In spite of that no, Corrie was kissing him back.

She was acting as if no was the last thing she was thinking.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe her kiss and her curvy body moving against him, wanted to forget that a few moments ago she had told him to stop.

But in the end, he couldn’t forget it. It was only right to make sure.

Yeah, he wanted her. Badly. But he knew that she had to admit she wanted him, too.

Somehow he made himself break the hungry kiss. “No?” he dared her. “Did you say no?”

She called him a very bad word, fisted her fingers into his hair and tried to yank his mouth down on hers again.

He winced as she pulled his hair, but he didn’t give in. “Answer the question, Corrie.”

She growled low in her throat and gave another yank. This time he let her pull him close. “Shut up,” she said against his lips, and kissed him again.

Dear Reader,

It’s that time of year again. The season of miracles, of light and joy. Of hope. And of family togetherness.

This Christmas, hardworking single mom Corrine Lonnigan is getting all of the above in the person of her former lover and now best friend, the father of her child, Matt Bravo.

Matt and Corrine had some rough times way back when. But they made it through. Now they’re both leading contented, productive lives. They share the care of their beautiful five-year-old daughter. Matt has a girlfriend and Corrine has said yes to a wonderful man.

Everything’s perfect. Until that fateful night in early November, a night that changes everything…

Suddenly the comfortable, easy life Corrine has enjoyed is no more. It’s a Christmas of change, where risks will be taken and best friends become lovers all over again, a Christmas of second chances. This time around, Corrine swears she won’t make the same mistakes again. But love has a way of challenging even the best-laid plans…

Happy holidays, everyone!

Yours always,

Christine Rimmer

Christmas At Bravo Ridge

By

Christine Rimmer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

CHRISTINE RIMMER came to her profession the long way around. Before settling down to write about the magic of romance, she’d been everything from an actress to a salesclerk to a waitress. Now that she’s finally found work that suits her perfectly, she insists she never had a problem keeping a job—she was merely gaining “life experience” for her future as a novelist. Christine is grateful not only for the joy she finds in writing, but for what waits when the day’s work is through: a man she loves, who loves her right back, and the privilege of watching their children grow and change day to day. She lives with her family in Oklahoma. Visit Christine at www.christinerimmer.com.

MILLS & BOON

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For my mother, whose loving spirit uplifts and inspires.

Merry Christmas, Mom.

Chapter One

The doorbell rang at nine o’clock. Corrine knew it would be Matt, bringing Kira home from her regular weekend visit with him. He was right on time, as always.

“Come on in,” Corrine called.

She heard his key turn in the lock. The front door opened and shut with a soft click. And then silence, except for the creak of a loose floorboard under his feet. The lack of happy chatter, of “Mommy, we’re home!” told her that Kira must be asleep.

Matt stuck his head around the wall that marked off the entry, his straight brows drawing briefly together at the sight of Corrine on the couch, knees drawn up under her chin, ten half-full wine bottles arrayed on the coffee table in front of her. “She’s conked out,” he whispered.

Their daughter was draped over his shoulder, her legs, in her favorite pair of pink footed pajamas, dangling loose. At Matt’s whisper, Kira lifted her blond head, yawned hugely and then turned her face the other way, nuzzling against his neck with a contented little sigh.

“Carry her on up?” Corrine mouthed the words, gesturing at the stairway behind him.

Matt turned and went up. Corrine watched him go. Kira’s little feet swayed gently with each step. Once he disappeared from sight, she settled her chin on her knees again and stared at the mess she really should start clearing up.

She was still sitting there, in the same position, when Matt came back down the stairs a few minutes later. He went straight to the fireplace and turned his back to the flames.

“Cold out there?” She gave him a lazy smile.

“Oh, yeah.” It was supposed to get below freezing that night, rare for San Antonio in early November.

“Kira wake up when you put her to bed?”

“She didn’t even open her eyes.”

“Busy weekend?”

“The usual. Lessons on Saturday.” Kira took tap and ballet, karate and modern dance. She went to kindergarten and day care at the best Montessori school in SA. These were just a few of the many benefits that came from having a rich, hardworking daddy and a mom who ran a successful business of her own. “We went to a movie Saturday night,” he added. “Today, I took her out to the ranch.” Bravo Ridge, his family’s ranch, was a short ride north of SA, on the southwestern edge of the Hill Country.

Corrine lowered her knees to the side and tucked them in close. “Your mom still at the ranch?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“How was she?”

He shrugged. “She seemed okay, but you know how she is, always trying to put the best face on things.”

Corrine let out a small sigh of understanding. “So true…”

And then he did what she’d been waiting for him to do. He gestured at all those bottles on the coffee table. “And what the hell, Corrie? Pastor Bob know about this?” His tone was teasing, but she didn’t miss the underlying note of disapproval.

She resisted the urge to say something snippy and settled for simply putting him in his place. “I’m not drunk, not even buzzed—and if I was, it’s not like I’m driving anywhere. And don’t you start picking on Bob. Bob’s the best of the best. I’m lucky to have found him.”

He tried to look innocent. “I wasn’t picking on Bob.”

“Yeah, you were.”

“Uh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.”

He put up both hands, a gesture of surrender. “Okay, okay. I’ll never say another damn word about Bob.”

“Bob knows what I do for a living. He’s not the least judgmental—unlike some people I could mention.”

Matt huffed a little. “I’m not judgmental.” Beneath the huffing, he was hurt. She could tell.

And she felt suddenly sorry. Matt Bravo was a great guy, really. A fine father, who doted on their little girl. And over the years, strangely enough, he’d practically become Corrine’s best friend. She shouldn’t be calling him judgmental—even if he sometimes was.

Time to change the subject. “Want some?” She tipped her head at the thicket of green bottles. “I’ve got plenty.”

“Why not?” He was already shrugging out of his pricey leather coat.

She had half a tray of unused wineglasses. She grabbed one and chose a bottle at random, turning it to read the label. “A little merlot?”

He dropped into a wing chair across the coffee table from her. “Sounds good to me.”

She poured, passed him the glass and then poured one for herself. “To our amazing, beautiful, brilliant daughter.”

He leaned toward her so he could touch his glass to hers. Then he sat back. They both sipped. He gave a nod of approval. “Not bad.”

“And the price is right.”

He frowned at the tray of torn bread and the pitcher of water on another table nearby. “Wait. I get it. A wine tasting.”

She nodded. “It went well, thank you. There were six of us, including me.” She named off three of her employees and a couple of longtime friends from school. Then she raised her glass again. “I’m always looking for good values for the bar, and a few of these are pretty nice.” Matt worked at BravoCorp, the family business. She worked in her family’s business, too. Her bar, Armadillo Rose, was a San Antonio landmark. It had belonged to her mother before her and before that, to her grandmother.

Looking totally satisfied with himself, he settled deeper into the chair and sipped more wine.

“Just make yourself at home.” She raised her glass again.

“I always do. Got anything to munch on around here—other than chunks of dry bread, I mean?”

“A few cold appetizers.”

“Hand ’em over.”

She passed him the tray.

He chose a cracker topped with sun-dried tomatoes and mozzarella and popped it in his mouth, reaching out to grab the tray before she could pull it away. “I’ll keep that.” He set the tray on the side table by his chair, grabbed two more crackers and ate them, watching her as he chewed.

With a distant smile, she turned her face to the fire and considered whether or not to bring up his mother a second time.

After a moment or two, he demanded, “What?”

She met his eyes again. “It’s your mom. I’m worried about her. She came in the Rose last night.”

He blinked. “Why?”

“She didn’t say. She sat at the end of the bar and nursed a martini. For more than three hours.”

He couldn’t have looked more surprised if she’d bopped him on the head with the merlot bottle. “Three hours. You’re kidding me.”

“No.” Armadillo Rose had live music on the weekends. Rock and hard country. It catered to a young, mostly blue-collar, party crowd. Aleta Bravo was in her mid-fifties, still slim and good-looking. She wore designer clothes and she had a certain air about her, one of money and privilege. Armadillo Rose just wasn’t her kind of place. “She seemed…I don’t know. Lost, I guess. I sat with her every time I could catch a few minutes. She told me how much she appreciated me and how much she loves Kira…”

He held out his glass for more wine. “My dad won’t leave her alone,” he said as she poured. “He’s always showing up at the ranch, working every angle to get her to come back to him.”

“She seemed…so sad last night.”

His expression was almost tender. “You were keeping an eye on her.”

“Of course.”

“You’re a good woman, Corrie.” The look in his eyes had her throat clutching.

She glanced away. And then she felt silly and made herself face him again. “She, um, she didn’t cry or anything. But the place was packed and loud and she would watch everyone dancing and having a good time with this expression that was trying so hard to be bright and happy but didn’t quite make it.”

“It’s a tough time for her.”

“Matt, your dad is not my favorite person. Still, it’s so painfully obvious she’s in love with him and always will be. I don’t get why she doesn’t just go back to him.”

“Hey. Don’t ask me. I don’t get it either.”

“It’s been more than a month since she walked out on him.” In late September, Aleta had left the big house in Olmos Park where she’d lived with Davis for as long as Corrine had known them. Matt’s parents had always kept a suite at Bravo Ridge. Aleta was now staying there. Corrine shook her head. “And it’s not like what he did all those years ago was news to her.” Corrine and Matt had discussed this before. Matt had confided that his mother had already known about his father’s affair. More than two decades ago, right after it happened, Davis had confessed everything.

Matt said, “But she didn’t know that the woman he’d slept with was Luz Cabrera—or that there was a baby.” The baby, now in her twenties, was named Elena. Matt and his siblings had learned they had a half-sister around the same time their mother left their father. And there was more.

A lot more. Matt’s brother Luke had recently married Mercy Cabrera, who was Elena’s adoptive sister. It was all beyond complicated. Especially when you added in the fact that Luz Cabrera just happened to be the wife of the Bravos’ longtime sworn enemy, Javier Cabrera.

Corrine said, “I still don’t get it. Your dad never knew that Luz had his kid, so why is he any more to blame now than he ever was?”

“But that’s just it,” Matt declared, as if that explained anything.

“What’s it?”

“My dad claims Luz never told him about Elena. I don’t think my mom believes him. And it was always a big deal between them, the whole total honesty thing.”

Corrine poured herself more wine. “So you think maybe your dad actually knew the whole time that he had another daughter?”

“No, I don’t think he did.”

“But you’re not sure?”

He ate another cracker. “I’m sure.”

“Why?”

“Corrie, damn it. I just am.”

“Okay, so. He busted himself all those years ago when he had the affair. At that time, they worked it out and your mom accepted that it was better if he didn’t tell her who the woman was. You say you’re sure your dad didn’t know that Luz had had his kid.”

He gave her a look. “And the point you’re making is…?”

“That I still don’t get it. It was more than twenty years ago. Your parents got past it then. Why won’t your mom get past it and go back to him now?”

“She will. Eventually. We’re all sure of that.”

“All?”

“That’s right. All. My dad. My brothers. Me. My sisters.” Aleta had given Davis seven sons and two daughters.

Corrine asked softly, “What makes all of you so sure?”

“We just are.”

“Please.”

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Corrie. I know my own mother.”

“I’m only saying, even given that she still loves him, it is possible that this time she’s finally had it with him.”

His brows drew together. “Had it? How?”

“Come on, Matt. You know what I mean. Maybe there’s more going on here than we realize. Maybe she’s fed up with him on more levels than just the affair he had so long ago. Maybe she’s decided she’s not going to take it anymore.”

“Take it? Take what?”

“You know. Him. Your dad. The way he is, like he thinks he runs the world or something. Maybe she’s left him for good this time.”

He gaped. “You mean divorce?”

“I do, yeah.”

“Hell, no.” He said it fast. Too fast.

“But, Matt—”

He put up a hand. “Uh-uh. No way—yeah, okay. They’re living apart. Temporarily. But making it permanent? Never going to happen. Divorce is…not who they are. They’re solid, married more than thirty years. They would never split up for good.”

Although she thought he was in serious denial, Corrine resisted the urge to keep arguing the point. Really, what did she know about marriage and how a good one works? Her dad had abandoned her and her mother when Corrine was nine. Her mom had never remarried.

And Corrine herself had yet to take the plunge. Although she was about to, with Bob.

Bob…

Corrine smiled to herself. Sometimes she could hardly believe it was really happening. She was getting married at last. To a minister, of all people—a very special kind of minister. The kind who never judged or acted superior.

Bob’s church, the New Life Unification Church, was open to people of all beliefs and faiths. Corrine, never much of a churchgoer before, had gone to New Life after her mom died in search of comfort mostly. A girlfriend had sworn she would love it there. And she had. Slowly, she’d gotten to know the pastor, never guessing at the time that Bob would turn out to be the man for her.

She glanced down at the diamond on her finger. It wasn’t big or flashy. But it gave off a nice sparkle in the light from the fire. And Bob was such a good man, generous, sweet and true…

Matt shifted in his chair. She looked up into his gray eyes and they shared a smile.

“So what else you got here?” He gestured at the bottles between them.

“You’ll end up drunk if you don’t watch it.”

“It’ll do me good to loosen up a little.” He held out his empty glass. “I’m a stick-up-the-ass corporate guy, remember?”

She winced. “Did I call you that?”

“To my face. More than once.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. You know that. More wine.”

“A modest little cabernet, maybe?”

“Pour.”

Matt could have sat in that chair across from Corrie forever.

They tried more of the wines. A pinot noir and something Spanish. They talked and laughed. An hour went by.

Two.

Three…

Matt was having a good time. A great time—but then, except for a while there after she told him she was pregnant, he always did have a good time with Corrie. Sometimes lately, when he brought Kira home at the end of the weekend, he would find himself wishing he didn’t have to leave.

Corrie’s house was in an older neighborhood with lots of big, mature oaks. It had been her mom’s house before Kathleen Lonnigan died and left it to her only daughter. It was nothing fancy, but it sure was comfortable, cheery and cozy, the furniture a little worn. Lived-in. In the past couple of years, since she lost her mom, Corrie had put her own stamp on it, things like fifties-style lamps and bright, geometrical-patterned rugs on the scuffed hardwood floors.

Tonight, with the fire going and too much wine making him feel all sentimental and pleasantly fuzzy, he kept thinking of that first night he met Corrie. It was almost six years ago now.

He’d been twenty-four. It was the night he came home from the University of Chicago with an MBA in finance. He went out clubbing to celebrate the milestone and ended up at Armadillo Rose, where he went crazy for the bartender. Until then, he’d never gone crazy over anyone. He wasn’t the crazy type.

If he closed his eyes now, he could almost see her, the way she looked that night. Her blue eyes inviting him, that blond hair their daughter had inherited hanging over one eye. In painted-on jeans and a skimpy tube top that showed her navel ring. She’d danced on the bar that night. And he’d known he had to have her…

“Matt?”

“Um?”

“You falling asleep on me?”

He scrubbed his hands down his face, shook his head to clear the fuzziness and dragged himself up straighter in the chair. “What time is it?”

“After two.”

“Impossible.”

“But true.”

“I should get going.” He ordered his body to drag itself upright. But before he could actually make that happen, she got up and circled the coffee table to stand above him. He squinted up at her. “Huh?”

She leaned down and put her hands on his shoulders. Those blue eyes were so serious and she was frowning. “No way you’re driving anywhere tonight.” She captured his hand. “Come on. You can have the spare room.”

He liked the feel of her hand in his and also the way the firelight made her hair shine like spun gold. “Naw.”

She tugged on his fingers. “Get up, Matt.”

“I’m fine here. Really. You go ahead to bed, I’ll just sit here and…enjoy the fire.”

“Uh-uh. I know you. You’ll snooze for a while and then get up and go. It’s not a good idea.” She pulled on his hand some more. “Come on with me now. You can make it up the stairs.”

“Acourse I can make it. The question is do I want to make it?”

“You’re going.” She spoke flatly, bracing her free hand on her hip.

He opened his mouth to tell her he wasn’t. But then he shut it without a word. He could see that she’d made up her mind. Corrie’s mind was one thing a man had no hope of changing. Not once it was made up anyway.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” She yanked on his hand for the third time.

“Corrie.”

“What?”

“I’m a little high, yeah, but I’m not totally whacked. I can get up and walk up those stairs just fine on my own.”

“Well, all right. Let’s go.”

He let her pull him up. Then, gently, he extricated his hand from her grip. “I’m going, all right?”

“So go.”

He went. Halfway up the stairs, he realized she wasn’t behind him. He glanced back. She was turning off the fireplace and switching out the lamps. He waited until she started coming up and then he went the rest of the way to the top and down the upstairs hall into the guest room, where she caught up with him. She flipped the switch by the door and the room became blindingly bright.

He blinked against the glare. “Ouch. Do we really need that light?” He aimed himself at the bed.

She grabbed his arm and pushed him down into a chair. “Stay there. I’ll change the sheets.” She started stripping the bed.

He considered the strangeness of that. The bed had been all made up, but she was taking it apart? “What’re you doing?”

She shook the pillows out of their pillowcases. “Getting you fresh sheets. Bob stayed over last week and I never got around to changing them.”

It took him about five seconds to process that, but his fuzzy mind finally picked up her meaning. “Hold on. Pastor Bob slept in here?”

She had the blankets off and the sheets gathered up in her arms by then. “Yeah. So?”

He frowned in thought. “But you and Bob…you’re engaged.”

Her mouth was kind of pinched up. “Is there a point that you’re making?”

“Well, it’s only…I mean, why wasn’t he sleeping with you?”

She only looked at him. Her expression did not invite further comment.

He hit himself on the forehead with the heel of his hand and commented anyway. “Got it. You and Bob don’t sleep together. Right?”

Again, she said nothing.

So he asked, “Why not?” He couldn’t imagine being engaged to Corrie and not having sex with her. What would be the point?

Her chin hitched higher. “Not that it’s any of your business, but if you have to know, Bob has certain principles.”

“And by that you mean?”

She answered reluctantly. “We’re waiting.”

“Waiting.” He pondered the word. “For…Moses to part the waters? For the second coming of…”

She shut him up with a look. Corrie had a talent with the looks. “If you know what’s good for you, Matthew, you’ll stop mocking what I have with Bob.”

Okay, yeah. He was a little juiced. But he did know what was good for him and getting Corrie mad wasn’t it. “Okey-dokey,” he answered cheerfully. Then he slumped back in the chair, leaned his head against the wall and shut his eyes.

He heard her hustle off. A moment later, she was back and bustling around over by the bed. He let his eyes drift open just as she bent to smooth the elastic on the bottom sheet. It was a great view. She had a beautiful, heart-shaped ass. And also this incredibly sexy tattoo of red roses and black vines that curled diagonally up out of her jeans from the left, across her lower back and halfway around the right side of her waist. From where he sat he could only see a section of it, between the top of her jeans and where her sweater rode up. He hadn’t seen all of it in much too long…

Corrie had a sixth sense as to when a man was looking. Probably from dealing with an endless chain of horny, drunken fools at Armadillo Rose. She glanced back over her shoulder and caught him staring.

“Oops,” he said with a slow grin.

“You are hopeless, you know that?”

“Yep. I am. Completely hopeless.” He tried to look pitiful.

She fired the pillows and a pair of pillowcases at him. “Make yourself useful.”

He put the pillowcases on the pillows. That took about a minute. Then he got up and went to help her tuck the blankets in—just to prove he was more than willing to do his share.

Not that she needed any help. With swift efficiency, she folded and tucked and smoothed. He ended up kind of following her around the bed, tucking what she’d already smoothed, kidding her by bumping against her—with his shoulder and then with his hip.

“Will you cut it out?” She snorted the words through a half-stifled laugh.

He bumped her again. She made a sharp noise in her throat and straightened to fold her arms across her middle. He straightened with her.

“What am I going to do about you?” She was trying really hard to look disgusted.

They were very close—nose to nose. He found he was getting kind of lost in her eyes. “Blue, deep blue,” he heard himself murmur. “I’ve always loved your eyes. I’m glad Kira got them…”

“Cut it out, Matt.” The words said one thing, but the softness of her lips and her breathless tone said another.

He had the wildest feeling that if he tried to kiss her, she just might let him. It was probably no more than a drunken delusion. They didn’t kiss anymore, not ever, except for the occasional friends-only peck on the cheek.

And yet. As he looked in those jewel-blue eyes, he couldn’t help thinking that she was thinking the same thing he was thinking.

A kiss. What would a kiss hurt?

Soon she would marry Bob Thompson, who actually was a decent guy, damn it, and the possibility of Matt’s ever kissing her again—ever really kissing her—would diminish exponentially. Funny, but he hadn’t thought about that until right now, half-blitzed in her spare room in the middle of the night, staring into those eyes that his daughter had inherited. Those beautiful, crystal-clear, sapphire-blue eyes…

Never to kiss Corrie again.

Uh-uh. It wasn’t right. Wasn’t possible.

Possible. Yeah. That was the word, wasn’t it? That was the thing, the simple possibility. She was not only getting married, she was taking away all the possibilities between them. Just wiping their slate clean. Bare. Empty.

What they were now—good friends, co-parents—that would be the extent of it. If it ever might have been more again, it never would.

“Matt?” She whispered his name. She sounded even more breathless than a moment ago.

He decided not to answer her. Not with words anyway. He only had to bend his head and his lips touched hers.

“Matt…” She said his name against his mouth. There was tenderness in the way she said it. And confusion. And heat, too.

He focused on the heat. He reached out and pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her, turning the brushing kiss into something deeper.

Something hotter.

It was so good, the heat. The wanting. He’d missed it more than he’d realized. For way too many years.

She put her hands against his chest, pulled her mouth from his. “Matt. No.”

No.

It was the word a man had zero right to ignore. But he did ignore it—at first. The bed was right there, freshly made, waiting for them. He took her down onto the softness. And he kissed her again, pressing her into the mattress, feeling the shape of her beneath him, so womanly and warm, so well-remembered.

And in spite of that “no,” she was kissing him back, sucking his tongue into her mouth, pushing her hips against him, running her hands up under the sweater he wore. She was acting like no was the last thing she was thinking.

He wanted to believe that. He wanted to believe her kiss and her curvy body moving against him, wanted to forget that a few moments ago, she had told him to stop.

But in the end, he couldn’t forget it. It was only right to make sure.

Yeah, he wanted her. Bad. But even half-plowed, he knew that her “no” couldn’t be allowed to stand. She had to admit she wanted him, too.

Either that, or they had to stop.

Somehow, he made himself break the hungry kiss. He braced up on his hands and he stared down at her, with her blond hair wild around her pretty face, her mouth wet and red and so damn tempting.

“No?” He dared her. “Did you say no?”

She called him a very bad word, fisted her fingers up into his hair and tried to yank his mouth down on hers again.

He winced as she pulled his hair, but he didn’t give in. “Answer the question, Corrie.”

She growled low in her throat and gave another yank. That time he let her pull him close. “Shut up,” she said against his lips and kissed him again.

He dragged his mouth away for the second time, caught her wrist, pinned them to the pillow on either side of her head. “Just say yes. Say yes or we can’t—”

“Yes, all right? Yes.” She hissed the word.

“Well.” He stared down at her, satisfied. And aroused, too. She felt just right beneath him. And he was so hard for her. Like a rock, despite drinking more wine than he should have. He bent, nuzzled her neck, muttered roughly against her throat, “That’s good. That’s perfect.”

He raised his head again so he could watch her face as he pressed his hips hard against her. She moaned and lifted up, pressing back, showing him her willingness, her desire. Her sapphire eyes went to midnight, the softest, deepest kind of darkness.

She whispered his name. “Matt. Oh, Matt…”

The rest was like a dream he’d been waiting almost six years to have again.

They kissed. Endless, amazing kisses. They pulled at each others’ clothes, unbuttoning, unzipping, pushing everything off.

And then they were naked. Her skin was hot silk. He rolled her under him and she wrapped her legs around him. He sank into her heat and sweetness.

It couldn’t be happening.

But it was.

He was making love to Corrie. Again.

At last.

Chapter Two

Corrine couldn’t believe it.

She could not believe what she’d just done. There was no excuse. Absolutely none.

She thought of Bob—his open smile, his trusting heart…

Oh, God, please, she prayed. Let this all be a dream. Let me not be a cheater.

But it was no dream. And she was a cheater. She had done it, betrayed Bob. Corrine shut her eyes tight. She wished she would never have to open them.

But then she couldn’t keep them closed. She turned her head cautiously to look at Matt. He lay on his back. His eyes were shut. He seemed to be smiling.

Smiling.

He’d just helped her ruin her life—and he was smiling.

She breathed in deep and let it out slowly. She reminded herself that there was nothing to be gained by yelling at him, or by slapping that ridiculous smile right off his face. He’d only given her exactly what she’d asked for.

What he’d made her ask for…

A hot flush flowed up her cheeks as she remembered the way he had made her say yes. He hadn’t even left her the comfort of blaming him. He’d made her admit she was willing. More than willing. He’d made her admit she wanted it. Bad.

“Matt.” She spoke softly, her teeth firmly gritted.

He didn’t answer, didn’t turn his head her way, didn’t even open his eyes.

She got up on an elbow and gave his shoulder a gentle shake. “Matt.”

That was when he started snoring. A soft, contented sort of snore. And he was still smiling.

She watched in outrage as he turned to his side facing the far wall. He tugged the covers up under his chin with a happy little sigh. Oh, how she longed to shake him some more. And not gently this time. The least he could do was to stay awake and talk to her about the whopper of a mistake the two of them had just made.

But no. He was sleeping peacefully. And she was left to stew on her own.

She pushed back the blankets and jumped to her feet. He didn’t move—and she hadn’t left the bed all that carefully, either. She stood there naked, glaring down at him, thinking about how much she longed to wake him up and tell him what a total jerk he was for kissing her in the first place when he knew damn well that she was an engaged woman. And not only for kissing her, but for not simply stopping when she said no. For kissing her long and hard, until she was willing to say anything to get him to keep kissing her.

And then, most of all, for the rest of it. Which had been fabulous. Damn it.

Corrine put her hands to her burning cheeks. Somehow, that was the worst of it, that she had liked it so much. That she’d pulled him back down on top of her and started ripping off his clothes. That when he was inside her, she had sunk her teeth into his shoulder and cried out at how good it felt.

That she had come.

Twice.

No. She wasn’t going to wake him up. If she did, she would definitely end up yelling at him. And that would wake Kira and that wouldn’t be good.

So she scrambled around gathering up her clothes, which strangely had ended up flung into all four corners of the room. Her panties were out in the upstairs hall, for crying out loud. One of them must have thrown them there. The door was wide open, the overhead light still on.

God. Kira. She could have so easily gotten up and come down the hall and seen them. Corrine covered her face and whimpered in self-disgust at the very idea. But only for a moment. Whimpering, after all, wasn’t going to do any good. She’d done what she’d done and now she was going to have to figure out what to do next.

She thought of her mom, her stomach knotting in sadness and longing. Kathleen Lonnigan had been the soul of practicality. If she was there now, she’d probably say something like, Well, baby. That was stupid. But time only moves forward and there’s no one yet that can change the past. Right now, you just put one foot in front of the other. Keep moving forward and do what needs doing.

So all right. It was one-foot-in-front-of-the-other time. She went and got the panties and put them on and then put on everything else. She turned off the light and closed the door quietly as she left the room. On tiptoe, she went down the hall and checked on Kira, who was sound asleep. The sight of that—of her daughter sleeping—made her feel marginally better. No kid who had just seen her parents naked could sleep so peacefully, smiling like a little angel.

Corrine went downstairs. She cleared away the mess from the wine-tasting party. By the time she finished that, it was after four. She trudged up the stairs again to her own room, shed her clothes for the second time that night, pulled on her favorite sleep shirt and dropped into bed. Lucky for her she was really, really tired. Too tired, even, to stare at the ceiling and think about how much she despised herself.

She rolled to her side, tucked her hands under her head and slept.

When she woke, it was daylight. Matt was standing over her, wearing the khaki trousers and wool sweater she’d ripped off of him the night before, looking worried. At least he was holding out her favorite mug and a delicious trail of coffee-scented steam was curling upward from it.

Corrine started to reach for the mug, but then she looked at the clock. It was nine forty-five. She let out a screech and threw back the covers.

“Relax.” He steadied the mug with his free hand. “I gave her breakfast and took her to school.”

She blinked. “You did?”

The worried look became a sheepish one. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You’re late for work.”

“Yeah.”

“You’re never late for work.”

He shrugged. “I called the office. They’ll get along without me until lunch time.”

Corrine flipped the covers back over her bare legs and plumped the pillows so she could lean against them. “Give me that coffee.”

“You promise not to throw it in my face?”

“Don’t tempt me. The coffee. Now.” With care, he handed it over. “Thanks,” she said grudgingly.

He backed up and sat in the chair in the corner. For a minute or two, they just stared at each other. He seemed to have no more idea of what to say than she did.

But in the end, he spoke first. “Look, as far as I’m concerned, it was the wine, that’s all.”

She wanted to believe him. She wanted that so badly. And hey, it probably was just the wine as far as he was concerned. Something he could blow off as lowered inhibitions and bad judgment.

For her, well, it was much worse. What they’d done called everything into question. It made her a liar on too many levels. To Bob—and somehow even worse than that, to herself.

She sipped the coffee. “Yeah. A big mistake, all that wine.”

He raked his fingers back through his spiky brown hair. “Stupid.”

She sipped again. “Beyond dumb.”

Another silence. Then he said, “And no one has to know about it. We can agree that it never happened.”

Easy enough for him to say. He wasn’t the one with an engagement ring on his finger. The closest he’d ever come to an engagement was his on-again, off-again relationship with Tabby Ellison, the daughter of one of Aleta’s Phi Beta Something-or-Other girlfriends from college. Tabby was beautiful and rich and traveled in the same social circle as the Bravos. She would have made Matt a very suitable wife. If only Matt wanted to settle down.

But he didn’t. Never had. Matt wasn’t a ladykiller type or anything. He just didn’t particularly want to get married. He wasn’t ready for that, he said, seeming to mean that he would be. Eventually. Maybe that was true. And in four or five years, whenever that “right” time finally came around, he and Tabby would have a country club wedding and then Tabby would produce a couple of little darlings destined to grow up rich and very spoiled.

“Corrie, did you hear me?”

She puffed out her cheeks as she sighed. “Yeah. I heard you. And I can’t do it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. Bob has to know.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.” He made a low, pained sound in his throat and rubbed at his temples.

She felt a certain…tenderness toward him. Okay, he’d started it last night. And he’d been more than happy to finish it after he got that yes out of her. Then he’d dropped off to sleep instead of staying awake so she could yell at him.

But this morning, he’d fed their daughter and driven her to school. And then he’d come in here to deal face-to-face with the mess they’d just made. He hadn’t tried to slink away. She had to give him credit for that at least.

Softly, she offered, “There’s aspirin in the kitchen cabinet, on top, to the right of the sink.”

He let his hands drop. “I know, thanks.”

“Did you take some?”

“I’m fine, damn it.” He hung his head. He looked so forlorn, she could almost feel sorry for him—and did that make her a total sucker or what? She leaned back into the pillows and concentrated on getting more caffeine down. Several minutes passed. He slumped in the chair, looking at the floor, and she finished up the big mug of coffee. She was about to tell him they’d said all there was to say and he could go when he lifted his head and said, “I have to ask this.”

What now? She set the mug on the night stand.

“I don’t suppose you’re on the pill or anything?”

On the pill…

Corrine’s stomach did the strangest thing. It lurched, hard. As if the bottom had just dropped out of her world. She carefully smoothed the edge of the sheet over the blankets. Until he’d asked that question, she’d thought things couldn’t get much worse.

Wrong.

She’d not only had sex with him when she was engaged to someone else, she’d had unprotected sex with him.

“Corrie, did you hear me?”

“Of course I heard you.”

“Well?”

“No,” she made herself admit. “I’m not on the pill. Or anything.”

Matt said some swearwords. Several. “It’s déjà vu all over again.”

“What are you talking about?” She demanded, as if she didn’t know.

“It’s how you got pregnant with Kira.”

She wanted to throw something at him, just for saying that out loud. “I’m not pregnant.”

“How can you be sure? What about that Plan B thing they have now? Maybe you should—”

“Take my word for it. I don’t need to load my body up with a bunch of hormones.”

“Corrie…”

“It’s the wrong time of the month, okay?” And, oh, she was so very glad about that. Her cycles had always been regular, her period right on time, every twenty-eight days. Her period had ended Saturday. Last time, with Kira, it had been the right time of the month. And there had been no Plan B back then. This time, there was nothing to worry about—except for how rotten, disloyal and irresponsible she’d been.

“You do seem certain.” He looked relieved. She nodded. Firmly. “I promise you, Matt. I’m not pregnant.”

Armadillo Rose was closed Sundays and Mondays. But there were bills to pay, orders to make and deliveries to take. Corrine went to the bar at eleven that morning and stayed till three. While she worked, she kept seeing Bob’s kind face, those soft brown eyes of his, his warm, generous smile that could light up a dark room, his gentle voice, the way he always knew to say just the right thing.

She called Matt on his cell before she left the Rose. “I kept Kira in day care today. Can you pick her up at five at the school? I would ask Sandra to do an extra night, but she’s in Dallas visiting her mom until tomorrow.” Sandra Yee sat with Kira four nights a week while Corrine worked and was usually willing to take an extra night now and then.

“No problem.” He didn’t even ask what was going on. He’d probably already guessed. “You want me to keep her overnight?”

“No. I’ll come and get her later, by nine or so at the latest. If that’s okay?”

“I’m on it. No worries.”

No worries. She wished.

She started to call Bob next. But she stopped mid-dial. Barring some emergency, he would be in his office at home, beginning work on his message for next Sunday’s services. She decided she would just go to him.

In no time, it seemed, she was pulling into his street on the far west side, an area of starter homes not far from Lackland Air Force Base. She parked at the curb and went up the concrete walk, half hoping he wouldn’t be home, that something might have come up to make him change his routine: a parishioner in need of counseling, an unexpected meeting of one committee or another. Which made her not only a cheater, but a coward as well, longing for any excuse to put off telling him what he needed to know.

But she got no reprieve. When she knocked, he answered, his face lighting up with a big smile of welcome. “Corrine. What a surprise.”

She gulped. “If it’s a bad time…”

“Are you kidding? I’m always happy to be interrupted by you. Especially today.” Mondays were the worst for him, when he started on a new message for the next week.

“Having trouble with the sermon?”

“Yeah. I’m a little stuck, I confess. I get this feeling sometimes that I’ve already said all I have to say on a topic.”

“You say that every week.”

“And it’s true every week.”

“You’ll think of something. You always do. Your sermons are wonderful.”

He beamed. “How is it you always make me feel that I can do anything?”

She beamed back. Or she tried to. “What’s the topic?”

“Sin and forgiveness.”

She wanted to sink through the front step, just melt right down through the concrete all the way to the other side of the world. She babbled inanely, “Ah. Forgiveness. Well…”

“Come on in.” He stepped back. Reluctantly, she moved forward. When he canted his face toward her for a kiss, she wanted to blurt it all out right then and there. But she said nothing, only brushed her lips against his, feeling like Judas at the Last Supper. Or maybe Cain stabbing Abel. He offered, “Want some coffee?”

“Uh, no. Thanks. I just, well, I needed to talk to you.”

“Anytime. Always.” He led her into the living room and sat next to her on the striped brown and tan couch. He took her hand between both of his. “Now. What’s up?”

Gently, she pulled her hand free. “I…” God. Where to begin? How to tell this kind, gentle, trusting man that she’d gotten drunk last night and ended up in bed with Matt?

He touched her hair, one light stroke and then he pulled away. “Corrine. Are you all right?”

There was no use in stalling. It was cruel enough, what she’d done. This stuttering around over it was only compounding the awfulness.

She opened her mouth. “I…” And it came out all in a rush, one long ugly word. “IhadsexwithMattlastnight.”

Bob said nothing. For the longest time he only stared at her, uncomprehending. Finally, he whispered, “No.”

She bit her lip. Hard. And she nodded. “Yeah. I did. It was…” Excuses tumbled over themselves inside her head. I was drunk. I didn’t know what I was doing. I don’t know how it happened…

Corrine didn’t say any of them. There was no excuse. She’d done wrong. Way wrong. Period.

Softly, he prompted, “It was what?”

She closed her eyes, shook her head. “All my fault. My…decision.”

A long silence. At last he said, “I see.”

She shook her head, hard. “No. No, I don’t think you do. You’re a wonderful man. A truly good man. You would never do something like that to me.”

“Corrine…” His voice trailed off.

She watched his face, read his expression. He was trying to think of something gentle and wise to say. She spoke first. “It’s not going to work with us, is it, Bob? We’re not right for each other. You need a nicer girl than I’ll ever be. And I need…oh, I’m not sure. But if what I needed was you, I would never have done what I did. I’m only sorry I couldn’t have figured all this out in a more…dignified way.” She took off her engagement ring and set it on the coffee table. And then she left.

He didn’t try to stop her.

Outside, she got in her car and just sat for a while, staring blindly out the windshield at the pale blue sky. When she finally got around to starting up the engine and driving away, the dashboard clock said ten after four. She could have called Matt and told him he was off the hook, that she would pick up Kira after all.

But she didn’t. She went home and made tea. Her mom had always loved a hot cup of tea. Earl Grey had been her mom’s favorite, so Corrine had Earl Grey. She drizzled honey into it, just like Kathleen would have done. And then she sipped it slowly, staring at Kira’s stickfigure drawings taped to the refrigerator, thinking of all the lovely single women at New Life Unification Church who would now get their chance at nice Pastor Bob.

It was the right thing to do, baby.

“I know it was, Mom.”

You’ll get over it.

Corrine held out her left hand, fingers spread, and stared at her empty ring finger. “I feel totally disgusted with myself. Worst of all, though, I feel relieved.”

Almost, she could hear her mother’s husky laughter. But only faintly, from far, far away.

Corrine showed up at Matt’s large, pricey house in Alamo Heights at a little after seven.

“You okay?” he asked at the front door.

She had time for a nod and a tight smile before Kira came flying in from the other room. “Mommy, where have you been?”

“Busy, very busy.” Corrine swung her up into her arms. “Big hug?”

“Yes!” Kira wrapped her arms around Corrine’s neck and squeezed. Corrine squeezed back, reveling in the bubble gum and baby powder scent of her skin and the warmth of her little body so close. But her daughter’s hugs never lasted long enough. Kira craned back, small hands on Corrine’s shoulders. “Daddy gave me s’ghetti.”

“Yum.” She smoothed Kira’s straight blond hair, kissed her silky cheek.

“Are we going home now?”

Corrine let her slide to the floor. “Yes, we are.” She flashed a falsely bright smile in Matt’s direction. “Thanks a bunch.”

He looked back at her steadily. “I’ll call you.”

“Unnecessary. Really. Kira, honey. Get your pack and your coat.” Kira skipped off toward the living room, leaving her alone with him again. “Hurry now!” She called.

Matt said, “Where’s your engagement ring?”

Corrine resisted the urge to whip her hand out of sight. “I gave it back.”

He looked kind of stricken. She took more satisfaction than she should have from that. Before he could come up with anything else to say, Kira bounced back in, her Ariel pack sliding down one arm and her white quilted coat with the pink fake-fur accents dragging the floor.

“Put on that coat,” Matt said gruffly.

Kira dimpled up at him as she dropped the pack and stuck her arms in the sleeves. “I am, Daddy.” Corrine bent to zip her up, but Kira pushed her hands away. “Mommy. I can do it myself.”

“Well, all right.” Corrine stood back and made herself wait as Kira’s inexperienced little fingers fiddled with the zipper base, trying to get the tab into the placket. She purposely kept herself from glancing Matt’s way for fear of the look she would see on his face.

A guilty look. A damn-it-Corrie-I’m-so-sorry look.

“See.” Kira zipped up and held her arms wide. “I did it myself.”

“Good job. Let’s go.”

“’Kay. Bye, Daddy.” She reached up her arms. He knelt and she hugged him and planted a big smacker right on his cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart.”

And at last, Corrine turned and opened the door again. Kira slid around her and raced for the car, backpack bobbing.

At home, there was bath time and story time and then Corrine tucked her daughter in, kissed her cheek and turned off the light as she left the room.

She’d barely made it downstairs when the phone started ringing. A glance at the display told her what she already knew: Matt. She let the machine get it.

“Come on, Corrie. Pick up…I know you’re there and you know you need a friend to talk to. Corrie. Damn it. Corrie, come on.”

Corrine left the kitchen as he hung up. The dial tone buzzed briefly before the machine clicked itself off. She went to the living room, turned on the fire and grabbed the remote.

Half an hour later, as she was watching a That ’70s Show rerun and slowly drifting off to sleep, the doorbell rang. She sat up, grabbed the remote and punched the off button.

What was the matter with that man? Hadn’t she made it crystal clear that she didn’t want to talk about it, especially not with him?

She got up and stomped to the door in her stocking feet. As she disengaged the security lock and yanked it wide, she opened her mouth to tell him in no uncertain terms that she really, truly did not want to talk about it and would he please just go home.

But it wasn’t Matt after all.

Corrine snapped her mouth shut without uttering a single word.

Aleta Bravo stood on her front step, wearing a silver-gray cashmere coat over what appeared to be a lacy black negligee. She had black satin bedroom slippers on her feet, a designer bag over one arm. And a suitcase flanking her on either side.

“I’m so sorry, Corrine. I didn’t know where else to go.”

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