Chapter 34

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

ROSIE

I’d thought the worst Christmas ever was the one after my parents died.

One month after they died, to the day.

We hadn’t put up a tree or done anything to mark the occasion, and I’d woken up in the middle of the night on Christmas Eve, a hole in my chest, because it had occurred to me that my mother would have been disappointed. So I’d taken a box out of the attic and decorated the house in the night like Buddy the Elf, except I was crying the whole time. When my brothers got up, Declan was so kind to me, and I had started laughing hysterically because I could suddenly see the whole thing from his point of view. He’d gone to bed in a normal house and woken up to three boxes’ worth of decorations gone wrong—crooked stars and half-hearted garland and a fake tree that was only half-decorated and looked like it belonged in a trash heap.

Then three of us had gotten good and drunk, and later that night, we’d gone outside to peer up at the stars.

“I vote that Declan has to clean up the Christmas crap,” Seamus had said, grinning over at me.

“Can I throw it all away when I’m done?” my big brother had said.

“Nope,” I’d said, bumping my shoulder into him. “You’ll tuck it away carefully, like a damn gentleman.”

And he had. He really had. He probably would have said Seamus was a lazy lug, because my middle brother had watched a movie with me while Declan was doing the cleaning, but I knew better.

Seamus had known what I needed—one brother to erase what I’d done, and the other to distract me from it.

Maybe he was part of what I needed right now, because this Christmas was even worse than that one had been.

Leave me and my family alone…

It kept running through my head on a loop, and each time it broke me a little more.

I’d only wanted to help Anthony…and then I’d only wanted to love him. But I’d screwed both things up. I wasn’t the cherry on anyone’s sundae. I was the blistering sun that melted the ice cream.

Claire must have asked me what was wrong at least eleven times, but my brother avoided the topic as if it were gonorrhea. Because I’d told him first thing that I’d go to New York with him. He was getting what he wanted, and he probably worried she’d talk me out of it.

Midway through the day, Joy hustled me out of the living room and asked if I wanted to make a jailbreak.

I’d denied it.

“This is about the movie star, isn’t it?” she’d asked.

I’d admitted it was, and she’d sighed and patted my hand. “I’d forgotten how much angst is woven into new love. It feels like barbed wire, doesn’t it? Well, don’t you fret. If you don’t fight, you can’t make up, and what fun would that be?”

“I don’t know if there’ll be any making up,” I’d said, the words like ash in my mouth.

“Very well. I’ll know for both of us.” Then she’d smoothed a hand down my hair and insisted that I let her run a comb through it.

I’d suggested more spiked wine, and the two of us had spent the better part of the evening more or less wasted, singing Christmas carols in the living room. We’d called Seamus, and he was in some kind of bar, or a house that looked like one. Leave it to Seamus to find a bar that was open on Christmas.

“You’re tanked, Rosie girl,” he’d said.

“Takes one to know one. Want to sing with us?”

He’d shrugged and then sung a few carols with us, but there was a glimmer of something in his eyes. I could tell he knew I wasn’t all right, even if he didn’t know why. I suspected he wouldn’t let it lie permanently, but I was content to leave that problem for another day.

Then I’d gone up to bed, slept for an hour, and spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, exhaustion and sadness pulling me under in short spurts.

I jostle awake again when a knock lands on my door. A hangover is lurking at the edges of my skull, my mouth is dry, and I’m wearing an over-sized shirt with a Christmas tree on it.

Sighing, I lift the corner of the blinds, then frown at the sky beyond it. Pretty dark still. What the…

Fear blossoms like a corpse flower in the pit of my stomach. Because I can’t imagine any good news arriving in the middle of the night.

The middle of the night is for bad news, like my parents’ accident. Like Declan telling me we needed to leave town because my uncle was dead, and someone might be coming for us…

I climb out of bed, my breath coming in fast pants that don’t give me enough oxygen, and pad over to the door. It’s dark, but my eyes have adjusted enough that I can make out the furniture and the few piles on the floor—a discarded sweater, a few books. Holding my breath, I open it. And…

I have to press the flat of my hand against the wood of the wall, because it’s Anthony. He’s wearing what looks like a thick jacket, heavy pants, and boots, and there’s a ski hat pulled over his thick brown hair.

For a second I just gape at him, because he can’t be here. Is this a dream?

But I pinch the flesh of my arm, and it hurts like a motherfucker. So I pull Anthony into the room and carefully shut the door behind him.

His gaze burns into me. I go for the light switch, but he stays my hand. It’s his right hand, bandaged to protect his injury, but his bare fingers glance off mine, and I feel them down to my bones—as if his mere touch can shake me, change me. “The electricity’s out.”

He reaches for me with his other hand, the one that’s uninjured, and I give it to him, my throat tight. His touch overwhelms all of my senses even though he’s just holding my hand—his skin freezing against mine.

What is he doing here?

How did he even get here in the snow?

My whole being seems to quake as I wait for him to tell me.

“Rosie, I’m so, so sorry,” he says, his voice thick. “I lost control in front of you, and I’m struggling to forgive myself. I’m ashamed. But when you told me that Nina was behind all of this... That you were in trouble because of me, I couldn’t bear it. But that’s no excuse for what I did or for the things I said to you. I needed to come here tonight because I had to at least wish you a merry Christmas.”

He releases me and fumbles into his coat pocket, a pair of gloves falling out, then emerges with a little wrapped box. “I got it for you at the store the other day, while you were busy looking for Claire’s gift. It’s just a little something that reminded me of you.”

My emotions stumbling over themselves, I silently take the present and set it aside. Because it’s too dark to open it, and because I have questions.

My voice shakes as I ask the first of them, and he reaches for my hand again. “ How are you here? The roads haven’t been cleared.”

He swallows. “I tried to steal a snowmobile, and when that didn’t work, I hitched a ride with a snowplow driver. He looks like Santa Claus. The whole way over, I couldn’t stop thinking about how much you’d appreciate that.”

This is all so unexpected. The pieces of my heart that didn’t want to be broken are begging for me to put them back together. It’s inconceivable that he’d do all that if he didn’t want me, isn’t it? It’s inconceivable that he did all of that, period. A few weeks ago, he’d never even cracked a peanut from its shell and let the shell fall to the floor, something he admitted to me while we were riding Sweetcheeks. Now here he is, hitchhiking across the county just so he can see me...

“Rule Breaker,” I whisper, wanting to touch him, to kiss him, to swoon. Wanting to peel the layers off of him and press kisses across his body. Wanting, desperately, for him to thrust inside of me.

No one’s ever done anything like this for me before—come for me through over half a foot of unplowed snow, in the dead of night. It’s the most romantic thing that’s ever happened to me, displacing our unicorn ride, but then his text message repeats itself in my brain, refreshing the groove it’s formed there over the last several hours.

Detaching my hand from his, I fold my arms over my chest and take a step back, leaving him with his spine to my door.

He swallows, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. “I…I guess it was impulsive. You’ve been rubbing off on me, Rosie. And that’s a good thing. It’s the best thing. I shouldn’t have turned it against you yesterday. I wasn’t myself.”

There’s something plaintive in his eyes, and I’m so full of conflicting feelings, they could split me apart. “Why are you here?” I ask, trying to sound like a hard-ass.

“My mother…she said you were leaving for New York with your brother. And I couldn’t let you go without telling you how I feel. I hated myself for letting you leave like you did yesterday. We haven’t known each other for long, Rosie, but you’ve changed my life. You make me feel…” He takes a step forward, as if he can’t help himself, and I don’t try to stop him. I want him next to me. Something flashes in his eyes, his beautiful, long-lashed eyes, and he opens his arms to me.

And even though that groove in my head is telling me this is some kind of trick, I walk into his arms, sighing with relief when he wraps them around me. We’re silent for a moment, just standing there with our arms around each other, and then he says into my hair. “You told me that I make you feel like magic could be real, and you, Rosie…you make me hope for a different future than the one I’ve been barreling toward for my whole life. I know this is crazy, and I’m sorry for it, and I’m sorry for barging in here like a maniac. If you’ve already made up your mind, I understand. But I want to be very clear about what I want. I want you . I’m going to take care of Nina, but if you still don’t feel comfortable with getting married next week, then that’s okay. I don’t want to cause any trouble for you and your family. I’m not going to marry anyone else, because I’m sick of lying to everyone, and I’m sick of lying to myself most of all.”

My heart is trying to thud its way out of my chest now, so I let my arms drop so it can do its thing. “But Anthony,” I say, my voice coming out ragged and tears welling in my eyes. “This morning you told me to leave you and your family alone. I’m only...I’m doing what you asked me to.”

“ What? ” he says in astonishment, his voice coming out louder than he probably intended. My brother’s dog gives a little yip downstairs.

I press my fingers to Anthony’s lips and he kisses them, his eyes burning into me. “I didn’t say that. I’d never say that. I can’t find my phone. I haven’t had it since I was at the hospital. Someone must have…”

“The stalker,” I say with a gasp, relieved but also worried. “Could Nina have—”

He dips his head down to me. “I guess it’s possible she could have seen me at the hospital and grabbed it, but why would she have been there in the first place? There’s a chance someone else might have taken it. Someone dangerous. Maybe you should—”

And I tip up onto my toes to kiss him, because I’ve spent all day thinking he was lost to me, and it was a lie. I’m not going to waste time letting him tell me that I should go to New York after all and leave him to deal with this shit alone. It’s not going to happen, and the circular argument would be a test of patience I don’t have.

He kisses me back with wild ferocity, a battle of lips and tongues, and backs me into the wall with a muted bang. I break away to attack his clothes, unzipping the coat, which he shrugs off.

“Your brother doesn't know I’m here,” he whispers into my lips right before I lower down and start untying the laces of his boots. “Jesus, Rosie, you don’t have to do that.”

“And you didn’t have to hitchhike across half the county to get to me.” I finish with one, help him pull the boot off, then move to the other.

“How’d you get in?” I ask as I move my hands up to unbutton his pants. He’s already straining against them, his big dick hard for me.

“I knocked on Joy’s window, and she let me in. I guess the electricity must have gone out, otherwise I would have woken up the whole house with the alarm. She had me hide in her bed because your brother came upstairs. She pretended I was her lover.” His lips twitch. “She said he didn’t need to worry if there was some noise.”

“Oh my God, go, Joy. Let’s not let her sacrifice be in vain.”

I lower his pants and underwear, freeing him, then trace the length of him with my tongue while I look up at him.

He swears and buries a big hand in my hair as I take him into my mouth. There’s no way I’m going to be able to get all of him in—I was, unfortunately, born with a very unpornstar-like gag reflex—but I take as much of him as I can, still looking up at him, because he’s staring at me in a way no other man ever has. As if he worships me.

His hand flexes in my hair, pulling at it, and sensation floods me, settling between my legs. I feel a pulse of need there, as if my whole being has become an ache that only his dick can soothe. The sounds he makes and the way his hand moves in my hair as I suck my way up and down his dick only make the ache keener.

Seconds later, he’s pulling me up.

“It didn’t feel good?” I ask.

“It felt too good,” he says. “I need to be inside you, Rosie. I need—” He punctuates this by turning me so my back is pressed to the wall and hiking up my Christmas nightshirt. The only thing I have on underneath is a pair of panties, and he pushes them down roughly, and then rubs my needy clit as he lowers his head to shower kisses on my neck, the tops of my tits. His groan is pained. “You feel so fucking good. Like a dream.”

“Let’s make it a reality,” I say, reaching for his exposed dick, still wet from my mouth.

“Do you still have those—”

“I’m on birth control, and I’m clean. I want you like this. Raw, against the wall. I need to feel every last inch of you. I want it deep, Anthony. So deep.”

He doesn’t say anything, he just makes a sound like a growl and lifts me off my feet, my back pressed to the wall. I wrap my legs around him and he leans into me, his dick rubbing against me. He still has his shirt on, his pants pushed down, and it feels delightfully dirty to have pushed him to the edge like this. To have made this formerly proper gentleman feral with need.

Supporting me with his good hand, he wraps the other around my chin and tilts it up to him so our eyes meet. “I want you to be my wife,” he says. “No one else. You.”

Pleasure bursts inside of me and swallows me up, emotion thrumming just beneath my skin. No one’s ever wanted only me before, and for it to be him…

Then he lines up his dick and thrusts inside of me in one delicious push, and I nearly orgasm on the spot. He’s so big, so good, and the feeling of him inside of me is overwhelming in the best way possible. I’m being engulfed even as I’m engulfing him, my body wrapped around him. I feel like my soul is getting as much love as my body.

I wrap my legs tighter around him, bringing him in closer on his next thrust, and he buries his head into my neck, kissing me there, sucking. Probably leaving a mark I’ll have to explain away. Both of his hands are wrapped around my ass now, his injury be damned, and he pushes me closer with each stroke of his dick.

“I want you to be my wife,” he says into my ear.

“Yes,” I hiss. “Yes,” because right now it feels like it’s the only word left in my vocabulary. This whole thing is insane and impractical, and I don’t care. I want this. I want him.

He strokes into me again, his eyes on me and then leans in and kisses me, and it’s then, with his tongue inside of my mouth and his dick bottoming out, so deep inside of me, that I feel myself going over the edge. My whole body spasms around him, and I can feel him coming too as he pushes in with a final stroke, his hands tightening around my ass.

“Oh my God,” I say as he buries his head into my shoulder again. He’s still inside of me, and I don’t want him to leave. I don’t want him to leave.

But a second later he’s pulling out. And then he sets me on my shaky feet and leans down to press a kiss to my mouth. “You’re a miracle.”

I feel a strange press of neediness. Of wanting to hear him say that he loves me. That he doesn’t only want to marry me because he has to get married and he’d like to keep fucking me.

He smooths my hair with his fingertips, totally unselfconscious of his dishevelment. And I also want to tell him that he should stay. That we’ll figure out what to say to everyone in the morning, and maybe Declan won’t even be all that upset. After all, my brothers want me to be happy.

But Anthony kisses me forehead and then says, “We can’t be seen together right now. We need to let this person think they’ve won, Rosie. If they don’t think we’re together, they’ll leave you alone.”

“For how long?” I ask, my heart and my body very much disliking the thought. He’s right, though. Whoever this person is, they’re playing games with us, and you can’t win a game if you refuse to play.

“I don’t know,” he says, sounding frustrated.

“We’re meeting Nina and Wilson at the Peanut Bar. Together. That’s non-negotiable.”

“I think they want to meet up on Thursday now.”

“Oh, good. So we won’t miss Thirsty Thursday.”

He grins. “Dom got to you too, huh?” Then his smile slips. “I’m going to be the one who deals with Nina,” he adds, his tone stubborn. But I’m stubborn as hell too, and he’d better realize that now.

“You think you’re the only person who wants a piece of her?”

His lips twitch, but he says, “I’m not going to let her or anyone else hurt you.”

“Good, I’m glad we’re on the same page. Because I’m not going to let that bitch hurt you anymore either. It’s not happening.”

His smile spreads and he runs his fingers down my cheek. “You sound like my mother.”

“I’m going to assume you mean that as a compliment.”

“I do. She and I had a talk. I spoke with my sister too. She came home for Christmas.”

I feel a tug of longing for Seamus, alone in that shitty bar. “I want to hear all about it.”

“I—”

Suddenly, a very loud horn blows into the night air—once, twice.

Anthony swears under his breath. “I’ve got to go. That’s my ride.”

“I need much more information about this.”

Consternation crosses his face as he starts fixing his clothes and then gets down to pull on his boots. “And I need your number. I can use my mother’s phone to call you. Or borrow Emma’s.”

My mind working fast, I grab a pen off my desk and bend to write it on his hand as he finishes lacing his second boot.

He catches my hand. “My shirt. The writing is less likely to smear.”

“It’s not Armani, is it?” I ask, hesitating. It’s a regular seeming, long-sleeved shirt, but who knows with his family.

“No.”

I start writing, the pen gliding over the fabric, when he says, “It’s Versace. Write your email address too. I want to sign you up for a dozen newsletters.”

I’m laughing as I finish, hoping to God he’s kidding, and he kisses me once before glancing at the window.

“You’ll have to use the front door, Romeo. Joy covered for you, so you’re good unless my brother decides her 2 a.m. visitor needs a come-to-Jesus moment.”

Conflict fills his face. “I don’t like coming and going like this, like a thief in the night. I want to have a man-to-man talk with your brother.”

Warmth fills me, but I’m no idiot. I shove him toward the door. “That’s lovely, and probably the sweetest thing any man’s wanted to do for me. But I really don’t want you to get a fist in your pretty face, and if you go to my brother’s door in the middle of the night, smelling like sex, and tell him you want to marry me, I don’t see it going well for anyone. Actually, let’s get Joy to go down with you. I don’t think my brother would try an interception if she’s with you.”

“I don’t like this,” he says, his jaw firm. “We’re not doing anything wrong.”

“I know. But let’s keep doing things right.” I get on my tiptoes and kiss his jaw, then pull him into the hall.

I don’t like it either, but everything is one hundred percent better than it was an hour ago. Turns out Santa didn’t betray me after all.

Joy answers her door so quickly, she must have been waiting behind it in her pajamas. With a joint, judging by the smell.

We must look like we just fucked against a wall, because she beams at us.

“My positive visualizations worked,” she says in an undertone.

I’d prefer not to think about what she’s been visualizing.

But there’s a sound from downstairs, followed by a yip of my brother’s dog, and Joy motions furiously for us to come into her room.

We hustle inside, the floor creaking under our feet, and Joy whispers to Anthony, “I’m afraid you’ll have to go out the way you came in.”

He glances at me with a smile. “Might as well break my back before I hit middle-age. I’ve been told I’m going to fall apart anyway.”

“You’re thirty-three,” Joy scoffs. “You’re barely more than a child.”

“Climbing out of windows and sneaking around does have a way of making a man feel young again.”

He pulls me to him again, kisses me quickly, and then opens the window and climbs out, the cold air puffing inside after him. Joy and I gather at the window and watch him go, my heart thumping fast because I'm not sure the scaffolding my brother nailed to the house can take it. It certainly wasn’t designed with a six-foot-tall man in mind.

But he gets down safely, then looks up at us and executes a perfect bow. I mime fainting, blow him a kiss, and he disappears into the sea of white.