Bride Under the Mistletoe: The Magic of a Family Christmas
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“But this really doesn’t change anything. You and I are together. I’m your mom now.”
His head down, Harry said, “But it’s just us.” Tears dropped to his blue-jean-covered thighs. In the silence, Wendy could hear fat Creamsicle thump down the stairs and amble into the room.
Over Harry’s bowed head, Wendy met Cullen’s gaze. She didn’t have a clue how to respond. She knew exactly what Harry meant. He had lost everyone in his life. With only her as a guardian, how could she promise him that he wouldn’t someday find himself alone again?
Cullen gave her a look that nudged her to be honest. To say what she felt.
“No matter what happens, I’ll be here for you, Harry. I love you.”
Creamsicle picked that exact second to jump up on the sofa and into Harry’s lap. He nuzzled his nose against Harry’s chin. As he did, the little red bell on his collar finally rang.
Harry’s head jerked up. He looked from Cullen to Wendy and back at Creamsicle again. Then he rubbed his face in the thick fur of the cat’s neck. “Thanks, Creamsicle.”
Wendy’s heart splintered. She’d never known her ornery cat to be affectionate with anybody but her, but right at that moment she was abundantly glad he’d taken to Harry.
“Okay,” Cullen said, rising from the sofa. “Since this has been a bad day, I’m going to take you both out to dinner.”
Harry sighed. “I don’t want to go anywhere.”
“Then,” Wendy said, deliberately brightening her voice, not really angry with Cullen for trying to cheer Harry, but noticing again that he never asked. He simply told. “Why don’t we make something fun for supper? Like spaghetti?”
Harry’s sullen expression didn’t change.
Cullen said, “Or hot dogs? We could roast hot dogs here in the fireplace. My dad and I used to do it all the time.”
That perked Harry up. “You did?”
“Sure.”
“And then we’ll make s’mores,” Wendy added, leading the men into the kitchen.
They managed to keep Harry entertained all evening, tiring him out so much that when he finally took a bath and went to bed, he fell asleep immediately.
As they closed the door on his bedroom, Wendy began to feel guilty for judging Cullen so harshly. His behavior that evening had proven he truly liked Harry, and only wanted what was best for the little boy in her care. She should appreciate the fact that Cullen had smoothed things over with Randy and invited them to dinner. After all, it wasn’t as if he were high-handing her into a relationship. He was being kind to her little boy.
Walking down the stairs, Wendy said, “Thanks for your help.”
“You could have handled it.”
That made her feel a little bit better. “Yeah, but your expertise about roasting hot dogs in the fireplace definitely came in handy.”
Thinking he would be leaving, Wendy walked to the front door, but Cullen passed her and returned to the living room. He grabbed the paper plates and chocolate-bar wrappers from the s’mores. As he straightened from the coffee table, he turned to the fireplace mantel and he stopped.
Setting the candy-bar wrappers on the paper plate, he walked over to the mantel, and lifted the picture of Greg holding a fishing pole.
“Is this your husband?”
“Yes.”
“He was a fisherman?” he asked brightly, obviously pleased they had something in common.
Realizing he’d gotten the wrong impression, Wendy snorted a laugh. “Not at all.”
“So there’s a story behind this?”
“Not really. More like a boring joke. Not something you’d be interested in.” She gave what she hoped was a conversation-ending reply, grabbed the napkins from the coffee table and gathered the unopened chocolate bars and graham crackers.
Now that it had sunk in that she was really Harry’s mom, she had yet another reason not to get involved with Cullen. Forget about the fact that he was her boss and they weren’t a good match; too much involvement between her and Cullen meant Harry could be hurt when he returned to Miami. As long as he was just a guy who came to dinner once or twice to visit Harry, Harry would be okay. But if Harry saw her and Cullen being romantic, he’d get all the wrong ideas and a little boy who’d already suffered enough hurt in one lifetime would once again be disappointed. It was best to keep things simple between her and Cullen.
In her peripheral vision, she saw him shake his head, just before he turned and walked through the foyer toward the kitchen.
Carrying the candy bars and graham crackers, she followed him. He dropped his trash into the receptacle, while she stored the extra chocolate and graham crackers in the pantry.
By the time she walked out, Cullen stood by the back door with his topcoat in his hands. Not wanting him to leave with her refusal to talk hanging in the air between them, she took them back to neutral conversational ground. “Thanks again for your help.”
Shrugging into his overcoat, he nodded. “It’s not a problem.”
His voice was gruff, as if her refusal to talk had annoyed him, so she smiled and said, “Still, it’s very kind of you to be so good to Harry.”
“I’m good to Harry because I like him.” He spoke softly, and Wendy quickly glanced over at him. “I like you both.”
His unexpected statement left Wendy with no chance to stop her automatic response to it. Her cheeks flushed. The air in the room evaporated. Joy coursed through her veins. All of which was ridiculous. They could not have a relationship. She shouldn’t even want a relationship with a playboy who would disappear from her life when his work in Barrington was done. But with Harry in the picture, it was doubly wrong.
She quickly turned to the sink again, grabbed a paper towel from the wall-mounted roller and dried her hands. Keeping her voice light and friendly, she said, “We like you, too.”
She heard him take the few steps to the counter and wasn’t surprised when she felt his hands on her shoulders, or that he turned her to face him. “No. I mean I really like you. I feel so at home here.”
Not knowing whether to be relieved or disappointed, Wendy laughed. “You lived here. Of course, you feel at home here.”
He shook his head. “This was hardly a home. My parents were rarely around. Which was actually good because when they were here they fought.”
“Your parents fought in front of you?”
“They weren’t much on the decorum of fighting.” He took a breath, as if he couldn’t believe he’d actually admitted that. “My dad wanted to leave Barrington. He knew he could start an investment firm anywhere. But my mom didn’t want to leave her friends. The people who depended on her for their jobs.”
Wendy’s eyes widened. “That’s why you didn’t want to go into the plant alone?”
“No. I’ve simply never been on the plant floor before. I didn’t know anyone and I didn’t want to scare anyone. The first morning, when I saw everybody peeking into your office to say good morning in the few minutes before you came into my office to explain why you were late, I knew you were the perfect person to introduce me around.”
That made sense, but she suddenly realized they were standing close, his hands still on her shoulders. Memories of their kiss came tiptoeing back, causing her lips to tingle and her breathing to falter. He was the first man to kiss her since Greg. She’d been alone so long. Empty for so long—
Neither of which made wanting him right. Especially when he was so wrong for her.
She cleared her throat. “I guess I’d better finish cleaning up so I can get up on time for Harry tomorrow.”
He grinned. “You slept in? That’s why you were late Monday morning?”
“It wasn’t funny. I’m trying to be a good parent to Harry, and the very first time he was supposed to be somewhere I slept in.”
“Oh, Wendy,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close. “You are only human.”
The feeling of being held by a man flooded her system. The joy of the emotional connection with someone who seemed genuinely to like and understand her nearly overwhelmed her. Then the scent of his aftershave filtered to her and she realized her breasts were nestled against his chest. Their thighs brushed. Strong muscles braced her softer form. They fitted together perfectly. And she so wanted to fit with someone again.
She took a breath to bring herself back to reality. She and Cullen didn’t fit. He was a playboy. She wouldn’t get involved with a man who wouldn’t be interested in anything permanent. By Christmas day he’d be gone. If she depended upon him too much, grew accustomed to having him around, or, God forbid, actually fell in love with him, she’d find herself with a broken heart on Christmas morning.
She pulled herself out of Cullen’s warm embrace. “Thanks for your help tonight.” She motioned to the door. “I’ll see you on Monday.”
Time suspended for the few seconds it took for Cullen to get her message. It looked as if he might say something, then he turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Good night, Wendy.”
“Good night, Cullen.”
She said the words softly, but it really didn’t matter. He’d already walked out and closed the door. The soft click echoed through her empty kitchen.
Busying herself with finishing the dishes, she ignored the emptiness. She was glad he could help her through some of the initial difficulties with Harry. She wasn’t too proud to refuse the assistance that a scared little boy needed. But she was also smart enough not to get sucked into the daydream that she might be the woman to tame the playboy who owned the company where she worked. She was even smarter not to get involved with another man who would dictate, not discuss. She’d been hurt once and she wouldn’t let it happen again. She had everything she wanted now. A child. And she would never risk hurting Harry.
She dried her hands on a paper towel and threw it in the trash before heading for bed. If she was so smart and had done all the right things, why the hell was she so damned disappointed that he hadn’t argued, but had simply gone?
Which proved she really didn’t mean anything to him.
CHAPTER SIX
CULLEN just barely caught his flight to Miami. Exhausted from the week of almost nonstop work, he fell asleep two minutes after takeoff, and woke when the wheels touched down at Miami International. But part of him was glad. He’d never felt as odd as when Wendy showed him the door that night. She’d kicked him out. Out. After he’d helped her! And told her the thing about his parents that he’d never told anyone. That they fought. Often. If he’d stayed awake, he would have spent the entire flight fuming about that.
Hoisting his duffel bag off the carousel in baggage claim, echoes of the odd sensations he’d felt when she pointed at her kitchen door rumbled through him again. He reminded himself that he had already been in his coat and she probably had been tired. Walking out into the balmy Miami night, he decided that she hadn’t so much kicked him out as gotten him moving.
In his Mercedes, he lowered the convertible top and exited the airport, letting the wind whip through his hair as he made his way to the house on the beach that he shared with his dad.
But he couldn’t stop thinking about Wendy, about how the emotion of the situation had caused him to hug her and her to cuddle into his embrace. What he’d felt in those few seconds was different than anything he’d ever felt with a woman.
He frowned. Maybe different wasn’t the right word. Expanded was better. He felt all the usual male/female things he felt when he held a woman, but there was more.
Over an icy weekend, they’d both helped Harry adjust to living with her. She’d told him bits and pieces of her life. He’d told her bits and pieces of his. Together they’d told Harry about his dad, then helped him get through the difficult evening with hot dogs and s’mores.
Of course he felt close to her. He typically didn’t get this involved in anybody’s personal life. When he pulled her into his arms, he wasn’t simply wooing an attractive woman, he was holding somebody he knew. Somebody he liked. The velvet of her skin was warm and familiar. The questions in her eyes echoed his own. In a few short visits, they’d become so close that he swore he could feel her heart beating.
Then she’d kicked him out.
With a growl of annoyance, he reminded himself he’d already figured out that she’d done it because she was tired, but he suddenly realized that wasn’t what bothered him. The real problem wasn’t being “kicked out.” It was being kicked out after her refusal to talk about her husband.
Driving along the coastal highway, wind in his hair, the perfect world around him glittering with lights, the ocean a peaceful rumble to his left, he wondered if she hadn’t kicked him out because he’d asked about the picture. Which was really rich since he was the one who had the right to be insulted. It had been years since her husband’s death and his question had been innocent, yet she wouldn’t answer it. He’d automatically told her things about his family. He’d answered every damned question she’d asked him. But she didn’t want to talk about her husband.
He slapped his hand on the steering wheel. Damn it! What did it matter? He’d never pursue her. She was a serious woman and he was a flirt. A guy who liked to have fun. Were it not for Harry, they’d probably never even speak outside the office.
Maneuvering his car onto the driveway that led to his rambling two-story stucco house with windows that rose to the sky, Cullen told himself to relax. Really relax or his dad would figure out something was wrong and wouldn’t let Cullen rest until Cullen spilled the whole story. And then his dad would be angry. He’d think that Barrington, Pennsylvania, was sucking Cullen in the way it had his mom. The memories that would be dredged up would ruin Christmas. So, no. He absolutely, positively would not let on that anything was bothering him.
Because nothing was bothering him. He accepted that Wendy didn’t want to talk about herself. It was just another proof that he and his family didn’t fit into the town that bore their name. He didn’t know why he’d been so foolish as to think Wendy might be different, but he’d gotten the message. From here on out he wouldn’t ask her questions about her life and he’d keep his own life off-limits, too.
The house was dark and quiet when he entered the echoing foyer. Assuming his dad was asleep, and without turning on a light, he carried his duffel bag up the curving cherrywood stairway and walked down the hall to his suite of rooms. He was determined to forget all about Wendy Winston and Harry Martin and spend Saturday and Sunday enjoying himself on his boat, soaking up the sun before he had to fly back to frosty Barrington on Monday afternoon.
Wendy let Harry sleep in on Saturday morning. When eleven o’clock came and went with Harry still asleep, she cancelled her plans with Emma and her kids. He woke about noon, sullen and cranky, and Wendy gave him a lot of leeway, letting him work out his feelings in his own way. On Sunday when he was still moody, she ordered pizza and let him watch football on television. But Monday morning when he refused to go to school, she knew he had to snap out of this.
She took a firm hand and got him dressed and fed him. After she walked him to his class, she explained his situation to his teacher, then spent another few minutes in the principal’s office, telling the story again, making sure Harry would have sufficient support.
She arrived at work over an hour late, only to discover Cullen wasn’t there. Breathing a sigh of relief, she got busy with her typical Monday-morning duties and forgot all about her temporary boss.
When Cullen hadn’t arrived at noon, she took her lunch, expecting him to be in Mr. McCoy’s office when she returned, but he wasn’t. Worried now, she called his hotel and discovered he’d checked out. Assuming he’d gone to Miami for the weekend, she relaxed, until another hour went by. If he had no intention of returning until Tuesday, he should have let her know. She was, after all, his assistant. She scoured her desk for a note, then scoured his. Nothing.
At three, she began to fear that maybe something had happened. He could have been in an accident. By the time he strolled into her office after four, every nerve ending in her body was sitting on the edge of her skin like glitter.
“Where were you?”
His eyebrows rose at her tone. “Excuse me?”
She combed her fingers through her hair. “Sorry. I had a bad weekend and when you weren’t here and there wasn’t a note—” She fisted her hair in her hands this time. “I just panicked and thought you must have been in an accident. I’m sorry.”
He shucked his overcoat. “No. I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have let you know I would be going home for weekends and not returning until late Monday.”
“It’s almost quitting time. You shouldn’t have bothered to come in at all.”
He laughed. “You are in a mood.”
She sighed. “Harry had a bad weekend.”
“I’m not surprised. He lost his mom and spent a month in foster care. When he was finally given to you—someone he knew and felt safe with—he was told his dad was dead.”
His instant understanding made her so damned glad to see him that she was sure it showed on her face. They might be different. They might even be unsuited. But he absolutely understood her and what she was going through with Harry.
She busied herself stacking the pages she’d just pulled from the printer, turning her face away so he couldn’t read anything into her expression. “It has been an awful month for Harry.”
“My offer of dinner is still open. Remember, I promised Randy that I’d look in on you.”
“And you can. But I—” She glanced over and totally lost her train of thought. He always looked positively yummy, but two days in the sun had given his skin a warm glow. He looked rested, relaxed and so damned sexy that her heart skipped a beat. Her own skin flushed with color but not from the sun, from being flustered and tongue-tied. God, she was an idiot. Not just attracted to a man who was out of her league, but also unable to hide it.
“I—”
His eyes narrowed. “You what?”
She pulled in a breath that caused her breasts to swell beneath her warm pink sweater and Cullen suddenly realized what was going on. She hadn’t kicked him out of her house on Friday because she was moody or tired or even unwilling to talk about her husband. She liked him. He’d worried all damned weekend for nothing.
He grinned. “You want to orchestrate my visits, don’t you?”
She wouldn’t look at him again. “I just want to make sure that you’re not around so much that Harry misses you when your work here is done.”
He stepped closer. “Ah.”
“Now you’re making fun of me.”
He slid his index finger under her chin and lifted her face so that she would look at him. “No, I’m just curious about why you’re afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid of you.”
“Of course you are,” he said, holding her gaze, noting that her pretty green eyes had flecks of gold and that her skin was a smooth, perfect pink.
He gave her points for not yanking herself away from him and breaking eye contact, even as he wondered why he was forcing himself into a situation that was totally wrong. He knew as well as she did that two people who were this attracted couldn’t have a lot of contact or they’d spontaneously combust one day and do something they’d both regret. Yet here he was, pushing.
“Or I could simply be too busy with Harry to add another thing to my life.”
Her gaze flicked down for a mere second as she said that and he knew that if she wasn’t out-and-out lying, she was at least only telling him a half truth.
Before he could stop himself or once again remind himself of all the reasons he shouldn’t be insinuating himself into her life, he said, “We both know this isn’t completely about Harry, so why don’t you tell me what’s really going on? On Friday night you were fine and then suddenly you kicked me out. Let’s start there.”
She pulled away from him and rounded her desk so she could stand behind it, almost as if she wanted protection. “You’re a playboy. Anything between us would mean very little to you. But even if you weren’t, you’re too much like my husband.”
He’d been all ready to argue her concerns about him being a playboy until she mentioned her husband. “What?”
“You’re like my husband. Greg was a wonderful person. And he always seemed to know the right thing to say…the right thing to do. So much so that I never argued when he made all our decisions.” She finally glanced up from the papers she was stacking. “That cost me the chance to have a child of my own with him. Had I pushed for the one thing I truly wanted, a baby, I wouldn’t have been alone when he died. I would have also proven myself a capable parent. Nobody would wonder whether I could care for Harry.”
This time Cullen took the step back. “You’re saying you don’t want me around me because I’m like your husband?”
She raked her fingers through her hair. “Yes. No. Because for me this isn’t about you and me. It can’t be. It has to be about Harry.”
“Why?”
“You don’t think he’ll miss you when you return to Miami?”
And suddenly he got it. They were talking about Harry, but she was also talking about herself. She would be hurt when he left. She would miss him.
He took another step back. Away from her. The events from Friday night came back to him in a rush. He couldn’t help himself from being romantic with her, from touching her, from wanting to kiss her again. Now, she was telling him she didn’t want to be involved with him because he reminded her of her husband. Which should—and did—put the appropriate fear in him. Tighten his chest. Make his heart speed up and his stomach tighten. She was seeing him as a husband.
And he was a bachelor. She’d even gone so far as to accuse him of being a playboy. He liked Miami. He loved nightlife. He wasn’t wild about responsibility so he chose his responsibilities carefully.
But the way he was behaving around her reminded her of a husband.
He took another step back. “I’m helping Harry through a tough time in his life. He needs me because he knows I understand him because my mother also died recently. But by the time I leave, he’ll be adjusted to you, secure with you. He’ll miss me a bit, but not for long.”
“Really?”
The trust in her eyes nearly was his undoing. No one had ever looked at him like that.
He pulled in a breath. Took another step back. He’d never wanted anyone to look at him like that.
“Take it from a guy who had to get adjusted to a lot as a kid. Once Harry feels secure with you, I could fall off the face of the earth and he’d be okay in a day or two. It’s in this transition time as he’s adjusting to living with you that he needs someone he thinks understands, and that’s why I’m making myself available.”
She smiled and nodded, and Cullen turned on his heel, eager to escape to Paul McCoy’s office, but he stopped and faced her again.
“For the record, I would never deliberately hurt anyone.” It was as close as he could come to telling her that he understood her fears. She didn’t want his advances, didn’t want to get too close because she would be hurt when he left.
He got it.
Now he just had to stop himself from acting on all the impulses that raced through him whenever she was around.
Harry’s mood improved greatly on Tuesday morning. Wendy made him oatmeal, sprinkled it with cinnamon and sugar and promised him a trip to the mall after school. She didn’t downplay his sadness or his fear of being alone, but rather, tried to show him he was secure with her by feeding him and taking him to school. She promised him the trip to the mall to demonstrate that life went on by making plans for the future.
Walking into work, on time, she experienced a swell of pride until she glanced into Cullen’s office and saw him sitting behind Mr. McCoy’s big desk.