Cole's Christmas Wish (15 page)

“Uh.” Great. He was back to speaking in grunts.

“Sweet, though, how you thought of him.” The warmth of her
body, her breath, the touch of her mouth on his skin, disappeared as she
retreated a few inches. “But he understands our...relationship quite well.
Perfectly, in fact.”

“
I
wouldn’t like it,” Cole said,
hanging on to the only rope he had. “If you were my girlfriend, that is. Showing
yourself off to another man. No. No, Rach.”

“But you’re not Andrew, now, are you?” She paused, sighed.
“Open your eyes, give me your opinion, and we can get out of here.”

Nope. There wasn’t any escaping this.

Cole breathed in through his nose, visualized standing in an
ice-cold shower, gripped his hands into fists and...opened his eyes.

Again, she swirled in a circle. “What do you think?”

Blood rushed to his head. He pressed himself harder against the
door.

“You’re beautiful, Rach,” he said quietly, unable to tear his
gaze away from her.

What she’d chosen to model wasn’t a negligee, but a long,
sheer, sleeveless gown in a rich, satiny midnight blue. The neckline plunged
almost to her belly button, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of luscious, creamy
skin that reminded him of moonlight.

It was the back, though, that stopped Cole’s heart. Because,
well, there wasn’t a back. Technically speaking, anyway. Nothing existed but
bare skin from the arch of her neck, down the length of her spine, all the way
to the swell of her hips and the indent of her lower back.

Bare. Deliciously, exquisitely bare.

Mine,
his primal self declared.
She. Is. Mine.

Seemingly unaware of the hunger roaring through Cole’s blood,
the heat and the desire and the
need
awakening every
nerve in his body, or of how close she stood to a man on the edge, she ruffled
her hair with her fingers, so that it billowed and fell around her face in a
soft, glorious tumble, fluttered her lashes and struck a centerfold pose.

“Will this get the job done?” she asked. “Or should I look for
something else?”

The gown, from the color to the fabric to the way it slipped
and slid over her body, was made for Rachel.
Only
for Rachel. He couldn’t say otherwise, couldn’t state that she should find
something else when
nothing
else would be as
perfect.

Jealousy replaced hunger. Anger at himself, at the entire
situation—a situation he created—overtook desire. There was only one answer he
could give her, in spite of both realities.

“Buy it, Rach,” he said in a near growl. “Andrew will be on his
knees.”

She smiled broadly, brightly, catapulted her body toward him so
that he had no choice but to wrap his arms around her. “Thank you for being such
a wonderful friend,” she said. “I just adore you, Cole. So very much. Why, I
don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he said. “I’ll always be here
for you.”

He breathed in her scent, that spicy, fruity fragrance that
was—to him—all Rachel, and fought the nearly overwhelming urge to tease his
fingers beneath the rich, midnight-blue fabric, to stroke her moonlight skin. To
caress and touch and pleasure her until she moaned
his
name.

It would be so easy. The heat of her body pushed against his,
the softness of her hair feathering along his jaw, the nearness of her lips and
the sound of her breathing...everything about the moment, everything about
her
beckoned him, pleaded with him to
act
.

But he couldn’t, wouldn’t. Unless, “Are you in love,
sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she said simply, instantly. “I am.”

He expelled a rough, ragged sigh and kissed the top of her
head. Pulled her close for another heart-wrenching second, and then dropped his
hold on her—figuratively and literally.

The gig was up.

* * *

Thursday morning, Rachel spent several hours readying
the house for her mother’s arrival that afternoon. She could’ve phoned the
housekeeping service her parents employed, but she actually liked doing domestic
chores. Well, not
all
domestic chores.

She could go another lifetime without cleaning a toilet, thank
you very much.

However, she did enjoy the simple routine of dusting or
vacuuming or folding laundry. The sort of busy work that allowed her mind to
wander, consider and solve problems, and—as was the case today—fantasize about a
certain sexy man.

And what might have happened in that dressing room on Tuesday
if they weren’t involved in a crazy game of pretend. Nuts. All of it.

Rachel smoothed the sheets on her mother’s bed before pulling
up the comforter. Truth be told, her skin still tingled from the intense, hungry
look Cole had seared her with. The heat in his eyes had set her ablaze, from
head to toe and everywhere in between. He’d wanted her, she knew, as much as
she’d wanted him. Powerful knowledge, that.

Enough power that she’d almost let her guard down, almost told
him the truth—that Andrew was no longer in the picture—had never
really
been in the picture, that she loved Cole, that
she’d figured out his charade and had turned the tables on him.

But every out she gave him to come clean on his own, he didn’t
take. She wanted, maybe needed, for Cole to break the silence first, to tell her
that she was Mary and that he loved her.
Rachel
.
Whether that was romantic, silly, prideful or all three, she didn’t know.

Regardless, the fact was that he hadn’t come clean, which had
frustrated and tormented her, so she’d kept her peace and continued on with her
plan to torment
him
.

She felt fairly sure she’d succeeded.

Maybe someday, when this fiasco had come to an end, they’d
return to that very same dressing room and finish what they’d started. Quietly.
Discreetly. She allowed the fantasy to play out a bit before a soft laugh
emerged. Okay, they probably wouldn’t do that—at least, not in a public dressing
room—but the thought, and the image, was very, very nice.

Of course, she’d bought the nightgown. Soon, she hoped, she’d
have the opportunity to model it for Cole again, this time without a game
between them. On Christmas Eve, maybe. The outcome then would be far more
fulfilling, for both of them.

Rachel moved to the other side of the room and opened the
curtains, letting the midmorning sunshine roll in. After leaving the “store no
man should ever have to set foot in”—as Cole had called the lingerie store—he’d
suddenly become hell-bent on finishing the shopping for Mary as fast as
possible. He had, in fact, dragged Rachel by the arm from one store to
another.

She’d let him, somewhat amused by how the tempo of the game had
changed. Before, he’d been all about taking it slow, henpecking every suggestion
of Rachel’s to death. But on Tuesday afternoon, he hadn’t even hesitated. If she
said to buy something, he bought it.

Even when she was being sarcastic. Such as the ridiculously
large box of chocolates she’d pointed out as a joke, saying since “Mary” was his
sweetheart, he could show her that by giving her enough sweets to last her a
year. He’d nodded, grimly walked to the register, and a few minutes later had it
in his possession.

From there on, Rachel purposely suggested gifts that were on
the cutesy, ludicrous or somewhat lame side—at least so far as romantic gift
choices were—just to see what he’d do. He bought every one of them, without
putting up any type of a fuss at all.

When they were done, Cole had purchased the red silk negligee,
the chocolates, a T-shirt that said “My Heart Belongs to Him” with an arrow
pointing to the right, a stuffed toy poodle that yipped when you squeezed
her—Rachel couldn’t resist that one—and finally, a package of glow-in-the-dark,
heart-shaped temporary tattoos.

The second the last gift was bought and bagged, Cole had driven
her to her car, hugged her tight and as she’d let herself out, had mumbled
something about “a cold shower.”

Yes, she’d absolutely succeeded in tormenting him, which
explained his frenzied need to finish shopping for Mary. Delightful, really.
Rachel wasn’t done, though. She wouldn’t be done until Cole decided he’d had
enough and spilled the beans on what he’d been up to. Then...well, then she
couldn’t wait to tell him all that was in her heart.

Settling her hands on her hips, Rachel looked around the
bedroom. Everything was ready in here. She’d already dusted, vacuumed and folded
the laundry. Other than emptying the dishwasher, the kitchen was clean and the
refrigerator was stocked.

She had a few hours to kill before picking up her mother at the
airport. If Cole wasn’t working, she’d spend the time with him. Since he was,
she did the next best thing—she sat down at her desk, powered on her computer
and planned out her next move, with the beautiful vase Cole had given her in
easy view. The vase, regardless of the rest, would be her favorite gift this
Christmas. Maybe forever.

The stuffed toy poodle, however, came in at a very close
second. Rachel chuckled as she searched online for local jewelry stores.
Cupcake, indeed.

* * *

The Grinch had returned, grumpier and meaner and
unhappier than ever. Cole paced in his kitchen, avidly ignoring the pile of
gifts on his table. He’d brought them all out here to do what, he didn’t know.
He’d even wrapped them. Why?

Who was he giving them to now?

Nobody. That was who. He supposed he could return them, every
last one, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to. Stupid and inane, but those
gifts—the first five of them—represented his hope and belief in a future that
would now never come into being.

Returning them would be emotionally akin to tossing Rachel out
of his life forever, and that was something he would never, in a million years,
do. He wasn’t capable of that.

Would
never
be capable of losing
Rachel forever.

Friends, then. He was accustomed to playing that role in her
life. He’d adjust again, once she returned to New York and they reverted to
their normal text, email and sporadic phone call circle of communication. It was
just now, while she was here, so soon after learning she was in love with
another man, that made the prospect of mere friendship difficult to bear.

God, he’d lied to her today. Told her that he was working all
day, when in fact, he wasn’t going in until this evening. He’d told her the same
yesterday, too. Well, that and he’d had a date with Mary yesterday evening. What
a joke.

Tomorrow, though, he’d see Rachel. She’d asked, and he couldn’t
cancel or make up more excuses, couldn’t say anything but, “Yup. Sounds good,
Rach.” So he had.

Cole stopped pacing, went to his spare bedroom closet and found
a box he’d filled with books. Without really thinking about what he was doing,
he removed each and every book and stacked them on the floor. He’d figure out
what to do with them later.

In the kitchen again, he carefully put the gifts he’d bought
with Rachel in his head, in his heart, into the box and sealed it shut. Stared
at it for all of ten seconds and cursed. Loudly.

He’d made a—what did teenage girls call them? Oh—a friggin’
memory box. Lovely. Just lovely. Shaking his head, disgusted with himself, he
carried the box to the spare room and tucked it back into the closet. Someday,
maybe, he’d be able to get rid of them.

For now, though, he’d made his bed and he’d have to lie in it.
And that meant keeping the charade going until Rachel was gone. Then, after a
few weeks, he’d tell her his relationship with Mary had ended. No harm, no foul,
right? Just as he’d planned if events turned out this way.

Too bad he hadn’t really expected that to be the case.

Too bad that he’d been about as wrong as a man could get. Cole
kicked the box, slammed the closet door shut and left the room. Harm had been
done, all right. To him. But hell, he couldn’t blame anyone but himself for that
one, could he?

The best—the very best—he could do was ascertain this miserable
outcome didn’t affect Rachel’s perspective toward their friendship. That would
have
to work. That would
have
to be good enough. Eventually, his focus would realign, his
heart would heal and his perspective would match hers. And all of this would
fade into the past.

* * *

She hadn’t shown. Rachel had waited at the airport in
the luggage claim area for a full hour before realizing that Candace Merriday
had not made her flight.

Worry crept in, and then fear. Rachel’s mother was not known
for being uncommunicative, that was for sure. If she’d simply missed her flight,
Rachel believed she would have phoned to tell her, probably with her new flight
arrangements already set.

So yes, this was...odd. Atypical. And disturbing.

Knowing she wouldn’t be able to hear a dang thing while in the
airport, Rachel waited until she was in her car to call her mom. Candace
answered immediately, thank goodness.

“Mom? What happened?” Rachel asked. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything is most definitely not okay,” Candace said, her
temper and frustration pouring through the line. “Your father is behaving like
a...a jackass!”

“I see,” Rachel said slowly, trying not to laugh. Laughing
would be wrong. Her mother was obviously upset. But it was difficult, mainly
because Candace Merriday rarely cursed, and when she did, never with such
enthusiasm. “Is that why you’re not here?”

“What? No, I—” She broke off, took a breath. “My goodness,
today is Thursday. I...guess I forgot, what with the turmoil your father is
putting me through!”

“You forgot the day or that you were coming here?” Rachel
asked, shocked beyond belief. Mom’s entire life was dictated by whatever was
written in her appointment calendar.