A Christmas Together (8 page)

*

The last thing Brennan should think about was licking her husband’s abs. She didn’t understand why he had this effect on her. So what if he had a six-pack? Her personal trainer had one, too. She’d never once thought of licking any part of Marko’s body. She’d ogled the man, as any warm-blooded female had the right to, but there’d been no heat, no chemistry—nothing like the sexual tension sizzling between her and Karl at this moment.

No one had ever affected her the way he did. A year ago, she’d toyed with the idea of dating and discovered her sex drive in deep hibernation. She’d flirted and danced with a few of Dubai’s most eligible bachelors, but never once did anyone make her want more. Her therapist had told her it was because she hadn’t gotten over the separation, and that when the emotional wounds healed she’d want sex again.

Those sessions had been a total waste of money. She got hot and bothered just fine when faced with the inflictor of said mental scarring. Nothing was wrong with her psyche aside from her obsession with the one person she shouldn’t want. At this rate, she’d have to spend a few hours channeling her aggravation at a punching bag. She planned on doing so as soon as she finished icing these cookies.

Noting Karl’s stunned expression, she sighed. She shouldn’t have pounced on him. The supercharged atmosphere was as much her fault as his. Taking a deep breath, she repeated a line from the anger management class she attended as part of her post-separation therapy. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. It was rude of me.” What did the instructor say she should do? Oh yes, try to figure out any underlying causes of aggression. Grinding her teeth, she spouted the fourth one that came to mind. “I haven’t slept since the night before, and insomnia makes me cranky.”

His forehead wrinkled. “Why the fuck do you keep apologizing? And what’s with the whooshing breaths in and out? It’s weird.”

The kettle whistled. She turned the stove off before filling the cast iron teapot with hot water. “I’ve been working on processing my frustration in a logical and productive fashion.” And doing a pretty decent job at it too, until he showed up.

“Can you stop? I knew I should have thrown out those popular psychology books the first time you went all Stepford Wives on me. The last two years we were together, you acted so damn reasonable and polite it made me queasy.”

Her arm paused in the air for a moment before she set the kettle back in its original place. She refused to get angry. Anger served no purpose. Remembering their marriage served no purpose. Punching him in the face would only bruise her knuckles.

Four days. She could go four days without breaking something over his thick, promise-breaking, always-absent, opinionated head. “What would you have had me do those few days you came home?” she asked through clenched teeth. “What would have been a better course of action, in your vaulted opinion?”

“I don’t know. Ranting, raving, yelling, lobbing things at me.” He sighed. “Maybe then I would have realized something was wrong.”

Placing her hands on her hips, she looked at the ceiling and focused on her breathing. It didn’t work. When the accusation passed her lips, it came out as a growl. “You knew something was wrong. You chose not to do anything about it.”

Their gazes locked. There was a time when she would have moved heaven and earth to look into those dark eyes again. Even after all these years, an invisible tether held them together. She wanted to snuggle into his chest. She wanted him to tell her everything would be alright. For this reason, letting him stay scared the bejeezus out of her.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low and husky.

She blinked back tears of rage and forced levity into her voice. “Why?” The last thing she needed tonight was to rehash old wounds. She’d closed that chapter.

He slid his hand forward until it rested within an inch of hers. “There was always one last mission, wasn’t there?”

The need to touch him scorched her insides. Her throat dried up. Her cheeks flamed. Beating back the impulse with shear willpower, she closed her fingers over the teapot’s handle and poured each of them a cup. “I forgave you a long time ago.”

He snorted. “Sure. That’s why are you acting like there’s a force-field separating us.”

She nudged the steaming brew forward. “It’s just…self-defense, I guess. We’re not good for each other.”

His lips firmed into a line. “I understand why you left. What I don’t get, is why you didn’t wait for me to come home. You’d never struck me as the running type.”

Telling him the whole truth, at this point, would hurt him and help no one. “I didn’t leave you—I left the life I had in D.C. There were…personal reasons why I needed to be in a place where I had a support network. I figured you could as easily meet me in the Emirates as in America, and that if you’d wanted to, you knew how to get in touch.” Responding to his furrowed brows and tensed jaw muscles, she clarified, “I don’t know when you ended up finishing your mission, but I was gone for months before my father’s lawyers mailed you the papers. I didn’t even find out about them until much later.”

Because reading him had always been easy, she could almost feel his shock—and his regret. “Did you want me to come after you?”

She shrugged. “For a while, sure. Either way, it’s done.”

His hand clenched into a fist. “The hell it is. There’s a huge difference between separation and divorce.”

“And according to our deal, we’ll be divorced when you leave.”

After a long moment of silence, he narrowed his eyes and he reached for his cup. “This tastes like water.”

She sensed he might be up to something, but was eager to switch subjects. Lifting her own tea, she inhaled. “The flavor is subtle, but it has zero caffeine.”

He snagged a cookie. When he grinned, so did she. “This shortbread tastes more like tea than the damn drink—in a good way. I’d bet those anemic white leaves cost you an arm and a leg.”

“Of course. It was picked by monkeys and sorted by hand,” she deadpanned.

He grunted. “What did you do for two years? Go on a hippie walkabout?”

“Something like that—a spiritual retreat marketed to new divorcees.”

“You
didn’t
.” He unfolded from his chair, stood, and leaned forward. “Is this where you did the one-legged chant thing? And learned all the stupid Zen stuff?”

She drummed her fingers on the cold granite. “Yoga by the beach was what I needed at the time.” And she should book another trip as soon as he left, seeing as how she’d regressed enough to consider smacking him on the head. “It wasn’t all chanting and sun salutations. There were lots of classes and talk therapy.”

He massaged the bridge of his nose. “I’m so sorry I inflicted that on you. I don’t know how you survived.”

Closing her eyes, she tried to imagine a calm, peaceful ocean. For some reason, the water seemed streaked with red. “It was the best decision of my life. I learned not to let emotions get the better of me.”

“Sweetheart, I hate to break this to you.” His grating voice added thunder and lightning to the imagery. “But our marriage might not have ended if you’d lost your damn temper.”

*

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.” Brennan moaned as her gaze dropped to the empty teacup. Grabbing a hand towel, she rushed over to the fridge and filled it with ice.

“I’m fine.” Karl squawked.

His profusely-apologizing wife raced to his side and pressed the cloth-wrapped ice onto his chest. For once, their height difference worked in his favor. He was pretty sure the scalding liquid had been aimed at his face. Good thing she missed.

He caught her wrist. “It’s alright. I’ve been through worse.”

Her upturned face contorted. Tears brimmed. “I have no idea what came over me—”

“I went out of my way to make you angry.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “I deserved it. I was being a Class A jerk.”

The corners of her lips quirked up, but her brows remained furrowed. “Just a bit.”

He guided her hand over his chest so the towel could absorb the remnants of her tea. Tendrils of golden hair escaped the clip to frame her face. All thought of pain went up in smoke. With her trim body an inch away, the slim possibility of a first degree burn seemed inconsequential. “I didn’t mean what I said. You know how everyone says it takes two people to end a marriage?”

She nodded as he grabbed the towel from her and placed it on the kitchen island.

“They’re wrong. In our case, it took one.” He cupped her face with both palms. Her skin felt like silk. She smelled of sugar and spice. “I don’t blame you for wising up and walking out. I hated hearing you apologize because you’re the last person who should.”

Her eyes widened, lending her face a heartbreaking vulnerability. “I think I finally figured out why I’m so angry.”

He chucked her under the chin. “Oh yeah?”

“I’m happy you’re here.” Thick lashes fanned over her rosy cheeks. “And I don’t want to be.”

He should step away. The right thing to do was let her go. But he couldn’t—not again. It’d taken all his willpower not to chase her down the first time, and he wanted her back. The sudden awareness made his head spin. No job was worth never seeing her again. He’d been a fool, and it might be too late.

He wanted to kiss her so much it hurt. Her scent filled his lungs. Her satiny hair whispered over the back of his hands. When he bent forward, her lips parted. A blush colored her pale skin as she drew in a shallow breath. Desire shone in those green depths, and he knew he could push her to give him what his body demanded.

But he hadn’t earned her trust. He’d caught her in a moment of weakness, and when the sun came up, she’d regret letting him have his way. He wanted more than a night of passion—more than a single intimate embrace. Now that he knew what he was fighting for, he refused to win a battle and lose the war.

Lowering his hands, he stepped back. “Where did you put the lights?”

“What…?”

He focused on keeping his tone casual. “There weren’t any on the tree in your living room. I can’t sleep, and I have energy to burn. Let me string them up for you.”

She blinked. “You want to put up Christmas decorations?”

He lied, “I can’t think of anything better to do.”

“I realize it’s all-you-can-eat, but isn’t three hundred bucks a bit steep for lunch?” Karl scanned his surroundings. The busy restaurant was situated on the twenty-seventh floor of the Burj Al Arab. A six-star luxury hotel in the shape of a sailboat, the beachside high-rise boasted three hundred and sixty degree views of the ocean and its own helipad. Their location public and the security impressive, he allowed himself to relax. Even Riad wasn’t dumb enough to attack them here.

Both the hotel lobby and their current space were covered in Christmas decorations uncommon in most Muslim countries. Dubai’s ruler numbered among the few Middle Eastern leaders who faced the encroaching Western world with excitement rather than fear. All service staff, most of whom were Filipino, wore green pointed shoes, glittering red bow ties, and furry elf hats. He’d heard “Merry Christmas, Ma’am, Sir” more times here than would be expected in the States. Ever since political correctness came into vogue, seasonal greetings had shifted to the secular “Happy Holidays.”

Brennan toyed with her champagne flute. “The per-head includes free-flowing champagne, and this is one of the few places serving whole-roasted turkey.”

“But I have to pay for beer by the pint.”

“Considering it’s the day before Christmas Eve, you should make an exception and drink the bubbly.” She nudged her glass in his direction.

He looked askance at the fizzy gold liquid. “This is one hell of a racket they’ve got going. Only girls like this stuff, and your stomachs don’t fit much food.”

“It’s why we bring men to balance the scales.” She retrieved her beverage and sipped. “Friday Brunch is a Dubai tradition. We were lucky they could squeeze in an extra chair.”

He let the subject drop, though he couldn’t help but calculate the potential cost for a six-person table. With service charge, they’d easily spend two grand. But his sour mood had nothing to do with the price of their meal. Quite a few pairs of male eyes currently feasted on his wife’s lithe body, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. She turned heads in a green square-necked dress that matched her eyes. Her shiny red-soled shoes were the same light tan as her clutch, and the way those high-heels presented her toned legs should be illegal.

Accompanying her in public proved to be one of the most aggravating experiences of his life. “Where is everyone else?”

She patted his hand. The contact sent a heated lance straight to his crotch. His resolution to keep things platonic until he sorted shit out was going to be a bitch to keep. “Fashionably late. I told you there’s no point to being on time.”

Punctuality had been pounded into him since he joined the Air Force Academy. Being in the Middle East wasn’t about to change the habit. “Are they coming soon? I’m starving. You told me to skip breakfast so I can eat my money’s worth.”

With perfect timing, a white-gloved server arrived to present an aggravatingly small portion of food. Self-service seemed lost on this place. The customers milling around the spectator-friendly cooking stations were all of Western origin. White-garbed locals relied on the deferential wait staff, who flitted between their tables and the buffet, removing any need for movement.

“What
is
this?” He eyed the delivered dish with suspicion. Dollops of minuscule spherical red and black mystery gel rested atop wafer-thin crackers, appearing neither filling nor appetizing.

“Caviar. I thought we could nibble while we wait. The key to making the most out of Friday brunch is going slow. It’s ten, and we don’t have to leave until three-thirty.” She popped a bite into her mouth and closed her eyes. Years of marriage had taught him to treat her food-gasms with skepticism. Her love affair with weird ethnic offerings and erratic taste robbed her reactions of utility. During one of their earlier outings, she’d gushed over a Japanese sweet he later discovered tasted like a mixture of tealeaves and dough.