COLE DENNISON, ATTORNEY-AT-LAW and Rose Bend’s mayor, stared at Patrick and Brooklyn across his desk as if they were two strangers—two aliens—instead of people he’d known for several years. In Patrick’s case, almost two decades.
And maybe because of that long friendship, Cole’s gaze remained on Patrick the longest. With a “Huh,” the attorney fell back against his office chair and continued to scrutinize them, his fingers steepled under his chin.
Hell.
“That’s all we get is huh?” Patrick asked, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. “Is that a legal opinion?”
Cole shook his head, a smile slowly curving his mouth.
“It’s the best one I have at the moment.” His smile deepened, broadened, lighting up his brown eyes. “I have to admit,” he said, leaning forward and propping his forearms on the desktop, “I’ve been a lawyer for years, and over those years, people have come to me with some pretty out-there things. But I can honestly say this is my first Vegas elopement.” When Brooklyn’s lips parted, Cole held up a hand, forestalling what would undoubtedly be an objection to elopement. “Sorry, not an elopement. A drunken night of revelry that ended up in a marriage. Still, this is my first. And though I’ve heard and litigated weirder cases, I’m still a little stunned.”
“Try waking up married with no memory of how you got that way,” Brooklyn muttered.
Waking up married, no memory and naked. Can’t forget that. There was no way he could ever forget that, Patrick silently added. Even if he had no memory of getting her in that state. Dammit. But since she wouldn’t appreciate the reminder, he kept it to himself.
“Is the wedding or marriage legal?” Patrick asked, gripping the chair arms.
Realizing just how tight his fingers clutched the wood, he deliberately relaxed his hold. And shut down the foolish, ill-advised slivers of hope that slipped between his ribs, refusing to be plucked free.
Hope that Cole would say yes, their marriage was legal and binding. That yes, they had no way out of this situation they’d created and had to make the best of it. Oh yeah, he hoped that he could keep Brooklyn Hayes as his wife. Keep her as his.
But he couldn’t voice any of those thoughts. Because that would mean betraying his longest and most closely held secret.
That he was in love with his ex-girlfriend’s older sister.
And had been for three years.
He and Kayla had broken up two and a half years ago. Yes, he’d started wanting Brooklyn before he’d broken up with her sister.
That made him an asshole. Especially in Brooklyn and her family’s eyes, if they ever found out. But no one had, and no one would. This was his burden, and even before he’d ended things with Kayla, Patrick had accepted he could never have Brooklyn.
But then fate, God, tequila... One or all three had thrown him a bone, and at Christmas, too.
Fuck if he would look a Christmas gift in the mouth.
Even if he could only have that perfect present for the amount of time it took Brooklyn to end them. And she had every intention of doing so. She’d made no bones about that from the moment he’d woken up in her hotel room. In her bed. Tangled up in sheets that carried her jasmine-and-vanilla scent.
Shit.
He was here in Cole’s office to nullify his marriage, not think about consummating it.
Goddamn, he wished he could remember that. Remember how it felt to slowly push into her undoubtedly silken, tight-as-a-fist heat. Remember the erotic sounds she made as she pulsed around him, milking him. Remember how her curves aligned perfectly to his as he held her tight afterward.
He didn’t need his memories to know he’d held her. Not when he couldn’t be within her presence for mere seconds and not damn near hum with the need to touch her.
“I’m sorry,” Cole said, interrupting his thoughts. Thank God. “But your marriage is perfectly legal and recognized outside Las Vegas and the state of Nevada. You two are husband and wife in the eyes of the law.”
Brooklyn released an audible, tired sigh beside him. He glanced over in time to catch her pinching the bridge of her nose.
“I had a feeling you were going to say that,” she murmured.
Glimpsing the disappointment and weariness etched into her lovely features, Patrick smothered the urge to lift her out of that chair, take her place, set her on his lap and cuddle her close. Assure her everything would be okay. That they could and would get through this together.
But she didn’t want that from him.
And years of hiding in plain sight had ingrained a self-protective instinct that had been finely honed by the fear of rejection from this woman who owned him.
Owned him and had no clue.
Just going by her reaction in the hotel that morning three days ago and now here, in the office, she still didn’t. That was his only saving grace in this whole mess. He might never be with the woman he loved, but at least he had his pride.
That and his annual binge of A Christmas Story would have to be enough.
“What’s our next step?” he asked Cole, his voice even, calm. Even though inside he wanted to growl, Fuck next steps. “What do you need from us?”
“Well, we have two options. You can file for divorce, or I can file an annulment.”
“What’s the difference? I mean, obviously, I know the difference,” Brooklyn said, waving a hand, “but what does that mean in the eyes of the court?”
“Simply put, a divorce declares the marriage legally over. A divorce acknowledges a valid union while an annulment regards the marriage null and void. Under the law, it never happened.”
“An annulment.” Brooklyn leaned forward. “That’s what we need. Do you agree?” She turned to Patrick, her gaze expectant behind her blue-framed glasses. And filled with hope.
A hope that cut him to the quick.
“Yes, that would probably be best,” he said, dipping his chin.
He really should’ve majored in theater instead of graphic design. Apparently, he was one hell of an actor.
“Let me give you all the information before making your decision. A divorce is much more commonplace than an annulment and easier to obtain. Your reasons can be as simple as irreconcilable differences. An annulment, on the other hand, requires specific conditions and criteria are met, and it can be harder to get the courts to grant one.” He rubbed a hand across his chin. “The court-acknowledged circumstances that are grounds for annulments are fake pretenses, mental incompetence, bigamy, underage marriage, incest, concealment and failure to consummate the marriage. I’m going to assume you weren’t tricked into marriage, neither of you already has a spouse, you’re not related and well...” He cleared his throat and winced. “What happened in that Vegas hotel room is your business.”
Brooklyn groaned, tilting her head back to stare at the ceiling.
“Answer enough.” A smile jerked at Cole’s mouth before he continued, “But we can definitely make a case for mental incompetence since you were both under the influence of alcohol. If you’re certain this is how you want to move forward, I can get started tomorrow.”
“How...public will this all be?” Brooklyn whispered.
Cole cocked his head, and the sympathy in his eyes reflected in his voice.
“Court filings are public records and available to anyone who goes looking for them.”
“Shit,” she muttered.
He shouldn’t take her frustration and distress personally. She was disgusted with the situation, not him. He got that. Still...
“Someone would have to go looking for the information to find it, Brooklyn. And we haven’t exactly been going around announcing our big sin. Let Cole get started on undoing this thing, and we’ll keep our dirty little secret between us for as long as possible,” he drawled.
Cole’s gaze narrowed on him, and Patrick tried not to stiffen at the knowing gleam in the other man’s eyes. Hell, he’d sounded bitter even to himself.
But of course, Brooklyn didn’t notice. She never...noticed.
“Easy for you to say,” she muttered. “You won’t have the wrath of your family raining down on your head if they—Shit. Patrick...” She turned to him, remorse and horror darkening her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
She appeared stricken and reached for him, covering his hand with hers, slipping her fingers between his and squeezing. Despite the deep cut her inadvertently careless words inflicted and the bloom of old pain in his sternum, he shook his head and flipped his hand over, holding hers tighter.
“It’s fine.”
That sharp stab of pain was already fading, but the reminder of being alone in this world didn’t. A year later, and sometimes the loss of his father remained as sharp as the day he was taken from him.
“It’s not,” Brooklyn argued on a low murmur.
He gently squeezed her fingers.
“Let it go, Brook,” he quietly ordered.
She studied him, those dark eyes roaming over his face. Finally, she nodded and shifted her attention back to Cole.
“Fine,” she muttered. “But you’re no one’s dirty secret. Don’t say that again or I might reconsider my stance on pacifism.”
Surprise momentarily struck him in the chest, pilfering his breath and any response he had. Not that he did have one. He could only stare at her deceptively delicate profile. What did she mean by him not being a dirty secret? Did she...?
Mentally, he shook his head. Stop projecting, he silently ordered himself. She hadn’t even said her secret but no one’s. Small difference, but so huge. Because one claimed him as hers, and the other... Well, the other meant he belonged to no one, just as she’d said.
Jerking his gaze from her, he murmured, “I wasn’t aware you had a position on nonviolence. All those true-crime shows you watch are terribly misleading, then.”
She turned back to him, her eyes narrowed behind her stylish blue frames.
“I’ll have you know they’re very educational as well as entertaining,” she snapped.
Patrick slowly nodded. “Good to know,” he said, then glanced at a silent Cole. “Cole, she finds shows about offing your spouse educational. You heard it right there. So if I disappear before this annulment goes through, don’t believe that I left town for a job no one’s ever heard of. Nor did I leave her for another woman. You’re my witness.”
Her growl echoed through the room, and despite the reason they sat here in an attorney’s office, he smirked.
And because he couldn’t help himself—and that little growl she gave was both cute and arousing—he added with a cocked eyebrow, “I think I should have my will drawn up while we’re here. She gets nothing in the case of my untimely death. Especially if there’s a home invasion and she makes it out alive while I’m murdered.”
“We don’t even live together, numbskull,” she sniped.
“Semantics.”
“Uh.” Cole coughed into his fist, but he couldn’t completely hide the smile tugging at his mouth. “I’ll make a note of that, Patrick. As enjoyable—and maybe a tiny bit disturbing—as this has been, I need to end our meeting. Yulefest starts tonight, and I have to head over to the town hall to handle a few last-minute things. Is there anything else you need to discuss with me?”
“No, I think that’s it,” Brooklyn said.
Patrick shook his head and rose along with Brooklyn and Cole. The attorney rounded his desk, hand outstretched. Brooklyn, then Patrick, shook it, thanking Cole for his help. Moments later they left the office and stood outside the brick building with its white scrolled sign. Cole’s office stood on a corner lot off Main Street. But this road, like the rest of Rose Bend, proudly wore all the holiday decorations as did most of the town. White and multicolored lights, poinsettias and garland wrapped around every iron lamppost, over most of the awnings, and were strung across the street from building to building. Huge wreaths and red bows hung over the streets, forming multiple decorative arches. Not even the telephone poles missed out, adorned with garland, tiny toys and more lights.
At this time of year, Rose Bend transformed into a cross between a winter wonderland and Santa’s workshop.
He loved it.
Christmas in his hometown was downright magical. And yes, he did feel slightly foolish even thinking that at his big age of thirty-three, but given the cheer of Rose Bend’s annual, monthlong holiday festival, and the way the entire town threw itself into celebrating this time of year, he could be forgiven his temporary flight of fancy.
“That wasn’t so bad,” Brooklyn said, her breath a cloudy puff on the cold December air.
She slipped her hands into her gloves and settled earmuffs over her head. The sight of them never failed to drag a spurt of humor out of her. The overtly feminine headwear with its purple band and puffs of white fur so contrasted her no-nonsense personality. He loved the contrast.
Shit, he just loved her.
He smothered a sigh and tried to let the air that practically crackled with anticipation and the festivity of the season replace the tiny kernel of resentment that burrowed under his ribs.
Not resentment of her. He couldn’t blame her for not loving him, for not even seeing him as anything but her friend and employee. Just as he couldn’t help loving her, being bitter at her would be hypocritical.
No, all his resentment was self-directed. Because if his father had taught him anything it was the futility of wanting someone who didn’t want you back. Patrick had believed he’d learned that lesson as an unwilling pupil. But apparently, he’d failed. And epically.
“No,” he replied to her statement. “Not too—whoa.” He just managed to brace himself as Brooklyn’s body collided with his own. On pure reflex and instinct, his arms rose and wrapped around her even as she gripped the back of his coat and held him close. “Sweetheart, what’s this? What’s wrong?”
He lowered his head, her thick, dark brown curls tickling his chin and mouth. His eyes closed, but a second later he opened them, staring at the Christmas tree in the window of Dyson Realtors. He had to focus on that six-foot tree decorated with ornaments shaped like houses and keys. Otherwise, he might concentrate too closely on the feel of Brooklyn’s petite frame pressed to his taller one. Give too much attention to her abundant, sexy-as-fuck curves and how her soft lushness cushioned his bigger, harder body.
Jesus.
He wasn’t a saint. Don’t even fucking think about it, he snarled to his unruly dick. He struggled to control his body’s response. Fought not to let it betray the lust swarming through his blood like a thousand enraged bees let loose from their hive. But the longer those small, firm breasts, softly rounded stomach and thick, gorgeous thighs pressed against him, the more difficult it became to hide just how beautiful and hot he found her.
A Christmas miracle. Where was a damn Christmas miracle when he needed one?
“Sweetheart,” he said again, voice rough with need. “What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” came her muffled answer.
“For what?”
She tipped her head back away from his chest. “For being a thoughtless asshole back there.” Her eyes appeared rounder, softer, behind her glasses as she studied his face. “This time of year must be hard for you,” she whispered. “And I didn’t mean to hurt you with my careless words.”
Realization that she was referring to her comment about family dawned on him, and he vacillated between removing her arms and stepping back, as if emotional distance would emulate physical distance, and drawing her impossibly closer, stamping her skin, her scent, her fucking being, on him.
Instead, he landed somewhere in the middle.
He didn’t release her; he wasn’t that honorable. But he did shift backward just a little, placing air between their bodies. It did nothing to calm the hungry roar inside him demanding he claim that carnal mouth, mark that elegant neck. Grind his aching cock against her belly.
Inhaling a deep breath, he stroked a hand up her spine under the guise of comforting her when he was taking shameless advantage of just being able to touch her without revealing his secret.
Cupping the nape of her neck, he said, “It’s fine, Brooklyn. You didn’t—”
She shook her head, a small frown creasing her forehead. “No,” she interrupted. “Don’t tell me I didn’t hurt you. I’ve known you too long and too well. You were hurt. I hurt you.”
She didn’t know him that well. If Brooklyn did, she wouldn’t be standing here, arms around him. No, she would be lecturing him on why they wouldn’t work. All while slowly backing away from him as if he’d sprouted horns and cloven feet.
“Stop.”
He squeezed the back of her neck. Her lips snapped shut, trapping whatever point she’d probably been about to make next. She slightly stiffened against him—the action so small that if he hadn’t been fine tuned into her exact frequency, he would’ve missed it. Her eyes dipped to his mouth, and just as his gut clenched hard, she lifted her gaze to his.
Was it his imagination or... No. Couldn’t be.
Even as his mind told him he was reading too much into her reaction, he once more flexed his fingers around her neck.
Fuck. Him.
Desire. Surprise and desire glinted in her dark gaze. Her lashes lowered, almost immediately concealing her eyes, but no, he hadn’t imagined it. He hadn’t. Lust whipped through him like the winds of a destructive storm, threatening to tear him to shreds.
“Brooklyn...”
“It’s a good thing we’re not staying married,” she said, stepping back and stuffing her hands into the pockets of her red bubble coat. “I’d have to smother you in your sleep if you tried to order me around.”
He smirked, concealing the confusion and arousal eddying inside him.
“Believe me, Brookie, if I were giving you orders, you’d know it.” He shifted forward, reclaiming the space she’d placed between them. Bending his head over hers, he murmured, “And like it.”
Her soft gasp whispered over his lips, and it was the closest thing to a kiss. It set him on fire.
He was pushing it—pushing her. And he couldn’t even say why. Maybe if he hadn’t glimpsed that desire in her eyes, he wouldn’t have allowed those words to slip out of his mouth. But he couldn’t unsee it. Didn’t want to.
“Have you met me?” She snorted, arching an eyebrow. “That’s extremely doubtful.”
But her shadowed eyes and the slight tremble of her lips didn’t match up with her sardonic tone.
Back up. Give her room. Let her breathe.
But why should she get to breathe when he couldn’t?
“Is that a challenge?” he softly asked.
Uncertainty shimmered in her eyes as she silently studied him, and he bit off a curse, lifting his hand to cup her cheek. Fuck what she would think about her friend touching her in a way he wasn’t supposed to. That doubt constricted his chest, and he couldn’t bear seeing it on her.
“Brooklyn? Patrick?”
The familiar feminine voice doused him in freezing-cold reality. He stiffened, and Brooklyn leaped away from him like a cat desperate to save its ninth life. Shit. What was he thinking? They stood on the sidewalk in full view of anyone driving or walking by. And in Rose Bend someone was always driving or walking by. So caught up in the silken web of her, Patrick had inadvertently made them a possible target for gossip. He wasn’t protecting her. And now the very last person Brooklyn wanted to encounter stood several feet away from them, her dark, curious gaze shifting to Brooklyn, then to Patrick.
“Hey, Mom.” Brooklyn greeted her mother, her wide smile taut at the corners. “What are you doing here?”
“Your father said he wanted my fried steak for dinner, so I had to go to the meat market and pick up some cube steaks,” Lily Hayes explained, waving a hand toward the small supermarket across the street from Cole’s law office. “What are you two doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Before Brooklyn could answer, her mother frowned, glancing behind them. “Are you coming from Cole Dennison’s office?”
“Um, yes,” Brooklyn said, and maybe her mother didn’t hear the threads of panic in her voice, but Patrick did. “We were just...”
She glanced at Patrick, her lips parted and eyes wide.
“We were just there to discuss some matters regarding Media Mavens. Since Kat had a meeting she couldn’t reschedule, I offered to come with Brooklyn,” he smoothly finished for her.
“Oh, okay.” Lily shook her head, tsking. “Honey, you work too much. I keep telling you that. But you never listen to me. I’m just your mother.”
“Oh God.” Brooklyn groaned.
Lily’s eyes narrowed on her daughter, and Patrick wisely choked back a laugh. He’d been around the Hayes family enough to predict what was to come.
“Excuse me, Brooklyn Regina Hayes?”
“Oh damn. She’s using my government name,” Brooklyn muttered.
This time Patrick couldn’t contain his snicker. She shot him a glare, and he shrugged. He’d helped her out with the excuse to throw her mother off the scent of why they were at Cole’s office. And once Lily Hayes caught whiff of something off, she transformed into a bloodhound. She didn’t let go until she uncovered the truth.
He cocked an eyebrow at Brooklyn.
A little gratitude would be nice, he silently relayed.
“Excuse me?” Lily asked, her narrowed gaze fixed on her daughter. “Care to repeat that?”
Brooklyn immediately shook her head. “No. Repeat what? What did I say? I don’t even remember speaking.”
Her mother sniffed, squinting at her. “Humph. That’s what I thought.” She shifted her attention to Patrick, and he wiped all amusement from his face. Lily Hayes had that effect on people. She carried that “Straighten up and do right” energy. “I’m actually glad to see you, Patrick. It saves me a phone call. We’re having a family dinner tonight before the tree lighting. You’re invited.”
“Oh wow, uh...” In his peripheral vision, he caught the almost infinitesimal shake of Brooklyn’s head. Even if he didn’t catch that, though, the mouthed “hell no” would’ve been a clear indication she didn’t want him to accept. “Thank you for the invite, Mrs. Hayes, but—”
“No buts,” she interrupted with a wave of her hand. “You’re coming to dinner and that’s it. You don’t just work for my daughter. You’re family. And we don’t leave family behind.”
A fist of emotion shoved into his throat, and he swallowed, working to clear the blockage. But he couldn’t. She could’ve been referring to his breakup with Kayla, but Lily wasn’t—or at least not only that.
He’d lost his father this time last year. A sudden heart attack had taken his only parent, as his mother had left both of them before Patrick had turned two. Brooklyn and her family had been there for him. Lily had made sure his refrigerator stayed stocked. Several times a week, Milo Hayes, Brooklyn’s father, had dropped by the house he’d inherited from his father on the pretense of catching the game of whatever sport happened to be playing on television that night. And Brooklyn...
Brooklyn had been his rock. Being his ear when he needed to talk, or his shoulder when he just sat there in silence. All of them had helped him go through his father’s belongings, and it’d been Brooklyn who’d spent the night in his spare bedroom because she refused to leave him alone afterward.
Patrick didn’t know how he would’ve made it through the most difficult time of his life. And this would be his first Christmas without the parent who had molded, shaped and loved him into who he was today. The thought of decorating the house without Lionel King there to give him shit about where he was putting the tree, or how many lights he hung outside—never enough, according to his father—it sat on his chest like a hundred-pound weight. And he’d been avoiding dwelling on it.
But he should’ve known Lily would come for him.
We don’t leave family behind.
No, she didn’t. They didn’t.
“You stole that from the marines,” Brooklyn muttered.
“Excuse me?” Lily asked, sliding her daughter an arch look. “Did you say something, honey?”
“Nope. Not a word.”
“Uh-huh.” She returned her gaze to Patrick. “So tonight, five o’clock sharp. Then we can head over to the tree lighting together. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed with a smile. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Good.” She nodded and pulled him close for a hug. When she stepped back, she nailed her daughter with another narrowed glance. “I know I’ll see you there. Don’t be late.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Grumbling, Lily moved to her and, cupping Brooklyn’s face and tilting it down, smacked a kiss on her forehead. Brooklyn had inherited her five-foot-two-inch height from her mother, and they appeared more like sisters than mother and daughter. They also shared the delicate bone structure, curvy frame and thick, tightly spiraled, shoulder-length curls. Although Lily’s contained a sprinkling of gray.
“Bye, you two,” Lily called, and with a wiggle of her fingers, strode off down the sidewalk.
They stared after her for several silent seconds. Then Brooklyn sighed.
“I’m the most selfish bitch walking,” she murmured to herself, but he caught it, and he frowned down at her.
“What the hell?” he asked.
“I am.” She tilted her head, and her solemn gaze took him aback. “I was so concerned with us not being around my family together to avoid any kind of slipups or stir their suspicion. All I thought about was me and our current situation. And I completely didn’t consider that this is your first Christmas without your dad. Of course I want you there with us. You belong with us.”
Shaking his head, he couldn’t not reach out to her. Not touch her. Sliding his hand over her shoulder, he cupped her nape.
“I’ve never said that about you, and I don’t want to hear you say that about yourself, either. Brooklyn, you are the most selfless person I know. This situation isn’t...simple and it’s not like either of us have ever experienced anything like it.” He paused, cocking his head. “Unless there’s something you want to tell me.” She snorted, rolling her eyes, and he chuckled, squeezing her. “Don’t apologize for your feelings. They’re valid and—” he edged closer, staring down into her eyes “—thank you for trusting me with your feelings and yourself.”
Her teeth sank into her bottom lip and his fingers itched with the need to tug it free, stroke a caress over the tender flesh.
“So you’ve never called me a bitch? Not even in your head?” she asked.
“That’s what you got out of everything I just said?” He scoffed, giving her a wry smile. “But no. Never.”
She studied him for a moment. “What about crazy?”
“Oh hell yeah.”
A grin slowly widened her mouth, lighting her face. Then she tipped her head back, and a bark of loud laughter escaped her. He chuckled and drew her close, hugging her. Torturing himself with the feel of her. Punishing himself with the crisp and sultry scent of her.
“It just so happens I adore your crazy, Mrs. King,” he teased, though his pulse sped up at the thought of being able to give her his name.
No. At the thought of her accepting his name.
“See?” Leaning back, she scowled, jabbing a finger at him. “That right there. No more of that Mrs. shit. I just know you’re going to slip up tonight. You can’t hold water.”
His chin jerked back, and he widened his eyes in exaggerated offense.
“Me? I beg your pardon.” He splayed his fingers wide over his chest. “Name one time I didn’t keep a secret.”
She tapped her chin, eyes squinted.
“You mean like when you spilled to Jeremy about the surprise party we planned for him at the office?”
“He knew about it anyway.” Patrick scoffed.
“Or about the time you told Kat about the new car Sam bought her?” Brooklyn continued, poking him in the chest. “Or when you let it slip to Katherine what the sex of her baby was and pretty much ruined the gender reveal party her husband had planned.”
“You dug deep for that one. That was three years ago,” he muttered.
“John still gives you side-eye when he comes to the office,” she pointed out.
“Fine.” He threw up his hands. “So a few times I’ve accidentally divulged some information.” He ignored her snort. “How about a bet?”
She crossed her arms over her chest. “What kind of bet?”
“If you tell about the—” he dramatically lowered his voice “—situation, then you have to declare February second Patrick King Day, and it comes with a cake and speech extolling all of my virtues. Don’t worry. I’ll write it for you.”
“And if I win,” she said, leaning forward, “you have to walk down Main Street carrying a sign that says Brooklyn Hayes Rocks. Deal?” She thrust out her hand toward him.
“Deal.”
They shook on it. And grinned at one another.
“You’re going down, King.”
“Bring it, Mrs. King.”