MARC GLANCED at his watch, noted the time, and knew he couldn’t avoid the inevitable much longer. He would have preferred spending Thanksgiving day holed up in his office, working on electrical estimates and generally being alone in his miserable state. Instead, he would soon be with Brooke at his parents’, feigning that they were just friends and pretending that they hadn’t spent two incredible days together that were indelibly etched in his mind. Regretting, too, the way he’d severed their affair and hurt her with his uncompromising conviction that ending their relationship was for the best.
Best for whom? his conscience taunted. The question had haunted him, tangling up his emotions with uncertainties and a yearning that tugged at his heart twenty-four hours a day.
Best for her, because he couldn’t give her all that she deserved.
Best for him, to save himself from confronting fears he’d lived with for eight long years.
Tossing his pen onto his desk, he leaned back in his leather chair and stabbed his fingers through his disheveled hair. When had he become such a damn coward? Like a man who’d perfected the art of avoiding entanglements, he’d run hell-bent from the mere mention of commitment. Except no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the fact that he’d fallen in love with Brooke.
The knowledge only compounded his misery. She was everything he’d ever wanted, and everything he knew he’d never have. While she might be willing to take risks with her future, and them, he was not. He knew he wasn’t a smart investment for her, even if she wouldn’t acknowledge that for herself.
Two weeks had passed since they’d been stranded together, and he hadn’t heard from her. Not that he’d expected her to call when he’d given her no reason to hope that he might make room for her in his life. True to their agreement, she’d made no demands on him, and while he should have been grateful for her acquiescence, all he felt was a huge, gaping loss.
He straightened the contracts and files on his desk into neat piles. He reviewed bills, signed checks, and pitched wadded-up pieces of paper into the wastebasket. When he could stall no longer, he headed out of his office to his Suburban. On the way to his parents’ place, on a whim he bought a bouquet of flowers from a roadside vendor to surprise his mother.
Once he arrived, he parked behind Eric’s sports car. Brooke’s vehicle wasn’t in the drive, and he experienced relief that he’d been spared that initial awkward encounter, and disappointment at the thought that she might have decided to forgo the holiday with his family because of him.
Without knocking, he entered the two-story house he’d grown up in, hung his coat in the foyer closet, and followed the delicious aroma of Thanksgiving dinner toward the back of the house. He passed through the family room, and stopped at the glass slider leading to the back porch, where his father and Eric were practicing their putting skills on the strip of green his father used in the wintertime to perfect his short-range shots. Marc knocked and waved a greeting.
He started on his way, then paused when he caught sight of the family portrait that still hung on the paneled wall. The picture had been taken when he was sixteen, and Eric eighteen, about six months before his parents’ marriage had hit its lowest point, if he remembered correctly.
He stepped closer to the portrait, noticing how he and Eric were positioned between their mother and father. His parents were both smiling at the camera, but their eyes held no joy, and their expressions were more strained than relaxed. He shook his head, amazed that he’d never noticed those small telltale signs before now, and realized what they’d signified. Amazed, too, that the man and woman in the portrait didn’t resemble the loving couple his parents were now, despite the rough times they’d endured. All these years he’d taken his parents’ marriage for granted, never giving much thought to how much work they’d put into the relationship to make it last, when they easily could have opted for a divorce during that crisis.
Mulling that over, he continued through the house and found his mother in the kitchen. She was standing by the stove wearing an apron over her casual khaki pantsuit, stirring a simmering pot of what looked and smelled like gravy. He approached quietly from behind and presented the flowers first.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Mom.”
Kathleen whirled around, surprise lighting her features when she saw him. “Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.” She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek, then reached for the bouquet and inhaled the floral fragrance. “Oh, honey, they’re beautiful, but you shouldn’t have!”
Her words meant she was thrilled that he’d thought of her, he knew. “I wanted to.” He shrugged and grinned, and for the first time in two weeks felt a lightness in his heart. “I like seeing you smile.”
She beamed, her blue eyes sparkling with pleasure. “You’re just like your father,” she said, and turned away to retrieve a vase from the cupboard.
After the heavy discussion he and Brooke had had at the cabin, his mother’s comment initially startled him, and made him wonder, exactly, what she meant by her comparison. He wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure how to phrase the question without sounding defensive.
Heading to the refrigerator, he retrieved a bottle of beer, screwed off the top, and took a drink of the malty liquid. “Is Brooke coming today?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible.
“Yes.” She filled the cut crystal vase with water, and unwrapped the flowers, arranging the stems just so. “And I invited Jessica, too, so she wouldn’t have to spend the day alone. Brooke called just before you got here and said she was running a little behind. She should be here in about half an hour.”
His stomach did a tiny flip. Automatically, he glanced at the clock on the wall and gauged the time, and just how long it would be before he saw her again.
Kathleen glanced his way. “Do you plan on going outside to visit with Eric and your father?”
He shook his head, still trying to figure out a casual way to ask his mother why she thought he was so much like his dad. “I saw them on my way to the kitchen and waved hello.”
Picking up the vase, she passed him to the adjoining dining room, where she set the arrangement in the center of the formal mahogany table they used on special occasions, then returned. “Well, if you plan on staying in here, I’m going to put you to work.”
He set his beer aside, and pushed up the sleeves of his cable-knit sweater. “That’s fine, just so long as you don’t make me wear an apron.”
“Why not?” Her eyes sparkled playfully. “Your father looks very cute wearing my aprons.” She laughed. “Of course your father would never admit that he’s ever worn one, but, well, baking with your father can get really messy, but fun.”
To his dismay, he felt his face warm. “I’m sure I don’t want to hear this.”
She retrieved two pot holders from a drawer and handed them to him, then opened the oven for him to retrieve the turkey. “What, you think just because we’re an old married couple that we don’t have any fun together?”
That sobered him, because there had been a time when his parents hadn’t enjoyed one another’s company. Hefting the huge, golden-brown turkey from the oven, he set it on the stove top. “I’m really glad that you and Dad have each other.” He meant that sincerely, and couldn’t imagine his parents apart…now.
She shut the oven door, her expression softening. “Me, too, though I’m sure you know our marriage wasn’t always so pleasant.”
He’d never discussed with either his mother or father the obvious problems they’d endured years ago, though at the time he and Eric had been old enough to decipher their arguments, and figure out the gist of what was going on. They just hadn’t known the details, the reasons why their parents had drifted apart, or what had brought them back together.
“What happened?” he asked, surprising both of them with his frank question.
She didn’t shy away from his personal query, but then he knew she wouldn’t. Over the years his mother had developed a strength and candidness he now appreciated.
“Well,” she said, taking a deep breath, and keeping her gaze steadily on him. “Do you remember the hysterectomy I had when you and Eric were in high school?”
Marc nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, that’s where the problems started in our marriage.” She gave a small smile, and uncovering the fresh yams she’d baked, she layered the top with pecans. “After the surgery, I experienced some depression, mostly because I didn’t feel desirable anymore. I’ll admit that your father was very understanding at first, but I kept pushing him away and wouldn’t talk to him about how I was feeling. Eventually, we grew apart, emotionally and physically, and instead of working on the problem together, I completely shut out your father because of my own insecurities. Before long, we were like two strangers living in the same house.”
Marc was surprised to learn of the deeper issues that had contributed to his parents’ troubled marriage. As a teenager, he’d noticed his mother’s mood swings, but had never known the extent of her illness, or how it had affected his father. All he’d seen and learned of had been the affair that had ultimately brought his mother and father to a crossroad in their relationship.
Kathleen’s delicate brow wrinkled as she pulled out more memories to share. “And then one night your father came home and told me he’d had an affair. He was so wracked with guilt and remorse, and of course I was completely devastated.”
“How did you get through that?” Marc asked.
“It wasn’t easy, that’s for sure.” She gave a little laugh, but Marc knew that incident must have been a very painful time for both of them. “I wanted to blame your father for the affair, but the truth was, I was more at fault for pushing him away and forcing him to look elsewhere for what his own wife wouldn’t give him. It’s not an excuse for what he did, but it was his honesty about the situation that made me realize just how close I was to losing him. He could have kept that one night a secret or continued with the affair or had numerous ones, but he didn’t. It wasn’t what he wanted.”
She sprinkled brown sugar on top of the yams and pecans, and continued. “The experience made us reevaluate our marriage and forced us to decide what we were going to do. When I suggested a divorce, thinking that’s what your father wanted, he broke down and told me that he wanted me, and us, the way we were when we first got married.”
Marc reached for the bag of marshmallows on the counter and placed them on the top of the candied yams. He recognized the true meaning of commitment in the way his parents had worked through their troubles, instead of opting for the easy way out. “And you wanted that, too.”
“Yes, I did.” She smiled without an ounce of regret for the choice she’d made. “But first, I had to get help for my depression, which I did. And as we talked and worked through the mess we’d made of our marriage, we discovered that we had never stopped loving one another. With everything that happened after my hysterectomy, I just lost track of what was most important, and that was your father, our marriage, you and Eric, and being a family.”
Once again, she opened the oven, and he placed the baking dish on the rack so the marshmallows could melt over the yams. They’d been open about everything else, now he wanted an answer to the question he hadn’t been able to voice earlier.
He tipped his head toward his mom. “What did you mean about me being just like Dad?”
She rummaged through a cupboard and brought down the box that held the electric knife for carving the turkey, and cast a smile his way. “I only meant that you’re thoughtful, sweet and sensitive.”
“Sweet? Sensitive?” He blanched. “Uh, that’s not usually how guys like to be described.”
She laughed as she unrolled the cord to the knife. “What, you want me to tell you how macho and strong and handsome you are?”
He grinned. “I’ll take strong and handsome.”
“All the men in this family are that, but you, well, you take after your dad in so many ways.” Warmth and affection touched her features. “I love Eric, but he just doesn’t have that sensitivity to other people’s feelings that you and your father do, which I think is part of the reason his marriage to Brooke didn’t work. I also believe that he gave up so easily and settled for divorce because it just wasn’t true love between them. Otherwise, he would have fought for her.”
Undying, true love. Marc loved Brooke and he hadn’t fought for her. His chest tightened with too many emotions, too many fears…the biggest one of which was living the rest of his life without Brooke.
“Being thoughtful, and considerate, and caring is a compliment, Marc,” his mother continued, oblivious to his internal turmoil. “It makes you the kind of man a woman can trust and rely on because you’d never intentionally hurt her, just like your father never set out purposely to hurt me all those years ago. And someday, when the right woman comes along, those qualities will make you a wonderful husband and she’ll be very lucky to have you.”
Marc leaned against the counter as his mother turned away to check on the gravy. He absorbed her words, feeling as though he’d been sucker-punched in the stomach.
God, what had he done? Hadn’t Brooke tried to tell him essentially the same thing his mother was telling him now? And just like his mother, Brooke believed in him, too—saw the goodness and honesty and integrity he swore had been stripped away that night he’d made the wrong decision.
He’d been so wrapped up in the past, so fearful that he’d repeat that same mistake with Brooke, that he couldn’t bring himself to trust his true instincts, or grasp that unending faith she had in him. Instead, he’d used that youthful mistake and his father’s indiscretion as a barrier, intent on punishing himself for the guilt and regret that had consumed him. And in the process he’d lost the one and only woman he’d ever loved.
For eight years, he’d considered being like his father a curse, not knowing his dad’s affair had been prompted by emotional issues with his mother. Now, he saw the qualities he’d inherited from his dad for the blessings they were, and was grateful for the strength it gave him to trust himself, to know that he could endure the hard times…with the right woman to complement him.
The doorbell rang, and his mother’s face lit up. “That must be Brooke and Jessica. Why don’t you go answer the door while I check the yams and call your brother and father inside?”
Marc couldn’t move. That damnable fear again. But this time he dreaded the worst, that his blunder in doubting Brooke, in not trusting her, in rejecting her love, would result in the biggest mistake of his life.
What if he’d hurt her so badly she no longer wanted him? Could he blame her? Could he live without her? Did he even stand a chance at reclaiming her love?
The doorbell rang again. “Marc?” his mother said, frowning at him. “Would you please get the door?”
“Uh, yeah,” he said, and forced himself to move toward the foyer. Heart hammering wildly, he opened the door, and time stood still as he devoured the sight of Brooke.
Their gazes met, hers a soft, velvet shade of blue. He searched for a sign that she still wanted him, that she forgave him for not believing in her. Before he could witness anything to give him a glimmer of hope, she glanced away, as if it pained her to look at him.
His heart dropped to his stomach.
Jessica cleared her throat, breaking the silence and the tension that thrummed in the air between him and Brooke. “Happy Thanksgiving, Marc. Do you plan on inviting us in?”
“I, uh, yeah, come on in.” He opened the door wider so they could enter.
Jessica stepped through the threshold first and gave him a sisterly hug in greeting. He turned toward Brooke, who watched him warily. Then, with amazing fortitude and frustrating detachment she gave him a hug, too—but she was holding a pumpkin pie in the crook of her arm and used it to her advantage, to keep a discreet distance between them. He couldn’t wrap his arms around her waist and pull her close like he ached to, not without crushing the dessert she’d brought. The only part of their bodies that touched was the hand she settled lightly around his back, and the press of their shoulders. Quick, impersonal, but her scent, mingled with the fragrant scent of cinnamon and spice, lingered long after she moved away.
“Can I help with your coat?” he offered, dying for an excuse to really touch Brooke, to feather his fingers along her neck, to run his hands down her arms, and see if there was a spark of anything left between them. Lord knew just the sight of her made his pulse race and desire heat his blood.
She quickly shook her head and moved out of his reach, as if remembering the kiss that had transpired the last time he’d helped her with her coat in this very foyer. “No, thank you.”
Handing the pie to Jessica, who slanted him a look that said sorry, buddy, but you blew it, Brooke shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the closet next to Jessica’s.
“It looks and feels like it might snow tonight,” Brooke said, her voice holding no real emotion that he could grasp. Nothing to bolster his optimism that he might still stand a chance with her.
The weather? She was talking about the weather? So formal. So polite. So distant and reserved. Aggravation flowed through him, along with an acute sense of loss. The flirtatious banter and easy conversation he’d once enjoyed with her was a thing of the past. As were they, it seemed.
What did he honestly expect after the abrupt way he’d ended things with her? She was holding up her end of their agreement, making no demands, acting as though they hadn’t spent two days stranded together, pretending that she hadn’t learned more about him than any woman had ever taken the time or care to discover.
And he hated her aloofness. He wanted the warm, sweet, generous Brooke back. The one who gave of herself so freely. The one who’d pried open his heart and given him the faith and love he’d so desperately needed.
But he’d shunned her selfless offering, her priceless trust, and he had no idea how to repair the damage he’d done.
COMING HERE hadn’t been a good idea. Brooke forced another swallow of stuffing and gravy, wishing that she’d followed her original plan to call Kathleen with the excuse that she wasn’t feeling well, and skip Thanksgiving dinner with the Jamisons. Except Jessica wouldn’t let her take the easy way out, and promised her it would get easier in time to be around Marc if she didn’t avoid situations with him now.
But it hurt like hell to be near Marc, to even look at him, because all she could think about was how much she loved him, with everything she had within her, and that she had to live the rest of her life with the knowledge that he’d never be hers.
She’d spent the past hour since arriving avoiding eye contact with Marc and casually skirting him when he came near. It had been awkward enough at the door; she could only imagine how strained and uncomfortable it would be if they were caught in the position of being alone. Any conversation with him had been in a group with other members of his family, and very superficial on her part.
She’d smiled and endured, as she was now at the dinner table while everyone else carried on a lively conversation. She had no clue why Marc was brooding across from her when she’d abided by their agreement to resume their friendship. No pressure, no demands, no promises.
She was going to leave just as soon as it was politely possible, she decided as she took a bite of her buttered roll. And she would arm herself with a multitude of excuses to avoid Christmas with the Jamison family.
A lull came over the current conversation, and Eric transferred his gaze from Marc to Brooke. “You know, you two seem awfully quiet this evening,” he commented. “And I don’t think I’ve seen you say two words to one another. Did you guys have a fight while you were stranded together?”
“No,” she and Marc answered in quick unison, hers a soft reply and his a rough bark.
Eric quirked a brow at Marc, scrutinizing his brother with his direct look. “What has you so uptight?”
Marc stabbed his fork into a slice of turkey and scowled at his brother. “I am not uptight.”
“Yes, you are,” Kathleen cut in, agreeing with Eric. “You were fine earlier when we were talking in the kitchen…until, well, Brooke arrived.”
Four pairs of eyes glanced her way, and she felt her skin prickle and heat. She managed an impish shrug. She couldn’t imagine what she’d done to make him so upset, unless he resented that she’d come at all. What else could it be?
“We’re fine, really.” Her reassurance only seemed to annoy Marc more.
His father redirected the conversation, recounting an amusing tale of a Thanksgiving when Eric and Marc had been kids and the two of them hid a few of their plastic army men in the hollowed-out turkey when Kathleen hadn’t been looking, and what a surprise it had been to find them in the stuffing. Everyone laughed but Marc.
Eric continued to watch Marc, and Brooke knew that stare—it was the kind of look that said he’d found an intriguing mystery he wanted to decipher.
Finally, Marc bristled. “What?” he snapped at his brother, surprising everyone with his abrupt outburst.
“Man, I’ve never seen you like this before.” Eric shook his head in bafflement. “It’s got to be a woman that has you so on edge and moody.”
Marc dropped his fork onto his plate. “So what if it is?”
Brooke’s stomach churned at the challenging note in Marc’s voice, but Eric merely chuckled at his brother’s dark tone and slapped him on the back. “It’s hell when women aren’t cooperative, isn’t it?”
“It’s not her, it’s me,” Marc admitted, sounding just as miserable as Brooke felt, though he never looked her way. Indeed, it was as though she wasn’t even in the room. “I’m the one who blew it, and I’m afraid that nothing I say or do will change her mind about me, or us.”
The thudding of Brooke’s heart roared in her ears as she tried to make sense of his comment and this little drama playing out before her—which made no sense at all. Reaching numbly for her glass of wine, she took a big gulp to drown the swarm of unease churning in her belly.
Kathleen gazed at her youngest son, her eyes filled with gentle wisdom. “Have you told her how you feel about her?”
“No,” Marc replied, his voice hoarse with regret. “I was too much of a coward the last time we were together.”
“A woman needs to know how her man feels about her.” Kathleen shared a loving look with her husband, who sat at the other end of the table from her. “The next time you see her tell her exactly how you feel.”
Marc stood, and Brooke fully expected him to leave the dinner table with his dignity and pride still intact—and her heart in shreds. It was all she could do not to bolt herself.
He looked straight at her, his gray eyes brimming with an odd combination of nerves and gentleness. “I love you, Brooke,” he said in a voice so clear and pure she knew she had to be dreaming.
The commotion that erupted at the table assured her she was not.
“Oh, my goodness,” his mother exclaimed softly.
“I’ll be damned,” his father said in surprised amusement.
“Finally,” Jessica muttered.
“No kidding?” Eric asked, his expression amazed.
“No kidding,” Marc affirmed softly, hopefully. “I love you, Brooke.” He waited anxiously for her response.
An overwhelming rush of emotion swelled within her, joy, anticipation and stunned disbelief that he’d blurted out his feelings in front of his family. Not willing to discuss something so personal with everyone watching and listening, she stood and calmly set her napkin on the table. “I think this is something that would be better discussed in private.”
Marc watched Brooke leave the dining area and head toward the family room, his chest tightening with an awful, heart-stopping pressure. Her composed, formal attitude wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting or hoping for, and he couldn’t help but fear that he was too late with his declaration.
Eric broke the strained silence that had descended over the dinner table with Brooke’s departure. “I have to admit, Brooke was the last woman I expected you to be tied up in knots over.”
Marc glanced at his brother, realizing how ironic it was that he’d once envied his brother for having Brooke, and now had fallen deeply, irrevocably in love with that same woman. “She’s an incredible woman,” he said, though he knew that one adjective didn’t do Brooke justice.
“Yeah, she is pretty incredible,” Eric agreed quietly, but sincerely. “So make sure you treat her better than I did.” Smiling, he held out his hand toward Marc in a gesture of respect and consent to the relationship.
Marc shook his brother’s hand, and one quick look around the table affirmed that everyone else approved, as well.
“Just as a father-to-son piece of advice,” his dad offered, casting an affectionate glance toward his wife. “It’s been my experience that women like it when men wear their heart and emotions on their sleeve. You’ve made a good start of that here in this room, but it doesn’t stop once you’ve got her. Make sure she knows that you love and cherish her…every day.”
Kathleen smiled. “I can attest to that excellent advice.”
The support and encouragement of his family went a long way in restoring his fortitude with Brooke. Heading into the family room, he saw Brooke standing there looking so achingly beautiful, so vulnerable and uncertain, and did the only thing he knew would assure her that he meant the love he’d professed to her in the other room.
Closing the distance between them, he caught her up in his arms and wrapped her in his strength and warmth. And then he kissed her, from the very depths of his heart, body and soul. The embrace was like coming home after being gone for an eternity.
When he broke the kiss, he framed her soft, smooth cheeks in his hands and tipped her face up to his, so he could look into her eyes. “I meant what I said, Brooke. I do love you.”
“I know,” she whispered, a tremulous smile touching her mouth. “I knew you loved me at the cabin, and I was so afraid that you’d never admit it, or see it for yourself.”
“What can I say. I was an idiot. I didn’t want to hurt you, but I put us both through hell by pushing you out of my life.” And now, he was ready to tackle the next hurdle with her. “Brooke…I want to take that chance with you.”
A small frown formed on her brow. “Why?”
She had every right to ask, to know what had changed his mind. He settled his hands on her hips to keep her close. “For the past eight years I’ve carried around guilt and blame, and a whole lot of fear. It was easier for me to keep my distance and not get emotionally involved with anyone than risk screwing up again. And then you came along and blasted through every defense I had, believing in me, trusting in me, when I couldn’t even trust myself.”
He pressed his forehead to hers, inhaled a deep breath, then went on. “I have to be honest with you, Brooke. I’m not this miraculously changed person. I still harbor insecurities and I still have doubts, but I see that fear as a good thing. It makes me a stronger person, and more aware of how hard I have to work to make us work. I don’t ever want to take you for granted, or lose sight of what’s important to me, and that’s you.”
“Don’t you think all this scares me, too?” she asked, seemingly humbled by all he’d revealed. “But I do trust you, and I believe in you. But most of all, I love you, too.”
“God, I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing that.” He kissed her, slow and deep and rich with promise.
Moments later, she insisted against his warm lips, “I want dates, lots of them.”
He grinned as his mouth skimmed across her cheek, thinking of all the places he wanted to take her, of all the fun they’d have together. “I think I can arrange that.”
She tilted her head back, giving him better access to nuzzle her neck. “I want to take things slow and easy.”
“Hmm. Slow and easy can be good.” He felt the shiver that coursed through her at the sexy, husky insinuation in his voice, and he wished they were back at the cabin, naked and alone.
“Nothing serious or restricting—”
“No.”
His firm tone startled her, and she looked up into his face. “What do you mean, no? I just thought…”
“That’s what I wanted?” he cut in quickly. “That we’d see where all this might lead?”
She swallowed, confusion coloring her eyes. “Well, yes.”
He shook his head adamantly. “Do you honestly think I’m going to date you, make love to you often, every day if possible, and not insist on a commitment from you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It’s all or nothing, Brooke. When I make my mind up about something, I’m not a man who does it halfway.”
“Another reason to love you.” A slow, joyful grin blossomed. “All right, then how about we have a hot, sexy, exclusive fling?”
The grin he gave her was as wicked as the hands easing beneath her blouse, stroking her skin, making her melt and moan just for him. “Yeah, I like the sound of that, just so long as the fling lasts for the next fifty years or so.”
She laughed, knowing they were destined for a future filled with happiness, love, and incredible, unbelievable passion.