Читать книгу Christmas in His Bed: Talking in Your Sleep... / Unwrapped / Kiss & Tell - Carrie Alexander - Страница 15

JOY SAT IN THE MEETING, trying to concentrate, but her focus was not on the job at hand. She made eye contact with Ken, nodded, scribbled down a note, and then her thoughts wandered off. She couldn’t wait for this endless meeting to cease. Who really cared about what colors of certain toys sold better than others? Did she?

Not really.

However, she did care about being able to pay her mortgage, so she made another effort, listening intently to what was being said, only to find her mind drifting off yet again.

The routine tasks in her work bored her to death, if she were to be completely honest. She had more important things to think about, like the fund-raising event at Second Chance. Pam had loved the idea, but they were all busting their backsides to make it work—it was five days to Christmas and counting.

Christmas had suddenly taken over her life. Rafe was decorating everything in sight—including her, she thought naughtily, knowing she’d never think about frosting the same way again.

Along with Pam, they were throwing a Christmas bash at the shelter for the community at large, as well as businesses and organizations they wanted to reconnect with. It was a more personal way to put a kibosh on the rumors that might be spreading about Pam and to show how much good the place did in the community. Joy knew people would be impressed if they came and saw the place, met Pam and met the people who lived there.

She had so much to do to get ready. She also had to polish her final presentation for her official interview with the board for the promotion, and yet she found herself curiously less excited about that prospect. With Rafe, the holidays, Second Chance … there was so much going on, she was losing track of her priorities, she thought. Or they were shifting, which was a much more disconcerting prospect. She’d always known what she wanted, hadn’t she? Rafe was showing her a whole other side to herself that made her think maybe she should want more.

Between the sheets of paper that comprised her notes, she sneaked out her list of people to contact, reviewing it, strategizing the best way to approach each one. She planned to purchase formal invitations—bought with her own money—to send in the mail as well. She didn’t plan on accepting a refusal from anyone, if it meant she had to drive them to the party herself.

For the first time in as long as she could remember, she had an attitude resembling Christmas spirit. A sense of anticipation was in the air, though she knew that was mostly due to the prospect of seeing Rafe soon. They’d spent a cuddly night together the evening before, and she’d slept better than ever, wrapped up in Rafe’s arms as he stroked her back. No dreams had come to her—she’d been so exhausted that she had been too tired to dream. Unfortunately, she’d apparently been too tired for anything else, as well.

When she’d awakened, Rafe had been propped up in bed, fully clothed, reading. He’d had shadows under his eyes, and she knew he hadn’t slept. For the first time, she’d realized the extent of his problem—people talked about losing sleep, having insomnia, but she realized that Rafe really was awake, all day and then all night, unable to sleep. She couldn’t imagine it. How did he maintain any energy at all? Yet he’d gotten out of bed and had gone for a run as she’d left for work. Astonishing.

He’d left her with a kiss so hot she could still taste him; she closed her eyes and relived the moment. She wanted to rock his world, to ride him into exhaustion and give him the best night’s sleep of his life—it had become a personal goal.

She grinned secretly as she played out the naughty fantasy in her mind, imagining what it might take to exhaust Rafe. When a vibration buzzed softly in the pocket of her suit jacket, she jumped, emitting a little squeak of surprise, her face flooding with heat as everyone turned to look at her.

She plucked the cell phone out, smiling in apology and peeking at the most recent hot text message from Rafe. He’d been sending them all morning, part of his “all-day foreplay” plan. It certainly had spiced up her day, that was for sure.

Reading the current message, she wiggled a little in her chair, completely blanking out on the fact that she was being addressed.

“Joy? Are you with us?”

She blinked, setting the cell phone down on the table. Then realizing the people next to her might see the text message, she quickly snatched it up, fumbling it in her fingers, nearly sending it spinning across the table. Holding her breath, she managed to finally stick the phone back into her jacket pocket as it started vibrating again.

When she looked up, she saw that Ken was watching her impatiently.

She hadn’t been caught in a situation like this since she’d been bold enough to pass notes in fifth grade and had had hers read aloud to the class. She wondered if Ken would have read her text message aloud if he’d grabbed her phone, and her naughty smile twitched again.

“I’m sorry, what?”

Ken cleared his throat. “I know it’s the holiday and everyone is distracted, but I asked if you had worked out the media campaign for the Pearson project?”

“Oh, yes, of course,” she said, pulling herself together and distributing her copies around the room, then quickly starting to review the main points, when Ken interrupted her.

“Joy,” he started, and she looked up quickly.

“Yes?”

“What is this? This isn’t the right paperwork.”

She glanced down and realized that she’d made copies of the party-planning list for the shelter, not her media plan.

“Oh, I’m sorry—this is for another project….” she apologized, her naughty humor disappearing as she gathered the papers. “I can go over the budget verbally, I know it like the back of my hand, I’m so sorry for this, there’s a lot going on this time of year you know—”

“What project is this? I didn’t know we were planning a Christmas event,” he inquired.

“It’s pro bono work for a homeless shelter on the north side.”

Ken looked completely baffled. “Pro bono? What do you mean pro bono? We don’t do pro bono.”

“It’s a personal project.”

“How much time have you been putting into it?”

“It’s on my own time—I’m running event organization for them. It hasn’t cost you anything,” she reassured, trying not to sound too biting.

“Apparently, it costs us your focus on our work, and the projects we’ve put in your lap, I’d say,” Ken offered, and she sighed, having no real answer to that.

“You’re right. Sorry.” Yet was she? She didn’t feel sorry. She felt annoyed. She irrationally wanted to tell Ken to cram it, but she knew he was right.

“Well, mistakes happen. You can tell us the high points of the media plan, and we’ll want copies directly after the meeting.”

She didn’t know how she managed to do it, but she did, and when the meeting was over, she couldn’t have been more relieved. Ken didn’t leave the room, however, but went over to the door, closing it before she had a chance to escape. Shit.

“Ken, really, I’m sorry but—”

“Joy, you’re one of our best. Maybe the best among your peers at the moment.”

She hadn’t seen that coming and blinked. “Um, thanks.”

“I mean it. You’re a strong contender for the new position, certainly the most qualified, but the question I need to ask you, is this the best job for you?”

“What?”

“There’s no debating you’re good at this work, Joy, but do you really want to do it for the rest of your life? The new position will take up even more of your time and energy, and while I don’t doubt that you have the mind and the talent for it, I do wonder if you have passion.”

“Passion?”

“Yes. You’re good at what you do, but I don’t often see you excited about it. Lately, that’s even more evident. I’ve worked with you for a while now, and you’re competent, efficient, but … it’s like you’re still holding something back. Honestly, if I had to choose, I’d go with someone who had more passion and fewer qualifications, because passion is what takes you the distance.”

She tensed at the criticism. “I didn’t know passion was a requirement.”

“It’s not, but it’s something we all think about when we’re hiring someone to join the executive staff. A passion for the job, the company, the product. A personal connection. If you want this job, Joy, before we make a final decision, I need to know you really want it, and for more than the bigger paycheck. If this is what you want to do day in and day out for years to come. If you have—”

“Passion,” she finished for him, flatly.

“Yes. Exactly.”

Joy withered, sinking back into her chair, thanking Ken as he left. What could she do? It seemed passion was the thing lacking in her life overall, and she had no idea if she’d ever had it, or how to find it.

RAFE WAS GRINNING ear-to-ear as he pulled into Warren’s driveway. He stepped out of the car to see Bessie getting out of her own car across the street, starting to take out sacks of groceries from the trunk. Rafe trotted over to give her a hand. He liked Bessie, and she always fed him when he came over—it reminded him of his own neighborhood back home, where someone was always trying to feed him something. Thankfully his job and time at the gym worked it off.

“Hey, let me give you a hand with those,” he said, lifting the bags out of her arms.

“Well, now, they don’t make many like you anymore, Rafe. I hope that young woman across the street knows she’s found herself a real gentleman,” Bessie complimented him. He acknowledged the words with silence, secretly thinking that if this nice old lady knew what plans he had for Joy later that night, she might not think he was much of a gentleman.

“Lots of groceries here,” he commented, changing the subject as they walked up the steps. “Doing a lot of cooking this week?”

“Oh yes. Baking for church and for friends—among which you may count yourself—and of course my family will be here soon, so I need to start now. They all have good appetites, and I like to make everyone’s favorites,” she declared.

Rafe felt a little twinge of loneliness for his own family. His mother did the same. His favorite was the manicotti that was standard Christmas-Eve fare, along with the homemade custard-and-cheese cannoli. His mouth watered thinking about it.

“You can put those down on the table, thank you very much. Can I make you some lunch?”

He smiled and then shook his head. “Don’t tell my mother if you ever meet her, but your soup is as good as hers, Bessie. There isn’t much that would keep me from it, but I have a Christmas tree tied to the top of Warren’s car, and I need to get it down and inside the house to surprise Joy.”

Bessie’s eyes sparkled. “Oh, you’re a romantic one, too. I’ll send some soup over later—enough for both of you.”

“We won’t say no,” he assured her with a wink.

He returned back to his car, and before long had hauled the Christmas tree into Joy’s house, along with a boatload of decorations he’d bought at the store. He wasn’t going to decorate it for her, but they’d have some fun—and some fun—doing it together.

Still, he looked at his watch and wondered where she was. Time had slid by while he’d put up the tree, and he hadn’t realized it was already a half hour later than Joy normally came home from work. He knew this was a busy week. Maybe she’d gotten caught up in something. He was willing to wait.

Still, she hadn’t replied to any of his text messages after the first few, and he hoped he hadn’t ticked her off again. He sat with an old magazine and the undecorated tree until the sun went down and the Christmas lights were all blinking outside the windows. Finally he gave in to his worry and called Second Chance. No, Joy wasn’t there, and Pam hadn’t heard from her.

By the time he called her cell and left a message, a little chunk of fear had lodged itself in his gut. He’d seen the results of too many times when someone didn’t make it home one night, and it was hard for him not to imagine the worst.

Still, what could he do? He didn’t really know Joy all that well, certainly not enough to expect her to check in with him.

Worry turned to annoyance, which transformed into irritation and near anger again as he saw her headlights turn into the driveway, then relief took over. She was fine, just late. Going out on the porch, he met her on the steps.

“Hey, you’re home late,” he observed, unable to keep the slight accusation out of his tone.

“You were waiting for me?”

Something about that stung; they hadn’t had firm plans, but he thought it was pretty clear they were getting together that evening. The fact that she obviously hadn’t even given him a second thought put a big dent in the masculine ego.

“Not really, I just stopped by,” he lied, his pride digging in.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rafe. I was out driving.”

“Where?”

“Around. I had to think.”

Rafe’s irritation dissipated as he detected the tone of confusion in her voice, and he went the rest of the way down the steps and took her hands in his.

“Think about what? Us?”

“No … Sort of. Related. I had to think about why I have no passion.”

What the hell?

“This sounds like a conversation we need to sit down for. Did you eat?”

She shook her head and they entered the house. Rafe ordered some takeout and then took her coat, leading her over to the sofa to sit with him. Gathering her in his arms, he drew her near and was gratified when she curled in a little.

“You bought a tree.”

“I thought we could have some fun decorating it.”

“I haven’t had a tree in forever. Never as an adult.”

“Really? You did say you aren’t that into Christmas.”

She twisted to face him. “I’m not, and don’t you see, that’s it.”

“What?”

“At Christmas, when everyone is excited, when there’s shopping and gifts and all these celebrations, I don’t get into it. I’m left flat.”

“Why is that?”

“My father pretty much gave up on Christmas the year my mother took off with her lover. He would buy me a gift each year and leave it on the kitchen table, but we didn’t do trees or any of those things. I think it was too painful for him—it all reminded him of her.”

Rafe paused, absorbing what she’d said. “She took off at Christmas?”

“Yeah. He—the man she was seeing—was taking her to Paris for the holiday. So she went. We never heard from her again. I don’t even know if she’s alive, or where she is,” she stated matter-of-factly. She didn’t really have any emotional trauma over the issue anymore.

“That must have been a huge blow.”

“Yes, it was. Dad was never the same. He worked hard, made a decent living and we had a good life, but I guess our life wasn’t glamorous enough for her. He worked a lot, long hours—”

“I meant for you, Joy. Sure it was hard on your father, but he was an adult. What about you? To have your mother leave you like that. How old were you?”

She shifted uncomfortably. “Nine.”

“Old enough to know what was happening.”

“I understood as much as I was able, yes. I heard them arguing the night she left. I took care of him the best I could—we took care of each other, I guess.”

“It sounds like it was difficult for both of you, but to never have Christmas again? That’s harsh for a kid.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want it either. If I had asked, he would have done it, but it reminded me of everything bad, too, so why bother? I guess I still feel that way about the holiday.”

She was partly lying. A few years after her mother had gone, she had often wished her dad could celebrate Christmas with her. She would sometimes sit in school and fantasize what gift he would buy her, or how they might decorate the house or send out cards, the way other kids did. Those things had never happened, and she’d loved him enough not to ask for them. She hadn’t wanted to cause him more pain. So she’d shut down her own emotions and memories as well, learned to temper her expectations.

“It wasn’t right, Joy, and it obviously affected you—question is how long are you going to let your past dictate your present?”

“Rafe, Christmas is one thing, but I’m not passionate about anything! I’m good at my job, but I’m not wild with excitement about it. I was in a meeting today about the best color for new toys and I could not have cared less. I don’t have hobbies or boyfriends, and I’m not even that good at sex, because I’m lacking basic passion. That’s it. That’s the bottom of it.”

Rafe was stunned at the tirade, and not entirely sure how to respond.

“You were led to this conclusion because?”

She dropped her head back, groaning. “Ken, my boss, he told me I was a strong contender, maybe the best, for the new position I wanted.”

Rafe smiled, unsure how this fit in, but going with it. “That’s terrific news!”

“Yes, but he also suggested that while I am very good at my job, I don’t have passion for it. Ken says maybe I should rethink if I want the new position, because it demands passion.”

She made a face when she said the word, crossing her arms tightly in front of her in what Rafe recognized from life with his sisters as a classic female defensive posture. “This is the one thing that I do not have, apparently, across all areas of my life. I’m passionless.”

Rafe wasn’t sure how to respond, but he took in her deflated, disgruntled posture as she slumped away from him on the sofa, and did the only thing he could do, under the circumstances. He burst out laughing.

He laughed, in fact, so hard that he started to tear up, and could hardly defend himself against the repeated thumps with the bolster pillow that Joy was hitting him with.

“What is so funny, exactly?” she demanded, up on her knees and lording over him with the pillow, her face fierce, which made him laugh all the more—she made quite the picture.

“You—you are. The fact that you think you don’t have any passion is one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever heard.”

“I don’t have it, Rafe, I really don’t. It all makes sense now—the job, the sex, everything.”

“I personally disagree, especially about the sex, but do you think maybe you might have grown up thinking passion was a bad thing? Passion was the reason your mother left your father, and took off to Europe with another man. So it got a pretty bad rap even when you were a kid.”

She sat up straight, and he could see the thought take root in her mind.

Joy sat back on the sofa, stunned by the revelation. She was a thirty-year-old woman who’d spent her life, even as a child, holding tightly onto any emotion, not letting anything squeak out, lest it lead her down the same path her mother had gone. She’d been living her life by rote, and she’d never even known it.

“Joy?”

“Oh, God, Rafe … I’ve been so stupid. I never even realized what’s been missing in my life, how afraid I’ve been of everything that’s asked me to make any small emotional investment. It’s all been locked up inside, all this time….”

“Coming out in your dreams, though … I guess it was time for you to have this realization. My mother always says things happen when we’re ready for them to happen.”

“I don’t know how I could have lived this way for so long, not really caring about anything, just going through the motions.”

“Well, maybe it’s not quite that drastic. You cared about your father enough to set your own needs aside, and you care about your friends, like Pam, obviously, and you care about Second Chance—you seem pretty passionate about that to me. You’ve been really excited about the party, and even about Christmas, the last few days,” he offered.

“I do feel differently about my work at the shelter. I never thought about it as work, per se, so I didn’t make the connection to how much more involved I am there than at my regular job. I guess that’s what Ken means about passion. I had it, have it, I just didn’t see it.”

“Well, it can go both ways—I loved my job with complete passion, and I think I might have been a little too obsessed with it, to a degree that I burnt out, and now I have nothing else to do. It’s not a great feeling.”

She lifted her eyes to his, and the zap of heat in her gaze, of understanding, sympathy, and passion, had his heart thumping madly.

“I think you were probably astonishing at your job, but maybe when one passion flags, there’s a reason, and it’s time to find another,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. Something good—something very good—was happening between them, and for the moment, Rafe didn’t care to talk about work anymore.

“I never knew passion before. Until you,” she confessed.

Rafe rubbed his hands lightly up and down her arms. “You’re a passionate woman, Joy. I’ve known it from the moment I … heard you. Definitely when I touched you.”

“Rafe,” she whispered as he eased back the jacket from her arms and started unbuttoning her shirt, dragging his knuckle along her collarbone.

“You’re so soft…. Your skin is like butter, but you’re strong, too. It’s very sexy,” he added, unhooking her bra and working it downward.

“Rafe … how can you be thinking of sex right now? When we’re having this serious talk?”

“I think of sex whenever I look at you, think about you, and most definitely when I’m next to you. You’re the first woman to turn me on in a long time, Joy—you have no idea. The insomnia, and the stress from the job … I haven’t been with anyone in a while. My passions were robbed from me, too, but you’ve helped bring them back to life.”

His hands covered her breasts, massaging gently, and her heartbeat quickened.

She wound her arms around his neck. “Really? You haven’t been with anyone since you started losing sleep?”

“Before that, even. I haven’t been in the mood. I don’t know why. I still can’t sleep, but I sure enjoy being awake more than I have for a long time,” he said against her skin as he bent to plant kisses across her midriff. “I am most definitely in the mood.”

“Rafe, what about the tree?” she asked, relaxing into his touch and encouraging him to continue his exploration.

“Later,” he said as he pulled her close in a deep, promising kiss.