Читать книгу Hot Christmas Kisses - Joss Wood - Страница 9

One

Nearly a year later...

In the public area at Logan International Airport, Matt Edwards ignored the crowds and maneuvered his way around the flower bearers and card holders. He’d mastered the art of walking and working his smartphone: there were ten messages from his office and a few text messages. None, dammit, were from Dylan-Jane.

Despite reaching out over a week ago, she’d yet to give him a definitive answer about them getting together in Boston.

Maybe she was making him wait because he’d been out of touch for so long. But he’d been busy and it just happened that they’d had less contact this year than usual. A lot less. But he was here now, and he was hopeful they could recapture some of their old magic.

“Matt!”

Matt turned, saw the tall frame of his old friend Noah Lockwood striding toward him and smiled. Well, this was a pleasant surprise.

Matt pushed his phone into the inside pocket of his black jacket before shaking Noah’s hand. “It’s great to see you, but what are you doing here?”

Noah fell into step beside him. “I’ve just dropped Jules off. She’s flying to New York to meet a client. I knew you were coming in today, saw the flight times and thought I’d buy you a beer.”

An excellent plan. It had been months, maybe even more than a year, since he and Noah had exchanged anything other than a brief phone call or a catch-up email. At college, they’d been tight, and despite their busy lives, he still considered Noah a friend.

Noah had also introduced Matt to DJ, and for that he’d always be grateful.

“I’d love a beer.”

They walked to the nearest bar and Matt headed to two empty seats at the far end of the joint, tucking his suitcase between him and the wall before he slid onto the barstool. Within minutes he had a glass of an expensive microbrew in front of him.

Noah raised his glass and an enquiring eyebrow. “What brings you back to Boston?”

How to answer? Matt ignored the ache in that triangle where his ribs met. This visit, unlike those quick visits to see his grandfather, was going to be...difficult.

Emotional. Draining. Challenging.

All the things he most tried to avoid.

“I’m moving my grandfather into an assisted-living facility.” Stock answer.

Noah looked surprised. “The judge is moving out of his home? Why?”

Matt took a sip of his beer before rubbing his eyes. “He’s showing signs of dementia and Alzheimer’s. He can’t live on his own anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Noah said. “How long are you going to be in town for?”

Matt tapped his finger against his glass. “I’m not sure, but since I don’t have any court appearances scheduled until the New Year, probably until after Christmas. So, for the next three weeks at least.”

Noah’s eyes were steady on his face and Matt felt the vague urge to tell his friend the other reason he was in Boston. But talking wasn’t something he found easy to do.

Noah didn’t push, but changed the subject by asking another question. “So, are you going to contact DJ while you’re in town?”

Matt sent Noah a sour look. “Who’s asking, you or your fiancée?”

Noah grinned. “Jules’s last words to me weren’t ‘I love you, you’re such a stud,’ but ‘get Matt to tell you why he and DJ haven’t spoken for nearly a year.’”

Matt shook his head. “You are so whipped, man.”

Noah just grinned.

“I thought Jules and Darby would be happy to hear that DJ and I drifted apart. They aren’t my biggest fans.”

Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I’m in the middle here. I introduced you to DJ but I never expected your no-strings affair to last for years. I’ve told the twins to leave you two alone. You are adults and you both know what you are doing.

“But they love her and they are worried about her,” Noah added.

Matt’s head shot up. “Why are they worried about her?”

Noah released a soft curse. “You’ve got to know how much I love Jules, because if I didn’t, I wouldn’t ever consider broaching this subject.”

Yep, whipped. If Matt wasn’t the subject of the conversation, he’d find Noah’s dilemma amusing. “The twins are worried because she hasn’t been the same this past year. She’s been quieter, more reserved, less...happy,” Noah told him.

Matt filled in the blanks. “And they are blaming me for that?”

“Not so much blaming as looking for an explanation. DJ isn’t talking, so my fiancée, damn her, asked me to ask you. Man, I sound like a teenager.”

“So you didn’t just accost me to have a beer?”

“The beer was an added incentive,” Noah said, obviously uncomfortable. “Look, forget it, Matt. It’s not my or Jules’s business and I feel like a dick raising the subject.”

Matt wanted to be annoyed but he wasn’t. He’d always envied the friendship Dylan-Jane and the twins shared. They were a tight unit and would go to war for each other. He’d been self-sufficient for as long as he could remember, and his busy career didn’t allow time for close friendships. It certainly didn’t allow time for a relationship.

Matt carefully picked his words. “DJ and I have an understanding. Neither of us are looking for something permanent. I’m sorry if she’s had a tough year but I don’t think it’s related to me. We were very clear about our expectations and we agreed there would be no hard feelings if life, or other people, got in the way of us seeing each other.”

“Other people? Are you seeing someone else?”

Was Noah kidding? It had been a hell of a year and he hadn’t needed the added aggravation of dating someone new. He’d had a slew of tough cases and he’d been sideswiped by explosive news and saddened by an ex’s untimely death. And he was now required to make life-changing decisions for his once brilliant grandfather.

Starting something new with someone new when he was feeling emotionally battered wasn’t the solution to anything. As a teenager he’d learned the hard lesson that emotion and need were a dangerous combination.

He’d fallen in love at sixteen and he’d walked around drunk on emotion. His ex, Gemma, and he had made their plans: they’d graduate, go to college, get married, have kids...and they’d feel like this forever. She was the one, his everything...

At seventeen she’d informed him she was pregnant. A part of him had been ecstatic at the news of them having a baby—this would be the family he’d never really had, his to protect, his to love. His. All his...

After ten days of secret planning, and heart-to-heart discussions, Gemma flipped on him, telling him she’d miscarried and was moving across town and changing schools.

She didn’t love him, she never really had...

He’d vowed then that love was a myth, that it was a manipulative tactic, that it didn’t really exist. His parents, his grandparents, Gemma—they all proved his point. At seventeen, he’d dismissed love and forever as a fabrication and nothing since had changed his mind.

He now believed in sex, and having lots of it safely, but love? Not a chance.

And sex, in his mind, meant DJ.

DJ didn’t want anything permanent, either. Just like him, she was allergic to commitment. They spent just enough time together to enjoy each other but not enough to become close. It was the perfect setup...

Or it had been.

He was back in Boston, in her city, and he saw no reason not to meet. It had been too long since he’d held her, since he’d tasted her skin, inhaled her fruity scent, heard her laugh. DJ, fun-loving, exuberant and sensuous, was exactly the medicine he needed. She’d be a distraction from thinking about how to handle the bombshell news he still hadn’t wrapped his head around.

Matt looked at Noah. “I really don’t know what’s going on in DJ’s life, but I doubt it has anything to do with me.”

Noah drained his beer. “Are you going to see her while you’re in Boston?”

Of course he was. “Yeah.”

“Then I’ve been told to tell you that if you hurt her, they’ll stab you with a broken beer bottle.”

Matt rolled his eyes. DJ’s friends were fierce. “Understood. But, as I said, we have a solid understanding.”

Noah lifted his hands. “Just the messenger here.” He pulled some cash out of his wallet and ignored Matt’s offer to contribute. “If you don’t want to spend the next month or so in a hotel, you’re welcome to use the carriage house at Lockwood House. When we are home, Jules and I live in the main house.”

Noah’s property was, if Matt remembered correctly, the cornerstone of a very upmarket, expensive golfing community north of Boston. It was a generous offer and Matt appreciated it. “Thank you. That would be great.”

“It was Jules’s idea. That way she can keep an eye on you.” Noah smiled. “And you do know that our house is directly opposite where Darby, DJ and Levi Brogan live? The same Levi Brogan who is superprotective and has no idea that you’ve been sleeping with the woman he loves like a sister for the last five-plus years?”

Oh, crap.

“It’s going to be fun watching you tap-dance around him,” Noah said before he clapped Matt on the shoulder and walked out of the bar.

Matt looked down at his phone and automatically stabbed his finger on the gallery icon. He flicked through the images of Dylan-Jane, memories sliding over him, and stopped when he came to a topless photo he’d snapped of her lying on the sand on a private beach in St. Barts. She was facing the sea but had turned her head back to look at him and the camera, her sable hair skimming the sand. She was all golden gorgeousness—flashing dark eyes, flushed cheeks, rosy nipples on her perky, tanned breasts.

Unable to resist her, he’d picked her up and carried her to the water, where they’d had amazing sea sex.

He had lots of great memories of DJ but, hell, making love to her in the sea and later on the sand was one of his favorites.

He desperately wanted to make more memories...

Shaking his head, Matt pulled up his last chat with DJ and quickly skimmed over the words they’d exchanged over the past week. He’d told her that he’d be in Boston the following week and asked if they could meet. DJ had sent him a surprised-face emoji as a reply...

Matt frowned. A surprised face wasn’t a yes...

Neither was it a no...

What it was, was a strange way for DJ to respond.

She’d always been up-front and honest about telling him her plans, whether she could meet him or not. They didn’t play games, didn’t lie. They either wanted to be together, for a day or three or four, or they didn’t. They could either make time for each other, or they couldn’t. This year they hadn’t managed to meet and that was just the way life went. He presumed she was busy managing her rapidly expanding design firm and he’d had his all-consuming work and the additional personal dramas to deal with...

But could she be dating someone else?

Matt’s stomach tightened and he told himself to get a grip. He had no right to be jealous. They’d both agreed they couldn’t expect to be monogamous when they were so far apart. He had been for the past year but that was more through circumstances than choice. They’d agreed to be honest with each other, to tell each other if someone else was on the scene. He hadn’t had a text or phone call or email from DJ saying that. In fact, since late March, she hadn’t reached out to him once. Previously, he’d received the odd email from her, funny memes that made him laugh, silly selfies she took.

Matt frowned, remembering that her friends were worried about her, that they thought something was wrong. Was she sick? Busy? Annoyed?

Or, worse, done with him, with what they had?

His phone beeped again and this time it was a text message. The distinct tone told him who it was from.

Hi. I’m not ready. Can I take some more time?

Sure, he replied. No pressure. I’m in town until after Christmas, unless something urgent comes up.

Right, he had no choice now but to wait until the daughter Gemma had never told him about decided to contact him again. And he wasn’t visiting his grandfather until tomorrow.

So, what could he do with the rest of his day?

Mmm, maybe he could drop in to see Dylan-Jane. See whether there was a chance of them taking up where they’d last left off...

And, he admitted, he could see for himself whether she was happy or not.

* * *

In the coffee shop on the Lockwood Estate, Mason James delivered an espresso to the student sitting at the table in the corner and glanced at the complex math equation the kid was solving.

Because math had once been his thing, Mason scanned the guy’s rough notes and immediately saw where he’d gone wrong. Mason opened his mouth to point out the mistake before pulling back.

Three years ago, complex situations and equations, troubleshooting and problem-solving, was what he’d done for a living and he’d made a stupid amount of money from it. The responsibility of the problems he’d been given to solve—some of them with life-and-death outcomes—had generated enough stress to elevate his blood pressure to dangerous levels and burn a hole in his stomach. It had also ended his marriage and threatened his relationships with his sons.

So Mason got out of the think-tank business, buying a chic coffee shop to keep himself busy. He attended his boys’ ice hockey and baseball games, played video games with them and helped them with their homework. He delivered coffee, muffins and pastries and told himself it was good to be bored.

Boredom didn’t place a strain on his heart, or burn that hole deeper into his stomach.

Mason turned away and then heard the low curse. He looked around to see the student putting his head in his hands, tugging his hair in obvious frustration. It was, for him, simple math. What harm could it do to help?

Mason turned back, scanned the equation and tapped a line. “Rework this line.”

Blue eyes flew up to meet his and Mason saw the doubt.

“With respect, I’m in the doctorate program at MIT...”

Mason shrugged and waited him out. He didn’t bother to tell the guy that he’d been through that program and many more. He just tapped the line again until the kid finally turned his attention back to the equation. His brow furrowed and then he released a long sigh. Yep, the light had dawned.

“Hey, thanks so much.”

Mason smiled briefly before retracing his steps back to his small kitchen. Before he reached his destination, he heard the muted ping that indicated he had a customer. He didn’t need to see who was pulling the door open—his heart was way ahead of his eyes and it was already picking up speed.

Mason leaned his shoulder onto the nearest wall and watched his current obsession walk into his coffee shop, followed by a brunette clutching a stack of bridal magazines. The older of Callie’s twin daughters, he remembered—Jules. Callie had her arm around Jules’s waist and love for her child on her face.

Callie Brogan was a beautiful mom.

Mason ran his hand over his face. The last thing he was looking for when he opened Coffee Connection was to be attracted to a stunning, ebullient, charming widow. Yeah, she was older than him but who the hell cared? He could date younger woman, had dated many of them, and none of them captured his interest like Callie Brogan did. It was unexplainable and not something he could wish away.

God knew he’d tried.

Callie’s head shot up and her eyes locked on his. Electricity arced between them and his pants, as they always did when she was in the room, tightened. Even though he was across the room, he could see her nipples respond—God, her breasts were fantastic. A flush appeared on her throat, down her chest. Despite her protests, Callie was as aware of him, as attracted to him, as he was to her...

Why hadn’t they ended up in bed already?

Oh, because she wasn’t ready and because she was still in love with her dead husband.

Mason looked up at the ceiling and shook his head. His was said to be one of the most brilliant minds of his generation, yet he was flummoxed by how to get this woman to sleep with him.

That’s all he wanted, some fantastic sex with an attractive, interesting woman. He wasn’t looking for love or forever—as a scientist, he didn’t believe in either. The human species simply wasn’t that evolved. But sex, a few hot nights? Yeah, he most certainly believed in man’s most primal urge.

Mason started toward her—he couldn’t stay away if he tried—but the infinitesimal shake of her head stopped him.

Right, he wasn’t wanted. He should go and count stock or take out the trash or do his taxes.

Simple, stress-free jobs he could do with his eyes closed. But so blah and boring. Looking through the huge windows of his shop, he wished he could go caveman on Callie. He’d toss her over his shoulder and put her behind him on his Ducati—in his fantasy it was spring or summer—and ride away. When he reached the first isolated area, he’d stop.

He had this fantasy of stripping her down, bending her over his bike and taking her from behind, his hands on her amazing breasts, his lips on her neck, sliding into her wet, warm...

“Sorry, sir? I’m stuck again. Could you help me?”

Mason rubbed his face before squinting at the messy calculations.

Since bike sex, or even warm weather, wasn’t in his immediate future, he could do math. And while he mathed, he could also keep an eye on Callie, which was his latest and greatest pleasure.