hold of herself long enough to
speak.

“This can’t be happening!” she wailed.

“It was only dancing.” What the hell kind of
massage did they give in this place anyway, to leave her in a mood like this?
Dylan stepped toward her, gesturing vaguely to the bathroom. “I’ll go put
on a towel or something if you want me to.”

Stacey sniffled and peeked through her fingers. “Oh.
Oh!”

Her hands went to her sides, making desperate little fists
against her jeans. Again her gaze whipped over him, and a blush rose in her
cheeks. Laughter, slightly hysterical and utterly confusing, burbled from her
lips.

“Oh, Dylan. I didn’t mean
that
.”

He stared at her for a minute, then shook his head. “I’d
better get dressed anyway.”

“Really!” She trailed him to the half-packed
suitcases lying open on the bed. “I just—just—”

Stacey faltered and stopped, her gaze slanting over him as
he yanked a pair of jeans from his duffel bag and pulled them on.

“I just…do you do this often?” she asked in a
small voice.

“You mean the naked boogie?”

She nodded, not looking at him. He grinned and touched her
chin.

“I’m not sure. This is the first time I’ve tried it,”
Dylan leaned down to whisk his fingertip over her lips, making her draw in a
quick breath in reaction. He smiled gently. “But I’m pretty sure I could
only manage it when I’m in love. Deeply, crazily in love.”

Her lower lip wobbled. An instant later, her face crumpled
in a wail louder than the first one had been. Turning away from him, Stacey
sank on the bed in a disconsolate heap, sending clothes toppling to the floor.
A bottle of shampoo thumped down and rolled beneath the bed, joining whatever
else lurked in the wasteland beneath a hotel bed’s dust ruffle.

“Stacey?” He knelt beside her, taking her hand
between both of his and squeezing. This was more than a reaction to bare naked
joy dancing. “What’s the matter? Did something happen during your massage?
Was it something I said? Did I do something, any—”

She shook her head. A tear fell on his wrist, then another.
Whatever this was, it was serious.

“Honey, whatever it is, I can help.” Dylan rubbed
her hand softly between his. “Just tell me what’s the matter.”

“You’ll hate me,” she choked out between
shuddering breaths. She shook her head again, pressing her lips together. Still
they trembled, and another tear coursed over her cheek. “It’s too awful.”

“There’s nothing you can say that’ll make me hate you.
What’s the matter?”

He raised his hand to brush away a tear from her cheek. She
grabbed his hand, spreading his fingers and staring at the gold band on his
pinky. Her gaze lifted to his.

“I was keeping it for you,” Dylan told her,
slipping it off. “You left it in the bathroom.” He held the ring out
to her.

She took it and wrapped her fist around it, then promptly
started crying harder. She folded both arms around her middle, shaking her
head.

“I thought I didn’t need it.” Stacey looked up at
him through shimmering, tear-filled eyes. “I thought we—you and me—that
we—”

“We can!”

“We…Dylan, I wrecked everything. Just now.
Everything. I was at the masseuse’s, having the most wonderful massage.”
Sniffling through her tears, she rifled through her purse and pulled out an
apple, a day planner, a box of condoms. “Here,” she said absently,
handing them to him. “I got these while I was out.”

“The economy jumbo pack,” he remarked, turning
over the box. He tossed it in an open suitcase. “I didn’t know they made
these.”

“You just have to shop around.”

Elbow-deep in her purse, Stacey grabbed her wallet, then
dropped it on the black silk comforter. A bottle of calcium supplements, a roll
of tape, and a jump rope followed. Dylan raised his eyebrows. A jump rope?

She spread her arms, scowling down at her purse. “Where
are my tissues?” she demanded in a quavery voice, picking up her bag and
giving it a hearty shake. Things rolled and clanked together inside. How much
more could possibly be in there?

“So you’re having the massage,” he prompted,
handing her the box of hotel tissues from the nightstand. “Then what
happened?”

She blew her nose, then stared up at him mournfully. “Please
don’t be mad.”

“I won’t be mad.”

“Swear it.”

What had she done
? “Cross my heart.” He
whipped his hand in an X over his chest. He sat beside her on the bed, shoving
things aside with his hip to be closer, and wrapped his arms around her. “I
love you. Nothing can change that.”

Her face crumpled. “I wrecked the whole honeymoon
charade!” She burrowed her face in her hands. “I hadn’t had my coffee
yet, and I was feeling sooo good after last night, and the massage was so…
Oh, Dylan, there’s no excuse.” Stacey paced toward the sitting area and
back. Balling her hands into fists, she met his gaze dead-on. “The
masseuse recognized me from our picture.”

“Our picture?”

“Our winning picture. From yesterday. ‘Say we won!’,
remember?” She pantomimed snapping a picture, then grimaced.

“Is that all? That’s not so bad. Maybe she—”

“She caught me, Dylan. She asked me, point-blank, why I
was using two names.” Her gaze swerved guiltily to his. “I couldn’t
lie. Not like that! I spilled everything…the whole story.” Her hands
shook as she picked up the fallen clothes from the floor and stuffed them in
one of the suitcases. “It’s finished.”

“Wait. You think I’ll be mad at you because you couldn’t
tell a bold-faced lie?”

Hell, that was one of the reasons he loved her—because she
was so kind-hearted. Because she was the kind of woman who’d go out of her way
to help her family.

Her family.
The family Stacey felt sure she’d let
down, because she thought she’d given away the honeymoon charade.

“Don’t you get it?” She didn’t look at him as she
shoved things industriously back in her purse. “
The masseuse knows Aunt
Geraldine
. She’s a personal friend, remember? She’s probably on the phone
with her right now. My family will never forgive me when word of this gets out.”

Wailing, Stacey threw down her purse and twisted her hands
in front of her. “I’m sorry, Dylan. I wrecked this for you, too, and all
you were trying to do was help Richard and Janie.” She raised her chin. “I’ll
explain, though. You were doing things my way in the end, even though you didn’t
agree. I’m responsible. You won’t—”

“No.” He stood to pull her into his arms. She
nestled against him with her head beneath his chin, softer than he’d dared hope
for and all the woman he’d ever wanted. Dylan hugged her tighter. “No, you’re
not explaining anything,” he said against the silkiness of her hair. “I
love you, and I won’t—”

“I love you, too.”

Her whispered words arrowed into his heart, into his soul.
He’d dreamed of hearing those words from her. Now the dream was real.

“At least there was one good thing in all this.”
Stacey shifted in his arms so she could look up at him. She gave him a
quivering, hopeful smile. “At least I found you again.”

“We found each other.” Dylan touched her cheek. He
kissed her, long and slow and sweet. “I wouldn’t give up this weekend for
anything.”

Stacey stepped away, then breathed deeply, like a runner
preparing for a long-distance race.

“Me, neither.” Her smile steadied. “I’d
better call Janie. And Aunt Geraldine.” She raised her chin staunchly as
she reached for the bedside phone. “I’ve got some explaining to do.”

“
No
!” Dylan grabbed for her and captured
nothing. She’d already slipped away from him.

She picked up the phone, then pulled her day planner from
her purse. “I know I wrote the number of their hotel in the Bahamas in
here someplace.” She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder as
she turned pages, searching.

He slapped his hand on her day planner.

She stared up at him, her eyes wide. “Dylan?”

God, it wasn’t supposed to be this way
. She loved
him. He loved her…too much to see her hurt by something that he’d set in
motion. It was up to him to finish it.

“Don’t call,” he grated out. His gaze sought hers.
Dylan drank in the sight of her, closed his eyes to concentrate on her scent
and the feel of her next to him. He opened his eyes. “Don’t call.”

“What?” Stacey wrinkled her forehead. “I have
to, I—”

“The masseuse doesn’t know Aunt Geraldine. Neither did
the mini-golf people or the breakfast serenaders or anyone at the Renaissance.
The honeymoon surprises were a hoax.” He held himself rigidly, forcing
himself not to touch her. “I arranged them all.”

“
You
arranged…?” She shook her head and
tried to pry his hand loose from her day planner. “That’s sweet, but
avoiding the facts won’t make this go away. You know how I feel about the men
in my life making decisions for me. Not again.
Never again
, after
Charlie. I told you, and you listened. You wouldn’t lie to me about—”